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babybluebex · 1 year

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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel) 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))

“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.”

You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you.

Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding.

“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!”

“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.”

“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.”

“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.”

“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?”

“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?”

“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.”

“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.”

That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love.

“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?”

“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently.

“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.”

“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?”

“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.”

“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?”

“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!”

“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“

“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?”

“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.”

“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.”

“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.”

“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.”

“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.”

“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.”

“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address.

“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.”

“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.”

“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.”

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.”

“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him?

About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop.

“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed.

“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.”

“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now.

“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”

“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head.

“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”

“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention.

Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner.

“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?”

“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“

“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?”

“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?”

“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?”

“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.”

Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you.

“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?”

Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.”

“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…”

“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd.

“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority.

“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.”

“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face.

“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head.

“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“

“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you.

“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.”

He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw.

When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“

“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.”

“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“

“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub.

“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!”

“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.”

“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?”

“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“

“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“

“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.”

“But I do love you,” Enjolras said.

“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.”

In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…”

“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.”

“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head.

“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—”

His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.”

“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.”

“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked.

“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?”

“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled.

“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.”

“I’ll dream of you as well.”

#bbc!enjolras x reader #bbc!enjolras #bbc les mis #bbc les miserables #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #*my writing

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beanzfandoms · 2 months

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Humble Til Death

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire! Reader

Synopsis: The war between vampires and humans has begun, and every duke and spawn a like look to the Vampire Ascendant to help in battle. As they discuss what needs to be transpired, a stranger outcasted by both sides joins the discussion with a humble approach, which catches Lord Ancunin's attention.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is depicted lowly by some characters, slight gore, sexism/classism

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No one would have thought that there would be a war between vampires and humans. Though it is not surprising that vampires have the advantage, the humans have found ways to infiltrate the mighty walls of those stronger than them and bringing their downfall. Upset by this uproar, Dukes and spawn alike have turned to their one and only savior: the Vampire Ascendant.

Though Lord Ancunin is not the fondest in giving out his power freely, he allowed a few proud leaders to have a meeting with him and persuade and strategize what needs to be done. Some thought to destroy mankind for good, others thought to scare the humans into submission. The conversation on how to put man back into their place was not an easy one to make, especially with a bunch of mad-hungry vampires.

The room was loud as the angry voices of men boom throughout the throne room, and Astarion himself sits in front of it all with a deep scowl on his face. A prisoner, a blacksmith who joined the revolution for the end of vampires, lays bloodied on the floor by his feet. The man was barely conscious, with gurgled groans wheezing out of him and his broken bones creaking as he trembles in fear. Astarion had the thought of just putting the prisoner out of his misery, not because he felt pity, but because all the noise was getting on his very last nerve.

"I say we beat the information out him, yeah? We don't know shit about the cattle's moves unless he tells us!" One of the more obnoxious Dukes yells out in rage.

"I want to kill them just as much as you, but if we dispose of the only source we have, it's a lose game!" Another retorts, slamming his fist on the table.

Each of them had their own respective styles, the way they carry themselves specific to their own lands. Astarion could care less about who lives and who dies at the end of the day, but he found it rather fascinating how each of them were different all the same. They were all surrounding a table off to the side of him, maps and scrolls covering the mahogany. Most of them sat silently, only agreeing or disagreeing when they saw fit. Others, however, stood boastfully from their chairs and demanded respect in their ideas. Astarion found it rather disrespectful for them to be so open with their whining in front of him of all people.

Just as the Vampire Ascendent had enough of his so-called guests, the double doors entering his hall opens, and a cloaked figure walks in with such grace, as if they were floating on air. They turn to his servants by the door and murmur a thank you, in which the retainers shamelessly smile with flustered blushes. Silence falls across the room as the stranger continues to the prisoner, kneeling before him without so much as a glance to anyone else.

"Pl-please... No more. Me-rcy..." The human chokes out, blood spewing past his lips as his glassy eyes stare at the form above him.

"Tell me where your camp is, and no more suffering with befall on you. I will put you to rest..." a gentle voice, a quiet song to Astarion's ears, comes from the ominous person. Nimble fingers kiss upon the human's cheek and a deep sigh escapes him.

"Will... they die?"

"I do not know, but if they do, I shall see to it that they do not suffer too."

The human weeps, hiccupping as the realization that he is going to die washes over him. The newcomer above does not rush him, and quietly sits and watches as the man expresses his emotions so freely. "Outside Riv-ington... That is wh-where my camp lies. Please... mercy. There are children... El-derly..."

"That is not up for me to decide, but I will give you what I promised... Rest now." The figure coos, before grabbing his head and snapping his neck.

The stranger slowly stands and the hood hiding them in shadows cascades off their head. Merlot eyes bore into Astarion's, but no bitterness nor sadness was present. They simply looked, and it almost felt like Astarion was floating away from the present. Though this person's gaze was colored like the dried blood forever stained on his hands, he felt a twisted sort of comfort.

That luxury did not last as long as he would've liked.

"You dare defile this place with your wretched deeds," One of the previous vampiric dukes who spoke before bellows. His leather-clad boots stomp across the marble floor before he stands a mere few inches from unknown person.

The person does not cower under him, as they simply look upon him too with their ethereal gaze. " I got the information that you wanted, did I not? Or are you just angry because I did it through unorthodox means? Quite pathetic, really."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you not remember how it feels to suffer? To be put in constant pain by those stronger than you?" The outsider's stare hardens, the timbre in their voice getting louder with each syllable. They slyly observe the man before them, head to toe, before a soft scoff exhales from them. "No, I suppose you don't. Inevitably, that will lead to your downfall."

"You will hold your tongue-"

"Bite me!" They exclaim with a sudden anger, "You do not own me, none of you own me! I can say and do whatever I please. The only reason why I'm here, well... to put it simply, if you die, who else will I get to make fun of?"

The newcomer smiles slightly as the duke stands there with a befuddled expression, as if their words caused his slick tongue to go still. His red eyes dare to capture Astarion's, and he scoffs, "How do you feel about this sudden outburst, Lord Ancunin? Surely you find their mere presence despicable."

"Who are you to dare claim what I think and feel?" Astarion laughs, laying his head into his right palm as he pierces through the duke with odious leering.

"F-forgive me, Vampire Ascendant!" The man shutters slightly, sputtering on his words, "I only mean to respect your court! This lascivious thing disrupted what could possibly be the means to all of our livelihood!"

"I will say..." Astarion starts as he rises from his cushioned seat. He ostentatiously walks towards the two vampires, a look only described as smugness capturing his youthful face. "Your methods are quite... interesting, indeed. Why show mercy to those who seek to kill us?"

"If you were to die, how would you want it to be?" Asks the stranger, who does not recoil like the duke beside them.

"I will not die," Astarion simply replies.

"But if you were to, wouldn't you like too humbly? Honorably?"

"I could care less about my meal's honor, but it is quite intriguing to find another similar to these noblemen to think otherwise. Tell me, where do you earl from?"

"I am (Y/n), and I earl from nowhere. I am a spawn who was left behind but survived. I do not garnish one such as yourself, if that is what you mean..."

Astarion ridicules what (Y/n) says with a sneer but does not punish them for their lack of courtesy. Instead, he glares towards the man, who remained silent with dread. The duke immediately straightens himself, rigid under the Ascendant's scrutiny. "Let us make haste to Rivington then. There we will ensnare the humans and do what must be done."

The Nobles nod in approval as they make their way out of the courtroom, ravenous hunger radiating off their bodies in horrid delight. They will go and gather their most presentable spawn and wait for word that their feast is nigh. (Y/n) watches with no akin desperation to stop what may transpire, but a small voice inside aches for the oncoming carnage that will befall Baldur's Gate.

"You belong to no one, yes?" Astarion's voice catches them off guard from their thoughts, and they realize the must have gone into a trance. The leaders who gathered before were no longer in the room, and a few stray candles burning dimly in the desolate place was the only indication that anything occurred at all. The day's first light began to peek through the stained windows as they were drawn by Astarion's servants. "No where to run off to?"

(Y/n)'s orbs cast over to the vampire lord, a sudden tiredness overtaking them. He was mere inches away, a smirk crossing his lips as they made eye contact. "How long has it been?" They ask.

Their voice was barely above a whisper, and they realized this sudden meekness made Astarion delightfully happy.

He hums pleasantly, his fingers brushing his cheek in thought. "Only a few hours, I'd say. You were quite lost there, weren't you little spawn?"

"Spare me your belittlement," (Y/n) sighs as they turn away, studying the thick black tapestry covering the sun's kiss to the earth. How they longed to feel the sun again, but the chill that caressed their bones was a callous reminder they could not.

Astarion casts a look over to where (Y/n) stared eagerly so and chuckles. "No belittlement here, my dear. Just casual conversation. The sun will accompany the sky for some time. I'm afraid that if you leave, you will be but ashes before you step out that front door."

"Your point is?"

"Snippy, snippy. Here I was offering you a bed in my humble abode too," The Lord says with a mock pout, "If what you said earlier were true, the I suggest you take up my generosity."

"Why?"

"Don't test my patience, treat. It would not go greatly for you," Astarion proclaims with the shake of his finger.

"I meant why do you care if I be burnt to ashes or not? If I accept your offer or not?"

"Oh, I don't. Frankly, I'm rather bored these days, and you seem like exquisite company. See to that which you see fit. If you decide to stay, then I will see to it that a servant provides you with the most lavish things. If you don't, well, I suppose I won't be seeing you in Rivington. I shall wait your decision," He speaks as he strides to the double doors, pushing them open with confidence. "I'm sure you won't disappoint me."

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#astarion x reader #ascended astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #astarion ancunin #genderneutral reader #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #the pale elf #baldur's gate 3

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spirk-trek · 3 months

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I would love to hear your thoughts on kirk's backstory and what happened on tarsus iv, I feel like I've read so many conflicting takes on here and none of them actually match up with the episode (conscience of the king)

Hi anon! The way you worded this makes me think you were just looking for information and not a fic request. Forgive me if I was wrong!! 😅

I think the reason there are so many conflicting ideas is because of how vague it is in canon itself (which is cool, leaves a lot of room for interpretation). Because of this, when I recently wrote a thing about Tarsus IV I also struggled with "research" for it. Here's what I came up with:

!!! Disclaimer! I am not declaring any of this the One True Canon™! This is just my interpretation/speculation based on existing lore !!!

To me, it makes most sense for Jim to be sent to Tarsus IV with his mother, and for her to be a civilian scientist/researcher of some kind. I find it very hard to believe the massacre could have taken place if Starfleet were present, which would include George Kirk, Jim's father. George is said to have been absent often due to his work (SNW), so it wouldn’t be strange for him to be separated from his family (this is also just normal in Star Trek in general, i.e. Sulu [AOS] and like… everyone with children in TNG).

A more recent Trek book called Drastic Measures seems to back this exact idea up (depends who you ask which novels are canon, and this book was written for Discovery so take it with a grain of salt).

Sam would, in the TOS timeline, be 10 years older than Jim (~23). That would make it unlikely he'd be tailing after his mother to remote colonies. It's much more likely he was concerned with his own career/family/life.

So, in summary of those points, I think it was just Jim and Winona. Jim is between 12 and 14 years old, and his mother was a civilian researcher (the novel I mentioned earlier made her a xenobiologist, probably for plot reasons).

Something I do see exaggerated sometimes is the method of killing in the massacre. An antimatter chamber appears to be what was used, similar to A Taste of Armageddon, so it would not have been mass carnage or a big dramatic fight in the end. Just... zap.

SPOCK: "He was certainly among the most ruthless, to decide arbitrarily who would survive and who would not [...] and then to implement his decision without mercy. Children watching their parents die. Whole families, destroyed. Over four thousand people. They died quickly, without pain, but they died.”

However, these are also quotes from the episode, so I can see why people might think the massacre itself was more violent:

- JIM: “Four thousand people were needlessly butchered.” - LEIGHTON: “I remember him. That voice. The bloody thing he did.” - JIM: “Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy?” - KARIDIAN/KODOS: “Murder, flight, suicide, madness. I never wanted the blood on my hands ever to stain you.”

There was a revolution of some kind, probably brought about by people easily radicalized out of hunger and desperation.

- KARIDIAN/KODOS: [reading] "The revolution is successful…” - SPOCK: “There were over eight thousand colonists and virtually no food. And that was when Governor Kodos seized full power and declared emergency martial law.”

If Kodos already had his ideas about eugenics, which it sounds like he did, he would have seized this as an opportunity. This would make him an even more solid comparison to Hitler, which they were definitely going for to at least some extent (this was written two decades after WWII which many involved in the making of star trek were deeply affected by if not veterans themselves).

Because of the above quotes, I also think there’s merit to the idea of there being multiple formal executions where Kodos gave his infamous “speech” each time rather than just once (this would be another reason Jim would remember it enough to write it down), rather than one massive execution of 4,000 people. However, this quote could be interpreted to mean the opposite:

SPOCK: “Kodos began to separate the colonists. Some would live, be rationed whatever food was left; The remainder would be immediately put to death.”

Arguably, the even more traumatic suffering would be the period of starvation and upheaval leading up to the massacre. To me, a 3-6 month period of slowly worsening starvation as the food supply shrank and shrank to nothing would make the most sense.

One aspect I don't quite get is that Kodos's body was supposed to have been "burned beyond recognition.” Since we know from Conscience of the King his death was staged, then this fake death can’t have been pulled off in the midst of Starfleet intervention upon arrival (they would have taken him into custody to stand trial rather than kill him on sight anyway). Burning yourself to death is a highly unusual form of suicide, so I’m not sure if that’s supposed to allude to him being fake killed in the carnage following the execution when the people didn't react the way he wanted or expected? My only theory is that there was unrest and rioting for the period of time between the massacre and Starfleet arriving with relief, and he used that to fake his death once he knew he would be put on trial.

Anyway, this is super long so I'll cut myself off there. Hope that answered your question, sorry for being crazy! If anyone has anything to add, please do!

#star trek #tw #cw #theory #analysis #captain kirk #tarsus iv #lore #tarsus iv massacre #discussion #reference #fanfic #canon #fanon

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kusokurae01 · 24 days

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y’know, I somewhat recall you saying you had your own J&H adaptation, Any fun facts about it itself or J&H? (You give me asks I’ll give you one right back)

Hello, although I only have the 0,1% completed which is like, a summary of eight/nine months of work, I am still very excited to share my little alternative universe; it takes inspiration from many other adaptations, mainly the musical and The Glass Scientists. A lot of things are placeholders for something bigger and completely original, and it's supposed to blend with actual history, meaning that in some way it is historically accurate at some extent, considering I am making extensive researches about the Victorian Era and how it works, with the help of books and articles online. It's quite hard to make it 100% accurate of course, but most Jekyll and Hyde adaptations tend to ignore the fact that this is set in a very specific period of time, and they also tend to focus more on which character sucks the most dicks rather than the original message(s) of the novella. I don't like stories which solely focus on the characters being queer and that's clear, and while LGBTQ+ is included in Apotheosis, that doesn't mean that its the main focus; sure, it is talked about, but it's a part of the story and not the main story. I'm not saying that there should be a correct way of writing adaptations, but rather, that the world should feel alive and dynamic. It is important to establish worldbuilding, and make it a present part of the story, because it SHAPES the characters. I think that whilst you do not need a degree in history to write about J&H or the victorian era, it's important to know at least the basics of how the society worked, the advancements and how they affected society, etc.

Now, the victorian era is quite interesting when it comes to progress. In 1879 the first psychology laboratory was established in Germany, and many other advances in medicine were made, there were the first feminist movements, the two industrial revolutions (second in 1870-1914), what I'm trying to say is that the 19th century is a very important period of our time, at least for eurocentric history, and it's so curious to think how some of these inventions are just two centuries old. Not to mention that by 1888, the Bloody Code (which was how the severe law system of England was called, which focused on social punishment rather than rehabilitation, and the death penalty was very common even for lesser crimes by public execution) had been largely replaced and the death penalty wasn't in use anymore. The world was changing and advancing, and what does that mean for the most conservative classes, especially those who were in high favor to such horrible practices, especially when towards the lower and most despised classes? What does it mean for the poor and ostracized, especially considering the precarious conditions of orphanages, poorhouses and such? Fun fact: this was one of the battles the Crown itself, or rather, Queen Victoria, as a woman and mother, advocated for this, especially when most of its components were children, which were there for various reasons. And what about the emerging middle classes, the so despised noveau nobillty?

Medicine was both revered and feared, because while advancements were made in medical science, many treatments were still primitive and often painful. Additionally, the lack of understanding about germs and proper sanitation led to high mortality rates in hospitals, contributing to a general fear and distrust of medical practices among the public; not to mention that writers were starting to talk about the dangers of medicine (ex. Frankenstein), not to mention that there was the Royal Society that, while it promoted scientific inquiry, knowledge and collaboration, it certainly would've found itself debating about the inclusion of rogue science as effectively, a science.

It is important to know the rest of the hystorical context in which Apotheosis finds itself in, which is that of a very important migration of citizens from Ireland to London (including jews who were fleeing from the pogroms, popular riots against religious minorities which were happening in the Russian Empire), and all of them gathered in the East End of London, where Whitechapel was. It didn't take long for overpopulation (which was already a recurring issue in London) to happen, and for Whitechapel to be redeemed a generally unsafe place like all the other slums, not to mention all the popular disorders and the increase of violent repression from the London Metropolitan Police (ex. Bloody Sunday, which caused at least two deaths, it was basically a manifestation in which the Social Democratic Federation advocated for the end of unemployment, better working conditions and a right to vote for all adult men, other than supporting the Irish National League against the oppression the british were putting them through); it's in this context, that from august-november of 1888, Jack the Ripper terrifies London; 16 are the suspected victims, 5 the ones which had been confirmed, but what if I told you that there is actually more to this tale, when people thought that the Ripper was still amongst them due to how ineffective the police system was at the time, and that some murders associated with him weren't actually the Ripper's doing?

General Lord Glossop, a member of the council which oversees the Royal Society, was found dead after attending the funeral of His Grace, the Bishop of Basingstoke. The body was found the next morning, January 1889; the method of killing appeared to be strangulation as confirmed by trained medical professionals. This was the second governor who happened to die under mysterious circumstances which, were associated with the Ripper itself, as the methods were basically the same. On December 1888, the body of an unidentified underage prostitute and the terribly mutilated corpse of His Grace, the Bishop of Basingstoke, were found in the streets of a London slum, following the same criteria of that which seemed to reflect that of Jack the Ripper.

A member of the Marchetti family, Miss. Maia Marchetti, requested an immediate revision of the autopsies to prove that the killer wasn't Jack The Ripper, but rather another unnamed man who yet had to be caught; she founded her thesis on the two, crucial facts that the murderer had only ever killed members of the aristocracy and one single prostitute for the sole fact that she could've potentially acted as a witness for the case, and there wasn't any fury exhibited towards her corpse, and Thomas Bond (profilier of Jack The Ripper) stated that the Ripper didn't have any anatomical knowledge, and the body appeared to have been mutilated with such a precision which could only belong to those with a great anatomical knowledge, possibly a doctor.

On another note, she had managed to gather ten prostitutes together, who worked in the same zones where the homicides happened, to declare in a written letter to Scotland Yard, that an unknown, violent and unpleasant man with an odd fascination with sadomasochism, had been with them. However, this request was denied, and the letter archieved, until the inspector on the case Scott Newcomen presented the same thesis, thus obtaining a revised autopsy report, this time conducted by Dr. Hastie Lanyon, who brought some interesting discoveries to the table. It is important to note to the case that, the two men had died because of a basilar skull fracture, while the prostitute seemed to truly have died because of strangulation, like it had already been ascertained.

Due to the sheer brutality of the murders and the fact that they involved members of the aristocracy, the media was following this case with great attention, and reporting on it extensively (and of course great pressure was put on the authorities to solve the crimes quickly). Considering that this man happened to principally target members of the upper classes who had a significant role in society, save if there were any eye-witnesses, speculations that these might be murders made for socio-politic reasons committed by a member of the lower classes, seeing the location and circumstances, caused heightened tensions between social classes.

Other members of the council, such as Lady Beaconsfield and Sir Archibald Proops, perished under the same circumstances. An interesting parallelism is that many unreliable letters were sent to Scotland Yard and to Central News Agency; some were written by well-intentioned citizens, providing information towards the capture of the killer; however, the majority of them were deemed useless and consequently ignored. Hundreds of letters were written by people claiming to be the killer, and although this letter wasn't redeemed important and considered a fake, and consequently scrapped, a letter had been signed with the name Edward Hyde. And that's how people started to identify the man. Another letter described the man as someone who had a rancid aura around him, with an area of deformity which couldn't be quite explained by any actual malformations; he had long, golden locks. And unfortunately, these were the only small details which also happened to have been confirmed in the first letters those ten prostitutes wrote. A first rough identi-kit and criminal profile was made by Dr. Hastie Lanyon.

The slayings were the handiwork of a solitary individual, a robust young man aged between eighteen and twenty-three, possessed of a brazen yet unflappable demeanor, bearing obscure physical anomalies difficult to discern. Though yet too youthful to grace the circles of high society, Edward Hyde presented himself in attire befitting a gentleman of esteem, maintaining habitual visits to dens of iniquity, whilst displaying a remarkable acumen in matters anatomical, suggestive of a scholarly pursuit, perhaps that of the medical sciences.

The fact that it was clearly a member of the aristocracy seemingly fell deaf to the ears of the media, which constantly sidetracked the police investigations, misleading them and accusing innocents of being Edward Hyde and fabricating evidence with the excuse of pursuing justice, when in reality this just caused more social disadvantages and disorders which ended with popular uprisings; an interesting phenomenon to note, is that of many women sent romantic letters to those who were suspected to be Edward Hyde, and many visited the locations in which the murders happened in hopes of meeting the Prince of Disaster.

#.txt #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde

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goodqueenaly · 1 month

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Hello! If Daenerys returns to Meereen, what do you think will happen to Skahaz? I can see him presenting Barristan s murder as the work of the Harpy, but killing all those child hostages? Any way he wiggles out of that?

I tend to think that the horror of the murder of the child hostages will be seen through Barristan's eyes, rather than Dany's. Barristan was the one who more recently, and just as vehemently as Dany, argued with the Shavepate over killing the children; Barristan is the one who helped reinstate the Shavepate as a leading power player in Meereen; Barristan is the one who left Skahaz as the most prominent member of Dany's court/entourage not on the battlefield itself. For Barristan, who already deeply distrusts the secrecy and brutality of Skahaz and his Brazen Beasts, the Shavepate's murder of the queen's young cupbearers will I think be the ultimate betrayal: the allusion by Barristan to the murdered children of Prince Rhaegar, whom Ser Barristan was unable to save from Tywin's vicious sacking of King's Landing, will I believe prove a tragic prophecy, as his sometime ally stands over the "bloody bodies" of murdered Meereenese children. In turn, just as Barristan swore not to condone such an act, so I think Barristan will attempt to prove what he said in his mind he would have done with Robert - namely, that "[i]f [Barristan] had seen him [i.e. Robert Baratheon] smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar's children, no army on this earth could have stopped [Barristan] from killing [Robert]".

To this point as well, I also tend to think Dany is not going to be returning to Meereen immediately at the beginning of TWOW. Dany is definitely going to return to Meereen, to be sure, albeit I think relatively briefly, but she has more immediate problems - and different semi-mystical or overtly mystical demands - temporarily pulling her away from the conflicts of Meereen - namely, Khal Jhaqo and Dany's foreseen return to the Mother of Mountains, there almost certainly to be acclaimed as the stallion that mounts the world. As a result, I don't think Dany is going back to Meereen until well after (again, relatively speaking) the time of the murders has passed, giving Skahaz plenty of time, if he might so choose (and if he remains alive to do so, of course), to come up with a plausible cover story for the murders of not just the children (and, probably, Hizdahr and Reznak), but also Barristan himself (a skill Skahaz definitely has, given his plot with the locusts and his successful framing of Hizdahr for that poisoning).

All of this is to say that Dany may not be in the best position, on a strictly narrative level, either to know precisely or learn later what happened with respect to Skahaz and the child hostages or, as a consequence, to react with the sort of disgust and fury I think we'll definitely see through Barristan's perspective in this moment (which, to be clear, I think she absolutely would if and when she should ever learn the truth). I don't know that any of Dany's courtiers or new would-be advisors would know or have reason to know precisely what happened with respect to Barristan and Skahaz, especially if Skahaz publicly proclaims that it was the no-good-very-bad Sons of the Harpy who killed the old white knight and the child cupbearers. Too, I don't think Dany is going to be particularly invested in sticking around in Meereen, and so she may simply accept Skahaz (again, if he is still alive) as a suitable enough regent in her name in Meereen, or king in his own right, to continue the revolution she started. Of course, Skahaz may not survive at all - always a distinct possibility, given the instability of post-Dany Meereen exacerbated by the sudden influx of outside power players following the battle outside the city's walls - making the whole question potentially moot.

#asoiaf meta #skahaz mo kandaq #speculation

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keshetchai · 5 months

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Thank you for your deconstruction of that post about Jewish ethnicity and your detailed explanation of why it was a terrible take! I saw that post earlier and it got my hackles up but I didn't even know where to start when they're starting from such a flawed understanding of Jewish identity and ethnicity in general.

Yeah idk the most generous conclusions I have were those last two points — the argument either starts from assuming ethnonationalists have always been the ones defining ethnicity/they are the main arbiters of defining it (which I just reject categorically), or they have misunderstood or don't actually know what ethnicity means (outside of understanding ethnonationalism is bad).

And I never want to come out the gate with like "I think you just don't know what that word means," because that feels extremely condescending and combative. At the same time we're clearly facing some kind of vast language gap if the concept of "Jews are an ethnic group" is considered absurd or laughable. So working backwards those are my guesses for how someone got themselves to that conclusion which bizarrely had a lot of reblogs and i didn't look at the notes but like.

Please tell me I wasn't the only one baffled by this?? Anti-/non-zionist Jewish movements have typically still explicitly emphasized ethnicity, like...sometimes even moreso because "shared cultural identity here-ness" HAS to care more about group belonging in culture rather than in place or nation.

Either way: We can just reject ethnonationalism without erasing the concept of people having ethnicities! That's totally an option. Israel and Palestine both have histories of nationalist movements AND both can and should reject ethnonationalism because the levant itself is a place full of a variety of ethnicities. No matter what the future of the levant and any states within it look, ethnonationalism should be rejected.

Like yeah I can fully climb on board the whole "the modern nation state itself is bad, borders are violence enacted upon people, nation-states foment nationalism, colonialism, and so on, let's move forwards towards stateless society." Ethnonationalism is bad.

But simultaneously I live in like...a reality where something has to float us all until we can get there and I don't believe in a leftist rapture of "bloody revolution will overthrow all of current society."

spoilers: ethnic self-determination and governance doesn't mean you can avoid ethnonationalism strains cropping up!

Also just because this has been getting to me recently, here's a big tangent not part of the OP but something else I've been seeing: Indigeneity to a place doesn't actually elevate you to this morally pure and uncorrupt self, and it doesn't mean you're going to be a better society than anyone else trying to govern there or avoid ethnonationalism or nationalism.

That's...I mean that's not how it fucking works. I keep seeing like "these Israelis are destroying olive trees, an indigenous people wouldn't do that!" And it's like...such a kindergarten way of treating the status of being "native" as morally and ethically untainted by bad ideologies. To me it absolutely reeks of "noble savage" fantasies wherein like: nobleness of character, innocent benevolence to foreigners, and perfect stewardship of land is somehow the hallmarks of "true" Indigeneity.

I regret to inform everyone but if you only ever get the highlights reel history of Spanish colonialism in Mexico: the Spaniards were able to conquer Mexico the way they did for a variety of reasons (smallpox devastating the native populace is one of them), but one of those big key ways is the fact that various native groups hated the aztec triumvirate (the Mexica) so much that they actively helped the Spanish overthrow them.

The Spanish didn't conquer the Aztecs by themselves. The Spanish had maybe an army of 3,100 or so. The Aztecs had a fighting force of 200,000+, not including other allied forces. The spanish were able to conquer the Aztec empire because a whole lot of other indigenous forces were assisting them.

Being indigenous to somewhere absolutely doesn't mean you won't burn or destroy farms, or murder your also indigenous neighbors, or commit terrible atrocities, or even become an imperial force who enslaves people or enforces a caste system or anything else. It's not a guarantee that your society won't be shitty somehow. The Aztecs were comprised of native people, and they still cracked open rib cages of other human beings to extract their hearts in ritual sacrifice so like. It's not a strong argument to say "they definitely aren't from here because they destroy tree groves or murder Innocents."

If you wanna talk about settlers being settlers there's other ways to do it.

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constelllahtions · 5 days

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03.2.24

A man, with a brittle outgrown beard half covered in drool, matted and bloody.

Long grey robes, tattered and tainted.

Head hanging aloof between knobby knees, back meeting the dark ridges and hollows of a cave.

Breaths? staggered with no discernible patterns, heartbeat? quiet and yet, heaving the darkness that took and took and took.

Mind? In chains and cuffs no better than those that clung onto his ankles and knees, suffocating the glimmers of hope and revolution that occasionally made it out onto the sea of otherwise morose thoughts and dreams.

Nightmares would be more accurate but the word falls short, failing to convey the depth of misery and fear that poison every cell in both the world within him and that around him - though the idea of one being different or rather, separate, from the other never would sit quite right with him.

For somebody who claimed to seek wholeness, he can’t help but laugh at his own naiveties around the matter, can’t help but swallow his pride (if any had survived down here that is) and admit, begrudgingly so, that he is scared. Admit that maybe he would have turned the other way if he knew this was what he was signing up for. Admit that maybe, the path of the mundane with their shallow joys and shallow dreams was one that he was finally beginning to understand.

With the corner of his mouth lifting up as the gleam in his eyes and the brightness in his chest expanded, he laughed. A broken hum; pained but overflowing with more relief and mirth than one would think any man in his position to be capable of. Even the thought of it was so ridiculous - that he would ever go back, that he would ever want to be anywhere but right where he was, that he would ever choose soulnumbing placations and cheap illusions of joy - of living - over actually doing so (or learning to, atleast). It didn’t matter that he was bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, didn’t matter that he was stuck reliving every whipping both mental and physical - no, it didn’t matter because how could it? He was alive. He was feeling it all so fully and so deeply, tunnelling into the depths of the world within him and gods did it hurt but it was real. It was real and he was with himself mind, body and soul. It was real and he was feeling a myriad of agonies with every cell he over turned in his being and he was alive. His laughter grew stronger, now echoing off the walls of the cave as the light began to reach within, and all the separation fell apart (it was never meant to be there). The separation between good and bad, between life and death, between love and hate, between worship and sin, between joy and pain, oh gods the walls were coming - crumbling - down allowing for connection between these supposed opposites in a way that was so beautiful he almost cried. The union of forces that were never meant to be apart, of feelings that were all blended within one another, moving in such whimsical harmony it made him scream. The light was everywhere now, just as the dark was - one did not take away from the other, only added to it. What a fool he was to have ever assumed otherwise.

Here in the cave, frail knees shaking as the suffocating hands of his past ghosts dug deeper into him, the man looked up and watched in complete awe as the light danced with the darkness, wisps of black and white embracing one another in what could only be described as a heartfelt reunion - sons and daughters of love come together at last.

Now standing tall, surrounded by the wise streams of oneness, the man pulled his ghosts up one by one - smiling at them with a love so full it never needed to dismiss any pain or fear, only embrace it. No, he thought to himself, nothing separated could ever feel this whole. His entire being sung tunes of love stronger than he had ever known - shattering every illusion, breaking down every limitation. Right there in the hollows of that cave, bloodied and bruised, with a mind haunted and a heart that had felt more pain than one would think it capable of withholding, he felt love. Right there in that cave, feet still in shambles but a soul that would never be caged, embracing every single feeling past present and future, he was free. No smile had ever felt so sweet.

m.f

#short story #storytelling #writing #writers and poets #poetry #freeform #writeblr #fiction #shadow work #inspiration #spilled words #quotes #spilled ink #prose #literature #lit

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sidyashchiy-na-plakhe · 7 months

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Revolution of silkwings.

This is what I think should have happened in the 3rd arc. I think silkwings could be made a lot more interesting from a psychological point of view rather than a physiological one. For example: silkwings are indeed very friendly, good-natured, but very submissive and forgiving. They are ready to endure bullying for a very long time. They will not be outraged by the terrible treatment towards them, until they have nothing to lose. But if the silkwings are very angry...the riots and revolutions would be the most cruel, bloody and merciless, changing the world beyond recognition. Silkwing's riots would be like an unstoppable "hurricane" that would mercilessly destroy everything in its path. I wish the Bloodworm hive had been destroyed by the revolutionaries instead of... three leafwings. It would be much more epic and interesting.

I want silkwings...to earn their freedom. Luna constantly said how strong silkwings are, etc., but they did nothing to free themselves. And that's...sad. It seems to me that it's not just the third arc of wof that is wasted potential...it's the whole wof in general. Especially the second and third arcs.

#wof #wings of fire #wof silkwing #wof confessions #драконья сага #wof 3rd arc #wof headcanon #?

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ystrike1 · 1 year

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Winter Wolf - By 순무 (sunmu) (8.5/10)

The aftermath of a civil war. A bloody revolution. A lonely mansion in the snow. The setting for this story is very unique, and isolation is a key theme. The two lovers here are one part of a larger, sadder story.

Lyshteia is a noble woman known for her red hair, which is the symbol of her family. That family is no more. Lyshteia is not a bad person, but her parents chose the wrong side of a revolution. They were punished. Assassinated off screen before their daughter could marry. Lyshteia was betrothed to the handsome Prince Jude, but sadly he also chose the wrong side. Lyshteia's family and fiance died in quick succession, and she was left with nothing. Not even information.

It seems like poor Lyshteia wasn't included in the plan, but she is being punished as well. Her life as a noble woman is gone. She has one relative left. An aunt across the sea. She has to somehow get there, and find another husband. The setting of this story is extremely gritty. There's no magic. The revolution toppled powerful noble families one after another, because in this world a mob is stronger than any sword.

The story begins here, in the woods. Lyshteia is looking for an information broker named Terren. She doesn't trust brokers. She's been burned by a few and she has no money left. Her horse abandons her, and she wanders through wolf infested land until she finds his residence.

Terren is a handsome man, who is also a realist. He says she is trapped. She is at the end of her rope. The winter season is bitter this particular year. He can't take her to the sea port. It is frozen over. Ships cannot pass. The very last ships are leaving in three days, and there is no possible way for her to sneak on.

She's stuck with him.

He taunts her, as if he wants to test her. Terren just told her that she's stuck in wolf territory with a man she doesn't know. In the dead of winter, with revolutionary soldiers on her tail. There is an assassin hunting for Lyshteia and the few nobles that are left.

Lyshteia makes a solid offer. If he doesn't kill her or throw her out he will be rewarded when she meets her aunt.

Lyshteia has been through alot. She has barely escaped death by mob stomping several times. She had to travel alone during the beginning of winter as well. She had to sell off all of her possessions just to get across the country. Just to get another inch closer to the port.

She's not going to give up now.

His teasing doesn't affect her much. She's afraid, but she doesn't cry.

Terren mentions her noble manners and her beauty. He says she needs to forget useless things like manners. In this setting being noble means you are a target. Lyshteia says she literally doesn't know how to act like a commoner. She was engaged to a prince, after all. There's really no point in pretending. She is well known for her hair, and she doesn't trust anybody anymore.

She would rather be alone, but she thinks Terren is handsome. She has been lonely and scared for a long time. After some flirting (that feels suspicious for some reason) they have sex.

Terren doesn't seem like a nice guy. The plot twist is kind of obvious. When Lyshteia confesses to him she saves her own life. His real name is Ian. He was hired by the leader of the revolution. His work name is Phantom. He has been paid top dollar to kill everyone left with noble blood. He doesn't kill Lyshteia because of a series of coincidences, and her passionate confession. Lyshteia is a tough woman. She's his type. Ian is willing to risk it all to save her.

He also slaughters some of his own employees and allies to protect her. The former future queen is a big target. An expensive one. If he won't kill her somebody else will. He teaches her how to use a gun, and his act falls apart. Lyshteia becomes suspicious of him, but they still have lots of sex.

The plot gets thick. Lyshteia does make it to her aunt's house, but she is damaged goods. She is no longer queen material. Her aunt tries to marry her off to an old man, because of her damaged past. Ian comes for her. He whisks her away from her shitty life as a princess. She becomes a kindergarten teacher, and he's a very devoted husband. He leaves the assassin life behind for her as well I think. He definitely becomes happier. They are genuinely a good couple, but I was worried for a second there. Ian doesn't have normal common sense. He's overly practical. I would call him a lighter yandere, but he does do alot of killing for her. The easiest option was beheading her after sex and taking the bounty. Helping her and loving her was a massive risk for Ian. He's not some guy with superpowers. He's just a guy with a gun, so his devotion feels very sincere and also unhinged. There's no judge or jury here. Ian could have been murdered for helping her, but he did it anyway.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #Winter Wolf #historical romantic fiction #historical romance

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ace-of-zaun · 1 year

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pregnancy fic was just perfect! Oh maybe now something with angst and HEA ? "Sil...is it true? Vander saw you with her! After all this time? After everything I've done for you ?!"

A/N: Thank you!! Ooo, my first young silco request (I have more plans for young silco but haven’t had a chance to write them all out yet). Thank you for requesting and apologies this took so long! <3 -el x

young!silco x f!reader, 2.5k words, SFW

Warnings: angst, cheating worries, miscommunication / misunderstandings, established relationship, fluff, happy ending, love confessions

Growing up in the Undercity, you’d always found yourself inadvertently searching for one simple thing to ease the pain of living.

Passion.

Something that lit a fire in your bones, sparked your desire to live, not just survive, as it had been prescribed by the above.

As a young adult, you’d joined the Children of Zaun in search of that passion, helping out in the bar of The Last Drop every evening.

Early on, you’d recognised that whilst fighting the enforcers that kicked down your brothers and sisters wasn’t your particular forte, it didn’t mean you couldn’t fight for Zaun’s freedom in your own way.

And in joining the group of rag-tag revolutionaries, it would appear that the Fates certainly had that long-awaited passion lined up in your cards, namely in the form of a thin, dark-haired, young man named Silco.

Infamous for keeping out of everyone’s way (or rather, they kept out of his way), the co-leader of the revolution kept his strict schedule of completing missions at night and silently keeping the blackmarket ledgers in the afternoon. A schedule that he rarely deviated from.

That is, until he met you.

It all began during the early hours of one morning, when he’d stumbled into the empty bar as you were cleaning glasses and finishing putting chairs on tables. Horrified by his bruised and bloody state, you’d helped to patch him up and sent him on his way with a strong shot of liquor to dull the pain.

After that first encounter, he then began to stay most nights whilst you cleaned up the mess left by the patrons, chatting with comfortable ease like you’d known each other for years instead of mere months.

And more often than not, he would stay in the bar up until you left, always missing the way he’d watch the door long after you’d disappeared into the night.

It wasn’t long until Silco had started to walk you home, insisting that the harsh streets of Zaun weren’t safe for a lady such as yourself, like you hadn’t been walking them your whole life.

But you didn’t mention it. You were simply glad you got to spend just that little extra bit of time with him. It was just another few minutes where you could quietly admire his sharp features and his careful way of speaking.

And then everything had changed on one fateful night where Silco had stumbled into the empty bar from an exhausting mission, marched straight over to you, and pulled you into the most thrilling kiss you’d ever experienced.

You’d both been practically inseparable ever since.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the whole of Runeterra, and you had a way of bringing him down from his passion-filled anger at every little injustice you were both forced to endure.

Hidden deep under that harsh facade was a full-hearted man, who desperately wanted to make you happy, almost like his life depended on it.

If you were being honest, even after less than a year together, you’d probably say that you and Silco were made for each other. Which of course made the pain you were experiencing right at this moment infinitely worse.

Hiding out on a rooftop high above the streets, you allow yourself to sob, your body unsure of how else to deal with the grief that was spreading through your blood like a dull fire.

Moments after arriving at the bar, early for your shift as always, Vander had pulled you aside and quietly informed you that he’d caught Silco kissing his ex-girlfriend outside The Drop, only a few minutes before you’d gotten there.

Your heart felt like it had been broken in two.

Vander had been very sympathetic and had tried to comfort you as you stood in the bar struggling to catch your breath, but you wouldn’t let him. Instead, you’d ignored his pleas to sit on the sofa downstairs, and had stumbled away from the stifling noises of the regulars.

You couldn’t be anywhere near the place. You couldn’t be anywhere near him.

Without really knowing for sure how you’d gotten there, you’d ended up at the one place you always go to when you’re feeling upset. A place where no-one could find you whilst you took the time to process whatever was plaguing your mind.

That is, all except one person, who is no doubt the cause of the scuffling noise you can hear behind you, as you sit with your knees hugged to your chest, hiding behind the large ventilator shaft.

You struggle not to sigh loudly in frustration as the tell-tale sound of him climbing the pipes and onto the roof interrupts your miserable ruminations.

Really, it was your own fault. You should have picked a different place to wallow in your misery, because the one person who knew of your secret sanctuary was the one person you just couldn’t stand to see right now.

The noises stop and you keep your back flush against the cool metal, spotting a tall figure peering around it from the corner of your eye. There’s a noticeable drop in his shoulders when he discovers you, but you continue staring straight ahead at the glow of the city.

From sheer stubbornness alone, you refuse to look at him because if you do, you know that you’ll start to cry again. And right now, he doesn’t deserve your tears.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Silco says, relief seeping through his words, “I was worried about you.”

You fight the urge to scoff.

Completely unaware of your bitter heartbreak, Silco takes a seat on the floor next to you, pushing back the longer strands of hair that frame his face with one hand.

“Vander said you were upset but wouldn’t tell me why,” he continues, his tone of voice terribly gentle and full of concern, “What happened?”

His fingers begin to idly draw patterns on your knee and you hate the way it automatically relaxes your body.

Still unable to speak in a web of hurt and betrayal, you stay silent, closing your eyes as if it would erase all the pain.

To his credit, Silco waits patiently and you can just feel his concerned stare on you as you focus on trying to find those impossible words.

There’s a moment where you debate lying to him, but when you crack open your sore eyelids and finally take a look at him, your chest is filled with an indescribable heaviness, like you’re drowning just from the sight of him.

You can’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“Sil…is it true?”

A stunned pause while Silco visibly processes your words before he frowns, and you loath how endearing he looks as his brow scrunches in confusion.

“Is what true?” he asks gently.

He sounds genuinely confused and you feel sick suddenly thinking about how he’s always been a good actor, especially when it got him out of something.

It almost feels like a slap to the face. How dare he act dumb after betraying you like that.

“Silco, don’t make it worse by treating me like I’m stupid,” you snap, pulling your knees even closer to your chest.

“What are you talking about, my dove?”

The combination of his worried tone and the endearments he always uses to address you make you feel so unsteady, you’re practically shaking. Silco tries to take your hand but you snatch it away from him, blinking away tears as you glare back out towards the city.

“Vander saw you with her,” you spit out.

And Silco does the very worst thing he could do at that moment.

He inhales sharply.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you interpret the sound as the one emotion you’d dreaded finding in him.

Guilt.

Silco says your name shakily and it’s like the dam has burst.

You fight back a sob as you begin to cry again, which makes speaking almost painful, but you carry on regardless.

“After all this time? After everything I’ve done for you? I sat awake night after night worrying about you when you went on all those stupid missions, I patched you up when you came home from a fight with the enforcers, I-”

“Darling, look at me.”

Your jaw hurts from how tightly it's clenched shut and Silco must notice because he slowly reaches out to hold your cheeks, his thumbs absentmindedly wiping away your tears as he gently turns your head to face him.

Nothing could prepare you for the look of pure heartbreak that is etched upon his face, a deep hurt dancing in his eyes that you’ve never seen before in those pools of green.

For a moment, you’re almost pulled into it, ready to forgive him for all his transgressions and for any he might make in the future, right up until he speaks again.

“It’s not what you think-”

And there it is. The spell is broken and you jerk your head away from his grasp.

You’ve heard this kind of denial before, of course you have, but you’d never expected it to come from Silco.

“Let me guess, it’s not me, it’s you?” you interrupt sarcastically. You’re being spiteful on purpose now, a blatant defence mechanism that you refuse to acknowledge.

“No,” he stresses impatiently, “Will you just let me explain?”

You can tell by the little wobble in his voice that he’s holding back, that hotheadedness just itching to break free. But he’s holding back; for you.

Taking a moment to consider his request, you come to the decision that after everything you’ve been through together, you at least owe him a chance to tell you his side of the story.

You nod glumly and he relaxes marginally in response.

“She kissed me and I pushed her away the second I realised what she was doing,” he explains carefully, running his hands through his hair again now that he isn’t allowed to trace constellations on your skin.

The confession makes you pause. Vander didn’t mention anything about Silco pushing her away, but then again, perhaps he didn’t stick around to watch.

“Why would she do that?” you ask, your brow furrowed.

“She came to ask me to run away with her,” he tells you, “Said she has a job in Piltover and still has feelings for me and that she wanted me to leave Zaun to be with her.”

Like you’ve just been smacked in the back of the head, you begin to feel dizzy at the prospect of Silco leaving you to live in Piltover. At the prospect of never seeing him again, of being alone without him, of-

Silco delicately places a finger under your chin and lifts your head to meet his worried gaze.

“I said no.”

Relief immediately sweeps through you.

“Why?” you ask him soberly.

“Because I don’t have feelings for her, never did really,” he tells you nonchalantly. Completely candid, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You tilt your head and are just about to ask him why his ex-girlfriend would think that he did have feelings for her, when he continues speaking.

“And because I love you.”

You think your heart might have stopped for a brief moment. He’s never said that before.

In the wake of his series of confessions, you can only gawp at him, feeling positively overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions you’d found yourself on.

“Look, I’ll prove it to you,” he says, taking advantage of your stunned silence.

Silco reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope that is clearly unopened.

He twists and turns it between his fingers, letting you see his name written in pretty cursive on the front, and the unbroken seal on the back.

“This is her new address. I haven’t opened it, so I don’t know where she’s going, and I don’t want to know,” Silco stresses, looking you dead in the eye as he does.

His expression still holds that hint of softness that seems to be reserved only for you, despite the lines of seriousness currently framing it.

Then, Silco brings out his lighter and sets the corner of the envelope alight.

You watch in bewilderment as the paper burns to ashes in seconds, fizzling out in a puddle on the roof when Silco drops it to avoid getting burned.

Staring at the now ashen puddle, you think you believe him.

He wasn’t cheating on you. It was all just a terrible misunderstanding.

But in spite of your relief, you still find yourself needing more clarification.

“Why didn’t you get rid of it straight away?” you ask, wiping the remaining tears from your face with the backs of your hands.

“Because I went to look for you as soon as she left. I thought you’d still be at your apartment, but you must have already set off,” he replies.

You must have just missed each other, which would explain why it took so long for Silco to find you. He must have traipsed back and forth across the city a few times before he got to you.

Silco inches closer to you, slowly reaching out for your hand.

“I would never leave you for her. I wouldn’t leave you for anyone,” he says earnestly. “You’re everything to me.”

Looking up at his face, you allow him to take your hand in his as it all finally clicks for you.

Of course he’d never hurt you like that.

“Oh, Sil. I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” you sigh, resting your head back on the cool metal behind you, “It’s just when Vander told me, I didn’t know what to think.”

At your obvious emotional exhaustion, Silco puts his arms around you, pulling you into his warm embrace. He always knew how to make you feel better.

“I know, sweetheart. I just wish you could have heard it from me first,” he tells you with his own sigh.

You both sit for a quiet few moments, your head resting against his chest as he gently cards his hand through your hair.

Honestly, you’re just glad it was only a misunderstanding. That it was over now and you could go back to normal.

As you’re running through everything that had just happened in your head, trying to figure out what to do now you’re missing your shift at work, you remember something Silco had said that you didn’t get a chance to respond to.

Something you’d been trying to find the courage to say to him for a long time.

You pull back slightly in his grasp and look up at him, watching his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Silco?” you ask, in a whisper.

“Yes, my sweet?” he says gently.

“I love you too.”

And you do. Now, as he’s looking at you like you single-handedly created the skies and the oceans, more than ever.

Silco’s lips curl into the most beautiful, perfectly imperfect smile and he leans forwards to press them against yours in an ardent kiss.

Yes, you’d certainly found that long-awaited passion in your life, and it had come in the most wonderful form possible.

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @steponmesilco

#silco #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you #silco arcane #silco fic #silco request

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anarchotahdigism · 2 months

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Has anyone seen statements from Hezbollah regarding the red line violation of mass interning of Gazans into Rafah? Like, what is Hezbollah's red line for all-out action? They've been steadily degrading occupation military capacity and forcing a third of the occupation's military to stay up in the north of occupied Palestine but they've got significant military resources still held in reserve The Egyptian regime said that the relocation en masse of Palestinians into Egypt was a red line, which was why the regime then fortified the Rafah area to prevent that. Jordan is straight up allowing goods and materiel to reach the occupation, going so far as to forming much of the bulk of trucks transporting freight from Gulf oil states. Iran is as ever saber rattling and providing minimal backing to various groups that are striking targets of opportunity but it too could easily step up efforts but then that risks war which the populace doesn't want. Iran is still grappling with the still ongoing feminist protests against mandatory hijab and theocracy so the regime is loathe to do anything more unpopular. The Iranian regime also relies on the status quo of Israel and the US so it can justify its existence as necessary to the protection of Iranian peoples. The various small Iranian resistance groups are largely too busy trying to survive the Iranian regime to commit any aid to Palestine & the bulk of protests have largely died down in Iran and they were always focused on neoliberal revolution rather than the complete liberation of all Iranian peoples. The beating heart of the Jina Amini rebellion was and is the Kurdish struggle for autonomy, supported by other indigenous people occupied by the perseosupremacist Iranian regime's but it feels like that's been recuperated and coopted and suborned, similar to the developments of the BLM movement in the US. So I don't see much support from Iranians beyond what is happening now. I keep wondering when people will do more to stop the occupation of Palestine but it's all just cold, bloody, political, self-interested calculus for authoritarians. There still haven't been actual riots and only sporadic direct action in support of Palestinians & the situation is far far worse than it was in 2021 or even just a few months ago. People under occupation and oppression always deserve immediate action now, liberation now.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free None of us is free til all of us are free Jin, jiyan, azadi

#free palestine #palestine #gaza #genocide #anarchism #anticapitalism #anarchotahdigism #death to all states #settler colonialism

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 7 months

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Psycho Analysis: Red

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Jordan Peele’s Us is a divisive horror film, mainly because everyone takes in-universe guesswork at face value. But what I don’t think anyone could call divisive is the film’s antagonist, a doppelganger (or Tethered, as the movie calls them) who decides that living trapped underground ain’t all it’s cracked up to be and decides to take on the surface. She’s an absolutely fantastic villain, and…

Well, let’s just start this before I say too much. Take heed of that warning, though, because this review spoils the film’s big twist.

Motivation/Goals: I mean, it should be obvious that her goal is to no longer exist in the underground and to be free to experience the upper world. Who wouldn’t want that, right? Does living off a diet of rabbits and being forced to crudely mimic the actions of the person you’re a duplicate of, all while having only basic levels of intelligence and being kept out of view deep underground sound like a fun existence to you? In a way, the actions of our villain are completely understandable. She just wanted out, the chance to have the freedoms and opportunities her victim was offered and that she was denied down in those tunnels.

Performance: Lupita Nyong’o is pulling double duty here, playing both the protagonist Adelaide and the antagonist, Red. She’s killing it in both roles, convincingly portraying both characters while giving each of them distinct and distinguishing traits to differentiate them despite one being the doppelganger of the other.

Final Fate: In the final battle, Red is fatally wounded by Adelaide, who takes her son and escapes with her family. It ends up being a pretty dark ending, for reasons that will become clear shortly.

Best Scene: The final battle is a work of art. Red deftly maneuvers around Adelaide, dancing about and toying with her while diving in for strikes here and there. The music, the movement, the foreshadowing of the movie’s big twist… That’s what cinema is all about, baby!

youtube

Final Thoughts & Score: Did this all seem kind of vague and brief? Well guess what, that’s because there’s a big twist here! You see, while Red is undeniably the main antagonist, there is another villain in the film lurking right under our noses… And the one this review is also about.

Psycho Analysis: Adelaide Wilson

In a heavily foreshadowed and kind of obvious twist, it turns out that Adelaide was the original doppelganger and Red was the original Adelaide, and during that fateful night on the boardwalk their places were switched. Adelaide damned Red to a lifetime of suffering below ground so that she could escape and live her life freely, without a care for the other disenfranchised Tethered wandering around in the tunnels, feasting on rabbits and being forced into a psychic link with those above.

Ultimately, it reinforces the core theme about how those in the higher echelons of society tend to get there by standing on the backs of the disenfranchised, as well as how even those who clawed their way up from poverty and whatnot can forget their roots and turn a blind eye to the same pain they once suffered so long as it’s happening to someone else. The numerous weird logical inconsistencies of the film are almost daring you to pick at them rather than acknowledge the simple yet uncomfortable truths Adelaide herself embodies.

It’s ultimately hard for me to truly label Red as a genuine villain as opposed to a victim of circumstance who decided violent, bloody revolution against the ruling class forcing her and the Tethered to exist in squalor was necessary, especially since she was subjected to horrific trauma (including rape, considering the way she talks about how her children were conceived). But at the same time, it’s hard to label Adelaide as truly evil as well—Can I truly fault her when, as a child, she did something drastic and cruel so she could escape her own torturous existence? Would she not have been subjected to the same horrible existence that Red was, only without the hope to one day spark a rebellion due to the nature of the Tethered? She only got as intelligent as she was because she was given opportunities and privileges the other Tethered are denied, so if she hadn’t switched places the events of the film could have been avoided… which means the Tethered would still be suffering out of sight and out of mind.

It’s an interesting dilemma we have on our hands here, and it’s one of the reasons why the movie is so fantastic. Is anyone truly evil here, or are these just the actions of desperate individuals who want to improve their lot in life and see no other way than to resort to extremes? I think that both things are true in this case. While both women are incredibly sympathetic in their motivations, both still do some incredibly heinous actions.

Adelaide is the more obvious of the two in this regard: It is her actions as a child that set this whole plot in motion. Surely there was a better way than knocking out the girl she was a clone of and forcing her into the miserable life she herself wanted to escape? Could she not have simply tagged along after her, and maybe lived as a twin or even just alerted the world to the presence of the Tethered? It may seem rather excessive to hold this against a child, but she never made any effort to rescue her family or Red from the life she left behind. She seemed to simply forget them until the Tethered uprising began. It’s rather cold and cruel, especially when considering how good a mother and person she was able to become while blending into humanity.

Red may not seem quite as bad when the twist comes around, but I think it actually reveals just how bad she had become in her years of isolation from humanity. She manipulates her son Pluto into immolating himself, and she refers to her daughter Umbrae as a monster. It’s to the point where, in Umbrae’s dying moments, all she can do is quietly sob until Adelaide gives her comfort—likely the only maternal affection the girl ever experienced. Need proof? I saved the Best Quote segment for here, taken from her introductory speech:

“Once upon a time, there was a girl and the girl had a shadow. The two were connected, tethered together. When the girl ate, her food was given to her warm and tasty. But when the shadow was hungry, she had to eat rabbit raw and bloody. On Christmas, the girl received wonderful toys; soft and cushy. But the shadow's toys were so sharp and cold they sliced through her hands and fingers when she tried to play with them. The girl met a handsome prince and fell in love. But the shadow at that same time had Abraham. It didn't matter if she loved him or not. He was tethered to the girl's prince after all. Then the girl had her first child, a beautiful baby girl. But the shadow, she gave birth to a little monster! Umbrae was born laughing. The girl had a second child, a boy this time. They had to cut her open and take him from her belly. The shadow had to do it all herself. She named him Pluto, he was born to love fire. So you see, the shadow hated the girl so much for so long...until one day the shadow realized she was being tested by God.”

While the fact remains that their births are surrounded by horrible implications, they are ultimately innocent children that their own mother inflicted her suffering upon, and who she freely used and discarded without a care because she didn’t see them as “real.” Even her Tethered husband has a moment of hurt at how dismissive she is of him. Where Adelaide blended into human society and learned how to blend in and be a good person and a good mother (despite her wicked actions as a child), Red grew to become a cold, unfeeling monster molded by her brutal circumstances. Red’s humanity was stripped from her, and she became more like the Tethered than even she would like to believe.

So, what do I even give these two characters? They’re evil, but they might be some of the most sympathetic villains I’ve ever covered. It’s genuinely hard to fault their actions, but it’s pretty impossible to defend what they ultimately accomplish. If I have to boil down these incredibly complex and multifaceted characters to a simple numerical score, I’d say that they both deserve an 8/10. But that's an 8/10 I feel is a bit reductive.

#Psycho Analysis #Us #Red #lupita nyong'o #Youtube

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