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therealvinelle · 3 years

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How many people do u think the cullens have killed?

A lot.

I’ll try to answer on a Cullen to Cullen basis, and make my estimate as conservative as possible. Also, for this estimate I'll look only at direct kills, complicity doesn’t count, which for example means I won’t add Royce King II & friends to Carlisle’s count, even though he made himself complicit when he helped Rosalie plot their murders.

Without further ado:

Alice has had her accidents, plural, so 2≤ humans. After joining the Cullens, mind you, we don’t know how she lived as a newborn. I’d guess her visions told her to feed from animal blood early on, to accustom her to it sooner rather than later so life among the Cullens would be easier. The interesting thing about Alice having a body count is that her gift should be helpful in avoiding these kinds of situations, meaning that Alice’s accidents have caught her unawares. So, we have at least two humans, and considering the newborn army the number might be higher. Might. Jasper tried his damndest to keep Alice safe in that fight, so it stands to reason he killed anyone who got close to her. Alice might not have had the chance to kill any newborns. If she did, and counting kills she helped with, then I’d put my estimate at a conservative 0-1. Then we have Rosalie, who says she has the second best streak in the family, second only to Carlisle. Rose killed 5 humans (she corrects herself a bit later to 7, but this doesn’t make a difference. She’s still second best to Carlisle). She admittedly doesn’t mention Alice, but if Alice had a better record than her she likely would have. Which jumps Alice up another few steps, to 8≤.

Bella hasn’t killed anyone. 0.

Carlisle had a perfect record until the newborn army attacked. So, no humans, but most likely newborns. When Carlisle attacks Bree in “The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner”, it’s a fast and brutal attack. I’ll just paste the scene: A blond vampire glanced at me, meeting my gaze, and his eyes flashed gold in the sunlight. (...) I turned and really ran for the trees (...) I was a few feet into the trees when a force like a wrecking ball hit me from behind and threw me to the ground. An arm slipped under my chin. (The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner, page 91) For the record, holy shit Carlisle, that was so brutal! I can’t believe that the minute Bella steps off screen the guy rips off his shirt and becomes the Terminator. Damn. ... Point being, Carlisle was an active participant in that battle. It makes ethical sense for him to be, the newborns had to die, it would have been hypocritical to tell his family “you guys go roll in the mud, I’m too saintly to get my hands dirty”, and if he didn’t pitch in his family and the shapeshifters would be in danger. It becomes morally just to join in the battle, and with a zeal at that. Or at least that’s how he appears to have reasoned, because holy shit, Carlisle took the gloves off. So, Carlisle can reasonably be assumed to have killed at least 1 newborn, likely more. I’d say 3 at the most, though there’s the possibility that he co-opted some kills with the others. (I have more thoughts further down).

Edward left for four years to eat people. At first he ate junkies and homeless people, they did not taste good. Would this have motivated him to eat more than one every fortnight? Alas, I’m keeping my estimate conservative, so let’s wager no. So, one human per fortnight for four years. 26*4=104. That’s the lowest possible estimate of people Edward killed, though I’m inclined to think higher. Given his mission to stop evil, if Edward found a rapist it’s not like he’d go “aw shucks, I can’t kill him yet because it hasn’t been a full two weeks!” Add Victoria to that count, and we’re at 105≤.

Emmett killed his two singers, but considering Rosalie’s statement he too falls under the 8≤ number. He helped kill James, which adds +1 to the vampire tally. Then comes the newborn battle. Bree sees him kill one of the newborns, so we know he got some action. I’ll make the same assumption as I did for Carlisle, which is 1-3. So, 2-4 vampires total.

Esme is explicitly stated to have a worse record than Rosalie. She has killed 8 people or more. As for the newborn army, I’m not sure I can picture it. If Esme did kill anyone, I imagine it was along with others. Let’s put her down for 1.

Jasper my poor guy, he’s in another league. Turned in 1863, he lived with Maria until 1938, then met Alice and became a vegetarian in 1948. He’s had a few accidents since. From 1863 to 1938 I think we should assume one person per week, as strength was paramount in the world of newborn armies, blood was a reward for soldiers, and Jasper won Maria a lot of territory. They would not want for blood, and he recounts she rewarded him often. So, 52*75=3900 dead humans. Jasper then runs off with Peter and Charlotte, presumably eating at a normal rate of every other week. We don’t know when he split off from them, but let’s assume an even split and that he left after five years, leaving another five years of lone wandering where he tried to starve himself. So, 26*5=130 for his years with Peter and Charlotte, then assuming he made it a month each fast before surrendering, 13*5=75 for the lone years. We then have accidents. He’s had more accidents than any of the other Cullen children (I don’t think it’s every actually specified that he’s had more accidents than them all, meaning Esme could still have slipped more), putting him at 9≤ accidents. Then comes the vampires he’s killed. We know he killed Nettie, Lucy, and James, so that’s 3. Newborns take time to train, but to make up for that we have a lot of armies. Let’s assume Maria’s army got into one battle every six months. Let’s assume Jasper always killed at least 1 vampire. (See what I meant by conservative? In my defense, Victoria’s army was huge and not at all representative) That’s 130≤ vampires. Jasper also mentions that as a newborn he kept getting into fights with his brothers-in-arms, he killed several. So, let’s assume 4≤, since it sounds like it was certainly more than 2. More numerous are the vampires he executed. Jasper’s gift meant Maria could have a lot more soldiers than most, and he doubled her army’s numbers. His first major accomplishment was to make her an army of 23 newborns. Assuming he kept up this good work, knowing as we do that Jasper was the only vampire Maria never replaced, and assuming some newborns were lost to infighting or battles, we can assume a replacement cycle of Maria needing 20 vampires executed on a yearly basis. 20*75 = 1500. Which... does feel a little high, but Jasper’s backstory is extreme. As for the newborn battle, let’s assume 4.

Renesmée hasn’t killed anyone either, 0.

Rosalie we know for sure, 7 humans. Let’s assume as with Carlisle and Emmett that she took out 1-3 vampires.

(NOTE: When it comes to how many newborns from Victoria’s army each Cullen killed, all we can do is estimate:

The Cullens divided evenly with the shapeshifters. There were 16 newborns at the battle, giving us 8 newborns per Cullen. There were 6 Cullens present, meaning at least 1 each. Jasper did more than his fair share, and Alice and Esme can both be speculated to have been smaller parts in this battle. I think it’s fair to assume Carlisle, Emmett, and Rosalie killed at least 1 newborn each, though likely more, especially if we take shared kills into consideration. I think 1-3 is a fair assumption, and I’m tempted to assume Jasper killed was everywhere and it feels like lowballing to estimate 4.)

Total:

Alice: 8≤ humans, 0-1** vampire. 9 total

Bella: 0

Carlisle*: 1-3**, all vampires.

Edward: 104≤ humans, 1 vampire. 105≤ total

Emmett: 8≤ humans, 2-4** vampires. 10≤ total

Esme: 8≤ humans, 1 vampire. 9≤ total

Jasper: 4105≤ humans, 1638≤** vampires. 5743≤ total

Renesmée: 0

Rosalie*: 7 humans, 1-3** vampires. 8≤ total

*with both Carlisle and Rosalie we have an upper limit. Carlisle’s body count can’t be higher than 15, and Rosalie’s can’t be higher than 22 (I get the number 15 from 16-1 newborns, as there’s one vampire we know for a fact was killed by Emmett alone) and that would be in an extremely contrived scenario where he or she was somehow everywhere at once.

** when adding up the total of vampires killed by Cullens at the newborn army, regardless of the composition of who killed who, the sum is (assuming an even split with the shapeshifters) 8.

Added together, this gives us:

4240≤ humans and 1643≤ vampires.

If we remove Jasper’s past from the equation, because newborn army George who spent 75 years in a newborn army killing every day is an outlier and should not have been counted, then the tally becomes:

144≤ humans and 10 vampires.

If we remove Edward’s rebellious era from the equation, as he was not a Cullen at the time, the human tally sinks to:

40≤ humans. (This is counting Rosalie’s revenge. There have been 33≤ accidents.)

This is the lowest possible estimate. The number is likely higher.

Special thanks to @theunexpectedness on the Twilight Forever discord for digging up her copy of “The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner” for me so I could get my quotes straight.

Also, feel free to point out errors in the math. I’m sure I’ve made some.

#alice cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmet cullen #emmett cullen #(no i still haven't decided how many t's)#jasper hale #rosalie hale #renesmée cullen #twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight meta #Anonymous #ask #long post

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undignifiend · 3 years

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Some notes about Dezoka’s formative experiences; why she decided to abandon her post as a changeling and join up with the Gumm-Gumms on the frontlines, what she believes is at stake if Gunmar falls, and some speculating on shenanigans during a low-key return to the surface - at least before any world-changing operations.

+As a whelp she had a knack for dodging, climbing, sneaking, and escaping, but she was not at all inclined to fight. It was figured that if she had any use, it would probably be in learning subterfuge and how to blend in with and spy on humans. Not to say that being a changeling is at all easy - it was simply the role that she seemed to have something of a shot at, particularly if she could maintain a low-level information-gathering position. Besides, if she couldn’t manage to sharpen her fangs among fleshbags, she wouldn’t last long anyway.

+In her youth, trolls and humans were constantly fighting over territory and resources. And to her eyes, the Gumm-Gumms were the only ones willing to stand up to the humans while everyone else hid. At the time, she was prone to hiding, too. She didn’t want to get hurt, but the more she thought about it, the more she despised the idea of anyone else getting hurt on her behalf, or just because she was too afraid to stand up. That was a crucial shift for her, and is the core of her idealized vision of the Gumm-Gumms and their Underlord, and why she wants to be one of them.

+That particular shift happened while witnessing a human raid on a troll village, where a small group of Gumm-Gumms were stuck fighting the humans off. She was already integrated with a human peasant family, and prone to sneaking out to trollish villages, markets, and hideouts. She understood enough to know that she wouldn’t be welcome among trolls, but it was enough to hide nearby and take in familiar sights, sounds, and scents of an older home she couldn’t quite remember. When the raid hit, she knew she might die if she tried to fight, but she also knew that if she just ran, she’d regret it forever. So she made a nuisance of herself, mostly by distracting and disrupting the humans’ tactics; tripping them, stealing their weapons, and switching to human form to avoid death by sunlight while propping up temporary shade for the real fighters. The Gumm-Gumms won that fight just as their reinforcements arrived, and she scampered off as quickly as she could, feeling like her whole world had just opened up. She knew where she wanted to spend her life, and commenced planning to get there.

+She was rather judgmental toward Dwoza for their initial “keep our heads down until this blows over” policy. The humans didn’t seem to care what faction a troll belonged to, they were ready to kill any they found. So it felt to her like Dwoza was using the Gumm-Gumms as a convenient and expendable shield against a common enemy, and she couldn’t pretend she had any respect for (what she saw as) a decision to just stand back and let others take all the risks for them. Dwoza siding with the humans at Killahead surprised and confused the hell out of her for a good long while. She’s had centuries to think (and occasionally rant) about it, and has come to think of Merlin’s Amulet as both a bribe (a powerful weapon to convince Dwoza to side with them) and a Trojan Horse (to make trolls keep themselves in line, prioritizing the wellbeing of humans over themselves). Hearing that it’s most recent champion is human just looks to her like the mask coming off. Trolls may have wielded it for centuries, but it has remained a human weapon all along.

+(Almost) nothing will supersede her loyalty to Gunmar. He’s her king, and her hero, and she believes in his vision for the future.

+The only exception that might contest her loyalty is the safety of her familiar. Dezoka doesn’t like being a changeling, but she has fond memories of her familiar’s family, and loves Danica like a little sister, and has gone to great lengths to hide her, and wants to find some way to give her a good, secure life.

+Due to her experiences, she is willing to fight and kill humans if she believes it is necessary - especially where the wellbeing of trolls is concerned, and she follows Gunmar’s judgement of that - but she also understands that humans are not so simple as to be easily summed up. If she has a soft spot for them, it’s a small one, tinged with distant memories of songs and stories around fire-pits, careful instruction on how to fell a tree, re-thatch a leaky roof, or weave fibers into cloth, scary and thrilling stories about trolls, and comforting, well-meaning arms when the loneliness of her secret got overwhelming. They’re not evil, and she doesn’t have the luxury of kidding herself. They’re just people. Albeit, people who have a tendency of causing problems for trolls.

+Secretly disinclined to eat human flesh, but not out of any notion that humans are special. If offered (and not pressured into eating it by someone of higher rank, or if not currently starving), she’ll “save it for later” and use it for bartering, bribes, or gifts. Fighting and killing them is one thing, but “cleaning up after” (while practical, especially when food is scarce) often comes with a lot of “this is your place, you arrogant fleshbags” / “we’re superior to you” baggage that ruins her appetite anyway - partly because she knows that’s exactly how she’ll be treated if anyone finds out she’s Impure. And she believes she doesn’t have to think of humans as prey, or reassure herself with stories about natural hierarchy, in order to fight them effectively. And unless it has to do with orders from her king and superiors, or keeping her team functioning well, she doesn’t give a damn about hierarchy or “one’s rightful place” anyway. She made her own.

+Dezoka has heard scary reports of what a trashfire the fleshbags have turned the Surface into while the Gumm-Gumms have been locked away. She’s upset about it, and she believes the Eternal Night is important not just for Trollkind, but for the Surface itself. As she sees it, someone’s gotta get the humans to back off, or they’ll just keep doing more damage (pollution, mass extinction, etc) until they, too, die out, and leave the Surface an even more barren wasteland than the Darklands. And having everyone (regardless of species) retreat to the Darklands just to survive a little longer would be the most tragic failure/death/defeat imaginable, in her mind. She believes that without Gunmar, that would be the way the world ends, so it is absolutely paramount that he survives and succeeds.

+She has a hard time getting close to people. Partly because death is fairly common in the Darklands, and partly because anyone finding out her secret would risk getting both her and her familiar killed, and she wants to limit those chances. She can bundle with others for warmth, tackle someone out of the way of a projectile, or appreciate and crack jokes with her fellows in grim situations, but she doesn’t yet feel comfortable with “unnecessary” physical contact or emotional intimacy. It’s not that she doesn’t like it - she sees it as a luxury she can’t afford.

Potential AU shenanigans where the Gumm-Gumms return to the Surface:

+Loses her composure over the smell of woodsmoke. It’s the detail that cements it for her that they’re finally back on the Surface. Also has a little trouble with the open sky and sometimes loses her balance when she feels like she might fall up. Closing her eyes helps. Needs a bit of an adjustment period at first.

+Due to Dez’s tactical and combat prowess as a Gumm-Gumm captain, her loyalty, and her ability to (reluctantly) disguise as human, Gunmar could (if he saw fit, and before she pulls anymore Danica-transporting shenanigans) assign her to bodyguard individuals beyond a troll’s reach during the day once they return to the Surface - especially ones who are likely to see combat and need backup. She doesn’t have the raw hitting power of a troll, but she has good pain tolerance and reflexes, generally knows what she’s doing, and coordinating with teams is where she really shines. Her usual role against tougher opponents involves knocking them off balance and provoking openings in their defenses for her team to exploit (which she will also exploit whenever she has a sufficiently clear shot). She’s like an aggressive evasion-tank. But in any 1v1, she’ll do her best to strike hard and fast and end it quickly. Slow, horrible, and painful is all well and good, but she’s got work to do.

+Remembers very little about how to blend in with humans, and acts like a Gumm-Gumm even in human form. She wants to do her job well, so she takes any instruction on the modern world very seriously, though she also tends to get frustrated when she’s confused (which is most of the time - being on the Surface again is rather overwhelming at first, and it’s not the Surface she remembers). She’s alert and effective at protecting those she’s assigned to, but also occasionally needs to be stopped from committing theft, assault, drinking perfume, climbing buildings, making cookfires and ‘ghost fences’ wherever she wants, rolling around in dust or mud baths, wearing ash and/or coal-based warpaint, or growling when she’s irritated, confused, excited, or worried. Can be taught to ‘store’ her armor and parlock spear on her trollish form so she won’t be caught unarmed if she needs to change quickly.

+Will also contend with anxiety over taking human form again after she’s worked all her life to deny that it even exists. Won’t like looking at mirrors (will only really do so if she’s checking in on Danica) or her own hands (both pinkies are missing, too), and will be all the more inclined to distract herself with work. Without sufficient distractions, she might turn to substance abuse to ease some of the stress if she thinks she can get away with it and still do her job.

+Likes to rest outside. Very light sleeper. Even cool nights are warm when compared to the Darklands, and she likes to watch the stars and feel the Earth turn. Stargazing is (despite the light pollution) one of the few things left that still feels like the world she remembers.

#yet more Dezoka notes #changeling oc #Gumm-Gumm oc #this twit has opinions #which she won't dare talk about so i gotta write them in notes #go to sleep 'fiend it's 5am again

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bubblebuckys · 4 years

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𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

chapter warnings: none, i think, but don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything i should add

word count: 1.6k

a/n: just letting you know, this is a written chapter, and it's unedited. taglist is opening. reblogs make me happy

series masterlist —— main masterlist

The line rings a couple more times, and you’re sure James isn’t going to answer, but just as you prepare to press the little red button before you can get sent to voicemail, the line connects and a gravelly voice rings in your ear.

“Sweetheart?”

Oh wow, his voice.

Your breath stalls. His voice. Oh, wow. James hadn’t been at all enthusiastic when you asked if he would ever send you a picture of himself. You let it go immediately because you knew how being unsure of your looks felt. It had taken a while to be comfortable taking a selfie, and then another while to post any. You also knew how it felt when people tried to convince you you were pretty. You knew you were pretty. But other people online, strangers especially, could be assholes.

But over the months, you had left subtle hints that James had nothing to worry about. You liked him because he was funny, smart, compassionate, and sweet.

His voice was just another plus.

“Y/N?” James asks, his voice now unsure compared to before when it had been a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

Your head shakes and you breathing resumes. “Hey! Hi.” Clearing your throat so you don’t sound too excited, because, yeah, that totally works, you continue. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t answer.”

His low chuckle sends a thrill down your spine. “Sorry. I was watching a movie and didn’t want anyone to hear us.”

“Oh,” you frown. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting time with your friends?”

“Nono!” There’s a clatter and a slight thumping on the other end. “We live together and they kinda dragged me into a movie night. Trust me, you’re saving me.”

“Well, what movie was it?” you laugh before another question comes to mind. “How many friends do you live with?”

There’s a pause.

“Like, ten.” Another godsent laugh rings through the speaker. “Usually.”

“Usually? Ten?”

James inhales sharply. “Uh, yeah. We live in a pretty big place together, and some have their own place but stay over sometimes.”

“Like a never-ending sleepover. Sounds fun.” You think. You’d only ever been to one sleepover in your life and it had ended for you when you began crying for your mom to pick you up early.

“Sometimes it is. But other times we bud heads a lot.” Despite the words, there’s a fondness in his voice that reveals the annoyance that may come with living with so many friends add to happy memories. “Like tonight, one wanted to watch Star Trek and Clint wanted to watch Mean Girls or something.”

“Mean Girls?” Your ear practically perk up. You could enjoy Star Trek, but—Mean Girls.

“You know it?”

And you would have laughed this question off had he said it sarcastically, because who doesn’t know it, but James’s voice pitches a note higher in surprise, and whatever he had been doing that made background noise ceases.

Just to be sure, you laugh. “Who doesn’t?”

James stays quiet.

“James—” a pause, and you whisper, “I don’t know your last name,” before continuing with a stronger voice. “James Just James, are you telling me you’ve never even heard of Mean Girls before tonight?”

“. . . James Just James has not,” he admits. He’s embarrassed, but amusement seeps into his words so he knows you’re partly teasing, thank god.

James once confirmed to you indirectly that he lives in New York and, now that you hear his voice, has a strong Brooklyn accent. So you’re assuming he at least spent his childhood in Brooklyn, and you refuse to believe anyone who’s spent so much time in the country hasn’t at least heard of the movie unless they’re living without technology, which is impossible because you’re on the phone with him and he tweets with an iPhone.

“So what movie did you guys settle on?” You take a sip from the drink James bought you, frowning a bit because you know James was right about the cramps and now you feel a little guilty. Then you laugh as you begin reaching for your laptop where you have your movies stored.

A sigh sounds from the line, and you get the feeling that James knows what you’re doing. “Star Trek won.” And then something that resembles a whimper leaves him. “You should be honored. I like those movies, but I chose to talk to you, and now I’m taking this abuse.”

You bite your lip. “Do you want to go back to your movie night with your friends?”

The question holds extra weight than it normally would. It’s an attempt to find where you stand with him and an out.

“I really don’t.” His voice was already deep the second you heard it, but it drops a few octaves. For what, you’re not sure, but it is definitely appreciated. Maybe he did it so he got his point across, but it doesn’t have his desired effect. He just said he wants to talk to you in a voice that has you feeling twenty degrees hotter.

Your brain buffers and you lose track of what you were doing, so you hum. “Cool.” What had you just been talking about?

Internet Explorer level speed and alertness.

It isn’t until you feel the cold liquid of your drink that had tipped over and was slowly leaking onto your thighs and bedsheets that you gain awareness.

“Shit.” Even then, you move through figurative molasses before shaking your head and rushing to pick the drink up and move over to assess the damage.

It’s only a small spot on your comforter, your pajama pants taking most of the spill, and most of what’s left of the drink is the strawberries and ice.

“What’s wrong?”

And because you’re still not completely back online yet, you say, “I wet the bed. And my pants.”

Internet. Explorer.

The extra twenty degrees are back, but for all the wrong reasons, and along with it are chills at the horror of what came from your mouth. You face twists at the odd blend of stimulus on your body.

James’s laughter reverberates throughout your cramped studio apartment, and you groan. “That’s not what I meant.” But you’re sure he doesn’t hear you over the sound of his own guffaws.

You like how he sounds laughing this joyfully, but damn the context.

“I—” he nearly chokes on his own words, and what started as a laughing fit has now turned into a mix of laughing and fighting to breathe. Finally, he coughs one last time and inhales deeply to obtain whatever air he lost. “I’m sorry. You what?” His voice is shaky on account of trying to repress any lingering giggles he still has within him.

You sigh and squish your cheeks to keep your own smile down. “I spilled the drink a bit.”

He laughs lightly for a couple more seconds at your admission. “How?”

“Uh.” And now you’re sweating. How do you say your voice makes me weak without sounding like a creep? “I was distracted.”

He lets loose the remaining laughs he had held back for your benefit. And now you can’t hide your own smile, and soon enough you chuckles join his.

As he’s catching his breath again, you make your way to you dresser to pull out another pair of bottoms. “Hey,” you call because you left your phone on speaker on your bed. “Would you like to watch Mean Girls so you’re not the only person in the world who doesn’t know about it anymore?”

“How?”

You jump back onto the bed, grabbing hold of your laptop in the middle of your rolling. “You have FaceTime right?”

“Uhh . . . I think I have it,” he mutters.

You’re first worries when you first met James was that he had actually been an old man. You want to roll your eyes. No, no. He wasn’t an old man, but he sounded as technologically inept as one.

“It should be an option on the call screen,” you help, clicking on the movie and pausing before it can begin. “I really can’t believe how you even knew about Twitter in the first place.”

“My friend said I made too many bad jokes and needed to find a way to share them without actually saying them. My other friend showed me a video on it the next day.” He sounds distracted as he looked for the aforementioned option. “Found it. But, would you be able to see my face?”

“Only if you want me to,” you assured quickly, setting your phone on the makeshift stand that you had placed on your windowsill. You aimed it at an angle that would allow James to watch the movie with you. “I won’t be looking at my phone, and you can flip your camera so only whatever’s in front of you is showing.”

A second later, there’s a vibrating beside you and you only peek at the screen for a second so you’re sure your finger is on the right place to answer the call.

“Hey,” you greet, again, to make sure the sound’s alright.

He laughs when you poke your head into the camera’s line of sight when the lack of response worries you. “Sorry, I was getting comfortable.”

“Okay, are you sure you want to watch this movie? Or did I pressure you to say yes?”

James hums his affirmation. “I want to watch it. Clint said it was a comedy.”

You smile, giddy at finally talking to him, instead of messaging, even if it was on the phone. First date, pops into your head without your say, but you brush it off. It wasn’t a date. Even though you always thought staying in to watch movies together would make for a cute date.

You press the spacebar at his okay and watch as the Paramount opening begins.

< two-and-a-half —— four >

taglist: @marvelshit99 @jhangelface0523 @willowtree42095 @moshymosh @a-book-pressed-rose

#Polyonymous #social media au #avengers social media au #bucky barnes social media au #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barness x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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reggiehargreeves · 4 years

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Hargreeves + DnD

I started playing DnD earlier this year and it’s become my weekly escape and obsession, and because my brain is a *dumpster* I’ve been thinking about each of the Hargreeves siblings and which DnD class + subclass they’d be if they were characters. In fact, I have spent TOO MUCH time thinking about it. Call it a US election coping mechanism. Spoilers for the show under the cut.

Luther - Paladin, Oath of Devotion. I thought fighter or barbarian would be too obvious of choices. Paladins are hardy adventurers, driven by a belief in something, most typically a divine figure. For most of his life, Luther lives in service to his father because he believes, deep down, despite how cruel and strict Reginald is, it’s all for a better, higher cause. He makes excuses for Reginald’s abuse until he absolutely can’t, which shatters him a bit. It’s only when he transfers 100% of his loyalty, belief, and love to his family, is he righted again. For his subclass, I considered Oath of Redemption, but I think Devotion fits our big guy better.

Diego - Rogue, Swashbuckler. Maybe this choice is a bit obvious, but it’s difficult for me to imagine Diego as anything else! Rogues are more than capable combatants, but are also known for their reliance on stealth and cunning. Now...Diego may have his moments where he is decidedly not cunning, but he wouldn’t be a Hargreeves if he could fire more than 3 brain cells at a time. I almost went with Assassin for the subclass, but I also don’t think my bb is necessarily sneaky enough, hence Swashbuckler. There’s also the stereotype of the Broody Rogue, and while Diego genuinely has a Tragic Backstory™ and Mommy Issues™, his tough-guy-with-a-gold-and-incredibly-soft-heart nature speaks to the class.

Allison - Bard, College of Eloquence. I can hear you now. But Avery, doesn’t Vanya play the violin??? Yes! But Bards are an expansive class when you look beyond their stereotypes. Bards can be accomplished diplomats and storytellers thanks to their natural charisma. Allison’s power of rumoring others lends itself nicely to the class. She is capable of making others do as she pleases and up until a point in S1, we know she’s used her powers enough to provide herself with a very comfortable life outside the Academy. Bards are also capable of filling ability gaps in parties of adventurers in support roles. Need another sword or caster? Bards can fill that spot. Allison’s power, like Klaus’s, is more subtle than Luther and Diego, but as we saw in her fights with Cha Cha and Lila, she’s more than capable of holding her own in a physical fighter when she needs to.

Klaus - Wizard, School of Necromancy. I mean, you knew it was going to be a necromancer of some kind, right? Our spindly boy is our reluctant wizard of the party. Klaus can commune with the ghosts of the dead, and is not only able to speak with them, but also capable of commanding and even touching them. Necromancy is considered taboo in the world of DnD, and most societies frown upon wizards just up and reviving dead loved ones. Klaus, for the most part, hates his power. As a child, Reginald locks him in a mausoleum to be tormented by the long-dead ghosts that live there in an attempt to make him “”stronger””, and he is traumatized. As a teenager and adult, he develops addictions to numb himself from facing the dead. For most of his life, the only positive thing to come from his power is his ability to summon Ben. He doesn’t come into his powers for several years. Klaus would make a fascinating inspiration for a reluctant I’d-rather-not-use-my-natural-abilities necromancer. Runner up: Grave Domain Cleric.

Five - Warlock, no subclass choice at the moment. I struggled with Five as he, to our knowledge, is perhaps the smartest of the siblings. This is partly due to his lived experience, as well as the work he put into figuring out his time traveling abilities. It speaks to the whole “warlocks are driven by an insatiable need for knowledge and power”, wherein warlocks seek to strike deals or create pacts with entities far more powerful than them. After getting himself stuck alone in an apocalyptic future for decades, unable to figure out how to get back, he’s approached by the Handler. She offers him 5 years of service, after which he may retire to any time/place he wants. HMMM. How Warlock-y. Anyway, we know that this isn’t the first deal he is forced to strike with the Handler in exchange for knowledge and power.

Ben - Monk, Way of the Astral Self. I really struggled with Ben. My first thought was a Circle of the Moon Druid, BUT I don’t think of Ben as nature-y as a stereotypical Druid. However, he’s fairly shy, studious, and sensitive. Monks also require a mastery over their own body in order to harness both their physical and magical abilities, which reminds me of Ben’s eldritch power. When you have a kind of void or passageway to another hellish dimension in your tummy, learning self-control at an early age is probably paramount. Way of the Astral Self Monks also struggle with their magical ability (ki). To quote DNDBeyond, “They see their mystical energy as a representation of their true form, an astral self. This form has the capacity to be a force of good or destruction, with some monasteries training students to either temper their nature or embrace their impulses.“ We see Ben’s hesitancy to use his power at the bank robbery mission. He doesn’t just kill the perps, he annihilates them, and I’m sure it was not the first time he was forced to do it. Just think of the depressing internal despair that sensitive bb felt after every mission. I’m sure there are plenty of Trauma!Ben fics out there to explain it better.

Vanya - Sorcerer, no subclass choice at the moment. Sorcerers are supposed to be rare in the world of DnD, and if you look at the player’s handbook or do a little reading, you’ll get the gist why. Sorcerers have raw and unpredictable magic flowing beneath their skin. It can be frightening at first, much like Vanya’s discovery of her powers and their suppression, but maybe even intoxicating. Difficult to control when triggered by external forces. Sorcerers are akin to the rage ability of barbarians, and prefer to blast enemies into kingdom come. Sound familiar? I would imagine Vanya much like Klaus in DnD, reluctant to use her powers, especially after finding out just how sideways things can go when she uses them. Yet I also think she’d be excited to be *special* after a lifetime of being told she’s useless.

If you made it this far -- thank you! I am a DnD newbie so I’m sure more veteran players have better choices/ideas/explanations than I do.

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pastorcowboy · 3 years

Text

Why Believe? It’s your choice!

Schrödinger's cat walks into the bar and doesn’t

Why believe Part One: Believing what?

Why believe in anything at all? Philosophy is an interesting cat. Speaking of, Schrödinger's cat is a theory that states that all things are in a state of flux until we observe them. In English it can be described this way. A cat is in a box. Poison is inside the box too. Yet, we cannot see inside it. What is really happening? Is the cat dead or alive? We just don’t know until we lift the box and see the cat. The fascinating part is the possibilities. Is the cat still in the box? Did it escape? What if the cat survived or did not take the poison? Is the cat dead, dead, dead?

Ok, so you are that darn cat. God will put a choice before you. Live or die. It’s your choice. The non-believer will argue that it’s not for God to decide. Yet, believing is a simple choice. You believe in God or you don’t. I get it that some people believe in the spiritual. We will not pray but send good vibes (as if we can). Yet, each one of us are confronted with the issue of God. Is He there or not? That choice will set your path towards heaven or hell. Some will say it’s a path just towards dirt. Fair enough, but that’s it right? Two paths within the unknown. Who will be right about (you) the cat in box?

Is it important to believe? I say it is. There is sadness in me when I think about the wasted time in my past. I floated around for 33 yrs. not really believing in anything. I have often wondered if that is death within itself. Just existing? What kind of existence do you have as a pawn of fate? A pawn to what life throws at you. Why is suicide such a problem these days when we can own so much in a consumer world? Why is drug use up and power drinks so readily available? Why do so many people need an upper to get by. Yet, those who have decided to end their lives know that the upper was never enough. Something is missing. We need to believe in something. Even Hollywood actors and sports stars cave in to the pressure to be something. Especially when something is missing. Evangelist Billy Graham had a tremendous ministry with God. He may be the most famous religious person in the modern era. Yet, his close friend Charles Templeton became an agnostic. He believed in the spiritual but just not Billie’s God. What do you believe in?

We have heard them all. Believe in a higher power, just don’t name it. We send good vibes yet, don’t name where they come from. Wish on a falling star that has what power? Toss a lucky penny or blow on your hands before you roll the dice. My goodness, people cross themselves after a close call or a touchdown. Then we have the others. The ones who say “my God” would not. They equally say “your God” does and my God wouldn’t. Yet, they don’t name their God. Where is the blueprint of this God? For Christians it found in two places. One is the Bible. It’s called God’s word. Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. The other is in the encounter with the living Jesus. I could believe in a moose if I wanted too? What holds you to what you believe?

Trust me, an atheist has beliefs and convictions. Everyone has some sort of belief. Attaching beliefs to a book or ideology is a bad idea. Don’t staple yourself to a religion. Believing is not a statement on top of a soap box. You can claim that a moose is your all-powerful God till the cows come home but that does not make your belief real. It means you say you believe in a moose. It’s important to put aside your beliefs. Put aside your knowledge. We believe in aliens without proof. We believe murder is wrong. Why? Within us is an idea of how life should work. We expect things to be a certain way. Yet, we all know that life is about dodging curve balls. How does your convictions handle curve balls? Ask your moose?

So, there you are under the box. A person (cat) that is in flux. Are you a Christian, agnostic, atheist, or other? Do you know for sure? I thought I did. Then in came Jesus. All of a sudden, the rules changed. The Big Bang and Darwin’s theories changed. How I viewed people changed. My life turned upside down. In essence my beliefs changed. If you say God didn’t do it then he didn’t. Life looks exactly like you believe it is. What if you were wrong about that?

Christian belief is different. Once you let God open your eyes, nothing is as it was. All of a sudden, the destiny of the cat in the box does not matter. What matters is others. What matters is how God sees you and the world around you. Death and life become secondary. Living in the here and now become paramount. Belief is not something you hang a hat on or wear as a badge. It should change how you view the world. Believing in something greater than ourselves that gives us new meaning and new drive. That is belief. Tune in next week for more.

#believe #god #bible #Jesus #agnostic #atheisim

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michael-langdon-appreciation · 5 years

Note

part 11 of the foursome please queen? ❤️

Your wish is my command.

Hold onto tight and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times please.

Part 11

——————————————————————————————-

JIM

He knows he’s being a helicopter dad, but Jim can’t help himself. Nothing matter more in the world to him than the health of his little baby. It is paramount as he lifts his head up from Y/N’s laptop for the third night in a row. Her hand strokes his back gently, a cup of coffee wafts in front of his face as Jim blinks and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Y/N’s expression is forlorn, ‘You can’t keep doing this to yourself.’ She cautions, her voice light as if speaking to a nervous cat. ‘You’re burning yourself out.’

The research has become one big fog of mumbo jumbo for Jim anyway. He takes the mug of coffee and blows on it, ‘Anything I can do, anything I can try to help-’

‘You aren’t helping anyone by not taking care of yourself.’

Jim swallows a big gulp of coffee. It’s strong and a little too hot still as it travels down his throat, ‘You’re right.’ He mutters, putting the mug down. ‘I just-’

‘You just can’t help yourself.’ She finishes off, making Jim smile.

‘Bingo.’

Y/N pulls up a seat beside him, sharing the desk space with him. She closes the laptop lid and ruffles Jim’s hair, ‘You’re going to be an incredible father.’

Bitterness burns Jim, the rage he still carries with him every single day. The outrage and spark for justice, that his baby is fighting for its life every day, every minute, every hour. His hand falls onto Y/N’s stomach, the bump noticeably prominent since Jim has been living at the apartment. ‘It’s only been two weeks,’ Jim mumbles. ‘But already they are getting so big.’

‘They are playing hell on my back.’ Y/N smiles, ‘Every time I wake up I feel completely wrecked.’

‘A good wrecked?’ Jim asked, ‘Like you used to say after we’d gone a few rounds?’

His hand squeezes her thigh as Y/N’s laugh fills the office, ‘You could say that I suppose. But a bath would usually fix me right up.’

‘Then that’s what you need.’ Jim decides, finding the energy to drag himself and Y/N to the bathroom. ‘A good long hot bath. Some aftercare, just like the old times.’

Jim starts running the tub, putting the plug in and dumping in some bath oils. Y/N watches him, her tongue poking out of her mouth, it’s adorable to Jim, mostly because Y/N never realises she does it. It’s a habit she displays whoever being spoiled. Usually Duncan was the most privy to it, but Jim’s vision seems to brighten as he drops a couple suds on her nose. ’Are you going to pamper me, Jim Mason?’ She asks, her voice coy. Y/N teases the bottom of her pyjama shirt, running her fingers along it to expose a hint of flesh.

Jim’s eyes are glued to it, ‘Yes.’

‘Will you do whatever I want this morning?’ The top slips higher, revealing the bump and just under Y/N’s breasts. It reminds Jim of his favourite swimsuit at once, the one that teases him all day with the under-bust visible for everyone’s eyes. Jim swallows, forcing down the rush of blood that is running to his cock.

This morning is about Y/N, not him.

Y/N’s eyebrows rise, waiting for his answer and Jim supplies it on instinct. ‘Yes.’

She could have asked him to jump off Mount Everest and Jim would still say yes.

Jim tugs off his own shirt, along with his trousers. ‘I’m getting in.’ He decides, ‘I think we are long overdue for some alone time away from Duncan and Jerome.’

Y/N climbs into the tub, waiting for Jim to take his place. ‘Such much male ego about the place, it’s nice to have some time just us.’

Jim leans back against the bath, his muscles singing at the hot water. Bubbles flutter around him as Y/N relaxes back against his chest, jasmine and honeysuckle trickle through the air as she presses a kiss to his chest. Jim’s eyes fall shut, his girl’s weight resting against him. His fingers dip into her hair, stroking gently.

Paradise.

How Jim took the simple things for granted.

‘I’m glad you stayed.’ She murmurs, ‘You’re growing Jim. You put aside your temper and…possessiveness for the good of us and our baby.’ She peeps up at him, ‘That’s still so weird to me. Our baby.’

The chloroform rag dances in Jim’s mind and he squashes it immediately.

No.

He’s past that.

Y/N right, never again will he resort to such levels.

‘I was reading about this hospital in Philadelphia who specialises with difficult births.’ Jim reveals, ‘They have an incredible success rate. Most of the births happen in water and stuff so it’s natural and helps. You know, gravity and stuff.’ Y/N nods, her mind not really with him. Her eyes have that far-away look as Jim peers closer at her, ‘What is it?’

She hesitates, and then plunges on, a finger tracing over Jim’s chest. ‘I know you have your concerns.’ She begins, ‘But I believe with every fibre of my being that Michael will never let anything happen to our baby.’

‘It’s about precautions.’ Jim fights to keep the edge from his voice, ‘It’s about being in the right place. Michael is…many things but he isn’t infallible.’

‘I have faith in him.’

‘Yeah.’ The mood has been ruined for Jim, he’s over-heating in the hot water. He wants to be back at the laptop, just as he does every time the Antichrist is mentioned these days.

‘You won’t keep him away Jim.’ Y/N’s voice too has hardened, ‘No one will be able to keep Michael from the birth of his child.’

‘As long as he stays back unless needed.’ Jim says, ‘And lets me have my moment with my child.’

Y/N’s eyes glint, ’Our child.’

Jim smirks down at her, ‘My apologies, our child. Of course.’ His lips press against her forehead, ‘Our beautiful child.’

The moment relaxes, Y/N turning round to rest her back against Jim. His hands skirt over her belly, cupping water to pour over her exposed shoulders. ‘Have you thought about names yet?’

Jim thinks, ‘Not really.’ He admits, ‘I’ve been too focused on making sure the pregnancy goes well. That our baby survives.’

‘Maybe we could look up names that mean fighter, or survivor?’

Jim scrunches up his nose, ‘Nah, I don’t want this moment to define her.’

‘Her?’

‘Them.’ Jim corrects himself, ‘I feel it’s a girl.’

Y/N hums, ‘I’d like a girl and a boy.’

Jim grins, ‘Well what you want, baby. You get.’

Y/N splashes some water at him, ‘I’m not that entitled.’ She protests, ‘Not my fault Duncan likes to splash his cash.’

‘Yeah adding a specially modified twin baby-seat to his jet was real necessary.’

Y/N giggles against him, some of the water slopping out of the bath. ‘Oh absolutely.’ She grabs the shampoo bottle and squirts some into her hand, reaching for Jim’s head. ‘Either way, they will be…blank Mason.’

‘Blank?’

‘Till we have a name.’ She grins, ‘But the baby will carry your last name.’

‘I never expected anything less.’

The bathroom door swings open as Jerome walks in, newspaper in hand. Y/N freezes beside Jim, her hands stuck in his hair. Suds drip down Jim’s face as he makes sure Y/N is obscured by bubbles. Jerome recovers first, ‘Can I join?’

‘Get out!’ Jim bellows, tugging Y/N to him.

Jerome smirks, ‘You really should lock the door, that’s what it’s for.’

‘Out, Jerome.’ Y/N echoes watching as the Salesman backs out of the bathroom with a snicker.

‘Well don’t be long.’ He calls, Shepherd is in the en-suite and you know it takes him an hour to do his beauty routine and my bladder won’t hold out that long.’

——————————————————————————————-

DUNCAN

The bathroom door squeaks, the hinges protesting horribly as it is treated to yet around round of pounding. ‘You’d better be taking that long cause today’s the day.’

‘None of your business.’ Duncan calls back through the door. He smoothes a strand of hair into place, his fingers jumping through the array of hair products dumped along the sink.

‘Come on man I’m dying.’ Jerome whines, ‘Y/N and Jim are having a precious moment in the bath and you’ve beaten your hourly record. I’m sure you’re beautiful, sport. Now let me in!’

Duncan sighs, opening the door as Jerome barges inside. ‘You’re welcome.’

Jerome stops his watch as he sits on the toilet, ‘An hour and twenty minutes, congratulations on the new record.’

‘Fuck you.’ Duncan turns back to the mirror as the Salesman starts undoing his belt, ‘Seriously?’

‘You won’t leave.’ The trousers fall down, ‘I’m desperate. This is what you get, buddy.’

Duncan rolls his eyes, abandoning the task. ‘Fine, but you’re cleaning up.’

‘Abuse the Nanny, I see how it is.’

Duncan slams the door shut and leans against the wall. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t left as he waits for Jerome to finish up, ‘Maybe today is the day.’

The toilet flushes and Jerome emerges, his eyes triumphant. ‘It’s about time. I’ve had to hide the ring twice to stop Jim finding it.’

Duncan’s insides twist. He is hiding this from Jim, isn’t he?

Jerome leads the way to the kitchen, ‘So how are you doing it? Dinner? Walk by the beach? Take her up in the jet?’

Fear grips Duncan for the umpteenth time that day, ’I….don’t know.’

‘You’ve had two weeks.’

‘Someone else plans events for me.’ The panic is evident in his voice, but Duncan can’t calm himself down. He twists his fingers together, ‘My Mom or someone. I don’t do this kind of thing for anyone.’

‘Well it’s time to toughen up, cookie.’ Jerome starts cracking eggs into a pan. ‘If you don’t do it tonight, I’m telling her.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

‘Yes.’

Duncan groans, ‘Fine. Tonight I will do it.’

The bathroom door opens, Y/N emerging first in just a towel. She smiles at Duncan, before catching Jerome’s eye. ‘Be out in five for breakfast, thank you so much Jerome.’

The Salesman winks back at her, ‘Sure thing. Just no Round Two with Jimmy boy in the bedroom.’

Her cheeks flood with colour, her eyes skipping too Duncan. The spark of jealousy is there, but not as strong as before, as if the tip of the knife has been dulled.

Duncan offers her a small smile, ‘When you’re out, can we talk?’

Y/N frowns, ‘Never good words, Duncan.’

‘I promise it is.’

She nods, ‘Sure. I’ll just-’

Jim appears in the doorway. A towel hangs low on his hips, exposing that perfect V sculpted from so much swimming and surfing. He flicks his wet hair out of his eyes, droplets dancing on his chest. ‘Do I smell bacon?’

‘In the oven.’ Jerome supplies, busy slicing peppers.

Duncan tears his eyes from Jim to help with breakfast. From behind he can hear the shuffle of Jim as he shuffles into the spare bedroom while Y/N makes her way to Duncan’s.

Jerome eyes him over the omelettes he’s got on the go, ‘You don’t get mad, seeing them like that?’

‘Like old times.’ Duncan says, pouring orange juice into four glasses. ‘You get used to it and cooking for four.’

There’s a slight pause, the absence of Michael echoing in the air.

Duncan presses on, ‘Besides, Y/N sleeps with me every night. It’s only fair Jim gets to spend some time with her on their own.’

‘Seems like things are back to normal than for the three of you.’

‘It will never be normal without Michael.’ Duncan blinks, having spoken before he realises it. He brings the glasses onto the dining table and rests his hands on it.

Jerome brings over the plates, ‘Well you said it. Not me.’

The weight of his words drags Duncan down.

He misses Michael.

It’s not that surprising. Not really. Michael has been there since Day One, a couple days after Duncan was released from prison. Together they scraped Duncan’s life back together, Michael giving Duncan a senior position with Kineros before the Media Mogul had enough to win back his empire. But Duncan cannot overlook what Michael has done. Every time he sees Y/N, sees that bump and how Jim isn’t functioning properly out of fear and desperation. He cannot forgive him for putting the two people he loves through hell.

Maybe that is what Michael will always do.

He is the Antichrist.

Jim emerges first. His denim jacket is strung over one arm as he takes a seat at the table, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘More like thinking about one.’

Jim’s eyes flick down to his lap, ‘I miss him too.’

‘We all do.’

When Jim’s eyes flicker up again there’s something defiant in them. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’ He spits, ‘I won’t kill him when I see him, I won’t do anything stupid but I’m not having him near my kid.’

‘That’s your decision to make.’ Duncan nods, he knows it isn’t his place to fight Jim on what the beach boy thinks is best for his child. Duncan takes the seat opposite Jim and waits till Jerome is out of earshot before speaking. ’Does that mean…the plan is off?’

‘I…don’t know.’ Jim’s fingers run over his plate, ‘I kinda made a promise to myself not to do underhand shit again. Trying to be a better person.’

The ring flitters through Duncan’s mind.

He has to tell Jim.

If he doesn’t, he’s just as bad as Michael.

Isn’t he?

‘You two seemed to have a nice bath.’

Jim smiles, ‘It was nice, if not punctuated with Michael.’

‘He’s everywhere.’

‘Always.’

‘I’m going to ask Y/N to marry me.’ The words rush out of Duncan before he can stop himself. ‘I have a ring, I’ve had it for about two and a bit weeks now. Made my mind up before you came back.’ Jim’s eyes burn into him. He doesn’t say a word as Duncan rushes through his words, ‘You have a baby coming.’ He says, ‘Michael has a baby too. ‘I….’ Duncan gulps, ‘I have nothing. There’s nothing that ties me to her. To all of you, not in the same way. Nothing that meaningful or official. You’ll always be together because not only do you both adore each other, but you have a child to care for. I….I need something like that too. And the only way I can think to do that is to marry her-’

‘Okay.’

The air is punched out of Duncan’s lungs. ‘What?’

Jim’s eyes are soft. The softest Duncan has seen them in a very long time. His hand reaches out across the table and rests over Duncan’s. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it is for you. Seeing Y/N pregnant. You knew before anyone else and you’ve done nothing but respect her and me. You’re a good guy, Duncan.’ Jim presses his lips together, his eyes becoming glassy. ‘I know you’ll give her the life she deserves. I hope I can continue to be part of it, God I need it so bad. But you should marry her. You deserve each other, so…you have my blessing. If that’s what you want.’

Tear tracks drop down Duncan’s cheeks, he sniffles hard unable to keep himself in check. Jim stands and crosses round the table, Duncan stands too as Jim pulls him in for a hug. Duncan holds his Beach Boy as tight as he can, taking in the scent of jasmine lingering on his skin. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t cry.’ Jim orders, ‘Ask her, today. You put a ring on that finger and make it the most special proposal a girl has ever had.’

‘She still has to say yes.’

Jim smiles, ‘Do you think she’ll say no?’

‘Maybe!’

Jim chuckles, ‘She shares a bed with you, Duncan. You have nothing to worry about.’

They pull away as Jerome sets down breakfast. The Salesman is astute enough to make himself invisible, but Duncan catches his smile of approval.

Bastard must have been listening in.

‘This doesn’t mean you aren’t in her life.’ Duncan is quick to say it as he takes his seat again, ‘It’s just like before, before this whole mess. When we’d go to dinner all of us and get up to…things under the table and have fun and love each other. That’s all I want.’

‘Just with babies added in the mix.’ Jim supplies, making Duncan smile.

‘I guess it was gonna happen someday.’

Jim glances at Duncan’s bedroom door, ‘As for the plan…I think we keep it on the back burner and see if we need it. She’s only like…three months right now. Anything could happen.’

Duncan downs his orange juice, wishing he could slip a little vodka in. ‘If that’s what you think is best, I’ll respect your decision.’

Y/N emerges, her hair up in a towel as she takes her place at the head of the table. ‘Sorry! I was trying to get the hairdryer to work but the fuse has blown. It’s just growling at me and might explode so….’

Jerome is the last to take his seat. Together the four begin eating, Duncan shoving his omelette down as fast as he can to try and settle his stomach.

Jim is okay with it.

Jim said yes.

Now he has to do it. Now Y/N has to say yes too.

Her eyes slide to Duncan, Y/N putting down her knife and fork, ‘So Duncan. What did you want to talk to me about?’

——————————————————————————————-

MICHAEL

He knows the risk she is taking by seeing him. Michael has the evening set out with the most perfect precision. A finger straightens the wayward fork, just a centimetre off-kilter. Before it threw off the perfection of the night, but now, now Michael is sure that nothing can ruin the evening. He waits sitting in one of the chairs, his jacket pressed and freshly dry-cleaned. The velvet, so luxurious against his skin comforts him. The only friend he’s had for a month, the only touch he’s received.

Tonight that all changes.

Tonight he will remind her why she loves him.

Why it is he who she risks everything to see.

The knock comes and Michael opens it with a wave of his hand. No one can see him at the door, he cannot trust Shepherd not to have had her followed.

Y/N steps into the apartment, her eyes roving round the dark interiors. Everything is black marble and stonework, the high arched windows each a work of art. Michael rises to greet her, taking her coat in his hand. She hands it to him without giving anything away. Without the coat there, her baby bump is evident. Peeking through and smiling at him through her red dress. The dress Michael gave her, his beast purrs with satisfaction.

It proves she cares.

‘I am so glad you came.’

‘It isn’t right to deny you the chance to see your child.’ She says, ‘To have a part in the pregnancy.’ Michael’s arm beckons her to the dinner table, the single candle flickers and illuminates the two plates set out. The silverware glimmers as Y/N ventures closer, ‘This is very elaborate.’

‘You know that’s how I do things.’ He turns her round, capturing her lips with his before she can protest. Michael engulfs her, his arms holding her gently to him as he takes her breath away. He’s determined to give her his entire everything in one kiss. To show. To prove to her. When they slip apart, Y/N’s eyes are wide. She has that same look in her eyes she did that first night, when Michael stole their first kiss, sucked on those succulent lips and bruised them as he pounded into her.

‘That may not be such a good idea.’ She whispers in the gap between their lips.

‘Why, because of this?’ Michael lifts the ring, nestled on Y/N’s finger. ‘You must know I’d find out about it.’

‘It wasn’t a secret.’ Y/N pulls her hand, complete with the engagement ring out of Michael’s grip.

‘I’m happy for you.’

‘Don’t lie. She scolds, crossing to the dining table.

Michael’s jaw clenches, ‘Do I wish it was me, of course. But I understand Duncan’s desire to make you his. I know it all too well.’

‘You’ve made your claim pretty clear.’

Michael takes his seat opposite her, ‘Yes, I did.’ He uncorks the wine and pours a decent measure into her glass, Y/N holds it aloft in a practised manner for him. She makes sure to sample the wine with her engagement ring on show. ‘Let me guess, Harry Winston?’

‘You know my motto.’ Y/N smiles, ‘If it isn’t Harry…’

‘Don’t marry.’ Michael finishes, ‘You used to love singing that whenever we were in Barneys.’

‘Jim said I was spoiled.’ She says, ‘I think maybe he’s right.’

‘You are completely spoiled.’ Michael smirks, ‘But we can’t resist treating you. You’re so precious to us. I’d do anything for you.’

She nods, Y/N’s eyes flickering back round the apartment. She takes a long drink from her wine glass, ‘They’d be mad if they knew I was here.’

‘I’m sure they would.’

‘They don’t trust you.’ She offers, ‘But they do miss you. I heard them talking about you.’

‘I miss them too.’ Michael makes sure he is looking directly into her eyes, ‘They may think all I wanted was to put my child in you, but I want all of them.’

‘Seems like we all want the same thing.’

A silence falls as Michael rises to take dinner out of the oven. It’s takeout, he can’t cook for shit but he knows Y/N will appreciate it. He puts the steak with Bourderlaise sauce before her complete with new potatoes and asparagus. ‘I don’t think that’s exactly true.’

She doesn’t take a bite. Michael knows that Y/N knows him well enough to catch the subtly in his words. ‘Why am I here, Michael?’

Michael sighs, putting his own plate down. ’Straight to it then.’ He laces his fingers together, ‘I would give my life for you and our child. Do not think I don’t know my actions have caused me to be ostracised. Perhaps I was right to do so, perhaps I went too far. What I do know is the plan that Jim and your fiancee are planning. Something I will not let happen.’

She stares at him. ‘I am sick and tired of your drama, Langdon.’

‘Oh believe me, I would rather my own Grandmother rise from the dead before this happened.’ Michael’s tone has a bite, ‘You will hear me out.’

Y/N sits there, waiting for him to continue. She waves her hand, gracing him to do so. ‘When you check in for your next appointment, Duncan has the measures in place to abort my child-’

‘Our child.’

‘Our child.’ Michael nods, ‘It’s been in place for rather a while now, but ever since the Doctor’s last reports indicated the runt’s trouble with getting enough nutrition they’ve become desperate.’ Michael leans forwards, ‘When you next go in, they will drug you and remove our baby. They will kill it, the monster, to ensure Jim’s lives.’

He watches as the horror slowly expands all over Y/N’s face. ‘You’re a liar.’

Michael’s hand slams on the table, ‘I have NEVER lied to you.’

She’s stuck to her seat, completely frozen in place. ‘I…won’t let them.’

‘They won’t give you that choice.’ The Antichrist explains, ‘It’s already been decided for you. They’re going to force your hand.’

‘I can’t believe you.’

‘Because you thought they had changed.’ Michael nods, ‘I had hope for Shepherd. I thought he would be shining example for the rest of us. But sadly, it isn’t the case.’

‘I won’t marry him. I’ll fight it. I’ll go and challenge them about it right now.’ She stands, heading for the door. ‘Why would you go through all this just to tell me!’ She demands, ‘You have a dinner in place with fucking candles only to tell me one of my babies is going to be ripped from me.’

She tries the door, but it doesn’t move. Y/N doesn’t face him, ‘Unlock it. Now.’

‘I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.’ Michael drifts closer to her. His hands ghost along her shoulders, ‘You see, my sweet Y/N I cannot take any chances when it comes to my child. You are potentially carrying the next Antichrist in your stomach, our child.’ His hands snake around her middle, resting over her bump. ‘I will make sure both your babies are born alive, happy, healthy.’ He coos into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. ‘But you won’t be leaving this apartment again until after they are born.’

——————————————————————————————-

TAGGING: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz @misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii @lostin-fern @lvngdvns@ccodyfernn @asstichrist@yourkingcodyfern @langdonsdemon @satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs @luxuryglitterhoe @langdonsoceaneyes @sodanova @petersfern-fics @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sassylangdon @confettucini @sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @alexcornerblog @sevenwondr @queencocoakimmie @sojournmichael @langdonsdemon@satcnaskinlovecody @kylosbabe @americanhorrorstudies @xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore@dadddysprincessss@gremlinkween @readsalot73 @astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason@ms-mead @mega-combusken@hanhanxx@kahhlo@thelangdoncooperative @langdonsrapture@ritualmichael @cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @infernal-langdon @jim-mason2 @duncandimension @dark-jim @jimmlangdon @xtheinevitableprophecyx @moontheweirdpan @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @bbyduncan @divinelangdon @theladynymph@xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @dark-duncan @divinelangdon @codyswhore-blog @blakewaterxx

#the foursome #michael x jim x duncan x y/n #michael langdon #Jim Mason #Duncan Shepherd #the plot thickens #plot twists #oooooh #the runaway saga #the kinky quartet #the reign of Michael isn't over #it's just beginning #Michael Langdon x reader #y/n

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

Rhythm of the Night

The Greatest Thing Chapter 7

A Moulin Rouge Fanfic

Christian x OC

Read the rest here

Paris, 1899

Christian wandered around the foreign city remembering the few visits he had taken there as a child. All the talk in the London Bohemian scene had been about how the 18th arrondissement of Montmartre was where the contemporary Bohemians of Paris had settled. Thus, Christian thought that there would be no better place to start his new life as a Bohemian writer than there. Perhaps he might cross paths with some of the greats, such as Emilie Zola, who was known to frequent the district. He didn't have much money to his name at the moment. Not after his fight with his father. Christian grimaced as he remembered the events leading up to him ending up in Paris.

The door of his room slammed open when he had returned home late once again. He had thought that he was quiet enough, but his father had been awake and waiting for him. His father stormed in and chastised him for acting like a poor student -or, even worse, a Bohemian- when he was so much more than that.

"You have one job, and that isn't to find the meaning of life, boy, that's to find a wife! This is your third season. Get ahold of yourself and straighten that head on your shoulders. No boy of mine is going to be a bachelor forever. You need to take care of yourself, make something of yourself in society. You'll never do that if you keep on like this. If I keep hearing about you in the gossip pages, we will have an issue," his father huffed.

"But, father, I am trying to find a wife! Why should I choose between following my own proclivities and the obligations of society when I can do both?" he asked.

"If doing one takes away from the efforts to do the other, then you have to choose. Those ideals of yours won't get you far in life, Christian. A suitable match will," his father remarked. "Now, unless you stop this nonsense, I'll have no other choice but to cut you off."

Stop being a Bohemian? Christian thought, That's like asking me to stop breathing air! His thoughts turned to Estelle. He'd be no good to her if he was poor and no longer worthy of participating in the Season, so he decided to try. He'd put more effort into being a better member of society. He tampered down his urge to rant about freedom, beauty, truth, and love, but he felt like by trying to please his father, he was becoming everything about the world that he despised. He was unhappy. He slipped further and further into a sense of resentment for everything society stood for. That was when he decided that he'd give up on society altogether. It wasn't a decision he had made lightly. He'd thought about the all the aspects of life in acceptable society and life outside of it, retreating into himself while he did so in order to soften the blow for when he did decide to leave. The final straw for Christian came after a week of dates arranged by his father. His father had received a telegram about how his son had been less than remarkable and very dull. When he confronted Christian about it, Christian broke.

"I'm either too lively, or not lively enough!" he said in exasperation. "If I can't be me, then what's the point?"

"The point is to get ahead."

"No, the point of marriage should be love," he yelled back.

"You'd best mind your tone, boy."

"Or what? You'll disown me?" he asked dangerously steady. "Is that it, father? Is that what this has come to?"

"If you don't have a wife, then you will not take over this family practice. If you're not going to continue my legacy, then what's the point of supporting you?" his father asked like it was the only logical conclusion.

"Even if I did have a wife, taking over your practice isn't what I want from life," he sighed.

"It doesn't matter what you want, what matters is what's good for you," his father said pointedly.

"Father, the only person who knows what's good for me is me," Christian said. It was the truth, and it was a truth he'd been keeping from himself for a while. For years Christian had been acting as if everyone else knew what was good for him. First it was his father, then when he was older it was society. Now, though, now he knew better.

"What are you going to do then, hmm? Become a poor penniless writer that starves to death in the streets because his words aren't enough?" his father asked.

"No, you are wrong. I am going to be a writer. I may be penniless, and someday I may starve to death, but my words will always be enough for at least one person. I may not touch the world, but I may touch a few and that is enough," he said adamantly. "Writing isn't about publicity or praise. Those things may be nice, but that's not why people do it. People write because they have a truth that they have to share, and by sharing that truth it lets others who may think they are alone know that they are not."

"You're a fool," his father spat.

"Perhaps," Christian said thoughtfully. "But I should prefer to be a happy fool than a disillusioned old man who gave up on his dreams before he'd finished dreaming them."

"You'll be cut off," his father said with weight.

"I don't care," Christian said with a smile, "because I will be free."

That was the night he had left. He'd left with only his typewriter, his savings, and a change of clothes. He'd sent a telegram to William Cavanaugh, paused outside of Ms. Devereux's home for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt, and then hopped on the first ferry to France he could get on.

London was dreary in comparison to Paris. He'd noticed this as he made his way through the city. London was a world of muted colors, mostly dull grays and browns, whereas Paris almost came to life. That was especially true at night. The colors were rich and vibrant as he made his way through the streets. He'd been searching for an apartment, but found that he had to keep climbing the hill. As he got higher and higher up La Butte, he found that the apartments were more in his price range. He had a considerable amount saved, but he knew it wouldn't last long if he carried on here in the same lavish style as he had in London. He didn't mind being frugal, though. After all, he was a true Bohemian now, and that meant cutting corners and living in poverty.

Eventually, he found a space. It wasn't much. Simply a room, really. Sparsely furnished, but it was enough. A grin crossed his face at the freedom he felt. He didn't have any obligations to anyone but himself. It was a rush. Christian settled in to write, placing his typewriter on his desk. His fingers hovered over the keys, but he never got to type that first word. Much to his surprise, a man came crashing through his ceiling. Plaster was everywhere and he sputtered in shock, but the people looking through the hole in his ceiling didn't seem concerned in the slightest, much to Christian's concern.

What he found upstairs was a group of Bohemian artists working on a play, who's star suffered from narcolepsy. Before he had any idea of what end was up, and his French being very rusty as it was, he was roped into this odd rehearsal, shoved into a pair of lederhosen and pushed up a ladder.

What an odd week this was turning out to be.

After rehearsal, he got to know his new neighbors better. He had truly hit the jackpot in this location. A short man by the name of Henri de Toulouse- Lautrec, affectionately called Toulouse for short, was the talk of London in the Bohemian circles. Christian was in awe that he was in the presence of such a great post-impressionist painter.

"So, Christian, what brings you to Paris?" Toulouse asked with a slight lisp, pouring him a glass of green liquid. Toulouse poured himself a glass, mixing in a darker amber liquid.

"Well, I was tired of pretending," Christian sighed, taking the drink. He took a sip and was taken aback by the anise flavor that washed over his tongue. Absinthe. He'd heard stories of the Green Fairy, but had never tried it before.

"Pretending?" Toulouse asked curiously.

"London society has no patience for free thought and the ideals like freedom, beauty, truth, and love. They expect you to go through life believing that money is happiness, and station is paramount."

"Titles don't matter when you're dead," Toulouse joked.

"No, but I suppose titles make it easier to remember you," Christian smiled.

"Anyone can call themselves what they please, and society can attribute whatever amount of respect to that title that they wish, but it means nothing in the grand scheme of things," Toulouse replied. "Especially if you didn't earn that title."

"The aristocracy is a sham," another neighbor spat.

"So you ran away from home?" Toulouse asked.

"Technically, yes? But, I've also been disowned," Christian said sheepishly.

"It sounds like you could use a distraction," the narcoleptic neighbor said, briefly rousing from sleep.

"I was going to write, actually," Christian replied.

"About what?" Toulouse laughed. "You haven't experienced Bohemia yet. You have thoughts, yes, but experience? Experience is what will add truth and weight to your words. It will make it raw. Tell me, Christian, what do you want to write about the most?"

"Love," he replied. "I think the greatest of the ideals is love. Love is in the air we breathe and you can never have too much of it."

"And have you ever been in love?"

Christian went to answer, but faltered. "W-well-"

"Did she love you back?"

"Perhaps," he murmured sadly. He felt that pang of guilt and regret in never having found out.

"There's very little truth in half answers," Toulouse replied. "Have you ever made love before?"

Christian blushed bright red. "I-I... W-well-"

Toulouse nudged his arm. "You can't create love on the page without knowing how it's made. I know exactly who to introduce you to, and maybe it will help you find something a bit steadier for when your savings run out."

Toulouse raised his glass, "To freedom!"

One of his other neighbors added, "To Beauty!"

The narcoleptic added, "To truth!"

Christian smiled, "To love."

They clinked their glasses together and drained them shortly after, laughing at the world and its bizarre nature to bring strangers together at the times when they needed to meet.

The plans were made, they'd all get dressed up and they'd go to the Moulin Rouge. Right at the edge of the Montmartre, nearly in Pigalle, the Moulin Rouge stood. Christian had only heard stories, the faintest of whispers even amongst the London Bohemian scene. Marked by the well-known windmill, the Moulin Rouge was a place where women raised their skirts to dance the can-can; it was a place where courtesans entranced the upperclass who could keep them until they had the next poor soul in their sights; and it was a place where one could see a belly-dancer in the infamous elephant should they be lucky enough. To describe the Moulin Rouge, would be to break every rule of decency in London society. Christian almost felt guilty for being there and having fun, like he was doing something wrong, something forbidden. He danced with the women, a rosy tinge on his cheeks at the foreignness of it all. The French were truly a different breed than what he was used to. A woman was lowered from the ceiling on a swing and Toulouse tapped his side.

"That's the Sparkling Diamond. If you get her on board with whatever you're writing, she'll be able to make it happen," he informed Christian.

"But she's just a courtesan," he replied in confusion.

"She's the star."

Christian looked up at the woman. She was beautiful. A part of him even admitted that he wouldn't mind falling love with someone like her, but she wasn't the star. She was a star, and she most certainly was not his star.

Christian nodded. "I'll do my best."

When Toulouse mentioned an introduction, he hadn't expected this much sneaking around to be involved. Yet, here he finally was in her chambers after the show. What he also hadn't expected was this woman's reaction. He was trying to recite poetry to her, and she was actively throwing herself at him. What was happening? Was this a French custom?

The night got even more out of control when some Duke got involved and now they were pitching this show and it was all so overwhelming. Yet, somehow they all worked well together? He just hoped this went better than the last time he tried to put on a play.

"Christian, I look ridiculous," Estelle groaned, coming out from behind the bedsheets they had pinned up as a makeshift curtain.

Christian tried his best not to laugh. "Nonsense, Ellie, I think you look marvelous. You should wear raspberry rouge and lipstick more often."

She looked like a clown, but they were going for a blushing girl in love. Their tutor had encouraged them to act out scenes from the play they were reading for English, Romeo and Juliet.

"Did you finish the balcony?" she sighed, wiping the last of the crushed raspberries off on her handkerchief.

"Almost."

"And I won't fall off?" she asked pointedly.

"That happened one time," he replied.

"Once was enough! It ripped my skirts."

"You'll be fine this time. I promise," he said reassuringly.

She wagged her finger at him. "I better be, Mr. Thompson, or so help me."

Their respective families settled into the seats they has arranged for them and they began. It was all going smoothly until Christian climbed up the 'balcony' and the structure started to sway.

"Christian?" she hissed low enough that only he could hear.

"Just keep going, darling, you'll be fine, we're almost through," he murmured.

She nodded and continued with her lines, but she watched the piece of wood he was holding onto slowly break apart from the structure. Then, it was like time sped up and Christian was falling to the ground. She quickly knelt beside him and took his hand. She finished out the scene, staying in character with her lines. Their parents applauded politely, not quite sure if that had been planned.

"I told you that you would be fine," Christian said sheepishly after they finished.

Estelle smacked his arm. "That is the last time I put on a play with you."

Christian came back to reality, staring down at the typewriter he was trying to write his play on.

He missed her, and he knew he had truly bungled things up big time. He pulled on his coat and went to send another telegram to William, telling him where he was and inquiring as to the state of things at home. William would know what he meant.

#The Greatest Thing #Chapter 7 #Christian x OC #christian moulin rouge

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gizkasparadise · 5 years

Text

fury spoiler ask! (sorry i should probably consolidate these...will be doing so if there are anymore).

BUT THIS IS A REALLY LONG RESPONSE with a lot of my Meta thinking so im sorry in advance anon you probably didnt want this much :’|

What made you want to kill Pod? I thought for sure it’d be Davos??

while i don’t believe in plot twists for the sake of plot twists (achem), i did want to make it a little ambiguous about who it was going to be. i tried to set it up where it could feasibly be davos (retirement almost always = death in fiction), sandor (he’s not around much in more recent chapters / would be the “quiet” kill), jon (lol basically that...entire king’s landing plot), or podrick. in a couple of the earlier outlines i did, it was pod and jon (and lmao rusty horse). doing all three felt unnecessarily grim, but there needed to be some kind of weight in the fic/the stormlands squad have been skirting consequences left and right.

so pod :/

couple reasons why:

someone who Storm’s End people would trust had to stay behind with the guard and i didn’t want to kill brienne :/. additionally brienne + davos had connections/relations to the stormlands that i wanted to explore through the Progress that pod doesn’t have ://

i was inspired by a really clever writing move in Dragon Age: Awakening. at the end of the game, you have to choose between saving a city and saving your castle--leaving the castle to defend the city makes the castle vulnerable, staying to protect the castle makes the city vulnerable.

gendry’s a new lord who’s leaving his castle unattended--a castle in the middle of a kingdom that’s had 2 lord paramount overhauls within the last decade. there hasnt been stability in the stormlands for a really long time, and the stormlanders have a history of Whoever Beats Someone Up Gets Their Land. robert had to best a couple of his bannermen in combat in order to convince them to join the rebellion. in my head, the stormlands isn’t like the north in that there’s Hardfast Loyalty Forever to the lord paramount (baratheons def aren’t the starks). if you’re too weak (or in this case, inexperienced) to hold your lands, someone’s going to grab them. there’s a couple Someones in this fic and mild spoiler they’re working together

on that note, gendry’s inexperienced. he has good counsel from davos and brienne, but none of them have had this level of power before. this shows up in his unorthodox petition rulings (i had the willis/jocie one early to Set the Tone for him favoring smallfolk over nobles), his terrible conduct in king’s landing, and basically the Fuck It attitude he’s had for most of the progress. he’s a good dude, but we’ve seen how good dudes get fucked over if they don’t know how the game is played. the smallfolk love him, the majority of the nobles hate him

i foreshadowed that in his last exchange with daenerys in ch. 15: She gives him a polite smile that doesn’t match her eyes. “Safe travels back to Storm’s End, Lord Baratheon. And congratulations once more on your upcoming wedding. No doubt songs will soon be written about stags and wolves.” // “I don’t care about any of that.” // “Someone will.” Daenerys lays one of her hands flat against the table, the pearl ring on her index finger catching the light. “That’s a lesson you’ll need to learn.” // “Or what?” // “As you said, you’ll get another battle." She sends him a grin without warmth. “But not from me.”

another reason why pod: the higher up the chain you go, the more expensive it is to hire a Faceless Man to assassinate them. Pod was cheaper than Gendry would’ve been & still grants access to storm’s end :/

it’s sort of a Coulson move. “fury” is obviously the big theme of the fic and we’re about to see it show up in a big way for everyone

#the fury #the fury spoilers #the fury meta #? is that a tag is should start #idek #asks!

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katlyn1948 · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Journey: Part 10

Now before you read, I just want all of you to know that I appreciate your likes and reblogs of this series! I love you guys! And also, not to be the bearer of bad news, but we only have 3 more parts before I finish it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

*************

Chapter 10: The Liege Lords of the Stormlands

Arya was the first to enter the Round Hall of Storm’s End. The liege lords were all neatly seated at a long table facing the dais that a throne was perched upon. Beside the throne was a smaller throne like chair that Arya gladly took her place on. The looks from several of the liege lords were a mixture of confusion or disbelief. How could anyone, even the Night King Slayer, be so bold to take their place beside the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands? Yet, not one of the liege lords questioned her. They were either too afraid for too unaware to speak up.

Gendry entered shortly after Arya. The once playful smile that was on his face was now one of concentration and dread. He truly hated these weekly meetings with the high lords. They were necessary, he will admit, but that did not mean that he truly despised hearing the complaints that each lord had from the week prior.

This week would be no different. In fact, it would probably be worse, considering they were talking about the rents and taxes that were due this quarter. Since the destruction of King’s Landing, taxes around the seven kingdoms had to be raised to help repair some of the damages. The people of the Stormlands were struggling to even pay half of what was due. Gendry had been a lenient these past months and a few of the high lords were beginning to take notice.

“Welcome Lords. We have some things to discuss about this month’s recent rents. As you all know, I took a week to travel around the Stormlands to see what is happening with our people. It is not looking good. There have been more rains than normal this year, rendering a lot of the crops overwatered and useless. The people are struggling while we sit here in our castles not caring. I can no longer do that.” Gendry was assertive and this took Arya by surprise. She had no doubt that Gendry would succeed as Lord Paramount, but she had never heard him take charge like the way he just did. It made her proud; to see him up on the dais showing his house words with pride: Ours is The Fury.

“And do you suppose we fix this situation?” A young man had spoken. He couldn’t have been more than 20 name days. He had pale blonde hair and dark blue eyes that could appear purple in the slightest change of lighting.

“Thank you for asking, Lord Dayne. Well, I supposed that we, as high lords, can make sure that we cut the cost of some of the rents to our people.” There were a few grumbles that came from some of the lords. Arya could see that Gendry was beginning to struggle, so she quickly took charge.

Rising from her seat, she made her way to stand in front of the high lords table.

“My Lords, perhaps we can see which parts of the Stormlands that need the most help. From what I’ve gathered from my time in King’s Landing, the Island of Tarth is still prospering.”

“Aye, it is. There is no shortage of food and the people are prospering.” Lord Tarth announced. There was no denying that he was Ser Brienne’s father. Although significantly shorter than his daughter, Lord Tarth and Ser Brienne looked much the same. Their hair was the same coloring and their features were strikingly similar.

“I purpose we have the prospering houses pay slightly higher taxes, giving the poorer people of the Stormlands the chance to recover as well as lowering the cost of some of the rents.” She suggested.

Gendry turned to Ser Davos, who was seated at the table with the other high lords.

“Will this work?”

Ser Davos shrugged, “I suppose it could. I would have to run some of the numbers. But it could work.”

A throat cleared and all heads turned to Lord Swann, “I do not mean to be brash, but Lady Arya, you have been here for no more than a day. How do you know what is good for the Stormlands? Aren’t you a northerner yourself? How could a northerner presume to know anything on how the south works?”

His words were like venom. He was trying to get a ruse out of Arya; to see how she would react to his harsh words.

Arya took a steady sigh, “Lord Swann, is it? I may be of the north, however, I was a Lord’s daughter. I remember my father facing a similar situation when I was younger and this was his solution. It had worked. As for knowing how the south works, well it really isn’t that different from anywhere else in the world. And believe me when I say, I would know.”

Her voice was calm. She did not raise her voice or even try to be curt with the man; she had simply stated facts and that seemed to irritate the man even more.

“Who do you think you are, parading around here giving orders like you are the Lady of Storm’s End? You are no more than a traveling wench who forgets her place!” His face turned red with anger.

Gendry stepped towards the old lord looked him square in the face.

“I suggest you apologize to your future lady! You do not wish to make an enemy of her, Lord Swann. For any enemies of hers are enemies of mine.” Gendry said in a low voice. Arya could see his fist clench and his jaw tighten. He was trying his hardest not to knock this ignorant lord on his arse.

“Future lady!? You expect her to help you rule the Stormlands!? We are truly doomed.” Lord Swann huffed. He rose from his chair and exited the Round Hall.

“I want every remaining lord to listen!” Gendry was now furious. “If any one of have a problem with Arya Stark becoming my wife, then I suggest you keep it to yourself. For any loose lipped lord will have his titles stripped and his lands dispersed.”

With that Gendry stormed out of the Round Hall. The remaining lords began to whisper before they realized that Arya was still in the room. The whispers hushed and the lords began to disperse, heading to do whatever lords did.

Arya walked up to Ser Davos, who was conversing with Edric Dayne. She had heard of Lord Dayne before he had been a lord. If she recalled correctly, he was the young Squire to Beric Dondarrion before he joined the Brotherhood Without Banners. It seems he had made a name for himself in the years since.

“Ser Davos, if I could interrupt.” She cautiously asked.

“Of course, my dear.” He turned to Lord Dayne, “Please excuse me, Ned.”

“It is no bother, Ser Davos. And it will be a pleasure for you to be our new Lady Paramount, Lady Arya.” Lord Dayne bowed and turned to talk to another nearby lord.

“How can I be of assist, Lady Arya?” Ser Davos asked.

“Are all liege lord meetings that eventful?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes, it can be worse. The boy has done good these last five years, but he still is learning.” He admitted.

“How so?” She asked.

“Well, he’s gotten better at reading, and that’s with me teachin’ him. He managed to somehow use a fork properly and the people love him.”

“But…?”

Ser Davos sighed, “But, there are some Lords who think someone can do better.”

“Lord Swann.” Arya stated.

“Aye, that fat pig and his son are trying to take it from him. I have managed to keep most of the lords at bay, but the Swanns are an old and powerful house with support. I’ll keep my eye on them, if I were you.”

Arya nodded, “Do not worry about that, Ser Davos. I always keep my enemies close.”

“Oh, I also suppose a congratulations are in order. Betrothed? Finally, I thought he would never marry again. And look at ya! You are already playing the part. Never thought I’d see Arya Stark in a dress.” He teased.

“Don’t get used to it. As soon as my things arrive, I will be in the same old trousers you’ve seen me in before. Dresses are torture devices made to hinder women’s abilities to move. I truly cannot wait to take it off.” She answered him truthfully.

Ser Davos let out a laugh, “Still the same, you are. And your things arrived early this morning. Sent my men out to your boat as soon as the morning bells rang.”

Arya sighed in relief. She would finally be able to rid herself of this dress and be comfortable.

“Thank you, Ser Davos. I will change and look for Gendry.” She said as she turned on her heel to leave the Round Hall.

Ser Davos quickly said to the young lass, “He’ll be in the-“

“I know where he’ll be.” And with that she left the Round Hall and the remaining lords to their devices.

*****

Gendry had made his way to the forge. It was the only place he could truly think like his old self. The feel of metal beneath his hands was a warm familiar feeling that he could savor forever. The other smiths knew that when Lord Baratheon enters the forge, that they need to scurry like mice and avoid him at all cost.

He was hammering a piece of steel into a perfectly shaped sword. With every swing his anger would dwindle; calming the bull within. Nearly every week he would make some type of new weapon fashioned from his frustrations. Every time he would meet with the liege lords it would always end up with Gendry in forge until the wee hours of the night. He wouldn’t sleep, eat, or interact with anyone. Tonight would be no different; except it was. He now had a woman waiting for him in his chambers. His betrothed. The very same woman that Lord Swann had disrespected.

Gendry’s anger bubble all over again and he took another swing and the searing hot steel. The sound of metal against metal did little to quench his angry, but the small shadow that had appeared in the arch way of the forge had.

“How did you find me?” He asked her.

Arya arched her brow and walked to stand beside him.

“Because you’re still the same. I know you, Gendry. That means I know where you would go to blow off steam.”

He looked at her and gave her a small smile. He noticed that she was no longer in the dress from this morning, but rather her familiar tunic and breeches.

“I see your things have finally arrived. Couldn’t wait to get out of that dress, could you?”

Arya chuckled and gave him a small peck on the lips. “You know me, too.”

Gendry smiled and began hammering the anvil once more.

“Once you’re finished, come find me before supper. There are things we have to discuss.”

Gendry was now the one that lifted his brow. “Should I be worried?”

All Arya did was smile and she turned out of the forge, walking towards the courtyard.

Gendry shook his head and returned to his work. He didn’t know how she did it, but she could tame the wild bull within him with just one look.

It was strange that even after all this time apart, they still managed to find a way back to one another. Sure, there were things that were different, but most everything that was there remained the same. His feeling sure didn’t falter, not even after five years and it seemed like Arya was becoming her old self once more.

It reminded him of their earlier days on the king’s road. He would tease her for being a girl and she would pout saying that she wasn’t a lady. It was nothing but light hearted fun back then and it was beginning to feel like that again.

Gendry clanged the steel for what was hours. He hadn’t realized the time until the bells rang and it was near supper time. He cleaned up his area and headed to his solar. He was covered in soot and needed to get cleaned before he took his evening meal. There was no celebration tonight and he didn’t feel up to dining with his liege lords. All he wanted was a simple family meal with the two women he loved most in this world.

He entered his solar and dumped his belongings onto the table by the fireplace. A tub of clean water had been drawn for him and he quickly soaked his aching bones. The water felt nice and he couldn’t wait to clean off the forge from his body.

When he was nothing more than a smiths apprentice in Flea Bottom, he was lucky if he got a bath once a week. Being the Lord of Storm’s End, he got a bath nearly everyday. It was a luxury he didn’t know he needed until it became common. Now, he wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t have his daily bath.

He had finally finished bathing and dressing when a soft knock came from his chamber door.

“Enter.” He stated as he finished fastening his belt to his waist.

A mop of brown curls came running towards him and little Lyra nearly tackled him to the floor. Fits of giggles escaped the young girls mouth and Gendry couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her as he picked her to place her on the bed.

“Arry saved me from Septa Joanna.”

“Did she now? I bet you were excited.”

The little lady nodded her head fiercely, sending her curls in all directions.

Gendry turned to look at Arya. She had a smile present on her face that he hadn’t seen before. It was different kind of smile from the ones she had given him. This smile showed something more than just happiness. It showed overwhelming love. Because that’s what it was, love. Arya was in love with this child and Gendry could tell.

“What’s going on?” He asked her.

Arya pulled her gaze from the child on the bed. “Well, she wanted to do something with the three of us, so I brought her here and informed the maids that we would be taking supper in your chambers tonight. I’ve had enough of Lords and Ladies for one day, and I had a feeling your would be too.”

He pulled her into his arms, “So this is what you wanted to discuss?”

“No, what I wanted to discuss can wait until after we dine with Lyra.” She said as she placed her arms around his neck. She reached up and gave him a long sweet kiss, completely unaware of the child staring at them from the bed.

“Does that mean my papa is your friend-boy?” Lyra suddenly asked.

Gendry and Arya pulled apart and gave her a questioning look.

“Lyra, what is a friend-boy? You had said it earlier today, but your Septa stole you before I could ask.” She asked the little lady.

“Septa Joanna said that Lady Rena couldn’t be my new mama because she already had a friend-boy, Lord Archie, and papa couldn’t be hers.” Lyra had said matter of factly.

Arya hadn’t meant to laugh, but the innocence the child was portraying was truly delightful. Lyra looked at Arya with confusion. What had she said that was so funny? Even her father was trying to hide a laugh.

“Why are you teasing me?” She asked the adults on the other side of the room. Her eyes began to fill with tears and her lips began to quiver.

“Oh, no we are not teasing you, Lyra.” Arya quickly rushed to the child and sat beside her on the bed.

“But you were laughing at me.” She accused.

“No, sweet girl. We were not laughing at you, just at the thing you said.” Gendry cut in.

Lyra looked even more confused.

“What your father is trying to say is that,” Arya paused, trying to find the right words to say. “Yes, your papa is my friend-boy.”

Lyra’s eyes lit up with excitement. She jumped onto Arya, tackling her into the bed, giving her a giant hug.

“Does this mean that you will be my mama?” Lyra asked as they sat up.

Arya was taken aback by the question. She never really thought of it, but she was going to be Lyra’s mother when she married Gendry. The thought scared her. She didn’t know what it meant to be a mother and wasn’t sure she would be any good at it. For so long she had to only think of herself and not have to worry about the well being of another human. Let alone a child. But the more she thought, the more she realized that parting from Lyra would be more painful than parting from Gendry. Perhaps she could be a mother after all.

“I suppose it does, if that’s okay with you?” She asked the little lady.

Lyra gave Arya a toothy smile and gave her another hug. “Don’t tell Lady Rena, but I think I want you to be my mama.”

Arya chuckled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

She gave a glance at Gendry and notice that his eyes were welling with tears. Great, I’ve made the stupid bull cry, she thought, not realizing that her own tears were streaming down her face.

#gendrya #arya stark #got #jon snow #gendry waters #jonerys #daenerys targaryen #gotspoilers #d&d #arya x gendry

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fortunatelylori · 5 years

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"Everyone who's crossed her she's found a way to murder." I can definitely see this going through Jon's mind if Sansa is kidnapped. Sansa and Arya were used as baragining chips in S1 for Robb but he chose not to go to KL. Also, when Jon found out "they" were being held there he initially was going to go but was talked out of it and chose to honor his vows. I think this will come back too. Conflict of the heart. "You'd think of little else if you had too." (tbc...)

I think Jon will be consumed by this at this pt. So to make the stakes higher I think both the WW and Sansa getting kidnapped (if this does happen) will happen simultaneously. While I think Sansa and Cersei will have another showdown and Sansa being in KL against her will check so many boxes I can’t just can’t figure out why. Why kidnap and not just murder? Why would she think Jon would come when Robb didn’t? Could LF might have told her something about their relationship?

Also, if both Cersei and the WW happen at the same time then both of them will be right as far as who to be concerned about. How do you see this plot unfold? What will Jon’s conflict be at this point? What will he decide? What role will Dany play in this? I would love your thoughts on this. Thank you!

Hey, nonnie!

I have to say … this kidnapping plot is slowly taking over my life. :))))) I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually. And while the more time passes, the more I’m convinced it will happen, the details of it are still a little fuzzy for me.

So I guess I could start by saying why a kidnapping of Sansa by Cersei makes sense and what story boxes it would tick if it were to happen. After all, you don’t make a plot choice if it doesn’t help you achieve certain goals both thematically and in terms of story progression:

1. It would bring Sansa and Cersei face to face again: this is VERY important for a number of reasons. Sansa was Cersei’s “little dove”, the girl she attempted to mold to her will but also despised because she saw her as being weak and naive. Their relationship is rife for dramatic exploration and I don’t know any writer worth his salt that wouldn’t want to tap into that, particularly now that Sansa has grown and developed and they could flip the dynamic on its head, showing what Sansa has learned from all of her tormentors, Cersei included. This is also important because Sansa needs to go back to her: “If I am ever queen, I will make them love me” mentality. Right now she’s vacillating and the question of her admiring Cersei hangs in the air, as per Jon’s observation. The simplest way for Sansa to fully reject Cersei’s worldview is by being faced with her once again, and choosing to the the Queen that people love, not the Queen that people fear. It’s kind of a play on being faced with who you might become if you choose one road instead of another, sort of thing.

2. The Younger, More Beautiful Queen: this prophecy has tormented Cersei her entire life and it’s bound to conclude in its final act. If Sansa is the younger, more beautiful queen that will cast Cersei down and take all that she holds dear, it makes sense that she would be present for Cersei’s demise, whatever that might be. I say present because while Sansa was involved for most of Cersei’s tragedies, she was never the party responsible, she inadvertently found herself involved and I hope the pattern continues because I like the idea of prophecies not being played straight and that Cersei herself is ultimately responsible for her own downfall.

3. Sansa is the princess in the tower with no prince to save her: for all the complaining that people do that Sansa can’t do anything for herself and she always needs saving, the sad fact of the matter is Sansa has never truly been saved by anyone. As she herself puts it to LF: She’s taken from monsters that murdered her family and given to other monsters that murdered her family. Her “rescues” are simply an exacerbation of her confinement. No one saves her. The one that comes closest is Theon but it’s Sansa that pushes him to that point and thematically speaking this action is linked more to Theon regaining his identity that Sansa Stark being saved. Also, her reunion with Jon did not truly bring liberation because she was still stuck with LF and also her trauma has made her close herself off and put herself in a sort of emotional cage.

As you mentioned, Robb actually refuses to risk the ire of his men to go and try to save Sansa so she’s never truly a priority for someone, nor is she the goal, as the princess in the tower trope lays out. So to finally see someone make Sansa their priority and come to rescue her, despite all other consideration, would be a fulfilling arc. Particularly since Sansa keeps saying that no one can protect her. People have taken this to mean that Sansa doesn’t want protection because she can take care of herself. I don’t think that’s it at all. Sophie Turner said that when Sansa reunites with Jon, it’s the first moment of happiness Sansa has felt in years because she’s finally with someone who will take care of her and look after her. So I think Sansa is still looking for that prince to protect her and save her. She just doesn’t believe that exists anymore. So maybe it’s time she be proven wrong.

4. Jon has a choice to make: Jon has been teased with a choice between love and duty since season 1 and he’s always chosen duty. But there were always extenuating circumstances to his choice. When he wanted to join Robb’s campaign, Joer Mormont pointed out that fighting the WW was more important on the grand scheme of things. Also Jon, at the time, was still the outcast, bastard of Winterfell, looking to forge his new identity. When he chose the NW over Ygritte, he had already made up his mind that he was a brother of the NW and that’s where his life was (he tells Ygritte: I have to go home now) and also justified by the fact that Ygritte violent tendencies pushed him away in any case. However, in the end the loyalty that Jon showed to the NW was betrayed when he was killed by the very people who called themselves his brothers. When he came back from the dead, he was a man without a purpose or a plan (a weird thing for Jon Snow). It was Sansa that gave that to him, pushed him back into action so it would be easy to assume that whatever determination Jon might have now to fight the WW, protect the North and whatever else is inextricably linked to her. So what happens if she’s in danger? Will Jon’s choice between love and duty be as easy to make as it was in the past? I’d argue no. Because Sansa is not only his love, but his duty as well. He’s sworn to protect her time and time again and her safety and well being are paramount to him. So this time we’re going to watch Jon choose love and what a sight that will be!

5. Tension must be added to the Jon/D*ny dynamic: And the parentage reveal is not enough. Because D*ny finding out Jon is a rival for the throne she’s been dreaming about since season 1 is a political matter. Her seeing him lose his mind over the possibility of Cersei hurting Sansa is a deeply personal one. I always found it interesting that D*ny wasn’t there to witness Jon’s interaction with Theon on the beach and see his reaction when Theon brought up Sansa. But I’m willing to bet good money she’ll have a front row seat to Jon Snow going berserk because “his sister” is in danger. It will probably be the last nail in the coffin for the already doomed Jon/D*ny alliance. Also, at some point, Jon is going to ride Rhaegar, I’m almost 100% sure of that. No way the writers are passing up the opportunity to have their number 1 hero mount a dragon or have this Dance of Dragons 2.0 end without a Jon/D*ny showdown on dragon back. So what better time for Jon to steal Rhaegal than when he needs to get to KL really, really fast?

6. Jaime and Cersei need to meet again: For one I believe that Jaime is the younger brother who will choke Cersei to death. For two, Cersei’s storyline is so marked by wildfire that it would be weird not to have the man most traumatized by wildfire be there to stop her from using it (which I believe will be the reason why he ends up killing her, paralleling his killing of the Mad King). Jaime and Cersei’s relationship is so toxic and tragic that it needs to end in the same vein, and “I don’t believe you” and a quick exist North ain’t gonna cut it. We know Jaime is going North to join the fight against the WW so the kidnapping plot might bring him back to KL, of his own accord or perhaps as Jon’s hostage. (he’s going to need some kind of leverage against Cersei, right? Who better than the only person left in the world Cersei actually cares about?)

7. The feelings reveal needs to happen somehow: At some point Jon and Sansa will need to confess their love for each other. So … what better time in terms of full emotional impact than after they’ve been separated and they thought they’d die/never see each other again?

8. The writers need to connect the Winterfell/WW plot to the King’s Landing plot: I mean what is Cersei going to do for at least 3 episodes? Walk around the Red Keep counting the villages she’s taken back from D*ny with the help of the Golden Company? I mean, that would be the smart thing to do. Why march your armies into the North, in the dead of winter, with a zombie apocalypse underfoot? But then again, if characters acted smart and rational all the time, we’d have much more boring plot lines, wouldn’t we? The kidnapping of Sansa can bring the two narrative threads together.

So both in terms of plot expediency as well as arc completion, the kidnapping plot neatly solves all sorts of issues as well as add drama and the all important cliff hangers GOT loves.

As for how it will unfold … I think what we’re truly missing in order to see the full picture is the: Why? Why does Cersei kidnap Sansa at this juncture in the story? She could have already done it in season 7, when Jon was away on Dragonstone. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to do than now, during the Long Night, with dragons circling Winterfell and huge armies fighting zombies. Unfortunately, I don’t have a clear answer to this. Something needs to happen … some unforeseen plot development that convinces Cersei to send her men to capture Sansa. What that might be, I’m not sure.

But it will probably also be the answer to your question about why kidnap Sansa and not just murder her. In addition to that, one other reason why Cersei wouldn’t just murder Sansa is because of the way that Cersei gets her revenge. If we look at her revenge against Septa Ornella and Ellaria Sand, we can see that Cersei is not content to only murder her enemies, she wants to dish out the same amount and type of torment that was inflicted on her by the parties responsible. I imagine she will want to do the same thing to Sansa.

Could this happen simultaneously with the WW attack? Again, I don’t know. Feels like a lot to juggle but it could … Maybe the kidnapping happens during the WW final battle and Jon going to KL is the start of the Dance of Dragons part of the story line? Maybe Jon steals Rhaegal to go rescue Sansa and D*ny pursues him on Drogon? Just ideas at this point …

One theory I do have is that Cersei need not attack Winterfell to get Sansa. After all, Cersei did promise to help against the WW. That would mean that the Winterfell gang, at least in theory, will be waiting for her tropes to arrive. Any day now … Almost there … There they are! They show up, Winterfell opens their gates and boom, somewhere during the night, Euron (it would need to be Euron, wouldn’t it? he’s the only one crazy enough to attempt it particularly if Cersei commits to marrying him) and his merry men abduct Sansa. Now imagine the fall out from that decision, the guilt that Jon would feel that he allowed them to walk through the gates, the angst, the torment! That would be great! So? In his desperation, he steals Rhaegal (and possibly Jaime) and goes to KL. The reason why I’m so attached to Jon stealing Rhaegal at this juncture is that atop a dragon, Jon has more of a chance of getting out there alive with Sansa, than if he were to travel by boat. I mean he needs to take precautions, despite whatever Cersei might say/promise. He’s not a moron.

As for what happens in KL,it’s anyone’s guess at this point because again we must return to that pesky: why. Although I have to say, that whatever might happen, it won’t be that pretty for Sansa. I don’t see any way it could be. In the end, she will triumph but it will be an angst riddled couple of weeks for all of us.

If anyone has scenarios to share here, please feel free.

Thank you for the ask, nonnie!

#jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa #jon x sansa #sansa x cersei #got s8 speculation

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loveramirez-blog1 · 5 years

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minijenn · 5 years

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Keys to the Kingdom Chapter 3

AN-Another chapter, this time focusing on the bad guys! Interesting stuff for sure! I won’t keep you from it, so here ya go! Enjoy!

Previous: http://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/183131244364/keys-to-the-kingdom-chapter-2

Chapter 3: To Seek the Darkness

And people who say things they don’t really mean, really mean?

In the wake of the supposed defeat and destruction of the original Organization XIII, the group’s former base of operations had been left abandoned. For almost an entire year, the World that Never Was and the grand castle at its heart lay completely empty and silent, bereft of even the Heartless and Nobodies that were known to naturally spawn there. But with the rise of a new Organization with a new purpose, the shadow-steeped world’s usefulness began anew as well. And once again, the members of the Organization gathered at their former headquarters, waiting in the wings for whatever it is their leader required of them next.

In their current idle time, two such members traversed the unchanged gray corridors of the castle, remembering their winding twists and turns well even after their relatively recent respective revivals. The pair carried on a rather casual conversation, though even despite that, their tones were hushed, lest any unwanted prying eyes or ears be on the prowl. Something that was a very high likelihood, considering the various familiar faces that had returned to fill out the ranks of the new Organization XIII.

“So, why are you back?” Marluxia asked plainly, only barely casting a glance at the member keeping pace alongside him.

“Hmph, nice way to greet your old partner in crime,” Larxene scoffed, though she was still smirking all the same. Her tone was enough to elicit a similar sardonic grin from the graceful assassin, though it was quick to fade as his companion continued. “So, why do you think the old geezer took us back?” she asked, genuinely curious. “He must know we backstabbed the Organization back when Xemnas was running it.”

Marluxia shook his head. “Xehanort doesn’t care about you or me,” he said evenly. “To him, we’re nothing but empty husks. The old Organization was no different. Xehanort needs thirteen vessels to hold his essence.”

“Husks?” Larxene repeated, clearly not fond of the idea. “Not me. You know you and me are way above being just paws in someone else’s game. So instead…” the savage nymph’s grin deepened with a clearly sinister idea as she positioned herself just a bit closer to Marluxia. “Why don’t we just stage another coup instead?”

The graceful assassin sighed almost tiredly as he offered her a disapproving glance. “Larxene…”

“Oh, come on!” Larxene pouted with playful pleading. “It’d be fun. And it might actually work out this time without a dirty double-crosser like Axel around to throw a wrench into our plans. So… what do you say?” At first, Marluxia offered her no replay as he instead continued on his way, even with the savage nymph trailing right behind him, still seeking an answer. “Well?” she pressed impatiently. Finally, the graceful assassin stopped and turned to face her, his expression unreadable even as he prepared to reply and, at least as far as Larxene was concerned, give her the answer she hoped to hear. And yet, before he could, their conversation was unexpectedly interupted by another member who just so happened to round the corner at that very moment.

“Oh please,” Demyx scoffed, clutching his sitar as he joined the pair. “You guys couldn’t do it last time, what makes you think you could pull that whole ‘coup’ thing off now?” The melodious nocturne grinned as he strummed a few notes on his instrument. “You gotta play it smart, like me.”

“What?” Larxene shot back crossly. “You’re not smart! In fact, you’re just about the dumbest person in the Organization, but old and new!”

Demyx shrugged, seemingly unoffended. “Well, you heard what Marly said. I don’t have to be smart.”

“Or capable, or likeable, or attractive,” Larxene listed off, her hands on her hips. “A cereal bowl would make a better vessel!”

“Whoa, now you’re way out of line,” Demyx countered. “I am extremely imposing… When I want to be. Which is, admittedly, almost never.”

“Well, that’s one thing you got right,” the savage nymph huffed coldly. “Looks like the old man is getting desperate if he’d take someone like you back into the Organization. Probably only ‘cause his plan to get the true prize he’d had his eye on backfired on him.”

“Huh?” Demyx frowned, confused. “What prize?”

“Ugh, seriously?” Larxene exclaimed in appalled disbelief. “You can’t be that stupid. But then again, since this is you we’re talking about here, maybe you can be.”

“You and a few of the others who were only just brought back are too late to have known,” Marluxia interjected much more calmly. “But she’s talking about Sora.”

“Whaaaaa?!” Demyx exclaimed, genuinely surprised to hear this. However, before he could ask any of his many newfound questions, a corridor of darkness suddenly materialized, allowing a fourth member to join in on the engaging conversation.

“Ah, so the whispers I’ve heard among the higher rungs are indeed true then…” Luxord mused with a knowing grin as he offered the others a small nod of greeting.

“You’re in again too?” Larxene spoke up before the gambler of fate could continue. “What is this, Organization Rehash?”

“I happen to play an important role, even despite my rather recent revival,” Luxord assured. “Unlike some… others, perhaps.”

“So you were listening this whole time?” Demyx asked as he strummed a low note on his sitar. “So not cool.”

The gambler of fate chuckled. “One must hold one’s cards as long as necessary,” he said, conjuring up a deck in his hand to playfully flip about. “Even so, the context you just provided me with… certainly does shuffle the deck in an interesting way. Now I believe I finally understand what I overheard from Xemnas when he said we haven’t lost our proposed thirteen vessel just yet…”

The three younger members exchanged a rather baffled glance at this before they looked back to Luxord once more, overwhelmed with curiosity to hear more about what he’d gleaned from the Organizations’ leaders. “What are you talking about?” Larxene asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Either we all heard what happened by now,” Marluxia added, the slightest hint of confusion in his otherwise usually collected tone. “Or we were all there to see it for ourselves. Xehanort’s attempt at forcing Sora to join our ranks were halted by none other than Axel. His plan, however complex and intricate as it might have been, was a failure.”

“Ah, or so it might have seemed at the time,” Luxord retorted, holding up a lone card as he flipped it over to show the rest. “But a single wild card is all it takes to turn an otherwise unsavory hand…” His smile widened as several more matching cards appeared in his hand to create a perfect full house. “Into a full set.”

“Wait, I’m still confused,” Demyx interjected.

“Why is that not surprising?” Larxene muttered, rolling her eyes.

The melodious nocturne ignored her, though even still he sent her a small glare before he spoke his piece. “So did this whole plan that Xehanort had for Sora that Marluxia was just talking about work out? Or… not?”

“That is of no concern to any of you right now.” The other four members swiftly spun around to find none other than Saïx approaching them, his expression as aloof and stoic as ever as he came to stand before the group.

“Ugh, Saïx,” Larxene groaned disdainfully. “Figures that you’d join up again. What, are you here to tell us to get back to doing our jobs or something?”

“Precisely,” the luna diviner replied without missing a beat as he passed through the group. “If the four of you are done wasting your time on aimless gossip, then there are much more important matters to attend to. Master Xehanort has requested that all of us gather in the Round Room to receive our next assignment.”

“Y-you mean… Xehanort’s still here?” Demyx asked apprehensively, gripping his sitar a bit tighter at the mention of the master’s name.

“I thought the old coot left after his plan to ‘recruit’ the Keybrat supposedly fell through,” Larxene added, crossing her arms.

“The master still has business in this world,” Saïx explained, glancing over his shoulder at the group. “And so long as he does, then it is his intention to remain here to see that business carried out. Considering what his intentions are, you would all be wise to listen well to what he has to say.”

Without another word, Saïx disappeared into a dark corridor himself, likely heading off to the very meeting he had just told the group still gathered in the hall about. A bout of silence passed between them as they exchange a dubious glance, none of them quite sure what the master’s specific “intentions” were to begin with. In fact, the only thing they really knew was that the sole reason any of them had been brought back into existence was to aid in exacting those mysterious ambitions, whatever they might end up being.

“It seems as though another game is about to begin,” Luxord spoke up first, summoning a dark portal as he took his leave. “We might as well go learn what the rules are this time, hm?”

“Or better yet, learn how to bend those rules to our advantage,” Marluxia remarked, offering Larxene a small, knowing grin as he left in a similar manner.

“So… I guess everything’s same old, same old, then?” Demyx asked the savage nymph with an irresolute shrug.

“Oh, shut up already,” Larxene hissed as she also took her leave, leaving the melodious nocturne behind to do the same.

“H-hey! Wait up!” Demyx exclaimed, quickly summoning a corridor of darkness for himself. And with that, the entire group was gone, off to join the rest of their number and learn whatever it was their master had in store for them all.

Perched upon the highest, most paramount chair of the Round Room, Master Xehanort sat, watching coolly and quietly as the various members teleported in to take their respective seats. Each one of them bore a fragment of his own heart and his essence, of that much he had personally made certain, even among the members that weren’t already some sort of extension of himself. Even so, the elderly master had brought each of these figures back into existence for a reason, a purpose that would not only ensure the clash of light and darkness that he had been seeking for countless years now. But also, a purpose that would also deliver the ultimate prize that awaited on the other side of that clash into his hands once and for all.

One by one, the spotless thrones were filled, some of the members faces’ concealed by their pitch black hoods, others not. None of them spoke to each other out of either respect or fear for their master’s presence, but a few of them did exchange brief, fruitive nods of greeting here and there. By the time all of the members had arrived, all but one of the seats had been filled, the lone empty one being the shortest throne sitting directly across from Xehanort himself. The elderly master’s already steady grin deepened as he kept his sights on that empty throne, knowing that it would be filled soon enough. But as the master had already figured out, that would have to wait; in the meantime, he had another initiative to get off the ground instead.

“Greetings, my Seekers of Darkness,” Xehanort began, garnishing the attention of the entire group from his elevated throne. “It is fortunate that we have all managed to congregate here again so soon. Listen well, all of you, for there is much that we must discuss.” The master paused, almost as if to make sure every single member present was doing just that before he continued. “Firstly, let it be known that the clash of light and darkness that we ever strive towards is soon at hand. Already, the guardians of light are scrambling, rushing themselves to gather allies to their side, no matter how weak and unexperienced those allies might be. They are well aware that our own ranks are nearly completed, and indeed, we are close. There is but only one final vessel we must obtain, but fret not; that vessel is already starting to make the slow but certain fall into our hands. Our missing darkness will belong to us before they even know it.”

“Oh really?” Xigbar spoke up almost knowingly from his own seat. “And just who might this so-called ‘missing darkness’ be, huh?” Likewise, upon hearing mention of this apparently unknown thirteenth vessel, Larxene, Marluxia, Demyx, and Luxord all focused on Xehanort with the same sort of scrutiny, each of them curious to know if the rumors they had shared amongst each other could actually bear some weight after all.

The elderly master simply smirked at this, shaking his head as if to bar the more eager members of his Organization from knowing. “The answer to that will be revealed in due time,” he said mysteriously, sending side glances over at his younger self, Xemnas, and Ansem in particular. The trio said nothing but nodded, almost as if they were communicating something to the master, even if no one else was in on the tip. “But rest assured that we will indeed have all thirteen members on our side, perhaps even a few in reserve, just in case any of you fall short of my expectations…” A handful of the members seemed to fill the almost palpable chill in Xehanort’s tone as he said this, his smile finally gone as he glanced over each of them piercingly. “Which is something that each of you should pray does not happen… I’ve given almost each of you a second chance at existence. Use it well and do not disappoint me…”

If any of the lower-ranking members of the new Organization had any sort of doubts about the kind of stern authority their master wielded, those doubts were soon laid to rest the moment he summoned his Keyblade to his side as a show of exactly that. The fierce, dark weapon radiated immense power, power that some of them feared while others among them craved it. There was no question that it demanded respect, and it was clear that respect was what Xehanort demanded of each of them. And for the most part, that respected was what most of the members decided, for varying purposes and reasons, that they were going to pay him. For now at least.

“Each of you,” Xehanort continued, holding his Keyblade out level. “Take a look at this Keyblade. This weapon, and every other one like it in existence, are mere replicas, rendered after the most powerful key in existence, the one true X-Blade! It is a blade that I brazenly, foolishly even, tried to get my hands on years ago, all without realizing that it is merely a single key needed among several others to unlock the ultimate power that lies behind the essence of all worlds: Kingdom Hearts!”

A few soft, muted gasps rose up from some of the younger members who weren’t previously privy to the master’s plan, though in hindsight it did add up. Kingdom Hearts had always been the ultimate goal of the old Organization; it only made sense that the newest iteration of the group would be working towards its untold power as well. Which was why all ears were still on Xehanort’s bold words as he continued with the intent of detailing exactly how they were going to do just that.

“As mighty as the X-Blade itself is, it alone is not enough to bestow control of the heart of all worlds onto any one individual,” the master explained as his Keyblade disappeared. “To truly claim complete control over Kingdom Hearts, at least according to ancient legends previously lost to the ages, one must gather and unite thirteen divine Keyblades, all forged by the very Kingdom they possess the ability to unlock. And… whoever holds them all is destined to be its ruler undisputed, with every shred of power it has to offer at their disposal, now until the end of time itself.”

“The ruler…” Saïx spoke up first, breaking through the small bout of silence that permeated the room after this prophecy was delivered to the all. “Of Kingdom Hearts…”

“Well, well!” Xigbar spoke up with an intrigued grin upon hearing this. “Now we’re thinkin’ really big here, aren’t we, old man? I’d say it’s about time!”

“So I suppose your intention is to have each of us go out and collect these thirteen Keys for your purposed regime then,” Marluxia inferred, feigning boredom. “Correct?”

“To an extent…” Xehanort grinned knowingly. “The Keys to the Kingdom, as they are called, are scattered far and wide across the worlds. No one knows exactly where they are hidden, but it is foretold that finding even just one will lead to the location of the next and so on and so forth. It is for that purpose that I am indeed sending each of you out amongst that worlds to search for the Keys and bring them back to me. Do this for me, and I can guarantee: each and every single one of you will have an equal share in our conquest when Kingdom Hearts finally, finally belongs to us!”

Out of any other group, this rallying promise might have elicited an excited cheer; but instead, the members of the new Organization simply nodded in solid, mostly unanimous agreement with their master’s plan. After all, the power and potential of Kingdom Hearts was beyond comprehension, said to be able to do just about anything and everything imaginable. Regardless of whatever Xehanort wanted that incredibly power for, more than a few members already had their own ideas in mind for what they’d use even a fraction of it. Ideas that, as far as most of them were concerned, were more than worth the effort it would take to track the Keys to the Kingdom down and bring them back to Xehanort so he could pull it all together for them.

“I am certain that the guardians of light will soon be made aware of the prophecy of the Keys, if they’re not already,” the master continued. “But even if they do intend to search for them, they shall be far outnumbered. Scatter yourselves among the worlds and do whatever you must to secure those Keys for the darkness. And as I said before…” Xehanort glowered down at his members warningly, barely even needing to remind them just what was at stake if they failed to do as he said. “Be aware of the price for disappointing me. Inasmuch as I brought each of you back, I can just as easily take all that I have returned to you away again. And so, with that in mind… go! Go and bring forth both the Keys and the Kingdom for us all!”

On this stern command, most of the Organization members readily complied, not hesitating to disappear into dark portals so they could prepare to set out to do just that. The master watched with a satisfied smile as they all departed, including his own Heartless, Nobody, and younger self, each heading off on their own with their primary mission clear. However, only a handful of them currently knew of the other prize they were seeking, one that they could only just keep a close eye on from afar for now. Though Xehanort was certain that, with enough time, perception, and patience on his part, then all the pieces would soon fall perfectly into place, just as they did once before.

“‘Go and bring forth the Keys and the Kingdom for us all’, huh? Good one. I gotta admit, you nearly had me going right along with everyone else with that. And maybe I might have if I was even half as stupid as any of them are.”

The elderly master’s lingering grin faded somewhat as he raised an eyebrow down at the only remaining member in the room sitting several seats away from him. “I do believe I just issued an absolute order to everyone present,” Xehanort said coldly. “Which means you are free to go as well, Vanitas.”

The masked boy scoffed as he leaned back in his chair a bit, making no apparent effort to depart whatsoever. “Like I just said, I would have left right along with the rest of them,” he began bluntly. "If I hadn’t already caught onto exactly what kind of game you’re playing at, old man.”

“And what ‘game’ might that be?” Xehanort asked almost boredly as he rolled his eyes.

“You and I both know that you don’t have any plans of sharing Kingdom Hearts if you really do end up getting your hands on it,” Vanitas pointed out plainly. “A prize like that is far too enticing to just split up like that, especially for someone like you whose been after it for so long. I don’t know how you managed to get all those idiots to believe you, but believe me when I say that you’re not fooling me.”

Xehanort initially said nothing to this, instead simply sending the masked boy a rather piercing look of disapproval before ultimately deciding to pass his brazenness off as mere hyperbole. “So I suppose you find yourself quite clever for figuring that out, don’t you?” he asked, his confident smirk returning only slightly. “No matter. The other seekers shall still go and search out the Keys to the Kingdom all the same. And in the same way, so too shall you fulfill your purpose, Vanitas, by locating Ventus, joining your heart together with his, and finally forging the X-Blade for your master. And this time you will not fail me as you did last time. Do you understand?”

Vanitas didn’t respond, instead opting to glance away from his master as he crossed his arms stoically. Xehanort’s already somewhat impatient scowl deepened at this at this impertinence as he repeated himself much more firmly this time. “I said do you understa-”

“Understand? Yes,” Vanitas interupted, the bitter sarcasm in his tone excruciatingly clear. “Care? No.” With that, the masked boy leapt down from his seat with the apparent intention of leaving. “You really think that grand scheme of yours is actually gonna work this time? Face it, old man, you couldn’t get Kingdom Hearts to be yours back then, Ansem couldn’t get it to be his, and neither could Xemnas. You’re all exactly the same, in every way imaginable. Just a bunch of blind, ego-driven men stuck on the same stupid plan that never seems to work! Which is why I’m surprised I’m the only one who’s tired of waiting on you to deliver on something you’ll never be able to obtain, even with the X-Blade, even with the Keys, even with all the other pawns you think you have set up so nicely to help you in what’s ultimately gonna be just another losing battle. So forget it; I’m done.” Without even sparing Xehanort another single word, Vanitas turned to make his succinct and sour exit, though before he could make much of an attempt to summon a dark corridor, his leave was expectedly interupted by the master himself.

Vanitas deftly leapt out of the path of a powerful burst of darkness, one that came from Xehanort’s hand as the master stood atop his high throne, glaring icily down at the masked boy below him. “I’m afraid you don’t have the option of being ‘done’,” he remarked, his Keyblade easily appearing in his hand. In an instant, the master sped down from his elevated perch with frightening speed, his blade poised for attack. Vanitas only had mere seconds to summon his own Keyblade so that he could properly block Xehanort’s brutal swing, but even so, it still pushed him back across the room’s central platform by several feet all the same.

“So…” the masked boy began, somewhat breathless from the surprise of the attack as he repositioned himself to properly square off against his master. “We’re back to this again, huh?”

“I’ve found that it always was the best way to get either you or Ventus to behave,” Xehanort mused calmly as darkness began to swirl around his Keyblade.

“Hmph, like that straight-edged loser even has a rebellious bone in his body,” the masked boy deadpanned haughtily as he referred to his other half. Acting on adrenaline alone, he rushed forward, Keyblade at the ready before he sent its edge swinging hard at his mister. Xehanort countered the strike easily, kicking Vanitas back once more before rushing in for yet another barrage of unforgiving attacks. The masked boy only barely blocked most of them, though a few of them landed hard and painfully, even if they still weren’t quite enough to completely wear him down. Still, despite his age, Xehanort was stilled and strong, his abilities with his Keyblade far surpassing Vanitas’ own, however formidable that might have been. He well knew from experience that he’d only be able to hold his own in a struggle like this up against his master for so long and it was quickly becoming apparent that this fight would be no exception.

After lashing out with another merciless swing, Xehanort decided to keep his Keyblade pressed tightly against Vanitas’, knowing that the friction would inevitably wear the masked boy down, as much as he tried to push back against it. “You realize just as much as I do that this bout of petty rebellion is absolutely meaningless, do you not?” the master asked, glaring down at his apprentice harshly. “If you do not pursue Ventus and join again with him to form the X-Blade, then you will forever remain an incomplete, empty being of nothing more than directionless darkness. Act as impertinent as you’d like, but you cannot deny that I am the only one who can help you become whole again.”

Put off by such an arrogant assumption, Vanitas shoved his Keyblade back hard, surprising even Xehanort, but still not enough for him to relinquish his steady hold. “Its amazing how someone who claims to know so much can be so wrong about so many things,” the masked boy remarked bitingly. “I don’t need you to find Ventus. I never needed you. Face it, old man: if you really want that X-Blade, then you’re the one who needs me.”

That final bold statement was easily enough to set Xehanort off even more than he already was, an impressive feat to be sure. In his tranquil rage, the master brought his Keyblade down in a sudden, calculated swing, one that the masked boy was unable to properly deflect this time. Vanitas was thrown back once more by the incredible force of the attack, to the point that he barely even noticed the small, but sizable crack that had started to form across his mask as the result of it. Somehow, its glass surface didn’t break, but all the same, Xehanort showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

“Perhaps you did not hear what I told the others,” the master said darkly, standing over his injured apprentice threateningly. “I restored you to your pitiful existence, even after the disappointment you proved to be years ago. But it’d be just as easy for me to take you out once again and replace you with much more… suitable candidates.” At this, Xehanort rose his Keyblade, hovering it over Vanitas with the intent of bringing it down in a devastating blow in a moment’s notice if he didn’t get his way. “Which is why I will only tell you this one final time: you will forge the X-Blade for me or you will face obliteration once more. And this time, I will not be as merciful as to give you another chance again. It’s your choice.”

Initially, it seemed as though Vanitas was actually going to comply with his master’s demands as he said nothing, simply hanging his head in what almost looked like begrudging acceptance. That is, until he managed to pull off the only trick he had up his sleeve that could actually work to put some distance between himself and Xehanort’s deadly Keyblade. An immense pall of darkness surged around the masked boy and from that darkness, a swarm of creatures, both big and small, though all composed of the same shadowy malice, emerged: the Unversed.

The massive wave of monsters was more than enough to push Xehanort back, finally giving Vanitas enough time to pick himself up and leap out of the fray. Of course, the master made quick work of the rampaging Unversed, but by then, his apprentice had already safely distanced himself by leaping onto one of the higher chairs and summoning a dark corridor to make a hasty retreat.

“Oh, believe me, I am going to forge the X-Blade,” Vanitas assured, his tone icy as he turned to face his now-former master one last time. “But when I do, I can guarantee that you’ll be the last person to ever get your hands on it, ‘Master’…” And, without bothering to spare another word on Xehanort, the masked boy disappeared into the darkness, ready to act on his own ambitions for a change instead of those of his faltering, vindictive master.

“Hmph,” Xehanort scoffed to himself, still standing in the center of the Round Room as his Keyblade disappeared. “Insolent whelp. No matter…” The master was quick to teleport back to his usual elevated seat, his contented, calculated grin returning as he thought back to his steadily-developing plans. “He cannot stop what is destined to transpire. The Keys, the Kingdom, and of course, the thirteenth vessel shall all soon fall into my hands, one by one.” Xehanort’s smirk widened as he set his sights on the lowest-bearing seat across from him, still as empty as it had been before, though he could already sense that it wouldn’t remain that way for long. “Isn’t that right… Sora?”

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #jen writes #keys to the kingdom #kh fanfic #organization xiii #xehanort #vanitas #larxene #demyx #marluxia #luxord #saix #xigbar #feat minor cameos from #young xehanort #xemnas #ansem

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rickssoberjourney · 5 years

Text

Relapse

107 days sober from using crystal meth. I never made it to 108. There was so much that went into my relapse and I never saw it coming.

In the beginning of my relationship with my sponsor, he suggested that many in the program give up dating and sex in the initial stages of their sobriety. I took it under advisement and made a half-hearted commitment.

I continued to browse the gay apps. I didn't necessarily talk to the guys but I did hook up every once in awhile. I guess you could say that by keeping the apps and continuing to have sex, that my "commitment" was rather half-hearted. Oh, I paid lip service to it, but I never really commited wholeheartedly. Do you know why? I felt that I was being asked to give up too much and frankly, I resented it. I didn't really see the benefits of giving up sex and dating. To me, it was asking me to do too much!

Then , something happened. Through several recent experiences, I became painfully aware of just how sick my feelings about dating and sex were. I began to recognize just how intertwined my poor self-image (brought to my way of thinking for the first time through CoDA) and my feelings about dating and sex, in particular, were. I came to understand that sex is a drug for me. Dating, when things went well (and the guy liked me and wanted to see me again!), I felt great about myself. If I could get the guy home in bed, I must be ok, I reasoned. So, it hit me square in the face: I was using sex to soothe myself and when it worked, it worked very well. But when it backfired, I went into the depths of depression.

Equipped with this new knowledge, I was able to delete all of the sex apps from my phone. Grindr. Adam4Adam, Scruff. You know them. I did it with such renewed conviction. Oh, I had deleted them many times before, but this time it was different. There were deleted, not out of guilt, but from knowing that those apps fed into my less-than-healthy attitudes toward sex, which was simply a reflection of how I felt about myself, in my heart of hearts. Great! Apps gone!

Until 12 hours later...

It was like I panicked. If those apps werent there, what would I do while sitting on the couch at night? Scrolling through profiles took up a lot of my time. Frankly, when the apps were gone, I panicked. Follow the logic here: if my self-image was based upon the responses of the men on those apps, then without them, (to my mind, that is!) I had nothing to bloster my ego. Oh, sure. I got dissed plenty of times, but it's like intermittant reinforcement. Every once in awhile, a nice guy would talk to me and might actually be interested in me. To my twisted way of thinking, his approval signaled to me that I was attractive. But, more often than not, the responses either didn't come (I was ignored), or the responses were negative. And, considering that my self-worth is based on what others think of me, those rejections hurt me far more than they would a "normal" person.

So, after only 12 hours and after writing a long Tumblr blog about why I knew that giving the apps up was in the interest of my mental health, I was disgusted with myself and, I think, I basically just gave up. Dating and sex, here I come!

I woke up this past Saturday morning, ready to drive to San Diego to meet my family. I awakened with my heart pounding because I had a very vivid dream of me using crystal with a large group of guys...and we know what that means! From that moment on, the cravings came on heavy! I called my sponsor and we talked. It helped, but the cravings were so intense, more intense than I had ever experienced, that I'm not sure I heard everything my sponsor was telling me.

That night, in my hotel room, I was on the apps. Two guys wanted to come over and we were going to party in my room. Due to circumstances (divine intervention?) that meeting never took place. The next day, I decided to drive back to Palm Springs. My cravings were even worse.

It just so happened that a buddy that I used to use with and have sex with texted me. That started the ball rolling. At that moment, I knew that when I got back to Palm Springs, that my friend and I could get together and use. I wanted to. I didn't even try to fight it. In fact, I knew that I should have reached out for help, but frankly, I didn't want help. I wanted to use. It was pure self-will.

So, it happened just as I thought. I promised myself on 1-2 hits. What a joke! And, if you're reading this, you will understand that after 107 days of sobriety, those 2+ hits smashed into the sexual centers of my brain and I was off to the races! I won't go into gory details, but let's just say that I got no sleep that night and that there were three men who participated with me throughout the night. Each of them came prepared with favors and, of course, I used all night long. By the time the sun rose, I was twitching and grinding and I haven't slept in 24 hours. Basically, I was a mess.

What have I learned? That relapse is now a part of my process, I have to learn something from it so that I can avoid another relapse.

I learned and have come to understand, painfully so, just how pathological my thinking about myself is. Couple that with the idea that my self-worth comes from outside myself instead of from within, and I've got one pretty messed up situation. Then, throw in crystal and it just compounds things. I felt powerful when high. I liked my activities when I was high. I do understand reinforcement contingencies well enough to know that the combination of needing positive strokes from everyone else, coupled with the sexual explosion that comes with crystal, I was playing with fire.

Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, "And though one mahy be overpowered, two can resist. Moreover, a cord of three strands is not quickly broken." You can look at this verse in several ways. Many times during Christian weddings, the pastor will use this verse to show that the union of two people and God is like a triple braided cord. It cannot be easily broken. In my case, I see it differently.

I have three cords, too. My condependent attitude that tells me that I'm worthless unless others approve of me. My need to gain approval through dating and sexual behavior, and (the strongest cord!), crystal meth. Over the last week, I have come to understand that these three cords and so tangled up inside my life and, therefore, in my behavior, that unraveling it or "breaking it" is going to be difficult. My sponsor told me today, that at this point in my relapse, I can't allow myself to think of "big picture" issues. That can lead to total despair! He said that self-care is paramount. My brain needs to heal and then I can start to unravel the twised mess that is my life. If I allow myself, I can spiral down into that deep pit of dispair, believing that I will never be healthy. But, then I have to remind myself that I did get 107 days of sobriety under my belt. That's nothing to sneeze at. And, when I am healthy, I can being to untangle those three cords.

What did I learn? I'm willful. No matter how strongly my Higher Power is speaking to me, I have the capacity to overrule and go my own way. That's exactly what I did. Did I get what I wanted? Temporarily, yes. I got high and had a lot of hot sex. But, was that temporary flash worth it? That's a rhetorical question. Of course it wasn't worth it. I risked everything...my livelihood, my family relationships, my financial security, and quite possibly my life for a few fleeting moments of excitement. Then, I had to pay for it by coming down, crashing.

I'll leave it at this: If there ever was a question as to whether I was a crystal meth addict, that question has been answered. I AM A CRYSTAL METH ADDICT! I am powerless over it. It sings to me like the sirens. It is insideous. I fell into the thought patterns of, "Oh, I can control my use!" No. I cannot! I have the allergy and I always will. I can't dabble because one that drug hits my brain, I'm off to the races and I cannot control myself.

So, relapse is now a part of my journey to sobriety. It will be with me until the day I die. I am an addict. I can choose the path of sexual kicks with all of the pitfalls of that phony world, or I can choose sobriety and spirituality. The choice is mine to make. I didn't make a good decision this past weekend. But maybe that relapse experience can serve as a teaching tool to inform my future decisions. May my Higher Power help me.

Amen.

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ladyoftheshrimp · 6 years

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I'm intrigued (inwardly squeeing with joy) by your Dark!Newt and Pregnant!Graves, if you have the time, could you write a little more on whats going on/what led up to that scene?

How could I refuse such a lovely ask? Have a little more Dark!Newt and Pregnant!Graves. This is almost a prequel to this small scene.

Dark Light

The clock ticked too loud and too slow for Percival’s liking. He was grouchy and he’d only just woken up (again) after 10am. There were vague memories of Newt pressing a kiss to his temple and whispering sweet nothings into his hair before he left. It was the big day and Percival was both relieved and terrified. Finally Grindelwald was going to be taken out of the picture solely for his benefit. Newt had promised him that whatever made Percival happy and safe was going to happen.

The first time Percival hadn’t believed him. He hadn’t believed anyone, the aurors who filed past his bed with muttered apologies while not looking him in the eye. Seraphina had been by and told him his job was still his and he had the department’s confidence behind him. The healers who told him that all was well. While Grindelwald’s spell had taken his seed hadn’t. It didn’t explain why Percival still felt sick each morning, why his stomach cramped at times as though there was something foreign in there. There were hushed voices about phantom pregnancies but nobody dared tell him to his face that what he was going through was all psychological. Newt had tried, he’d been the first to sit down next to him, look him in the eyes and tell him that he’d seen similar things in his creatures. Percival had scoffed and turned away from the man. It didn’t seem to achieve much as rather than take it as the insult it was meant to be, Newt started to talk about Grindelwald. It almost spurred Percival into a full blown panic and Newt sat and watched him try to get his breathing under control.

“You can’t even bear to hear his name, can you?” he’d asked when Percival had steadied himself and moved to a less sweat soaked part of the bed. The glare Percival sent him didn’t seem to put him off though.

“I could help. Your happiness would be paramount and nothing would be refused.”

“And if I wanted him dead?” Percival shot back with a sneer.

“When you’re ready to admit that you really do, then I’ll make arrangements,” Newt replied without batting an eyelash. It made Percival gawp at the casual ease with which the other promised him murder.

“You do realise I could have you arrested for saying such a thing?” Percival asked.

“Who would they believe? A highly traumatised man with a sudden lust for revenge? Or the New York hero who helped capture the very man at the centre of this murderous plot?” Newt’s smile was anything but kind and Percival swallowed thickly. The man had a point, nobody would believe him. Without saying any more Newt got up and left after a few silent minutes.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise when Newt returned to Percival’s bedside a few days later. The only person who had been back for a second visit until then had been Seraphina and even she had only been by to discuss MACUSA and job related issues. Newt made himself at home in the visitor’s chair and offered Percival a pastry from a bag.

“Fresh from this morning, I think you’ll enjoy it,” Newt suggested.

“The healers said I shouldn’t have anything other than their pre-planned meals just yet, my stomach isn’t up for it,” Percival replied and pushed the bag away ruefully. The bag was pushed back towards his stomach.

“The healers want you back in fighting shape and think the phantom pregnancy cravings you’ve had can be cured by deprivation, they know nothing. So have a pastry and enjoy it. I promise they’re not poisoned,” Newt proved this by taking one of the pastries and taking a giant bite out of it. After a moment’s hesitation Percival took the other pastry and took a small bite. It was bliss. The sugar, the softness of the pastry as it all but melted in his mouth. He couldn’t help the small moan.

“How do you know about the cravings anyway?” he asked half way through his pastry.

“I also know that Picquery isn’t over the moon with your condition and is looking at ways to, if not reverse the spell then at least force a sterilisation,” Newt countered. It made Percival’s face fall. As much as he’d loathed what Grindelwald had planned for him, the idea of having a family somehow warmed his heart. The fact that Seraphina wanted to take that away from him hurt. Somehow the rest of the pastry didn’t taste as sweet and he dropped the remainder back into the back as his hand rested on his flat stomach.

Newt’s visits were every few days. Usually he smuggled in some kind of food that Percival shouldn’t have been eating and their little secret warmed something in Percival. Their conversations often turned personal, Newt regaling him with stories that showed more of his character than Percival thought the man realised. The ruthless efficiency that Newt demonstrated in his pursuit of creatures was admirable. Even more so was his determination and dedication to the protection of those he held close to his heart.

It contrasted so deeply with Seraphina’s clinically detached visits. She spoke only of his duty, his return to his post and what was expected of him. When she brought up the idea of sterilisation was the day Percival made up his mind.

“Can you get me out of here?” he asked Newt as soon as the man sat down.

“Sure, where will you go?” the ease of Newt’s reply stunned him. He’d expected some resistance, had thought up of arguments and ways to cajole the man into helping him. So the question surprised him and belatedly he realised he didn’t have a reply. To leave MACUSA’s healers against advice was considered an internal crime. The healers were there to get people back to their jobs as quickly as possible. To defy them was mutiny. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill up Percival’s spine but the idea of doing something against the strict rules held a certain appeal. It was time he lived for himself.

“Be ready at 1:34 in the morning. We don’t have time to waste. Picquery wants the procedure done by the end of the week,” Newt told him and then began prattling on about some creature or other. It made Percival think he had imagined it all but the parting “see you soon” was so out of character for Newt that he knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

The lights at the nurses’ station dimmed at 1:30 after the final ward rounds were done until 3:00. Percival shifted in his bed, his worldly possessions wrapped in a spare pillowcase by his feet. Exactly four minutes later there was a tap on his window. Quietly he got out of bed and baulked when a swooping evil dove into the room. There was a note attached to its tail.

Hold higher up his tail, he’s immune to the wards so you won’t trip them either on your way out.

There was no signature but nobody else in their right mind would use a swooping evil to mount a highly unsanctioned rescue mission, it had to be Newt. As instructed Percival gripped the tail firmly and held back his surprised grunt when the creature dove out of the window. He felt the tingle of wards as he passed through them but none of them were set off.

With nowhere to go that MACUSA wouldn’t find him, Percival found himself at Newt’s mercy. It should have grated on his nerves but when the swooping evil curled into a cocoon that landed in Newt’s hand while Percival stumbled on his feet into Newt’s chest it didn’t seem to matter. Newt showed him into his case and returned to the world to apparate them to safety.

Life was cosy, Percival was given a suite in the mansion Newt seemed to have acquired - it wasn’t his childhood home in England, they were still on American soil but Percival found he didn’t much care. The newspapers were abuzz with his disappearance and the rise in activity from Grindelwald’s fanatics. The two events were being linked and when Percival asked Newt about it he was only given a small laugh.

“It’s amazing how people see what they want to, isn’t it?” was all he replied. Percival cast him an assessing look, reconsidering his opinion of Newt. The man was competent and sly, no doubt about that. But perhaps he wielded more power than Percival had been lead to believe.

Falling into a shared bed had been too easy. One too many nightmares for Percival that ended with him sitting in the large kitchen with a cup of tea while Newt stumbled in, covered in muck from his creatures. The nocturnal ones required feeding at strange hours and Newt didn’t trust anybody else with his beasts.

The late night chats from the opposite ends of the table became soft laughter and shoulders pressed together as they sat side by side. They still couldn’t agree who initiated the first kiss but they were both red faced at the fact that it ended with Newt falling off his stool when Percival leaned in too close.

Nightmare became less prominent in Percival’s life as he was introduced to Newt’s creatures and he began to help out with the feeds. There was a relaxing rhythm in the care for the creature. Until one morning he took one whiff of the nundu’s breakfast and retched. A second sniff had him doubling over and heaving his breakfast onto the shed’s floor. Newt didn’t say anything, simply took the offending meat away and quietly checking with a spell that it hadn’t gone off. Satisfied he cast a charm to keep its smell away from Percival.

Realisation was slow to dawn on Percival. He was ashamed to admit it took him a few days and more bouts of random sickness until everything clicked. His first instinct was to rush to Newt who stoked his hair and reassured him that everything was okay.

“What if he finds out?” Percival whispered to Newt in the darkness of their bedroom. Their hands were linked over his stomach.

“My offer from our first chat still stands,” Newt reminded him and Percival fell silent. They drifted off to sleep without anything else being said.

It took Percival a few months of fretting, of renewed nightmares until he approached Newt. His stomach was just starting to show a slight bump which Newt adored kissing and lavishing with attention. Altogether Newt had been a paragon of support. He rubbed Percival’s back through the morning sickness, went out of his way to bring home everything Percival craved and silently bore the mood swings. Most of the time it was just cuddling Percival through sudden bouts of tears but a few times he simply stood up and walked out of the room when Percival’s mood turned so sour that Percival felt like throwing things. He always apologised after and Newt pulled him close in absolution.

“I think I want him gone,” Percival said over breakfast one morning. Newt studied his face silently for a beat.

“Anything else?” he asked eventually.

“He took so much from me, I can’t get it all back. He took my life, my possessions, my job. I just want peace,” Percival replied. Newt nodded.

“I think I can do that,” he said with a flicker of a smile. The next morning Percival woke alone in bed with a promise that Newt would be back a little after dinner.

#gramander #newt scamander #percival graves #mpreg #pregnant percival #morning sickness #dark newt

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