#Yes I've read more into this and I know the context behind her saying this

[kushamisaru]

Remember how a lot of y'all were celebrating and cheering for the death of rainbow capitalism while I and every other queer person who knew better were looking on nervously, warning you it was a canary in the coal mine? And now we have a trans woman in Congress talking about how she's "not here to fight about bathrooms"?

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 5 (finale)

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but to the chance of one last glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 25K of pure smut

warnings:. here we go... sexual roleplay, submissive leon, light dom/sub, masturbation, kinda body worship, catharsis through sex, role reversal and we shift to soft dom leon, sex education, body exploration, cunnilingus, fingering, intercrural sex, degradation kink, leon tweaks again and goes full dom, vaginal orgasm training, corruption kink, marking kink, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, possesive sex, unprotected sex, coming inside. what else? and ooc and fluff. yay!

author's note: we are at the end of my very first multi-chaptered xreader work, thank you so much for bearing with me while i was tormented by becoming what i hated the most and constantly crying over having to bump up the chapter count. to think this was supposed to be a two-shot... special thanks goes to @chesue00 for starting this madness. this plot and pre-written snippets already existed inspired by her art before i reached out to her, but i still can't believe i've come this far since publishing this on september 14th... insane. this is what dopamine and a little attention does to a girl 😭 please look forward to the masterlist because i have to make one now with how long this is....

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

It's a heady feeling, having this strong, powerful man kneeling before you, his muscular body on display for you, undivided attention fixed on yours with a mixture of desire and trepidation. You run a hand through his hair, enjoying the silky softness of it despite being wet, and he leans into your touch, glazed eyes going out of focus for a moment. Your own heart speeds up at how his mouth falls open, panting, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening invitingly.

It dawns on you that you don't know what you're doing right now. Are you trying to prove a point, or are you just indulging in your own fantasy? Is it okay to do this to Leon? You've had many men on their knees in a completely different context devoid of this kind of intimacy, whether it be for healing, blessing, or for sineating. All for the sake of helping them, with the holy light of Ethelion running through your veins, flowing to the believers. This isn't anything like that, but it can be. You can make this a blessing, for him to heal from the self-loathing he seems to be suffering from. That is, if he'll let you help him...

"Are you okay with this?" you ask, and he nods immediately, eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every detail, committing them to memory as though it's the most precious gift he's ever been given, even though you haven't even started doing anything. Leon's gaze flickers down to your towel-covered lap and back up to yours.

"You can say no anytime you want," you remind him gently, stroking his hair once more, and he leans into your touch again, this time with a contented sigh. His eyelids flutter shut and open again languidly as if in slow motion, and when he looks at you, there is something different about him. The tension seems to have melted away, leaving behind a man who seems... almost peaceful? It's a startling contrast from earlier, when he seemed like a caged animal ready to lash out at anything within reach, and it makes your heart ache unexpectedly at how beautiful he looks like this.

"I want to do this," he says firmly, no trace of hesitation or doubt evident anywhere within those oceanic depths staring straight into yours without wavering even once. "Please."

"Okay," you reply, nodding in agreement, because how can you deny him this when he asks so sweetly? You tug at his shirt lightly. "Then take this off, Sir Leon."

His fingers move deftly over his shirt's buttons, undoing them one by one until he shrugs it off his broad shoulders easily enough before letting it fall to the floor behind him.

Your gaze trails over every ridge and dip on his bare torso, taking in all the marks left behind after years of battles fought against foes both seen and unseen by others besides himself; some faint silver lines barely noticeable beneath tanned complexion while others remain angry red welts raised thickly above otherwise unblemished flesh. There are several long slashes across his abdomen that must have been painful when received judging by how jagged their edges are where they healed incorrectly. A particularly nasty gash just below his collarbone stands out amongst the rest due to its length stretching almost entirely around the side of his ribcage, and disappearing beneath his arm. Another smaller but deeper cut runs along his hip bone leading downward towards his navel area.

He hasn't received the temple's healing because of his oathbreaker status.

It gives you an idea.

Since he's comfortable within the bubble of kneeling before you as the saintess and reverting back to the holy paladin that he was, then you'll play along and offer him a 'blessing'.

You lean forward, your breath ghosting over the scar on his collarbone, and press a light kiss there. His skin is warm and salty, and you can feel his pulse pounding under your lips. "By the power blessed by Ethelion, I will heal you, his devout and faithful knight," you whisper against his skin, letting the holy words roll off your tongue.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your words, his entire body tensing beneath you. Then he relaxes again, his head tilting back just a tad as he gives himself over to your touch.

Kissing seems to have pleased him, but your vantage point on the bed isn't exactly ideal to reach the rest of his body. "On the bed," you order him softly. "Lay on your back."

He does so immediately, scrambling up onto the bed and settling himself on the center of the mattress. He looks so vulnerable like this, spread out before you, and you can't help but marvel at the sight of him. You take a moment to drink it in—the way his muscles shift beneath his skin with every movement, the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily through parted lips.

He looks up at you, and his gaze is full of longing and anticipation. You feel a rush of power go through you as you realize just how much control you have over him right now. It's intoxicating.

"Stay still, Sir Leon," you command. "My blessing won't work if you move." And then you're crawling onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs, feeling them tense beneath your legs at the contact. You can feel him hard and hot even through his pants and your towel, pressing insistently against you. The sensation sends a jolt straight to your core and leaves you aching for something more that you don't know the name of.

You trail the path of the previous wound you kiss with the tips of your fingers, featherlight touches that make him shiver. Then you lean down and kiss it again, letting your lips linger this time. He sucks in a shaky breath when your tongue flicks out to taste the salt on his skin.

Acting entirely on instinct to keep pleasing him, you move lower, trailing kisses along his shoulder, down his chest, stopping to lick and suck at his nipples. His hands fist in the sheets as he struggles to keep them still, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

You move lower still, tracing the lines of his abs with your tongue, dipping into the indentations between each one. He moans softly when you nip at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. His hips jerk upward, seeking friction against yours, and you have to bite back a moan of your own at the feeling.

"Saintess," he whispers desperately, his hands flexing in their grip on the sheets like he wants nothing more than to touch you but is holding himself back somehow.

"Stay still, my paladin. My blessing isn't finished," you remind him, and he falls silent, biting his bottom lip hard enough that it looks painful. He throws his head back, giving you a sensual look at his throat and the underside of his chin.

You can kiss there as well, you realize, and do so, kissing his chin and jaw, then moving down the column of his throat until you reach the hollow where it meets his collarbones again. His pulse flutters wildly under your ministrations as you continue exploring every inch of him within reach like this: licking here and sucking there, nibbling gently along the way. Your hand rests flat on his pectorals and stomach alternatively, feeling how rock-solid every muscle is underneath his smooth, somewhat sweaty skin, and reveling on the occasional shudders rippling through his body that he can't suppress.

He gasps and whines when you pay extra attention to one spot or another that seems to be especially sensitive or ticklish for him, and his reactions encourage you further. You're enjoying every second of this—exploring his body like a map only you have access to right now—learning what makes him squirm beneath you and what gets those interesting little noises he's holding back loose.

By the time you reach his navel again, he's panting hard enough that he's practically wheezing with every exhale, his entire body trembling finely like a plucked bowstring being tuned tighter than ever before. And yet somehow he manages to remain motionless throughout it all except for the occasional twitch or jerk here and there.

You spend several long moments lavishing attention on his abdomen area alone as you're planning how to go along with this. Your knowledge on sexual matters is scarce since the church was always very particular in what kind of information they allowed the Saintess to access, and the directions given for your wedding night consisted of laying back and letting Leon do his duty on you. Which ended up being useless, and now you have to navigate this on your own. It's thrilling and scary at the same time, but you're determined to see this through.

You decide to try something daring then: sliding down between his legs until you're kneeling on either side of them instead. This puts you face-to-face—or rather face-to-crotch—with his erection straining against his pants. It's hot even through layers of fabric separating it from your skin, and you find yourself staring at it curiously while trying not to think about its size too much before your nerves fail you completely.

"Saintess," he says again hoarsely after what feels like forever spent just staring at him without really doing anything else besides hesitating. There's an unspoken question hanging in the air between the two of you—a silent request for permission perhaps?—but he doesn't ask outright and neither do you answer because truthfully speaking neither of you know what exactly needs to happen next either. "May I remove these?" he pleads, tugging on the waistband of said pants ever so slightly, hinting on what he wants to do next.

It's strange how much more sexual hearing him calling you that title has become when it used to sound so reverent, and now it almost sounds dirty somehow. You find that you like it quite a lot.

Getting an idea to teach yourself a thing or two going forward, you sit back on your heels, careful not to let your towel ride up too far, and nod. "I want you to show me how you please yourself," you order, watching him with rapt attention, your face flushing at your own boldness, and at the fact that you're about to see a man naked and aroused for the first time in your life. "I will bless your body, but I need to see it first."

He lets out a shivering breath as if he'd been holding it in for ages before finally moving again. He lifts his hips off the mattress enough to push his trousers down over them, exposing himself fully before you—his cock standing proud and tall amidst a nest of dark curls at its base—and you can't help but admire how beautiful he looks like this: all long limbs splayed across rumpled bed sheets, skin stretched tautly over chiseled muscle, broad shoulders flexing beneath your gaze...

But then your attention zeroes in on his cock, and your previous thought about its size comes back tenfold as you stare wide-eyed and wonderstruck at its length jutting upwards towards his stomach, thick veins running along its shaft disappearing beneath smooth skin covering its tip almost completely except for a small slit where a bead of clear liquid glistens invitingly under candlelight. You've seen illustrations of male genitalia during your anatomy studies, but those were all very clinical and sterile-looking. This is anything but clinical or sterile; this is raw and primal and utterly fascinating.

His hand wraps around its girth tentatively at first—almost shyly almost—as though unsure whether he should touch himself like this with someone else present even if they asked him explicitly beforehand. You reach forward and place your hand on the head of his cock, the little bead of liquid smearing onto your palm. It's slick and warm against your skin, and you can't stop yourself from rubbing it in circles over his heated flesh experimentally, marveling at its velvety texture, until he sucks in a sharp breath and his hips buck forward seemingly of their own accord.

You immediately withdraw, not wanting to get ahead of yourself and ruin everything by rushing things. "Confess, Sir Leon. You'll only be blessed if you do. Do you imagine anything at all when you're usually doing this to yourself?"

"I–I think about you," he blurts softly between short breaths, his hand gripping tighter around his cock as he begins slowly moving it up and down its length, hissing through his teeth when his palm brushes past the head, which seems to be the sensitive part. "I've dreamt about this ever since the day I met you, Saintess..."

"And what happens in these dreams?" you press further, your curiosity getting the better of you despite knowing full well that you shouldn't pry too much into someone else's private thoughts like this. But it feels so good to hear him talk like this—to know that he desires you even half as much as you desire him—that you just can't bring yourself to stop him from continuing any further.

"In some... I worship you, body and soul," he groans, his hand starting to pick up speed as he strokes himself faster, his hips rising to meet each downward stroke halfway, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow as he speaks, his words coming out in short bursts interspersed with low grunts and hisses of pleasure, "I lick your nethers until you cry from pleasure, and when you can't handle it any longer, I fill you up."

The mental image of him between your legs makes you throb between them, and you squirm unconsciously, pressing your legs together.

To reward him, you lay your hands on his thighs, marveling at how they tense and flex beneath your palms, before sliding up to his hips and then settling on his lower abdomen. You splay your fingers across his stomach and push down, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your touch as he thrust upwards into his fist again. It's a promise you'll do more if he keeps talking.

"In others, you're still back at the temple, and... I break my vows, and I take you to a secluded corner, and have my way with you," he continues, his free hand reaching down to cradle yours gently against his skin while the other keeps pumping steadily away at, and you closely pay attention to how he pleases himself. "Sometimes I dream of taking you in the gardens, sometimes in the baths, and sometimes even at the altar... I dream that you're begging for me, and I have to keep quiet because if anyone hears us... we'll be punished. So I kiss you to muffle your cries."

You swallow hard at the thought of him kissing you like that, imagining what it would feel like to have him pressing his lips against yours like this, tasting him on your tongue as he ravages you completely...

"Do you... do you dream of me doing that to you now, Sir Leon?" you manage to croak out after a few moments spent lost in thought.

He lets out another shuddering breath as his hand slows down considerably until it's barely moving anymore, his cock twitching visibly beneath his grip, his face flushed with desire as he stares up at you from underneath long lashes damp with sweat. His mouth falls open just a touch, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before disappearing back inside again, and he nods wordlessly.

You lay down on the mattress beside him, and lean in close to him until you can smell the scent of his arousal mixed with his natural musk filling your nostrils—it smells earthy and spicy like freshly cut grass after rain mingling with something else entirely unique to him alone—and you breathe it in deeply before letting it fill your lungs entirely. Then you lean even closer still until your forehead rests lightly atop his shoulder, your nose grazing lightly across his collarbone as you inhale again deeply, taking in more of his scent as though trying to commit it permanently within memory.

"Let me bless you with that, then," you whisper in his ear, and then press your own lips to his.

It's soft and tentative at first—a simple sweep of skin upon skin—but when he doesn't pull away immediately, you press harder, doing whatever feels right; nibbling at his lower lip and sucking it between your teeth, licking along the seam where his lips meet, tasting him fully, feeling him shiver beneath your touch as he moans into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards into his hand once again as he resumes stroking himself faster than ever before.

Remembering that the head was the sensitive part and he liked you touching there, you reach down and cup it in your palm, rubbing it in circular motions, and he groans louder this time, his cock throbbing hard against your fingers, more liquid coming out to slicken the movement.

Something slimy slips into your mouth, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it's his tongue invading past your lips and teeth, seeking entrance further within. It feels strange—odd but not unpleasant—to have another person's tongue exploring inside of you like this, and you find yourself responding instinctively to him taking the lead, opening up wider for him to delve deeper inside of you, meeting his every stroke with one of your own. You're completely inexperienced, but he doesn't seem to care, instead seeming to enjoy teaching you what he likes.

You're both panting heavily now, gasping for air every so often in between fervent kisses, the sounds of flesh against flesh growing louder and louder alongside the wet friction of his hand stroking furiously away at his cock and yours rubbing insistently atop it. He breaks off from the kiss with a guttural growl, throwing his head back against the pillows, exposing his neck which you immediately latch onto, kissing and nibbling along his jugular vein, feeling it pulse wildly beneath your lips, tasting salt on his skin as you suckle lightly there.

"Saintess!" he cries out desperately as his hips start jerking erratically beneath you, his hand pumping frantically faster than ever before, and you know he's close by the way his cock twitches violently within his grasp, his balls tightening up against his body as he approaches climax.

"Perfect, you're doing perfect," you coo, and completely losing yourself in how beautiful the sight of his head thrown back is, you take your free hand and wrap it around his throat, feeling his pulse quicken even further beneath your fingertips as he sucks in a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. You don't squeeze, just hug the sides of his muscular neck, but the effect it has on him is immediate and dramatic: his entire body stiffens up like a bowstring drawn taut, every muscle tensing rigidly beneath you.

"Release, and be blessed," you order, and with one final cry, he does exactly that. Thick ropes spurt forth from the tip of his cock and splatter across both your stomachs and the sheets beneath him, coating everything in their path with sticky white fluid. His hips keep thrusting upwards into his fist for several more seconds after the last spurt has been expelled from his cock, until finally, his body relaxes completely under yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath he draws in, his cock slowly beginning to soften within his grip.

You release his throat and press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and enjoying the scent of his skin mingled with sweat, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath yours, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow down from its frantic pace earlier.

"Ethelion's grace be upon you, Sir Leon," you murmur against his neck, and you hear him exhale shakily beneath you as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, curling around you as though trying to shield you from some unseen danger looming nearby. "I absolve you of your sins."

"Thank you, Saintess," he whispers hoarsely back at you after a few moments spent simply holding each other close like this, neither of you saying anything further aloud but rather communicating everything needed through actions instead of words. It feels nice being held like this—being sheltered within someone else's embrace—and it fills your heart with warmth knowing that he trusts you enough to let himself be vulnerable.

He shifts around underneath you, causing you to lift your head off his chest to check on him, thinking he's uncomfortable in the position you're in, but when you look up at his face, you find him staring intently back down at yours, his gaze soft yet intense all at once.

"Where did you learn all of that?" he asks quietly, an imperceptible, suspicious crinkle between his eyebrows. He’s almost searching for the answer in your face before you can give it to him.

"Learn what?" you ask, puzzled by his question. "I just followed your lead"

"You don't realize what you just did?" He frowns just a touch, looking concerned now instead of curious. "That was…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

"God no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It was incredible. I've just never had anyone take control like that before. Especially not..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at your position.

"Oh," you reply, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that you realize your actions could have easily been misinterpreted as something more sinister than innocent exploration. You wonder if perhaps you crossed a line somewhere without realizing it earlier. "I hope I wasn't forcing you or anything..."

Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek. "You didn't overstep at all. I loved every second of it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if you asked."

You smile shyly at him before placing a quick peck on his lips, causing him to hum contentedly, his hold around your waist tightening, pulling you closer toward him once again until there is hardly any space left between the two of you at all anymore.

"I'm glad then," you murmur softly against his mouth. "Because I think I liked doing it too."

But there's really this intense pressure between your legs and you think you have to use the chamber pot, so you squirm out of Leon's embrace to do just that. However, as soon as you get off the bed, a gush of liquid comes out of you, and you're terrified thinking that you just wet yourself in front of him. It's not that much to completely have soaked through the towel, and you're able to make it to the washroom without giving anything away to Leon.

You remove your towel and stare at the mess between your legs. But it isn't urine, since the liquid is clear and doesn't stink, and it's thicker, viscous almost. You come to the conclusion that if you did pee yourself then it would feel different than this does right now.

You clean yourself with water and a washcloth, and when you wipe between your legs, you feel that intense pressure again, and you have to sit down to wait to pee this time, but nothing comes out. You try pushing it out, but all that happens is a little bit more of that clear fluid. It's strange, and you're worried about it. You don't remember ever experiencing anything like it before and wonder if perhaps you hurt yourself during your earlier activities or caught a disease somehow, but nothing seems wrong with you otherwise, so you brush it aside for the moment, making a mental note to ask Lady Margaret for advice later when she arrives tomorrow morning. But for now, it's time to get back into bed and cuddle up with Leon again.

You wake up the next morning to find Leon's arm draped across your chest, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and his body pressed up firmly against your back. It's warm and comforting, being held like this, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him like a protective cocoon.

His hand moves in a subtle manner, flicking over one of your nipples, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot straight through you from that simple contact alone, your thighs pressing together as a sudden heat blooms low in your belly. It feels good having his skin touch yours like this, making you want more of him touching even more places elsewhere on your body, especially after he had made his desire for you clear last night. He wants you, and that knowledge sends another thrill through you, leaving you feeling giddy and excited.

He lets out a soft groan behind you as he pulls you closer towards him until that want is pressed firmly up against your buttocks. You can tell he's already hard, his arousal evident even in his sleep, and you can't deny the effect that has on your own growing neediness that goes beyond wanting to touch him like that again. You remember how good it felt last night when you touched him, how much pleasure he gave himself while you watched him do so, and you find yourself wanting to experience that kind of pleasure firsthand now, too.

You've been told that the women don't experience it, that they have to endure it and that's why the temple made the act of coupling such a chore. But you know that itch between your legs isn't going anywhere anytime soon, that it was real yesterday as well, and it felt amazing when you got what little friction you could by moving around. You wonder how to alleviate this feeling without Leon's assistance. Surely there had to be a way to do it by yourself?

But as you try to move away from him to try and see how you can do it, he tightens his hold on you and buries his nose further into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Don't leave," he mumbles sleepily. His lips brush against the sensitive skin there as he speaks, causing you to shiver involuntarily at the sensation, and you feel his cock throb where it's nestled snugly between the cheeks of your ass.

"Good morning, Leon," you say quietly, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, and you're rewarded by his cock pulsating again, his hips rolling forward against yours instinctively.

"Mmm..." he hums contentedly, nuzzling into your hand. "Morning." His other arm comes up to wrap around your waist and pull you even closer to him, his body seeming to mold perfectly around yours as though the two of you were made for each other. You can't help but sigh happily at the feeling of being held so intimately like this. It feels right somehow, natural even, and you find yourself wanting more of it, wanting to wake up every day like this, safe and secure in his embrace.

But the feeling of his hard shaft rubbing against your backside reminds you that there's something else you need right now, and that thought sends another shiver through you, the heat in your belly flaring brighter than before.

"Leon," you say softly, trying not to let too much of the neediness you're feeling seep into your tone, though you're sure he can feel the tension building inside of you anyway, especially with the way your hips keep twitching backward indiscernibly as though seeking out friction where there is none yet. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Anything," he replies instantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Anything at all."

You hesitate briefly before continuing. "Do you know if I can do to myself what you did yesterday?"

He goes completely still behind you, his entire body tensing as he processes what you've just said. Then he lets out a shaky breath, his grip on you loosening partly as rises on his elbow, leaning over to look down at you. His pupils are wide and dark with desire, his face flushed, and his breathing roughly controlled as he gazes into your own half-lidded ones.

"What?" he whispers hoarsely, his throat bobbing visibly as he swallows hard, his eyes darting everywhere on your face. You bite your bottom lip nervously before repeating yourself.

"I want to do what you did yesterday. To myself," you say slowly, carefully enunciating each word so he understands exactly what it is you're asking of him here. "Can I do that? Will it help this...?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin area, unsure how else to phrase it without sounding crude or indecent. "This itch?"

"Fuck."

Your eyebrows shoot all the way up to your hairline when you hear him cursing for the first time in your presence. He's always so respectful that the sudden change is quite jarring.

"Is everything okay?"

He drops his head back to your shoulder and groans quietly in frustration, burying his face into your hair. "You can't ask me things like that," he says in a pained tone.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused by his reaction. It seems perfectly reasonable to you given the situation at hand. "You were enjoying yourself, weren't you? I'd like to try it."

"Shit..." He lifts his head again and looks down at you, his expression serious and faintly exasperated. "That's called 'masturbation'. And you can do it. And yes, it will ease that 'itch' for you."

"Oh. That's a relief." You smile brightly at him. "Will you show me?"

"Saintess!"

"What?"

"It's broad daylight in the morning, you can't do this to me," he exclaims, his face reddening even more than it already is, and you can't help but giggle at how adorable he looks. You turn around to face him and reach out to cup his cheek, gently stroking your thumb across his cheekbone in an attempt to soothe him.

"I'm not trying to torture you," you assure him gently. "Just tell me how to do it and I'll leave you alone for a bit, alright? Please?"

"You play too much," he complains gruffly, but nevertheless leans into your touch, closing his dark-ringed eyelids and exhaling slowly. He seems calmer now, less frantic than he did earlier, though there's still a noticeable tension in his body. You wait patiently, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest under the blanket, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing down from its earlier frantic pace. "Lay back."

You comply, settling comfortably atop the mattress, and he takes a moment to study you like that, lying naked beneath him, exposed and vulnerable yet somehow comfortable nonetheless. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, lingering here and there, essentially the same way you studied his last night. It's strangely arousing being observed so closely like this, and you find yourself trying to fend off your squirming under his scrutiny, wanting to cover yourself up somehow but resisting the urge to do so. Instead, you let him look his fill, your own cheeks warming in a blush as you return his stare through lidded eyes.

"Spread your legs," he eventually instructs. You hesitate briefly before obeying, parting your thighs slowly, the cool air of the room caressing your skin as it is exposed to the open space. Leon's breath hitches visibly at the sight, his pupils dilating further as he drinks you in.

This is way too embarrassing. Why did he get to lay perfectly horizontal on the bed yesterday while you're the one on display today? You almost want to ask him if you can switch roles and have him demonstrate it instead.

But it's not like you can take it back now. He's looking at you with such intensity that it makes you shiver, and you can feel the slickness between your legs increasing with each passing second. Your nipples are starting to stiffen and tingle, your breasts feeling fuller than usual, and there's a faint throbbing sensation deep in your pelvis, a need building up within you that demands attention and relief.

"Touch yourself," he orders quietly, his tone low and gravelly, his gaze never leaving yours even for a second. You hesitate once more before reaching down, tentatively running your fingertips along your inner thighs until they finally come into contact with your sex without quite knowing what to do next. "Explore."

"Explore?"

"You're discovering yourself. You have to know where everything is, so you know where to pay attention to the most."

"Everything?" you echo uncertainly. "There's more than one thing?"

"Saintess..." he moans in exasperation, his forehead dropping onto your inner thigh, and he shakes his head slowly, his hair tickling your skin.

"Sorry!" you apologize on the spot. "I just... don't understand."

He sighs again heavily, lifting his head to look at you again, his expression softening. "I'll guide you, okay?"

"Okay but why do you know more about me than I know about myself?"

"Because I've studied it. And I've imagined it a lot," he admits, blushing furiously at his confession, and you can't help but giggle again at how cute he looks like this.

"Oh? You've imagined my... this?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin. "A lot?"

Him looking up at you between your legs like that feels very strange. You're aware of how close his mouth is to you, and it's making the pressure in your belly increase exponentially. It's like there's a string connecting your heart and sex, and every time you look at Leon, that string is pulled tighter, and to what end, you have no idea. All you know is that you want it to keep happening, and you don't want it to ever stop.

"Less talking. Spread yourself open for me. Like this." He takes your wrist in his hand and guides two fingers towards your slit, spreading it apart gently to reveal all its hidden secrets, including the little bud of nerves hidden at its apex. It's so sensitive when air touches it that it's making your hips twitch and your back arch. "Do you see this?"

"Y—es," you stutter, trying your hardest to remain still as he continues guiding your fingers across your folds, teaching you about yourself and your body as he goes along.

"This is your clitoris," he says softly, pressing your fingers against it lightly and causing another shudder of pleasure to course through your entire being, "and it's very sensitive. You can rub it, tap it, flick it, or even suck on it."

"Suck?" You can't imagine yourself bending to that degree, one has to be especially flexible and you're not sure if you are. You've certainly never tried before. "How would I suck on this? There's no way I can bend like that..."

You see that he wants to laugh but presses his lips together at the last second so as not to offend you.

"I can do it for you," he says right after, his tone eager, his words coming out faster than normal, his pupils dilating visibly once again. "I mean... only if you want me to, of course."

You nod shyly, your face heating up considerably at the thought of what he's offering to do for you, and then he shifts lower on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. You instinctively try to close them but he gently pushes them apart again, keeping them open wide enough so he can fit comfortably without hindrance. His hot breath fans across your sensitive flesh, sending shivers up and down your spine, and you have to fight the instinctive urge to squeeze them shut again.

He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming, making you feel vulnerable yet strangely empowered at the same time.

He places a soft kiss directly on your clit and you gasp audibly, arching your back as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself.

He looks up at you again, his dark lashes lowered and fluttering, and then he leans forward and places another kiss on your clit before parting his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue flickering over it is indescribable, and you moan softly as he begins licking it in earnest, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, each one sending sparks of pure ecstasy that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing noises you're making.

"No, don't do that," he protests after a few moments, pulling away from your sex briefly, and then he reaches up and takes your wrist in his hand and pulls it away from your face, "don't stifle your beautiful noises. I want to hear you moaning for me, Saintess. I want to know exactly how good I make you feel," he murmurs, and then resumes his task, his lips closing around your clit once more as he resumes his ministrations, his tongue flickering across it faster than before, the suction stronger as well.

"Le-on, this is... Too embarrassing," you whine, your entire body quivering as he continues pleasuring you, his mouth hot and wet against your most intimate parts.

"You'll get used to it," he says reassuringly, his tone gentle yet firm as he looks up at you again, mouth still wrapped around your clit so his words vibrate through it. He releases it with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to it momentarily, and smiles crookedly. "We're just getting started."

His hands come up to grip your hips, holding you steady as he continues to devour you with his mouth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, kneading them roughly, and you're not sure how much more of this you can handle.

You've never felt anything like this before, and you're not sure you want it to stop either, despite your protests, because the pleasure he's giving you right now is unlike anything you've ever experienced. You're completely lost to the sensations, your mind a haze of lust and desire as he continues to worship you with his tongue, his lips and teeth nipping and scraping across your clit and swollen folds, and you're pretty sure that if he were to keep this up, you would explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

He moves lower, his mouth leaving your clit and moving downwards towards your entrance, and he pauses there for a moment, his breath warm against your slit as he takes a deep breath, his nose pressed firmly into the folds, and he inhales deeply, his entire body shuddering violently. "You smell amazing," he breathes out reverently, fiercely as you squirm on the bed beneath him, the heat in your belly flaring up even brighter than ever.

"Please..." you beg him without knowing what you're asking for. It makes him look up at you with a strange light shining in his eyes, something at the opposite spectrum of the reverence you had seen in them last night, and the sight of it sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

"Please what?" he prompts softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin of your inner thighs.

"Please... don't stop," you plead quietly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you tightly.

"Okay," he agrees simply, lowering his head back down to press a kiss against your slit.

Then he plunges his tongue inside you and you cry out loud, your back arching as your hips buck upwards. You have to bite down on the noise, because you can't believe the sounds you're making, and you're not sure you want him to hear them, even if they're caused by the pleasure he's giving you. But he doesn't seem to care, too focused on his task, his tongue thrusting in and out of you, his fingers digging into your buttocks so hard that it will likely leave bruises later. You're not sure why but the idea of having his marks on your body sends a new wave of desire coursing through you and you can feel yourself gushing into his mouth.

"Leon," you moan, your fingers finding their way to his head and tangling themselves in his silky hair, "I—I need... I—"

He hums questioningly against your cunt and the vibrations make your hips jump, the coil within your belly tightening even more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last, your entire body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, and you're pretty sure you're about to explode into a million pieces.

"I'm... I'm...," you pant breathlessly, unable to articulate the rest of the sentence properly.

He seems to understand something you don't, lowering the arm that's holding you down so the thumb of it can draw circles around your clit, and sliding the fingers of his other hand towards your entrance, circling it before pushing inside, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

He pumps the digits in and out of you slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you can't help but moan loudly as the pressure builds within you, your muscles clenching around him as the pleasure becomes unbearable, and you can't hold back anymore, you're going to burst, you're going to burst, you're going to burst—

"Wait, please, wait, stop," you gasp, your hands pushing at his head weakly, and he pulls away from your sex instantly, looking up at you in concern. His chin is slick with your fluids and his lips swollen from his ministrations. He's breathing heavily, and in daylight, you can see how red from chest up he is.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks worriedly, his hands rubbing your inner thighs soothingly.

You shake your head, avoiding his eyes as you have to disappointingly say, "I have to use the chamber pot."

You're not sure if this is the right time to say this or not but it feels necessary given the circumstances, and you're afraid that if you don't speak up now, you'll regret it later.

He blinks owlishly, seemingly taken aback by your statement. "What?"

"I have to pee," you say, face burning furiously as you try to explain yourself further. "I don't think I'll be able to hold it any longer if you continue."

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression completely blank. Then suddenly he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as his entire body shakes with mirth, his shoulders trembling as he struggles to contain himself, his laughter ringing out loudly in the quiet room.

You frown, feeling a bit offended. "Why are you laughing?!"

He wipes away the tears from his eyelashes with the back of his hand as he tries to compose himself, taking several deep breaths before he finally calms down enough to answer you. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, it's normal. It's not actually pee, and you don't have to worry about it leaking out or anything."

"It's not pee?"

"No. It's called orgasming, and it's completely normal," he assures you gently, his tone softening considerably. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I did too yesterday when you were touching me, remember? That white liquid?"

You nod, relieved to hear him confirm your suspicions, though still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he knows what happened earlier. "Okay," you mumble shyly, covering your face with your hands, unable to look at him directly.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning forward until he can kiss each knuckle, and then he pulls your hand away from your face and kisses the tip of your nose. "It's okay. There's no need to feel ashamed of your own body."

You nod again, biting your lip nervously. "Okay."

"Can we continue now?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "I want to make you come."

"I've never... come before," you say, fiddling with the sheets between your fingers. "How would I even know if I did?"

"It's pretty unmistakable," he chuckles, and he kisses you softly then, his tongue darting into your mouth to taste yours, and he moans against your lips as you reciprocate the action eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss lasts longer than either of you intended, and by the time he pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed from exertion, the need within you growing stronger than ever, and you can't wait any longer; you want him to make you come, and you want him to do it now.

"Would you like to go to the bathroom first, just to be sure?" he asks quietly, his hand resting on your hip.

You shake your head. "No. Just continue."

"Alright." He smiles and kisses you once more before returning to your sex, and this time, there's no hesitation or gentleness, only pure lust and desire as he plunges his tongue inside you again and resumes thrusting his fingers into you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, and what's been cooling down starts building back up slowly, and you can already feel yourself clenching around his fingers as the pressure within you grows.

The pressure on your clit dissipates for a moment, and the next, he's removing your hand from the grip you have on the sheets, and places it on his head, and guides your fingers so they curl into his soft locks. "Hold onto me," he says, and he resumes eating you out, his fingers pumping faster than ever, and he's relentless, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge, and you're moaning louder than before, your hips rolling upwards to meet him halfway, the coil within you tightening even more.

The noise he makes when you pull his hair goes straight towards your belly, and the way he's lapping and slurping on your sex like that is obscene. You're pretty sure he's licking all the way back to your ass, but you can't really focus on that right now, the pleasure within you mounting rapidly.

"Tell me how I'm making you feel," he says after a few moments, his mouth still pressed firmly against you, the eye contact he's maintaining while he does so making your insides clench.

"I— It feels good," you manage to say through gritted teeth, your entire body trembling.

"Yeah? Just good? Tell me more," he encourages you, his tongue darting into you again, and your hiss transitions into a loud moan as he continues to work you over.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your thighs closing around his head, "I'm... I'm..."

"Come for me, then. Don't fight it. Let it happen," he murmurs, his words vibrating against your clit as his tongue flickers across it rapidly, his fingers pumping in and out of you harder than ever.

"Leon..." you whimper, your grip on his hair tightening as he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue over it quickly, and you're done. You cry out loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your back arching as your thighs clamp down around his head and your hips jerk upwards, and he holds you steady through it all, his tongue never leaving your sex until every last drop has been wrung out of you. You've been dropped off a cliff, and the fall has your insides quivering and your hips spasming. You're not sure what's happening, but you're pretty sure you've died and got your first glimpse of Ethelion.

The euphoria is incomparable, the pleasure overwhelming, and you're not sure how long it takes before the waves of ecstasy finally subside, your muscles relaxing and your body going limp beneath him.

He pulls away from you slowly, his lips lingering on your sex as he kisses you one final time, his tongue cleaning the remnants of your climax from your slit and inner thighs before moving upwards to lick his own fingers clean, the sight of which sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

When he's finished, he crawls up to lay next to you, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "You're so beautiful when you come. It's a shame you can't see it."

You're sure you've made the most embarrassing faces and sounds, and can't begin to fathom why it would be attractive to him at all. But the feeling of him holding you is comforting, the warmth of his body soothing, and you find yourself nodding weakly as he strokes your hair gently, his touch gentle yet firm, and he's so strong, and so solid, and he makes you feel safe and secure, and you know that nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's here, that you're protected from harm.

"Was it as good as you thought it would be?" he asks after a few minutes of silence, his tone light and playful.

"I didn't think I would end up screaming," you say quietly, burying your face into his chest. "How come you weren't screaming like that? It's unfair."

He laughs and kisses your sticky temple, his lips caressing your skin affectionately, and he hums thoughtfully as he considers your question. "I suppose I've had some experience."

"You have?"

"Mm." He tilts his head, and you wonder who he did these kinds of things with. It was probably a lot of people, considering how skilled he is. The thought of him touching other people like this sends a sharp pang of jealousy through you, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought.

You try to ignore the bitter feeling in your chest and instead focus on the way he's holding you close to him, on the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, on the way he's caressing you with such gentleness and care.

"Is there anything else you'd like to try?" he asks after a while, and you lift your head to look at him, and he's smiling down at you, his dark lashes lowered, his pupils wide and dark, and the expression he's giving you is so full of adoration and desire that it makes your heart flutter.

"I suppose the only thing left is you putting it in?" you suggest hesitantly, not sure how he'll react to the idea of taking your virginity, but he only grins widely, and he rolls over on top of you, his weight settling between your thighs as he presses himself against you, and he kisses you deeply, passionately, and it makes you moan softly into his mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

"There's so much more to it than that, and I'll show you all of it," he whispers against your lips, his hips rocking gently against yours, and you can feel his cock, hard and thick between your legs, and it feels good, so good, and you can't wait any longer. "But first, let me give you a chance to catch your breath."

He rolls them over so you're on top now, your thighs splayed over his, and he leans forward to kiss you again, his hands running up and down your back soothingly.

"I don't want you to spend your day sore all over, so the sex will have to be postponed to a time where we can afford the time to be lazy," he says, and you nod, understanding his reasoning. It would be unwise to do anything that might hinder your ability to work later today.

"That's fair," you agree, running your fingers through his hair. "What can we do?"

"Let me teach you more," he suggests, and then he's pulling you closer to him, his mouth latching onto your neck, his tongue and teeth grazing your skin lightly. You tilt your head to give him better access, letting out a soft sigh as he sucks on your pulse point. His hands wander down to your hips, gripping them tightly before sliding around to cup your buttocks, squeezing them firmly. He's still hard beneath you, and the feeling of his erection rubbing against your inner thigh has your insides clenching in anticipation of what's to come.

He seems content just to touch you like this for now, though, his lips moving slowly from one side of your throat to the other, leaving trails of kisses along the way, his tongue tracing patterns on your flesh, his teeth nipping gently at random spots here and there. Every so much he pauses and looks up at you, eyelids half-closed and heavy-lidded, and the sight of him gazing up at you sends a shiver down your spine and makes heat pool between your legs once more.

He lays you down on the mattress, then sits back on his knees between your thighs, looking down at you with an intense hunger that has your breath hitching in your chest. His gaze travels over your body slowly, his pupils expanding as he takes in the sight before him, his lips parted just enough to show the tips of his teeth as he runs his hands along your sides and over your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples teasingly.

The next second, you find yourself on your belly, Leon on top of you, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your slit, and he's rubbing himself along it in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, the friction sending little jolts of pleasure through your core.

"This is called," he says, pausing to kiss your shoulder, "intercrural."

You try to concentrate on his words, but finding it difficult as his length slides between your folds, the sensation making you gasp and arch beneath him. His cock is leaking, slicking the way for him as he continues to grind against you, his breath warm against your skin.

You shift to get him inside you, but he moves with you, his length never quite reaching your entrance. You groan in frustration, trying to lift your hips to meet his thrusts, but he simply pushes you back down into the bed with a chuckle.

"Leon, please," you whine, wriggling beneath him impatiently, and he laughs again, his fingers digging into your hip as he holds you steady.

"What do you think you need to do?"

"Ask nicely?"

"Nice try, but no. Do you remember what we’re doing?"

"Intercrural?"

"Yes. Good," he praises, rewarding you by pushing the tip inside you briefly before pulling out again. Your entire body shudders at the feeling of having him inside you, however briefly, and you push back against him eagerly, wanting more. "Up."

With a firm grip on your torso, he lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, and he resumes grinding himself between your thighs, the new angle letting him slide deeper than before, and the pressure against your clit has you moaning loudly as he rocks against you, his other hand coming to your front to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his lips find your earlobe, nibbling on it as he grinds harder, his cock sliding between your folds faster, his hips snapping forward sharply, and the wet sounds of his shaft rubbing against the crevice between your tightly pressed thighs and sex is lewd and loud. The heat building within you is becoming unbearable, your body trembling with need, and you can't help but cry out as he continues to tease you, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples mercilessly.

"Leon," you whimper, reaching behind you to clutch at his hair, and he growls low in his throat, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he picks up the pace, his movements growing rougher and less controlled, and the head of his erection is bumping against your clit, and it's driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Saintess..." he groans in your ear, and then his hand slides lower to rub circles on your clit, the added stimulation sending you over the edge. "My Saintess... Fall with me. Fall with me!"

You whimper as you come, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your vision blurring as stars dance across your eyelids. Your walls clamp down around nothing, and you can feel yourself clenching and spasming as your orgasm rips through you, your juices gushing out of you and coating his length in your essence. He keeps rubbing at your clit throughout, drawing out every last ounce of your release until there's nothing left, and then finally, his hips still against yours, his cock throbbing against the crevice of your thighs as he spills himself between them, coating your inner thighs in thick ropes of release.

He slumps forward on top of you, his weight heavy and comforting as his cock softens against you, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, his breath warm against your skin. You lay there together for a while, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs, and you can feel his heart pounding against your back, its rhythm matching your own. Eventually, however, he rolls off you. He gets up and comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the stickiness between your legs, and the coolness feels heavenly on your overheated skin. Once he's done, he tosses the rag to the floor before climbing back into bed next to you.

"Bath?"

When you wake up again, Leon isn't next to you, but there is a note on his pillow that informs you he had to go to the border for urgent matters and will be gone for at least two days.

The note makes you want to curl back up under the covers and fall back asleep, but you can't. You have duties to attend to as the Lady of the house, and you can't afford to spend all day moping in bed. So instead, you drag yourself out from beneath the blankets, and stumble to the bathing chamber with a pep in your step, where you splash some water onto your face to wake yourself up.

You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection staring back at you. Your hair is disheveled and messy, and there are dark circles under your red-rimmed eyelids. Leon told you he wouldn't push your body to its limits, but wrung every drop of pleasure he could from it, and it left you boneless and exhausted. Every muscle aches pleasantly, and every inch of your skin feels tender to the touch, especially where his bites have broken the surface.

But none of it matters. You've never been happier.

You finish dressing and make your way downstairs. You have several letters to write today, not only to keep the correspondence with Jill and Claire updated, but also with other ladies they've introduced you to. With each letter, you hope to expand your social network a little bit more, so you may form friendships beyond their group. You've been told to be careful about networking before branching out about investments and business deals by Jill, since men tend to take advantage of women who want to venture into those fields, something her mother warned them about. At least she trusts you enough to take things at a leisurely pace to test waters before jumping at every opportunity that presents itself.

Jill has even invited you to have lunch at her mansion and introduce you to more women involved in similar fields as soon as possible the next season, something you happily accepted.

Even though you're tired beyond belief, there's something almost electrifying coursing through your veins that leaves you feeling energetic despite your lack of rest. Gaining back that connection with Leon, now stronger than ever, has you elated to no end. If someone told you years ago that one night would change your life forever, you wouldn't believe them; now, however, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to experience this level of fulfillment and joy in life, because you never knew just how lonely you truly were until he stepped back into your life.

Leon is panicking.

It's a sensation he isn't accustomed to, not since his days of rigorous training, when his captain had drilled into him the importance of remaining calm on the battlefield. Panic had no place there. Fear had no place. In war, emotions were vulnerabilities—open wounds to be exploited. He had learned to close those wounds, to stitch them up tight and keep his composure, no matter the chaos surrounding him. For years, he had perfected the art of restraint, his face a mask of stoicism, his body a fortress of discipline.

But now, sitting in the dim interior of his carriage, away from the sanctuary of your presence, that fortress is crumbling.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his hands tremble where they rest on his thighs, clenched into fists. His pulse thrums in his ears, a deafening rush of blood that drowns out any sense of calm. It’s disorienting, this unshakable sense of losing control, of being unmoored from the anchor he had always relied on—himself.

His thoughts race, each one more torturous than the last. He can't stop them from spiraling, can't stop the rising tide of emotion that's threatening to break the dam he's worked so hard to maintain.

Fuck. He loves you. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember. Since that first moment when he had seen your face at the temple, luminous in the soft glow of the candles that surrounded you, bathed in the light of Ethelion's grace. He had been young then, just a boy, but even then, something had stirred inside him—a yearning, a devotion so pure, so all-consuming, that it felt like a divine calling. To protect you. To serve you. To worship you.

But never to love you. Not like this.

He hadn’t allowed himself to call it love, not in the beginning. It had been too dangerous, too close to sacrilege. How could a man like him—a knight, a mere mortal—dare to love someone chosen by the gods? He’d convinced himself, over and over again, that what he felt was nothing more than infatuation, a boyish admiration for a figure of holiness. He had to believe it. Anything else would have been unbearable.

Because to acknowledge the truth—that it wasn’t just devotion, that it wasn’t just admiration, that it was a deep, aching love—would mean admitting that you were forever out of reach. You weren’t just anyone. You belonged to something greater, something higher. A god. Ethelion. And Leon? He was allowed to stand beside you only as a protector, only as your shield. But never as your lover. Never as your equal.

And yet, despite all of that, despite the walls he had built around his heart, he had fallen. Harder than he could have ever imagined.

He’d done the unthinkable.

He’d claimed you.

The memory of last night surges forward, unbidden, vivid in his mind. The taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the way you had called out his name—his name—as he brought you to the brink of pleasure. You, the Saintess, the epitome of purity and virtue, had wanted him, had given yourself to him. Willingly. No hesitation, no fear.

It had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever denied himself. And it was wrong.

But it had also been the most right thing he had ever done.

Leon groans, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if he can pull the thoughts out of his head. He feels himself hardening again at the mere thought of you—the way your body had responded to him, the way you had looked at him, not with judgment or disappointment, but with trust. With desire.

And that terrifies him.

You trust him. You, the one person in the world who should be beyond reproach, beyond the reach of sin, had trusted him with your body, your heart, your soul. You had chosen him. And that trust, that willingness to let him in, is what scares him more than anything.

What if I break it?

That’s the question gnawing at him, the one that keeps replaying in his mind like a dark, endless loop. You gave yourself to him, fully and without reservation, and now he’s terrified of what that means. Terrified of what he’s already done.

Because he has defiled you, hasn’t he? He’s tainted you with his desires, with his need. You were meant to remain untouchable, a beacon of light, a symbol of all that was good and pure in the world. And now? Now you’re his.

He half-expects to be swallowed up by hell after that thought.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

His breeches feel impossibly tight, and Leon curses under his breath. The heat of arousal courses through him, his body betraying him even now, when his mind is at war with itself. His thoughts shift, darker, hungrier. He remembers the way you had whispered his name, your voice soft and breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. He remembers the look in your eyes—like you wanted to be consumed by him.

He wants that. He wants to make you his again, to feel your body wrapped around his, to hear you moan his name, to see you come apart beneath him. And the worst part? He knows you want it too.

He should be ashamed. He is ashamed. But there’s a deeper part of him, a part that he’s been trying to suppress for years, that whispers something different. It tells him that you’re his now, that you’ve always been his. And that he has every right to take what you offer. Every right to claim you, again and again, until the entire world knows that you belong to him and no one else.

The thought makes him groan again, low and desperate. He can already imagine it—the way you’d look beneath him, the way you’d whisper his name like a prayer, the way he’d ruin you, over and over, until there was nothing left of the saintess, nothing left of the woman you used to be.

Just his. His to worship. His to defile.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing his body to calm down, but it’s no use. The arousal is too strong, the desire too overwhelming. And it’s not just lust. It’s love. He loves you. He has always loved you. And now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be yours, to have you want him in return, he knows there’s no going back.

But even with that knowledge, the fear lingers. The shame lingers. Because you’re still the Saintess, aren’t you? Even though you’re no longer bound to the temple, even though you’ve left that life behind, you’re still... untouchable. Or at least, you should be.

God, what has he done?

Leon feels sick with it, the weight of his own desires pressing down on him like a vice. He’s tainted you, hasn’t he? He’s dragged you down into the mire of his own lust, his own sin. And yet... you came willingly. You wanted him. You chose him.

He can still hear your voice in his head, soft and soothing, telling him that it was okay. That it was what you wanted. That you weren’t ashamed. That you didn’t regret it.

But he does.

No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t regret you. He could never regret you. What he regrets is his weakness. His inability to stay away, to be the man he’s supposed to be. The man you deserve. He should have kept his distance, should have respected the boundaries between you. But instead, he let his feelings control him. He let his desires control him.

The carriage jolts as it hits a bump in the road, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, the movement jarring his already fevered body. He’s hard—painfully so—and the more he tries to suppress it, the more it overwhelms him. His hand is still resting dangerously close to his aching cock, blunt fingernails digging into his thigh as he tries to resist the temptation to touch himself.

He should be above this, he thinks bitterly.

Another bump causes his thumb to slip down towards the inside of his thigh because of the force with which he was pressing on it, the friction sending a shiver up his spine. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the seat.

Sir Leon, you had whispered during that night, your tone soft, commanding, with a cruel kindness that only made him more desperate. He’d been on his knees before you, trembling under the weight of his own shame, of his desire. And you had looked down on him with that serene, knowing smile, as though you had always known what he wanted, what he needed. You had given him permission to feel, to want, to submit.

He shudders, his hand brushing over the front of his breeches as the memory takes hold, the rush of arousal overwhelming his guilt. His mind drifts back to that night, to the way you had taken control, how you had made him feel safe in his submission. You had taken his hands in yours, guiding him through the motions, making him believe that it wasn’t him acting on his desires. It was you.

“Sir Leon,” your voice echoes in his head again, and Leon’s breath hitches as his fingers twitch involuntarily over the bulge in his pants. He tries to ignore it, to focus on the scenery passing outside the carriage window instead, but it’s no use.

His hand moves of its own accord, cupping himself through the fabric, the pressure making his hips jerk forward. He can feel himself growing harder, the ache intensifying. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He’s already defiled you enough. He should have more restraint.

In his mind’s eye, you stand before him again, the ex-Saintess, your hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until he’s kneeling in front of you. The image is so vivid, so real, that he can almost feel the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin against his.

“Look at you,” you say softly, your tone so sweet it feels like a knife twisting in his gut. “Kneeling there like a dog for me. You’ve fallen so far, haven’t you? My Sir Leon…”

Leon lets out a choked breath, his hand moving to unbutton his breeches as he succumbs to the fantasy, his body trembling with need. His cock springs free, hard and throbbing in his hand, and he bites down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud. The carriage is still moving, the faint sounds of the wheels turning and the horses trotting providing a strange rhythm to his spiraling thoughts.

He strokes himself slowly, his mind lost in the fantasy, in the way you had looked at him that night with such grace and poise, your words cutting into him with a cruel, gentle precision. You had known exactly how to break him down, how to strip away his defenses until there was nothing left but the raw truth of his desires.

"How pathetic," you say in his fantasy in mock sympathy, your lips curling into a smile. "What would Ethelion think of you now? His most devout, debasing himself for me, stroking yourself like a common pervert. You’re not fit to call yourself a knight, Sir Leon."

He shudders, balls tightening as he imagines you standing over him, watching him with that amused, almost bored expression, like you’re barely interested in his suffering, in his need. It’s humiliating, degrading, but somehow that only makes the pleasure sharper, more intense. He can almost hear you laughing softly, a cruel, teasing sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Look at yourself," you say, dripping with scorn. "You’re a mess. A disgrace. You’re not worthy of serving me. Not like this."

The words cut into him like a blade, but instead of recoiling, Leon finds himself pushing closer to the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hand moves with a frantic urgency. He’s so close, so damned close, and your voice only pushes him further, deeper into the depths of his own shame and lust. He doesn’t care if Ethelion sees him like this, doesn’t care if the world sees him like this. He just wants to feel, to chase the high of release that only you can give him.

"You want to come, don’t you?" you ask him, and he nods, a choked sob escaping his lips as his strokes become more desperate. "There are people right outside of this carriage listening in to their lord shaking his hips like a dog in heat with his tongue out, and you want to come. You’re not even a man, you���re a slave to your own desires. A slave to me. Go ahead, Sir Leon. Make a mess of yourself. Show me how pathetic you truly are."

And he does, he begs and pleads for mercy, for relief. His hushed words are a jumbled, incoherent mess, a litany of pleas and apologies as his hips buck wildly, seeking that final release. You watch him with that same knowing smile, your eyes glittering with something like amusement, like satisfaction, and Leon can’t help but wonder if you’re enjoying this, if you’re reveling in the power you hold over him. The power to reduce him to this, to this desperate, needy creature, pleading for your mercy.

"Come," you command, your voice soft but firm, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, his body tensing as the orgasm finally hits, a wave of ecstasy crashing over him as he spills his seed onto his cupped hand, his body shuddering and shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, he feels weightless, euphoric, the world fading away until there’s nothing but the pleasure, the relief, the satisfaction of being broken down and rebuilt under your touch. He collapses back against the seat, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat as stares down at his hand, sticky with his own cum, and a wave of guilt washes over him, the shame so intense that it nearly chokes him. But even as he feels the guilt, the shame, there’s a small part of him that revels in it, that takes pleasure in being the broken, debased knight, the one who has fallen from grace and found solace in his own humiliation.

He sits there for a long moment, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the guilt and shame settling over him like a heavy cloak. With a sigh, he reaches into his satchel for a handkerchief, cleaning up the mess he’s made of himself, trying to erase the evidence of his sin, of his desire, of his submission. But no matter how much he tries to scrub away the stain, he knows that it’s there, a permanent mark on his soul, a reminder of the man he’s become.

He’s a sinner, a lost cause. But he’s also a man in love, a man willing to sacrifice everything, to debase himself, to surrender to you, his Saintess, his salvation and his downfall.

Leon arrives back at the manor well past midnight, the long hours of travel evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the way fatigue clings to his bones. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but the thought of seeing you again fills him with a strange mix of yearning and dread. After weeks spent at the border, surrounded by soldiers and the heavy tension of political unrest, all he wants is to be near you, to feel your presence.

The halls are silent as he walks through the dimly lit corridors, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. His boots are heavy against the stone floor, but he keeps his steps quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping household. His thoughts race as he makes his way toward your shared bedroom, the weight of his emotions settling heavily in his chest. He’s been gone for so long, and every step brings him closer to the moment he’s been imagining for days.

When he finally reaches the door, Leon pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he takes a deep breath. He pushes the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet night, and steps inside, and the sight that greets him makes him linger on the threshold.

You’re curled up on the bed, fast asleep, the blankets twisted around you as though you’ve been tossing and turning. The soft rise and fall of your chest are a sign of peaceful slumber, face turned away from the moonlight spilling in through the window, the gentle curve of your body bathed in a soft glow. Drapes of rich fabrics adorn the canopy above you, creating an intimate space that wraps around you like a cocoon, making it appear as if you were held aloft, suspended in time. It's a painting come alive, the kind he'd seen in temples and palaces on a much grander scale, a testament of humanity's greatness. It makes him feel insignificant yet like a god among men to share his room, his life with you.

The sight makes his heart swell with affection, the worries and concerns that had been weighing him down giving way to something warm, something tender. He closes the door behind him carefully, not wanting to wake you, and begins to undress, shedding his clothes as quietly as possible until he's left only in his tunic and trousers.

As he slips into bed next to you, he lets out a contented sigh, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He feels restless and worn out in equal parts, but there's comfort too in having you so close. The warmth of your body radiates against him as he lies there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, marveling at the delicate curve of your jaw, the softness of your hair splayed out against the pillowcase.

He reaches out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you stir in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment before he withdraws his hand, not wanting to disturb your slumber. A small part of him wishes you were awake, that he could talk to you about the events at the border, but he pushes those thoughts away.

You stir again beside him, rolling over to lay on your side and facing away from Leon, and it feels as if he's somehow in the shadows away from the gaze of god, the moon, and the stars.

It starts small, innocent enough. His fingers barely graze the fabric of the blanket bunching around your waist, a featherlight touch, as if testing the waters. The warmth of your body seeps through the material, igniting a spark in his chest that quickly spreads, making his breath catch in his throat. He pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers as if he’d been burned, but the sensation lingers, ghosting over his skin.

What the fuck is he doing?

He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to shake off the haze that clouded his thoughts, but the need only grows stronger. Listening for any changes in your breathing, making sure that you were deep asleep, he inches closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

He's zeroed in on the bare skin of your shoulder where your chemise has slipped down. His hand moves again, slower this time, hovering just above, fingers trembling. He wasn’t touching you yet, but the proximity alone made his pulse quicken. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, so inviting, so tantalizingly close.

This isn't exactly wrong. I'm allowed to snuggle up to my wife.

The thought gives him permission, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He lets his fingers skim over your shoulder, the contact sending a jolt through him that makes him let out a long sigh. The softness of your skin beneath his fingertips is divine, the smoothness so different from anything he’s ever known. He can feel your warmth seeping into him, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing against his touch.

A small part of him knows he should pull away, that this was crossing a line, but the need was too strong, the desire too potent. He traces a finger along the line of your collarbone, marveling at the delicate curve, at how something so simple can make his heart race. He lets his hand rest at the crook of your neck, feeling the soft thump of your pulse beneath his palm. He can't help but think of the way your heart beats, how it's the same rhythm as his own, and how this shared lifeblood connects him to you in ways he never thought possible.

You shift again, humming something incomprehensible, and Leon freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. But you don't wake, and after a moment, he relaxes again, his fingers resuming their gentle exploration.

He lets his hand drift lower, tracing the dip between your collarbones, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your sternum. The fabric of your chemise shifts beneath his touch, the material so thin that it feels like almost nothing at all. He can feel the swell of your breasts, the way they rise and fall with each breath, and he aches to cup them in his hands, to feel the weight of them, the softness.

Fuck. Fuck.

He bites back a groan, his cock growing uncomfortably hard in his trousers. He wants you so badly it hurts, wants to bury himself in you, to claim you in every way possible. But he holds himself back, contenting himself with these small, stolen touches, the ones that make him feel alive and terrified all at once.

He's so hard that it almost hurts, and he wants to grind his hips against you to relieve the pressure building inside him. But the thought of taking things that far, of crossing that line without your knowledge or consent, makes him recoil from himself.

No. This isn’t right. It’s not right at all. You’re better than this, Leon.

With a sigh, he withdraws his hand, pulling away from you reluctantly. The absence of your warmth leaves him feeling cold and empty, but he knows he's done the right thing. He rolls over onto his back, his body rigid with tension as he stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock and the ache in his chest.

He closes his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths, willing himself to calm down.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind outside, the creaking of the old house as it settles in the night, the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest. But no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, the image of you—soft, vulnerable, trusting—is seared into his mind.

Yeah, he needs a bath.

Careful not to disturb you, Leon pushes himself up out of bed and pads across the room, the cool floorboards soothing against his bare feet. He opens the door, the hinges weakly creaking, and slips out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The corridor is dark and silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering in through the windows. He makes his way down the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness, and heads to the bathing chambers.

Once inside, Leon lights the candles, illuminating the room in a warm, flickering light. The room is spacious and luxurious, with a large tub of gleaming marble and an assortment of bottles filled with fragrant oils and soaps. He walks to the wooden bucket and pumps water, the rhythmic sound of the handle filling the room, and once it's full, he pours the water into the tub, letting the steam curling off the surface fog his face and warm his skin.

He strips off his clothes, his muscles tensing as he feels the cool air against his heated flesh. He can't ignore his erection, the way it throbs and aches with a desperate need.

He steps into the tub, hissing at the sensation of hot water against his skin. He sinks down into it, submerging his body until only his head remains above water, and he lets out a sigh of relief. The heat soothes his tired muscles, relaxes his tense shoulders, and he feels himself drifting, his thoughts becoming hazy and unfocused.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the insistent throb of his cock, the way it strains against his stomach, demanding attention. He tries to focus on the sensation of the water against his skin, the way it licks at his flesh, caresses him, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. To the soft curve of your shoulder, the way your skin felt against his fingertips, the warmth of your body so close to his.

The marble of the bath feels cool against his nape as he rests his head on the rim, the heat from the bath causing sweat to bead on his brow and dampening his hair. His breath echoes off the walls of the bathing chamber, the sound of the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub providing a soothing background noise. But even that can't drown out the insistent throb of his arousal, the way it pulses with each heartbeat, demanding attention, demanding release.

He ends up dipping under, the water enveloping him, and he opens his eyes, staring up at the distorted image of the ceiling through the rippling surface. His hair floats around his face, and he feels weightless, suspended between the reality of his desire and the fantasy of his mind. It feels like an eternity passes, his lungs burning as his heart thrums, and just when he thinks he can't hold his breath any longer, he resurfaces with a gasp.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from his face, and—

"You're back."

He startles, jerking upright and causing the water to slosh around wildly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he turns to face you.

You're standing there in the doorway of the bathhouse, your silhouette outlined in the candlelight, and there's a look on your face that he can't quite read. You seem surprised to see him there, your eyes wide and bright, reflecting the flickering flames. Your lips are parted slightly, as if you're about to say something, but the words seem caught in your throat.

He can't help but admire the way you look in the dim light, the soft curves of your body visible through the sheer fabric of your nightgown. His eyes linger on the way the material clings to your hips, draping over your thighs and accentuating every movement as you step further into the room. He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from the outline of your breasts, the delicate swell of them drawing his attention despite his efforts to remain respectful. He's suddenly aware of his own nakedness, of the way the water licks at his skin, the way it exposes him to you in a way that makes his breath catch and his pulse quicken. He tries to sink lower in the bath, hoping that the water will hide his body, his desire, but it's no use.

"Why did you come all the way over here? We have our own bath," you say quietly, sitting down on a stool and leaning against the edge of the tub, resting your chin on your folded arms. The fabric of your nightgown shifts slightly, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to it like moths to a flame. He's acutely aware of how close you are, of the way he can reach out and touch you, the way he can smell the faint scent of soap and perfume on your skin from your nightly bath. He wants to lean in closer, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your scent, but he holds himself back, his muscles tensing with the effort.

He swallows hard, trying to find his voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathhouse. "I didn't want to disturb your rest."

There's a beat of silence, the sound of dripping water and crackling candles filling the space between you. Your gaze is steady, unyielding, as if you can see right through his flimsy excuses and straight into his heart. And maybe you can, because you've always been able to read him like an open book, ever since that day in the temple gardens when you found him as a young boy, struggling to breathe through an asthma attack and crying from the fear of dying.

"You're not doing a very good job at that," you finally say, the corner of your mouth quivering in a wry smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race. You know him too well, know all his secrets and fears, and yet you're here, sitting beside him in the bathhouse, offering him comfort and companionship.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. And he is sorry, sorry for waking you, sorry for being so distracted, so consumed with thoughts of you that he can't seem to think straight anymore.

"Don't be," you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch is gentle, tender, and it makes him ache with longing. "I missed you."

His eyes flutter close when you start carding your fingers through his hair. It feels so good to be close to you again, to be touched by you in such a simple, affectionate way that he can't help but savor it. But then his thoughts wander again, imagining you in the bath with him, your naked bodies pressed together, the water lapping at your skin as you move against him. He can picture it all too vividly, the way your breasts would feel against his chest, the way your legs would wrap around his waist as he thrust into you, the way your voice would sound in the stillness of the night, gasping and moaning in his ear. He shudders, biting back a groan, and tries to push those images away, but they cling to the corners of his mind like shadows.

"You're so tense," you observe, your fingers still moving through his hair, and there's a hint of concern in your voice.

"It's...it's nothing," he lies, trying to sound casual, but his voice comes out strained and breathless.

"Too tired, huh? Let me wash your hair. Can you hand me that?"

He hesitates for a moment, the water swirling around him, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, slowly, he reaches over the edge of the tub, grabs the bar of soap, and hands it to you. You dip the soap into the water and rub it together in the palms of your hands until suds form. You begin to work the soap into his scalp, massaging it in slow circles, your fingers firm but gentle against his skin. His eyes drift shut, his body relaxing under your touch.

The feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp is almost unbearable, and the way you're looking at him, with so much affection and tenderness, makes him feel weak. He can't remember the last time someone has touched him like this, with such care and intimacy.

"This is lily soap," you muse, your fingers continuing their slow, deliberate movements. "Did you know these were on the brink of extinction in the capital for a while that I thought I could only find one on an auction or something? Fun fact, when you're a maid, you wash both yourself and your clothes with the same soap, so it has a shorter lifespan. But even with that it was so jarring to find out store after store and apothecary after apothecary didn't have this. I wasted an entire off-day running around to find a bar of soap that the next day it was like I worked on a construction for a week. It's funny to think how I used to have to be so careful in not wasting even the tiniest bit, and now I can have a whole basket to myself."

Leon listens to you talk, his mind foggy. He's never washed with your signature smell before, and now it's clinging to his hair and skin like a second layer. It's like you've somehow claimed him as yours without even realizing it. The scent is so strong that he can almost taste it, and it's making him lightheaded in a way that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath. His scalp tingles, and he has to fight back a groan when your fingertips brush against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He wants to tell you how much he's missed you, how he thought about you every day while he was away, how he's been longing to feel your touch again. But the words catch in his throat, and all he can do is sink further into the tub, letting the hot water envelop him as you continue to wash his hair and entertain yourself by twirling strands into shapes and figures, or perhaps just to play with it.

"Don't fall asleep, now," you say with a laugh, splashing water on him.

"I won't," he murmurs, but his eyelids are already growing heavy, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a drowsy haze.

"You're not very convincing," you tease, your voice low and soft, like velvet. "I can see those eyes closing. What's so interesting about a bathtub's rim anyway?"

He opens his eyes to look at you. Your face is hovering upside down from his perspective, and you're giving him a small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. There's a playful glint in your eyes, like you're enjoying teasing him. He can't help but smile back, feeling a surge of affection for you.

You lean down to give him a chaste kiss, your hair falling in curtains around him, your mouth warm and sweet against his, "I'm going to wash this off, alright?"

He closes his eyes as you begin to rinse his hair, the water cascading over his head in a soothing rhythm. The scent of the soap fills his nostrils, and he can't help but breathe it in, letting it envelop him like a warm blanket.

"Alright, I'm done," you announce, your hands moving to massage his shoulders. "Feeling better, Leon?"

"Much better," he murmurs, his voice low and soft, his eyes still closed. "You're too good to me." He can't remember the last time someone has taken care of him like this, with such care and tenderness. It's a feeling that he's not used to, but one that he finds himself craving more of.

"Let's get you to bed, then."

He opens his eyes to find you standing beside the tub, a towel in hand. He stands up slowly, the water cascading off his body in rivulets, his skin flushed from the heat and the attention. As he steps out of the tub, you immediately wrap the towel around his hips, pulling him close to you. He's acutely aware of his nakedness, of the way his skin presses against the thin fabric of your nightgown, of the heat radiating between your bodies.

You move another towel in small circles across his arms, his shoulders, his chest, the fabric soft and absorbent as it soaks up the water from his skin. Droplets from his hair trail down his neck, and you follow them with the towel, pressing it against the back of his neck and gently patting it dry, your fingers soothing against the damp curls that cling to his skin. He can't help but shiver at your touch, his breath catching in his throat as you work your way down his body, your movements slow and deliberate, like you're savoring the moment as much as he is.

"Turn around for me," you instruct, and he complies, his skin tingling with anticipation as you start to dry his back, the towel gliding over his skin like a soft caress. You move the towel down, tracing the lines of his muscles and the curve of his spine, and his heart races as you reach his hips, the towel brushing against the edge of the one wrapped around his waist. He can feel your fingers slipping underneath the edge of the fabric. It's harmless on your part, but he's so sensitive to your every touch that he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

And his erection had just gone down as well.

"All done," you say, your voice soft and a little breathless. He can feel the warmth of your body as you move around to his front, your eyes lingering on his chest for just a moment. "I didn't think to bring a bathrobe instead. It's a bit of a walk to the room, would you mind if I go and get it now?"

"It's fine," he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. "I can handle a little cold."

It takes every ounce of willpower not to take advantage of the situation. Not because he doesn't want to — God knows he does — but because you deserve better than some desperate coupling in the bathhouse. It's going to be your first time with each other, and even though your body isn't technically new to him, he won't make it uncomfortable for you, not when you haven't actually been together. You should be somewhere familiar, comfortable, with sheets clean and soft enough to let you drift off afterward, wherever sleep may take you both. You've deserved better than what life has given you so far, so damn right he'll deliver on the bare minimum.

The night air is cool against his skin as you lead him from the bathroom. The corridors are quiet and shadowed, and there's something oddly intimate about walking naked through the sleeping castle with only you by his side. You don't speak, but he doesn't need words to know what you're thinking; your hand clasped tightly in his says more than anything else could.

It doesn't go according to his subconscious expectations, though, as he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed and you between his legs, furiously drying his hair while he's trying to avoid getting hard. He has to say that the vigorous motion of your arms is helping his case.

He's not sure if he imagines it or if he actually hears the small, suppressed giggle.

"You look like a sheep," you say, and now he's certain the amusement in your tone isn't imagined. You reach down to press your lips to his temple, the sensation of the towel on his head halting abruptly, and he's left staring up at you as you straighten.

Before he can think better of it, his arms sneak around your waist and pull you closer until his head is resting against your stomach. You don't hesitate in wrapping your own arms around his bare shoulders in return, holding him close, and the two of you just breathe together for a moment.

"Thank you," Leon murmurs after a long pause, his voice muffled by the fabric of your nightgown. He's not sure what he's thanking you for exactly, but it's the only thing he can say. You've taken such good care of him tonight, made him feel loved and cared for in a way that he hasn't experienced, and he's not sure how to express that gratitude in words. But the way you hold him tight tells him that you understand.

He lifts his head to look at you, and he's struck by the beauty and affection in your gaze. It's the kind of love that he's dreamed of his entire life, the kind of love that fills his soul with light. And for the first time in his life, he realizes that he doesn't have to dream anymore. He can reach out and touch it, feel it, hold it in his hands.

You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the feeling yanks him from the edge of sleep. "Do you want to sit in front of the fireplace?" you ask him. "Or would you rather just go straight to bed?"

"Stay," Leon says, his voice thick with emotion. He doesn't want this night to end, doesn't want to let you go just yet. He needs more of you, more of this warmth and love that you're offering him. One arm unhooks from around your waist and he trails a path down your forearm, his palm closing on the back of your arm as he turns his head around to rest his lips on the inside of your wrist. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. "I want to stay here a little longer with you."

"Alright." You nod, and then your hand is trailing up his neck, your palm coming up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone and then the edge of his ear. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his throat works to suppress a shudder. He can feel your gaze on him like a brand. "Let me just... get this off of you."

You reach up and pull the towel from his head, tossing it onto the ground behind you, and your fingers comb through his damp hair. He's never realized how good it feels, how much he craves the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, the way you scratch your nails lightly against his skin, the way you tug on the strands to angle him how you want.

"Will you take me tonight?"

Your voice is low and husky, full of desire, and Leon can't help but let out a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, bunching it up as he tries to maintain control. His cock is fully erect again, straining against the towel still wrapped around his hips, and he's so turned on, so desperate for you that it takes all of his willpower not to push you onto the bed and take you right then and there.

"Are you sure? I know this is your first time, and we can wait, take things slow—"

"I want this." One knee goes on the side of his left thigh, making the mattress dip. And then the other, and then you're straddling him, hands cupping his face as you press your lips to his, the kiss slow and languid. Leon melts into your embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. The taste of a sweet treat is on your tongue, something fruity, perhaps a dessert wine, and he chases it, wanting more. "I love you, Leon," you whisper against his lips, and he can feel your breath fanning across his face. "I want you to make me yours."

Those words are like a key, unlocking something deep inside Leon.

"You love me?" he repeats, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Yes." You nod, your hands still cradling his face, your touch gentle and loving. You look at him like he's the center of your universe, your eyes shining with affection and desire, "Yes," you breathe out, your fingers trailing down his neck to rest on his chest, right where his heart is beating wildly beneath his ribcage. "How can I not?"

"God," Leon murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion, "I've dreamed of hearing you say that for so long, I—" His throat tightens, cutting off his words, and he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, and he can feel your pulse against his lips. He can't believe this is real, that he has you here in his arms, that you want him just as much as he wants you. He can feel your heartbeat, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth of your body seeping into his bones, and it's all so overwhelming that he can't hold back the emotions that flood him. "I love you too," he whispers, his voice breaking, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone, feeling your skin warm and soft against his lips. "I love you so much."

Your fingers are in his hair, tangling and pulling as he leaves a trail of kisses up the column of your neck. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and he feels you shudder in his arms, your breath quickening. "I can't believe you let me pull you down from Ethelion's arms," he says, his voice muffled as he sucks on the lobe, tongue dipping into the crevices, the heat between you making him dizzy. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, the dip of your spine. "No... I can't believe you willingly fell for me. That you're here. That you're mine."

"Always," you whisper, your nails scratching against his scalp, and Leon groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Your touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through his body, and he can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, feeling you pressed up against him. "I have always been yours."

You tilt your head, baring your neck, and Leon is powerless to resist. He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a mark, and you gasp, your body arching into his. "So beautiful," Leon says, his words coming out in a low growl, and he's almost embarrassed by how animalistic he sounds, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you're looking at him with so much desire, so much love. You're perfect like this, with your hair disheveled, your lips swollen from kissing, and your eyes glazed over with want.

"Then why do you keep me waiting, my lord husband?" you whisper, and Leon can't help but smile at the teasing tone in your voice, the way you're challenging him, daring him to take what he wants.

"Because I want to make this good for you," he murmurs, his hand slipping under the hem of your chemise, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shiver, and he can feel the muscles in your legs tensing as he gets closer and closer to your center, but he's in no rush, and he wants to make this last. "You need to be ready to take me."

"I am," you say with a breathy moan, and Leon can feel your wetness as his fingers glide against your entrance. He's been dreaming about this for weeks, fantasizing about what it would feel like to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him, and he's not going to rush things now. He wants to make sure you're as ready as you claim to be, wants to make this experience as pleasurable for you as possible.

He can't wipe the smile off of his face. "In spirit, maybe. But I need to open you up first. I don't want to hurt you."

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way you bite your lower lip, and it's endearing, but also a little heartbreaking. You're so young, so inexperienced, and he wants to make sure that your first time is everything you deserve, that it's perfect in every way.

"Don't hold back," you whisper, and it's a plea, a request that makes his heart swell. You're saying that without even knowing what that truly entails, but he's not going to question it, not now when he has you in his arms, when you're so willing, so eager. "I want all of you, Leon. Please."

And who is he to deny you?

He stands, lifting you with him. The towel hanging on for its life around his hips drops to the floor, and he can feel your eyes on him, on the way his muscles flex and strain as he moves you to lay on your back in the center of the bed, the soft mattress cradling your body. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between your spread legs, his cock jutting out from his hips, hard and heavy. Leon reaches down and takes hold of the hem of your chemise, lifting it slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin that's revealed to him, the way your stomach tenses as the air hits it, the way your chest heaves with each breath you take. He leaves it bunched right underneath your breasts and wraps his fingers around the waistband of your drawers, tugging them down, down, until you're completely bared before him.

"Look at you," Leon breathes, and there's wonder in his voice, reverence, as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he's trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every inch of your skin. He runs his hands up your legs, parting them further, and you tremble. He's basking in the pride of your body responding to his touch like a flower opening to the sun.

“I want you to relax,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

His fingers trace a path from your ankle to your knee, the muscles in your thighs tensing, and his touch is feather-light as he reaches the apex between your legs, the place that's already wet and aching for him. He teases you, his thumb circling your clit, "I know how good this feels for you. But we need to get you used to being penetrated. I'm going to start with my fingers. Is that okay?"

"Yes," you gasp, and there's no hesitation, no doubt, just a desperate need for him.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, and his voice is thick with desire, with love, as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "So brave. So perfect. So beautiful."

His fingers slide between your folds, and he's slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your reaction, the way your mouth opens, the way your eyelids flutter shut, the way you shift around on the bed, your hips arching towards him, wanting more, always more. He pushes one finger inside of you and you sigh, your walls clenching around him, and he can't help but hiss in response, his own pleasure mounting, his cock throbbing as he imagines what it will feel like to sink inside you, to feel your heat, your slickness, your tightness.

He watches you closely, looking for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, the tight walls of your cunt gripping it like a vise. It's not long before he adds the second one, stretching you further, and he curls them both inside you and searches around.

"Fuck," Leon mutters under his breath as the tips of his fingers come into contact with a patch of slightly roughened skin and your body jerks like you've been struck by lightning, your hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist in an iron grip. "There," he says, and there's a smugness in his voice, a satisfaction, as if he's discovered a secret treasure that only he can access. "Found it." He rubs his fingers over that spot again, and you writhe beneath him, your grip on his wrist tightening even further.

"Leon," you whine, and there's a note of desperation in your voice, a need that makes him shudder. He leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your knee as he hooks it over his shoulder.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your skin, and there's a promise in those words, a vow that he intends to keep as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, slow and steady, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, rubbing circles into it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your grip on his wrist tightens even further, the bones grinding together in your grip, and it's only through sheer force of will that he manages to keep a slow pace. "Can you try to loosen your grip a bit, love? You have quite a vice grip there. You'll break my wrist if you're not careful." You whimper and ease the grip a bit. "There you go. Don't be afraid to feel it. Talk to me, let me know how this feels."

"It's..." You gasp, and your hips jerk up, trying to take him deeper, your walls clenching around his fingers as if you're afraid he'll take them away. "Not enough. More, Leon. Please." You're panting, your chest rising and falling, and he can hear the desperation in your voice, the way it cracks and wavers, and it only fuels his own desire, his own need to take you, to make you his, to make you come undone. "Up. Touch up."

"I need you to focus on the feeling inside," he instructs, and there's a hint of a command in his voice, a firmness that you're not used to from him, but it's not unkind, not harsh, just insistent. He knows you mean your clit, and eases off the pressure. "I don't want you to focus on the outside right now. Just on how this feels." His fingers crook and curl inside of you, and you whimper, your head falling back against the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut. "Can you do that?"

You nod, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips, and he can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, gripping and releasing.

"I can't with this," you whine, and you sound wrecked and frustrated, your words almost slurring together. You release his hand to grab at the pillow behind you, your knuckles white as you grip the fabric. "It's not enough." Leon chuckles. He knew it would take some time to make you come like this, but that's half the fun. He wants to watch you struggle and squirm as he takes his time, opening you up for what's to come. He wants to savor every second of this, wants to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

"I suppose I can indulge you, just a little," Leon murmurs and presses his thumb against your protruding clit. "I want you to tell me when you're about to come. Focus on what your cunt's doing." He's rewarded with another shudder and a broken whimper as he rubs slow circles over your clit, his fingers still thrusting inside you. "And remember to breathe. You need oxygen to come."

You do as he instructs, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and he can feel the way your body relaxes, the tension in your muscles easing as you let him guide you through the pleasure. Your hips begin to rock in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and he can see the way your toes are curling, your heels digging into the bed. You're close, he can feel it, the way your walls are fluttering, gripping him, trying to keep him inside.

"Leon," you moan, and your voice is so full of need that it sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, making it throb. "It's... I'm going to... Please, don't stop."

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that's more teeth and tongue than finesse, his fingers never stopping, his thumb still rubbing mercilessly against your clit, "Let me see you fall apart."

As if on cue, you shatter beneath him, your back arching off the bed, your hips lifting up as you come, a guttural cry tearing from your throat, and he swallows it, his mouth still on yours, drinking in the sound of your pleasure. He keeps moving his fingers, drawing out your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you're twitching and gasping, your body writhing beneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice ragged with his own desire.

He doesn't let you come down, doesn't let you catch your breath. Instead, he continues to work his fingers inside of you without touching your clit, taking that orgasm to associate it to what his fingers are doing. He wants you to come on his fingers, wants to teach your body to respond to his touch in this way, and he's not going to stop until you do.

"I can't," you gasp, your hand coming up to press against his chest, trying to push him away, to create some distance between your bodies, but he doesn't let you, doesn't relent, his fingers still working you open, stretching you wide. "Leon! Ah, it's too sensitive! Too much!"

"Shhh," Leon soothes, and there's a note of authority in his tone, a command that he doesn't realize slips through. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and your mouth parts, a soft moan escaping. "You can, and you will. I'm going to take care of you. I want to see you come apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Only from my fingers? Not from the outside?" He presses a kiss to your temple, and your breath stutters, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'll stop if you really can't handle it. I know it's a lot, but I promise, it'll feel so good if you let it."

"I don't know if I can," you whisper, and there's a note of fear in your voice, a hesitation that he understands. You've never done this before, never had someone touch you like this, never had someone take you to the edge and then hold you there, dangling over the precipice, and he's asking you to trust him, to let him take control, to let him guide you.

"You can, I'll get you there," he assures you, his voice soft and gentle, and his fingers never stop moving, never stop stroking, never stop stretching. "Listen, you hear that? How wet you are? That's your body's way of telling us you're ready for more. You're taking it so well. Just try to relax, and let me show you what your body's capable of."

A third finger teases at your entrance, and you whimper, your hips canting up to meet his touch, your body responding to him in a way that he knows is instinctual, primal. You're so wet that his fingers are practically dripping with your juices, the sound of your cunt squelching obscenely with each thrust, and it's music to his ears. "Gods," you gasp, your head falling back, your neck exposed, and he can't resist the temptation to lean down and nip at the sensitive skin there, to suck a mark that will bloom on your skin like a brand.

"It's just me in here with you," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his words a whisper of reassurance and encouragement, and you shiver, your body trembling beneath him, as if you're trying to hold on to his words, to let them anchor you, ground you. He has to hold you down with his body weight to keep you from thrashing and bucking too much, the pressure on your clit gone and you can't grind up against him to get the relief you need. "Just us in here. No God. Just my fingers. Just focus on what my fingers are doing. Can you feel how wide they're stretching you?" He nips at your earlobe, and then soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

"Oh, god..." you moan, your voice low and ragged, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you, your knuckles white as you cling to the fabric.

"No God," Leon repeats, and there's a dark satisfaction in his tone, a possessiveness that you can feel in every fiber of your being. "I'm not going to let you rely on Him. I'm the one who's going to take care of you from now on."

One kiss mark on the side of your neck turns into another, and another, and soon, he's sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his, claiming you in a way that goes far beyond the physical. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your skin, to erase every trace of Ethelion's influence, to make sure that you know that choosing Leon meant choosing to fall to his level, not the God who abandoned you. And when you're covered in his love bites, when you're writhing and gasping, your body shaking with need, he'll move on to the next patch of unblemished skin, and start all over again. Because for all the shame and guilt he felt for tainting you, he can't help but feel a dark thrill at the thought of corrupting you further, of showing you pleasures that you've never known before. Plucking an angel from Heaven and making them his. This is his worship. This is what he wanted to do all along.

"Leon!" You cry out his name like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the desperation and need in your voice like a siren song that he can't resist. There's hardly any resistance against his fingers, you're so soft inside, and you're so wet that his hand is drenched in your slick, his palm starting to rub against your clit, the heel of his hand putting just the right amount of pressure there to keep you teetering on the edge, but not enough to send you tumbling over. He wants to keep you here, in this place of pure sensation, where there is nothing but him and his touch, his love, his desire. "Oh, God... please, please... Please, no more, I can't do this, let me off, please, let me..."

"Beg for me more," Leon groans against your neck, and his voice is rough, his own need pressing insistently against the mattress, and he can feel the way his cock is throbbing, the way his balls are aching, and he can't ignore it anymore, can't resist the urge to take his own pleasure in hand, his hips grinding against the bed as he fucks himself against the mattress, head buried against your neck as he licks and bites his way up to your ear. "Tell me what you need."

"I can't," you sob, and the tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and he's mesmerized by them, by the way they shimmer in the candlelight, and he catches one on his tongue, the taste of your sorrow and desperation mingling with the salt of your sweat, and he wants to devour you, wants to swallow you whole. "Let me come, Leon, please, let me... I need it, I need you, I need you to make me yours, please, please..."

He kisses you, hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, and you moan into the kiss, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he knows that you're so close, that you're right on the edge, and just in time, he takes all pressure away from your clit and focuses everything on your insides, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you're so wet, so tight, so perfect, and he can't get enough of you, can't get enough of the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sound as you call out his name, for him to let you come, to give you what you need.

"I'm not going to let you come from the outside," he says, and he's panting too, his own desire clawing at him, the sheets below him damp with pre-come as he grinds his hips against them, his cock seeking relief, but he denies himself, because he wants this to last, wants to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied before he even thinks of his own release. "You need to come on my fingers, need to get your cunt to associate this with an orgasm. Come on, baby. Come for me. I know you can. You're doing so well, you're being so good, you need to breathe," he reminds you, and you do, your chest heaving as you gasp for air, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin, and he welcomes the pain, revels in it, because it's a reminder that you're here, that you're his. "That's it. Just let go and let it happen. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you."

"I love you, I love you," you chant, like a litany, like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the words falling from your lips like a benediction, and he can't help but groan, his own need pushing him to the brink, his hips grinding harder. "Please, please, please—"

Your voice breaks off in a keening wail as your body goes rigid, your back arching off the bed, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your mouth open in a silent scream as you come, your cunt clenching around his fingers, your thighs shaking, your heels digging into the mattress as you ride out the waves of pleasure. And he can feel it, the way your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers, the way your body grips him, and he's so close, so close, so fucking close...

"That's my good girl," Leon grunts against your neck, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm, drawing it out until you're limp and trembling beneath him. "That's it. Let go. Give in to it. Give me everything."

He milks you for every last bit of pleasure, and when you're finally spent, your body lax and boneless beneath his, he kisses you again, softer this time, his lips gentle against yours.

"You're so perfect," Leon whispers, and he means it, he means it with every fiber of his being, because you are, you're everything he's ever wanted, ever dreamed of, ever imagined. "I knew you could do it. I knew you were a good girl. You were so good for me, so perfect, and I'm so proud of you, so proud of you for letting go and trusting me. You did so well."

"Leon..." His name is a whisper on your lips, a plea, a prayer, and he cups your jaw, nestles your chin in the slope between his thumb and pointer, and pushes your head back to kiss you again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you. You're exhausted, spent, your body limp and heavy, but you still manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, and he can feel the way your heart is still racing, your pulse fluttering like a captured bird. Your tongue can't quite reciprocate the movement of his, and he can taste the exhaustion, the way it's settled into your muscles, made them weak. "I love you," you breathe against his lips, and he's sure his heart is about to burst, it's so full of joy and adoration and love.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than he's ever meant anything in his life. His hand is still between your legs, cupping your sex, his fingers still buried inside you, and he feels the reaction those words elicit, "Fuck, you want more, huh? Even though you're exhausted." You nod, expression woozy and slackened, and he smiles, his lips curving up against yours. "I can feel you clenching down on me, even though I'm barely moving my fingers. I wonder if we should see if you can have another one like this, on my cock this time. Do you think you can do it?" He pulls back, and you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses. Your shoulders, neck and collarbones all littered with bruises and bite marks.

"Yes," you say without hesitation, without a single doubt, and it's a miracle that he can even think straight, that he can focus enough to move his hand, to slide his fingers out of you. Your slick clings to them, a thin string connecting you to him before he smears it all over his length, the slide of his palm against the shaft as he coats it making him groan and his hips stutter. "Please. Please, Leon, I need you inside me."

He's never heard anything so sweet, so perfect, and he's powerless to resist you, helpless in the face of your desire. "Anything you want," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than anything he's ever said before.

His hands have a faint tremble to them as he helps you out of your nightgown, baring the upper side of your body to him completely. The jarring difference between the marked skin from the clavicle up and the blank canvas of your chest makes his dick twitch in anticipation, and he licks his lips as he imagines how much further he can take things with you. You let out a soft sigh as his palms skim up your sides to cup your breasts, massaging them gently as his thumbs roll across your nipples. You arch your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, and Leon grins as he continues teasing your sensitive flesh.

"Always so responsive," he breathes, crawling up to nestle between your legs, his broad form draping over yours. His hands drop down to grip your waist, his fingers tightening slightly on your heated skin, and then he tugs you against him, rolling his hips forward, grinding his erection against your center, and the friction is delicious. "Do you like having my weight on top of you?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, your breath coming in quick pants as he starts rocking his hips, sliding his length along your slit, coating it with your slick.

The feeling of his cock gliding against your folds is intoxicating, the sensation amplified by your previous orgasms. You squeeze your thighs around his hips, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he continues to move against you. His movements start to spasm when the tip of his dick catches on your entrance, and he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, unable to help himself as he pushes forward slightly. You gasp at the pressure, and Leon pauses, knowing it must be overwhelming after he spent the better part of an hour working you open with his fingers. You'd be incredibly tight even if he was average sized — which he isn't—so the size difference has the potential to cause real problems for you both.

Your hips jerk forward, and Leon groans loudly as your body wraps tightly around the tip of his cock. A wave of intense pleasure courses through his veins, radiating out from his pelvis. It's almost enough to make him come right there and then, but he manages to regain some self-control, despite how badly his body yearns for release. But damn... it feels incredible, and he needs you, needs to feel that again.

For a while, he loses himself in the repetitive motion of popping the tip of his penis inside of you only to withdraw immediately afterward. Over and over, again and again, until you're sucking him in on your own. Each time, he struggles not to plunge himself fully within you. Every single ounce of restraint is focused on holding back, letting you adjust. By the time he's able to sink past halfway without making you squirm or whimper, you're coated in a layer of sweat. Your breath comes quickly as your fingers wrap around his forearms caging your head, clutching him, nails scraping red lines over his skin, like scratches from wild cats.

You tremble beneath him, gasping, biting your bottom lip to contain the sounds building in your throat. When the crown of his dick hits something solid inside of you, you shout his name.

"Leon, please! So big. Oh gods, oh gods. That can't—that shouldn't fit." The sudden shift into awareness worries him, breaking his concentration, and he nearly slips completely free of you. You're looking down between your joined bodies, and seeing yourself spread wide over his girth, pupils blown, sends you right back to delirium, arousal winning out over panic. "Why do I want it? I'm so full, Leon. I'm gonna explode."

"Not yet you aren't. Don't be tense, I’ve got you, everything’s okay. Relax."

But he needs you to let go for just a minute. A second. If he keeps trying now, he'll hurt you.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He waits, stroking your clit lightly, bringing you back to that blissful state of near-orgasm where all coherent thought ceases, as the passage softens. Finally, he hears it, the soft pop and subsequent sigh of relief. The muscles loosen around his cockhead as he slides further in. Only a little more now. Just enough to—there. Home base. Sheathed entirely within you.

His control frays dangerously close to snapping as he stares at your face, overcome by raw desire. Sweat runs down his spine, drops clinging to the strands of hair at his nape, threatening to fall into his eyes, but he doesn't dare blink lest he miss a single instant. He wants to remember every detail.

Your eyelids are half closed, dark lashes fanning flushed cheeks as your eyes roll back. Lips parted slightly, you pant softly, each breath a moan. "So full."

A thin film of moisture coats your brow, glossy trails winding down your temples to disappear in your hair. Chest rising steadily with each inhale. Hips undulating instinctively against his restraining palm. Inner walls squeezing and releasing sporadically like a massage. His own breathing speeds up and stutters. You feel amazing. Better than he ever imagined. More than anything his dreams could conjure, you are perfection, wrapped in silk and honey and lust.

He starts babbling. "You feel divine. Look at you taking me, being so good for me, relaxing, opening up for me. Gods above I love watching you let go," he groans huskily, leaning forward to nuzzle your jaw. Your soft skin pressed against his forehead, your fragrance filling his nose. The tip of his tongue darting out to lick along the seam of your lips before dipping in between them. Without pulling back from where he's sheathed, he starts slowly rolling his hips, careful not to thrust hard yet; just shallow rocking movements meant to get used to the stretch. Gradually easing both of your bodies into a rhythm. "I was so afraid to ruin you, break you, destroy everything you represent..." A harsh intake of air, followed by a low rumble as he pushes forward, drawing another moan from you, "And now you're here... giving yourself over to me like this..."

He traces the line of your throat with gentle kisses and nibbles. "Tell me how it feels. Is it painful? Am I hurting you at all?" Another tremor, another groan. Your fingers dig deeper into the muscle of his triceps. "If something becomes uncomfortable, tell me immediately. Okay?"

A stream of whimpers and garbled words drip from your lips as they descend lower to trace along your throat. One hand lifts up to twist through his long locks while the other seeks out the small of his back to pull him closer, urging him deeper. "Oh, f-fuck! Shit..."

His motions change from rolling strokes to short thrusts. The pace remains slow but steady. The angle forces the base of his erection to drag over your swollen clit with every inward slide. It stimulates that tiny bundle of nerves continuously. Your legs lock tighter around him. Feet pressing against his ass to lift you higher and push down at the same moment. Seeking more stimulation. Greedy for more sensation.

"It does hurt," you gasp as his lips latch onto a particularly sensitive area below the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing over delicate tendons before licking across to soothe away any soreness left behind. He hums low in his chest at the admission, and you add quickly, "But it's a good kind of pain, I don't know...! Ahhhhnnn—yes!" You lose track of your thoughts briefly when the head of his shaft bumps into some resistance deep inside you, causing an involuntary flinch and then a strangled keen.

"Oh yeah, right there? You like that?" Leon asks wickedly, repeating the action while reaching down with a hand to grab one leg above your knee and toss it over his shoulder. There's plenty of give to allow flexibility even with his broad frame crowding yours but with this new position his penetration increases dramatically. When his hips press flush against your pelvis, his whole length stuffed inside, his cock reaches even further than before and hits that exact spot dead center.

"Oh my gods--"

"No God," he snarls possessively, lowering his head next to your ear, "Just me. Can you feel how deeply you've let me in?" With purposeful intent he bucks sharply upwards, knocking a startled grunt out of you.

His mouth latches onto your neck again and sucks hard, pulling blood vessels to the surface and creating red blooms all along both sides of your windpipe. As his hips rock back and forth, their tempo picks up until you're practically bouncing from the force. "Who is filling you right now? Sinking into this tight little hole, fucking you into oblivion?" he growls savagely against your damp skin. In return, he earns more unintelligible cries mixed in with the occasional affirmation. The words "please" and "more" fall frequently off those lips. "Do you like it when I talk to you like this? Hm? It turns you on to hear filth instead of reverence, doesn't it? I know," he smirks before switching to something equally vulgar, "because you are dripping wet. Dripping... down... your thighs. Oh, Saintess. My filthy little saintess."

Leon rumbles deep within his chest when there's no answer forthcoming aside from pleasured whines and moans. In retaliation he nips roughly at your jugular, catching sensitive nerve endings between sharp teeth and threatening to break skin without actually biting down. His wide open hand finds your slick back and pulls you up a little to latch onto your chest, and rests the other forearm above your head to brace himself against.

Your chest is covered in a layer of perspiration that he laps away eagerly, swallowing gulps of water between every swipe with his tongue over stiff peaks. You writhe beneath him like an animal caught in its death throes. The movement only serves to intensify the friction between your bodies; both the external teasing of your clitoris rubbing against him and internal massage as his length scrapes against hot walls.

Everything smells like sex, like heat. Like two humans consumed by each other. Everything feels slippery wet, slippery soft. Every time either one of you moves the slightest bit there's a squishing noise emitting from somewhere beneath that makes your face twist and his manhood jump harder within its confines.

"So warm, so tight." Leon grunts harshly after diving down to bury his head between the valley of your breasts. "Can't hold back any longer..."

"Leon..!! Oooh gods...!" Your nails dig into his biceps, raking red streaks over smooth skin, sending goosebumps racing along every inch of exposed flesh.

When the initial shock wears off, he takes advantage of his current location and attaches his lips firmly onto one nipple while snaking a hand underneath your derriere and lifting slightly to tilt your pelvis upward so that with his next thrust there's a direct strike straight into your core, striking gold repeatedly.

Leon lifts himself back up, bracing against the bed for leverage, to hover over your limp body; chin resting atop his knuckles pressed deep into the mattress between your bent knees, staring intently at where your connection joins. Watching hungrily as he pistons into your soaked cunt with quick, shallow strokes meant for maximum friction. His balls swing forward in rhythmic thuds, slapping against the curve of your ass, coating themselves in sticky juices. "Keep looking," he commands gruffly. "Don't take your eyes away for a second. Want you watching stuff you full and mark what is mine."

Your breaths become more labored but your gaze remains fixed, focused solely on where they join together repeatedly. Your lower abdomen clenches tighter as he pounds into you, your head arching backward exposing delicate pale skin for him to continue littering love bites all over.

"Leon, I'm close, I'm close again please!" You cry out, chest rising rapidly off the ground, pushing against his mouth still ravishing one nipple between blunt teeth, swirling his tongue expertly over hardened nubs. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop I want more forever, please...!"

His movements are erratic, desperate. Frantic to reach his own climax. He hasn't had enough yet though, so he resists it stubbornly even as his vision threatens to blur around the edges due to sheer sensory overload from all angles.

"No." And abruptly he ceases thrusting entirely, simply leaving his dick sheathed inside your fluttering cavern, letting you feel how deeply he fills you. How closely he presses against places that have never been touched by anything other than a fingertip before tonight, if ever. The word itself wasn't spoken with hostility or anger but rather affectionate reprimand. "Tonight is about training. About making sure you learn this lesson properly. It won't do if we finish prematurely when there's still so much to learn and do first."

When your frustrated whines subside to mere frustrated whimpers, he begins again, slower now but with firm intention aimed directly toward prolonging the experience further, ensuring maximum pleasure and education. His head lowers once more into position directly beside your left ear, voice whispering huskily and intimate against your cheek. "My sweet saintess," he murmurs soothingly while rolling his hips slowly forward, eliciting several soft sighs and gasps from below. "Let go completely. Surrender yourself to me."

He slides out of you with agonizing care before helping you turn onto your stomach. Once finished positioning you just so, he straddles your calves in order to lay atop you. Your torso is completely flattened out onto the bed, pinned under his weight. He brings a hand behind himself and guides his engorged cock into your wetness once again; guiding, encouraging your thighs apart while simultaneously spreading those soft inner globes wide open until your entrance yields readily beneath his tip. Then slowly pushes home until bottoming out against your deepest barriers, whereupon he withdraws nearly completely again before repeating the cycle.

"I'm going to go weird," you warn feebly. Not exactly coherent speaking material given present circumstances but still understandable nevertheless. "I'm going to break, please, I'm sorry, I can't stop—" You sob as another wave of warmth crests, rolling down from somewhere deep within, drowning everything else in its wake, dragging under and tearing apart all preconceived notions of reality and time and place until only bliss remains, eternal and infinite.

Fuck, yes, he thinks, fighting not to come prematurely when your walls start rippling around him uncontrollably. It's him who did this to you. Who took apart your composure piece by piece until nothing remained but trembling limbs and whimpers escaping dry mouths, lips parched for air. His chest swells with pride at witnessing your body react viscerally to his touch. It's like staring Ethelion right in the eye while he fucks what is His, claiming ownership without reservation or remorse. No god will ever fill you more than Leon can—will always satisfy you beyond compare, leaving you a shattered wreck incapable of coherent thought besides Leon.

"Yeah?" he whispers hotly against your nape, pushing your hair to the side with his nose before nibbling gently on supple flesh beneath. He wraps himself around your back like a blanket, enfolding you completely within the cage formed by his arms, his hips slapping mercilessly into your asscheeks as he continues pummeling relentlessly onward, faster and harder and deeper than before, stretching you far beyond capacity yet somehow never enough. "Break, then. Go ahead and shatter for me. I'll catch you every single time, hold all the fragments together. Give yourself entirely until nothing matters anymore except how good you feel when I'm fucking you."

The sounds he lets out against your ear is embarrassing when your instantaneous orgasm squeezes violently down around him, milking him furiously even though he hadn't been expecting it.

"Fuck! No, wait, waitwait—don't do that, I'll—" His cock twitches painfully within your spasming walls as they begin contracting uncontrollably again despite his orders otherwise; not stopping nor slowing for a second, forcing the rest of his sentence to trail off into a broken groan. He's fucking coming. Already.

Against his best efforts, a guttural whine tears loose from deep within his lungs, echoing throughout the room as he pumps out rope after thick rope into your welcoming womb, coating every possible surface until saturation point has already surpassed capacity and excess seed oozes out copiously around his shaft as evidence of his release. He keeps pumping, desperately seeking extra traction whenever possible but soon running out of reserves to keep up pace. After a few final shuddering thrusts that border on overstimulation, he sinks further into you one last time before allowing himself to collapse and spoons you securely from behind with both arms cradling tightly around your front like a protective shield, breathing heavily.

"You almost sucked the life outta me." Leon mumbles into the nape of your neck, panting hard against soft skin, still half-hard and buried inside of you. "Wasn't supposed to happen like that. Had plans. Wanted to make this perfect for you, wanted you to remember this night forever."

"Are you kidding me?" you slur, sounding delirious. Your head lolls sideways against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering weakly. "That was incredible."

"Really? I didn't hurt you?"

"I mean... I definitely think I would have died if we kept going according to your plans. But honestly? I think that's a small price to pay considering what happened instead."

He chuckles lightly at that, relieved and delighted by your positive response, before turning your chin towards him and pressing his mouth to yours, kissing deeply and tenderly. He tastes the saltiness from sweat and tears on his tongue and smiles inwardly knowing that he was the one who made you cry. That you willingly let him have this, give him everything without question or doubt. That's the real victory here, isn't it?

As you relax further, relaxing into the mattress, your breathing evens out, becoming slower, calmer. He watches intently, fascinated by how peaceful you look lying next to him. His cock twitches inside of you once more, reminding him that he is still hard. Still wants more.

"We can still keep going," he offers quietly, reaching between your legs, fingers trailing lightly along the outer edges of your labia, stroking softly, coaxing them to part further. His thumb brushes gently across your clit and draws out a hiss from you, and a delicious roll of your hips that forces him deeper inside of you.

"You're going to kill me," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss, and he complies readily, capturing your lips with his own. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press yourself against his chest, sighing contentedly as his fingers begin working their magic.

"If you die, it'll be because I loved you too well. Which would be an acceptable way to go."

The golden hour of late afternoon casts long shadows over the estate, the air warm and filled with the gentle hum of life—buzzing bees, chirping birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze passes through. Everything feels tranquil, as if the estate itself has finally come to rest after the flurry of its construction. Leon basks in the glow of success, having achieved something worthwhile here with his own two hands—or at least supervising its creation. It's comforting to feel like a person instead of a weapon, especially when such simple pleasures bring so much joy.

And there you are, kneeling amid the lilies you’ve finally managed to grow. They sprout from pots scattered throughout the greenhouse, adding bright pops of white to the green of the plants already thriving. You hum happily while tending to your collection; you've taken great care to tend the soil carefully, pruning away any brown or yellow leaves, keeping them watered regularly, and providing proper sunlight each day. And they've paid dividends, resulting in a stunning display. Each pot contains a variety of different types, ranging from delicate trumpet flowers to majestic magnolias.

Leon watches fondly from the doorway as you work diligently, using the watering can to dampen the rich black earth before tucking a fresh bloom into place amidst the greenery. He'd bought the seeds specifically with you in mind when he heard of their beauty, hoping to surprise you upon delivery—but was disappointed when it took longer than expected. Now here they stand, proud and vibrant, blossoming fully in preparation for spring, brought into existence by your tender loving care.

Much like him.

Leon isn’t sure if you realize how much those flowers represent more than just your determination to build this garden. He does hope that perhaps you recognize a hidden truth embedded within these stems and petals; that as long as someone believes enough to nurture growth, nothing will ever truly perish—especially not love.

He takes a step forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. You don’t turn, too engrossed in your work, your fingers gently brushing over the petals of a nearby flower. He watches the way your hands move with such care, such tenderness. It’s a far cry from the woman he first met—so unsure of herself, so afraid of what the world might think. Now, you are here, fully in your element, having created something beautiful from nothing. And he cannot help but admire how far you've come, how brave you are, how determined to make a new life for yourself.

"They've grown well," Leon says, coming up beside you, taking care not to disturb your concentration. His eyes follow your motions, noticing the way the sunbeams bounce off your cheeks, highlighting the curves and lines of your face as you smile proudly.

"Look, my pretties. He's praising you," you say fondly, caressing another blossom with the back of your finger. "Go ahead, praise them more."

He laughs softly. "Alright, then. Um, very nice job, lilies..." Leon trails off awkwardly, unable to shake the feeling of foolishness that comes with complimenting plants like they understand human speech. "Good work on the pollination?"

You burst into giggles as soon as his words leave his mouth and he smiles sheepishly, trying his hardest not to blush. Maybe this kind of thing doesn't suit him, but he wants you to know how happy it makes him seeing your efforts come to fruition. All of this—the flowers, the greenhouse itself, even your little house down by the lake—were ideas that came straight out of your brain and were built here by your hands. And damn it, he wishes there was a manual for what to say to express just how amazingly impressive that is!

But when you glance back at him with shining eyes full of excitement, Leon realizes that maybe he doesn't need fancy vocabulary after all.

"And great job growing garden, my lady." He grins broadly, patting the top of your head fondly. "I knew you would do it if you believed enough."

Suddenly you turn to him fully and throw your arms around him tightly in an excited hug. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nah, this was all you."

"Okay fine, yeah it was pretty much just me... But seriously!" You insist, looking up at him with serious eyes that glitter like gemstones. "Thank you."

"What is this, 'thank you'? You should be saying 'I did a good job!' Come on, say it."

A smirk curls at the edge of your lip before morphing into an expression so warm, Leon feels it spread deep within his chest like sunshine melting snowfall. "We did a good job. Thank you for believing in me enough to see it through. For sticking by me during tough times, cheering me on no matter how discouraged I got. This is our home now."

A soft sigh escapes his throat involuntarily and he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist loosely while resting his chin atop your hair. "Mmhm... That sounds much better."

Hearing those words, hearing you accept this space as theirs, makes him incredibly happy. Part of him wonders if you truly comprehend just how significant this moment actually is—that neither of you have belonged anywhere since childhood; tossed aside or forgotten, ignored or scorned, pushed around by others' expectations—yet here stands a place where everyone knows exactly who they are meant to belong with and where they belong. A sanctuary of peace built around love alone.

After all those years trapped in that crumbling temple and their orders, forced to endure pain and suffering under constant scrutiny from those seeking power through control, Leon never could imagine things turning out so perfectly for himself. Not when he lost faith so long ago, surrendering himself entirely to Ethelion's command in hopes he might someday find salvation elsewhere; yet ultimately falling short of such aspirations time after time. Yet somehow now, even despite everything—despite being branded a traitor, exiled, stripped away of everything including his name—he is grateful, contentment flooding through his system, settling comfortably within his bones.

In your arms, there is freedom. In your heart beats a home.

[demaparbat-hp]

Even if zuko has a plan to end the war, making katara work amongst people who likely hold racism towards her and aided and supported the genocide of her people is still weird, especially since zuko benefits from the fire nations oppression of people throughout s1 when hunting the Avatar. Not good choices to make in a zutara au :/

Believe me, I've made these arguments against myself over and over again.

I know I'm putting Katara in an extremely difficult and unjust position in this AU with—from an outsider's point of view—little to no reason other than "I just wanted to see her in Fire Nation armor and kicking ass" and no consideration for the context. I'm not trying to somehow forgive nor redeem the Fire Nation's actions in war just because...well...just because. Not at all. People who've read Soundless (or any other of my wips, really) know that's not the case. On the contrary—I always do my best to see the war through a realistic, mature lense. And that includes everything that makes the Fire Nation so terrible in the first place.

That being said, there are some things I considered when deciding to make Katara side with them (even if her true motives lie elsewhere) in this AU. And they are not excuses. Just, different layers of context.

First of all, she was desperate. By this point in her life, her mother was dead, her father had left to fight the war, her brother followed behind a few years after, and she was left filling the empty spaces when, by all means, she wasn't ready for the responsibility. She had been feeling helpless and hopeless for years, and ached to do anything to help her people beyond doing chores and taking care for the children.

Let it be known that Aang's apparent betrayal comes from a place of trauma and misplaced anger on Katara's part. Much like how she put the Fire Nation's sins on Zuko's shoulders in S3. She is not on the right here, but this is her natural way to process and understand grief. There are many different aspects of her development as a child involved in how she views the Avatar—and, by extension, Aang—but more on this later.

Katara was young, and reckless, and she had just been "betrayed" by the first person who ever looked at her and saw more than the perfect caretaker she was forced to be. She was not in the right state of mind to make a decision like that and, to be honest, she couldn't have predicted the consequences. She saw a clear path to contribute to the end of the war, and by La she would take it.

On Zuko's end, you might argue that he should have known better than to let her join him and, well, you would be right. But there were many things about Katara's trauma response and state of mind that—unless he had known her for a long time—he couldn't have known. He will definitely blame himself later on, when the racism and cruelty towards Katara begins, and especially when word reaches her family at sea.

It's Katara's job to smack some sense into him from time to time and tell him that, yes, he should have tried harder to stop her (and she would probably be better off because of it) but what's done is done. And, by all means, the decision was hers to make. If anything, it's their fault, not his alone.

Now, Katara doesn't suffer the entire AU. That would just be cruel.

Zuko's crew was handpicked by Uncle Iroh, so you can expect dissidents, traitors and a few White Lotus agents who were smart enough to keep their true opinions quiet. There are...mixed opinions in that bunch, of course, but that's expected and, to be honest, rather easily dealt with. They are mostly honourable people just doing their best to end the war from the inside.

The real problem comes when they cross paths with, say, Zhao's fleet (or Hakoda's, let's be real).

And you may ask why Zuko is hunting down Aang, then, if he's secretly a goody-two-shoes himself... I'll explain that later in depth, so stay tuned.

In short, I know the decisions I've made, as a creator, are debatable at best, and downright blasfemous at worst. But they're deliberate.

I want the readers to feel conflicted about Katara's choices in this AU. I want people to have mixed opinions about the war, the (apparent lack of) morality, the characters, you name it!

I'm not trying to glorify a victim of war joining the side of the ones responsible for her people's genocide, even if it's just for show and she's actually set on destroying their government from within. Not at all.

Katara made a stupid, horrible decision, and she's going to suffer the consequences. But she's also going to fight to reach her goals, because she's stubborn like that.

I know most people may have a little trouble understanding where I'm coming from, because they don't have all the information necessary to make a full opinion.

I'm really thankful for these kind of asks. They let me explore these concepts and AUs in depth, and see what you think about them. I'm only human—my opinions are not infalible, nor The Right Ones, and this is a kind of discussion that I love to have.

So, keep the asks coming!!!

[bad-as-me]

hello what do u think of the Badlands? I know you said Godfrey leading the Tarnished into battle was reminiscent of the Crusades so I was wondering what the Badlands are meant to represent. Personally I keep thinking there are like, poc who don't believe in the Erdtree there because I want representation lmfao but I was wondering what you think.

YES thank you for reminding me! I've been wanting to yap about this for a while.

So for starters, it's very well established that Elden Ring has a lot of meta-commentary on ideas of Chivalric romances - so much so that my university did a lecture on all the ways it pops up in the game last fall funny enough. But also because of this, I think it's super interesting to point out the historical context that created the age of Chivalry, because there is a lot of it in the way that Godfrey and the Tarnished came to be.

If you want the brief of it, there is an extremely good summary of the history behind this in the middle of this historical cooking show! I'll expand on how this ties to Elden Ring under the readmore though.

On Pre-Chivalric Knighthood and the First Crusades

So if you were a Medieval knight in the 10th or 11th century, your entire purpose of existence was quite literally to perpetuate endless battle. This is in part why there were a ton of petty battles and land disputes: idle hands were the Devil's playthings. And when there was enough downtime between those battles, idle knights would keep busy by... harassing local peasants and clerics, essentially.

As that video describes, there were several unsuccessful attempts to reel them in; basically just by trying to put limits on when knights could kill and protecting holy property. The Treuga Dei is one such code. However, when none of these really curbed the violence (because well, how could they enforce against a collective of law enforcers), the Church decided the best solution was to... send them away for a while, to do battle in foreign lands until they got their bloodlust out of their system.

All of this is to say, this historical timeline of warriors losing their purpose as enforcers of the land and being sent off elsewhere to give them a new reason to fight should sound! Pretty familiar!

These knights returned from the first crusades with a new code as well: the codes of Chivalry. What those codes meant was very subjective, but there was a sense that the old guard of knights being nothing but mindless weapons for lords and clerics was being phased out for more noble, "dignified" times. Not unlike how the Tarnished return under the guidance of grace and the Roundtable Hold (oh hey, Chivalric Romance reference!)

Godfrey/Horah Loux/The Badlands

So in the context of Chivalric history, the Badlands would definitely be alluding to the lands in the Middle East that the first Crusaders were sent away to! Per your comment on representation, it would track that there would be a drastic cultural difference between the two places, and would align with the notions of Erdtree faithful being cast out to do battle against "unfaithful" cultures.

But much like real world history, that was likely being done just as much for the Lands Between's own benefit of keeping battle-hungry, directionless Tarnished out of their hair.

Also if you are wanting for in-game evidence, it's also likely that Nepheli Loux was a child born of a relationship during Godfrey's exile, and it's very much possible her mother was a native to the Badlands. That's personally how I read her lineage, anyway. I don't believe Godfrey set out on the Badlands crusade on a "we must get rid of the heathens" dogmatic mindset - more that Pre-Chivalric knight mentality of "I only exist to fight and do battle and win."

LASTLY, because I don't have anywhere else to share this fun fact, I just like to point out that Godfrey's backstory alludes heavily to the real-world Arthurian story of Yvain, Knight of the Lion. Literally a heroic warrior who was sent away from his lady for a Chivalric adventure, only to return with a lion companion to represent his newfound nobility. So yeah, the Chivalric allusions (both in fiction and in real life) are very strong with this man, and the Tarnished by extension!

[pomodoko]

I don’t think his crush on Falin makes him creepy. Obviously Laios shouldn’t be giving microaggressions and should learn from his ignorance! I don’t think Toshiro is shallow and wholly hates Laios, yet I despise him as a person… He’s known Laios long enough to know that “dropping hints” is not a mature or effective response even though it makes sense why he didn’t have the courage to speak directly. Shuro being a fake friend was an issue long before his breaking point. Yes, he was repressed, envious and there were communication issues, but Shuro was also very genuinely ableist. Even if Shuro ‘is’ neurodivergent, people can be cruel to other neurodivergent people who are seen as less socially acceptable. Vitriol towards someone “not reading the room” is repulsively ableist.  Of course he isn’t the only one who’s ableist in the story, but the shattering of Laios’s trust is gross. Laios tries to mask but is unable to. Shuro is also a rich noble whose family literally OWNS Izutsumi (& possibly Tade). Yet he does not care about the ethics behind that. Not that he hates her necessarily, but the cold way he treats her reveals that he does not care enough to adapt to the struggles of those who are different / difficult. I feel like his spineless inaction is both a means to avoid conflict, but also a barrier that prevents him from treating others with respect. I think it’s logical for someone to dislike this dude.

I feel like there's a lot of feelings in this writing that you gotta dial back. I totally understand where you're coming from, though. Being told to "read the room" was something I've experienced. I've been betrayed by people I thought were friends because I didn't know what I was doing was annoying them. It really hurt!

I also need to admit I've been on the other side, too! I don't like confrontations at all, but I've let things boil over because I was so afraid of confrontations that I'd snapped at my friends. Especially in Toshiro's state in which he was starving and lacking sleep and just saw his own love interest kill all of his retainers. If I was in his shoes, I'd snap, too! 😭

I wouldn't use the phrase "dropping hints" though. At least from my POV as an Asian from a high-context culture, where there's like, social hierarchy and such, and a lot of politeness abound. When it's something that you've been raised with for years and years, it's really hard to drop. Of course it's gonna be an issue! I think Ryoko Kui writing their argument and fight is a criticism on Japan's "high-context to the point of self-sabotage" culture. But it's important to note that it ended with both of them talking things out and Toshiro straight up saying "hey if you need to run I promise to smuggle you all out of the country". Here are some posts that I recommend reading that expand on it really well: here, here, here, here, and here.

In terms of Toshiro's family owning people, it's expanded more in the manga how these things came to be, but I'd suggest putting it in context of the manga rather than IRL. Toshiro came from the equivalent of Feudal Japan, after all. Here are some more posts talking about that (highly recommend the first one! it's a great read!): here, here (contains spoilers for the ending), and here. Do note that he treats all of his subordinates with respect, and he literally begged for their aid on his hands and knees to save Falin.

Anyway, at the end of the day, you're still going to dislike Toshiro and that's fine. My goal isn't to push my interest and opinions onto other people. I just didn't want him to be disliked shallowly, by reasons that are false or blown out of proportion. The characters of Dungeon Meshi are extremely flawed and incredibly well written, and it's really hard to see characters of color be judged more harshly. It feels the fandom's treatment of these characters will reflect on myself, and that's scary.

[mythicamagic]

have you played Love and Deepspace and what is your review on it??

Hello! Yes I have. It's sitting in my homescreen right now on my phone.

I think my opinions on it might be quite mixed or controversial? So just bare that in mind before reading.

I've played a looot of otomes. I think I started playing them in 2009. I can very much say that LADS is a unique experience. It's not like anything I've ever played before in terms of graphics, cinematography and interaction with your fictional boyfriends.

The Great:

I think the interface and design is really nice in certain aspects (the combat is a bit iffy). This is a very pretty game imo. Also can I just say, having a customisable MC is really great! I like that you can change not just her skintone but her voice settings as well. I also just- LOVE the 4 and 5 star cards content. They hold some examples of lovely scenarios written with care, and some good ole fanservice to boot as a treat. Whoever does the lighting for the 5* cards does a marvellous job, as the animations really feel 'alive' sometimes. Great direction with using the MC as the POV so the 'camera' swings or moves closer according to how she's reacting. Love that.

The LIs:

I think having a varied cast is important in otomes but a common vibe or theme can often be shared between their contrasting personalities. For Piofiore its mafia/crime lords and domestic life, for Cafe Enchante cosy coffeeshop vibes. With Love and Deepspace I'd say its cosy vibes mixed with action, mixed with angst. The cast supports this, with all of them having serious or sweet sides. I am definitely not drawn to some of them, but that's okay! I think anyone going in new should know they won't like everyone and that's common for otome. What I find uninteresting might be wonderful to someone else and vice versa. I will say Sylus took the spot as my favourite and he has a very different vibe to the others even when he's doing cosy domestic stuff. I very much enjoy his scenes and how dynamic they feel (also its really nice the whole cast is in their twenties)

The Bad:

The worst casualty in Love and Deepspace is...the main story. I can't overstate how much of a confusing, poorly written and badly executed mess the main story is. In terms of setup, establishing lore, world building and stakes, it somewhat limps from one chapter to another. Scenes can begin and end abruptly with plot threads seemingly dropped. Secrets can often be intriguing, yes- but by continually withholding answers the game can get a bit frustrating. As a new player with no knowledge of the game, I didn't understand why Rafayel kept referring to himself as a fish during the crane game and kitty card mini games. It was like they were referencing something that hadn't happened yet in game, so I was like - okay, I'll wait. I'm sure it'll be explained (spoilers: it was not explained).

Essentially if you want backstory and context to the boys you NEED their cards to unlock their content, and I'm not a huge fan of that. I think the main story should still at least give you a bit more to work with about the boys. (This is especially bad when the lore is locked behind gacha luck). And I get that the whole story is space/time themed but sincerely I did not know the world of Love and Deepspace was capable of casual space travel until I read Sylus' anecdote story. This is not good worldbuilding. Sure it throws loads of terminology at you but you'll have to read the notes yourself to understand what they are. It's a lot of telling and not showing. For an example of how this could've been done: Cowboy Bebop is about bounty hunters in space. It has scenes of them...in space. You're telling me someone as rich as Sylus, who offers MC to go on his motorbike, yacht, and private jet, wouldn't offer her a circle around the planet in his spaceship? Idk it feels like a lot of worldbuilding details have been overlooked.

There is also the issue of voice acting. This can again come down to personal preference but in general I always give English Dubs a fair chance, and enjoy many of them. Voice acting has come a long way since the wooden performances of older animes and games. That said, many of the boys, especially in the earlier chapters and content sound extremely flat. This goes double for the NPCs (who can be laughably bad). It's not even a matter of 'oh this person is just reading lines with no emotion' no the inflections in their voice are off- the context of what they're supposed to be emoting to can feel a million miles off base. I barely felt like they were in the scene with me. That said - this was likely a voice direction issue, because more recent content allows the boys to sound more relaxed and involved in the scene. Sylus' English VA knocks it out of the park in his performance though and I really appreciate how much he embraced that role. A lot of people could get embarrassed having to voice ASMR type content but he got fully immersed so 10/10 for that. I haven't tried any other languages apart from Japanese but c'mon, we know the Japanese VAs are like celebrities over there and will crush any role so no notes there except they're all great.

TLDR:

With all that said I do not hate the game, I really enjoy it! (I wouldn't have ranted so much here if I didn't care) I just wish certain aspects were tightened up more for storytelling purposes. It feels a bit jarring when some aspects of the game are SUPER polished but then easy mistakes are made. So I'd say if you're interested in playing - to just embrace the fluff and spicy fanservice. Treat it as your main meal as I do. If you end up enjoying the main story and combat then that's a bonus! I really hope this game continues to be successful because their recent content and chapter has been super intriguing - and in general its just nice to have an otome reach the spot of 3rd highest grossing mobile game during some months (below the giants like Genshin and HSR)

[iamnmbr3]

❤️🧡💛

If you had to remove one major character from the series, who would you choose? What is a popular (serious) theory you disagree with? What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

1)

Oooh! Not sure! I think if Ron didn't come back or died in book 7 it could've been really interesting and would make for fodder for a nice AU. I also felt like Ginny's characterization changed a lot in book 6. I liked how she was written much better in book 5. So I wish book 5 Ginny could've been in book 6 and 7 lol. But yeah for real in general I think the characters in the series are overall interesting and dynamic and I like them and the narrative potential they have, even if I feel JKR doesn't always allow them to live up to that potential so there aren't really characters that I'd want to excise, even if there are definitely writing decisions I'd like to remove.

2)

I personally hate the theory that Regulus was forced into becoming a death eater. He literally had a little Voldemort mood board in his room. And he joined up when Voldemort was active and being pretty clear about what he stood for. Plus he seems to have liked his family - he painstakingly hand painted the Black family crest in his room. And we know from Kreacher that he very excitedly and enthusiastically talked about how wizards were going to rule over all the Muggles etc. Which isn't surprising given the family he grew up in. Acting like he was a soft uwu baby who never made any bad decisions and was forced into everything robs the character of agency and makes him far more shallow and less nuanced than he is. Which is such a shame. Because Regulus is fascinating. Let characters make mistakes and suffer the consequences. Let characters be flawed. Let characters be hypocritical and complex and interesting!

Something else that I don't feel as strongly about but am a bit iffy on is the idea that Harry literally became the Master of Death in the end of the series. Look, I've read some great and compelling meta on Master of Death Harry and I've also seen some fics that do it well. But generally speaking, it's not an interpretation I enjoy. I tend to prefer the idea of the Hallows as very powerful magical objects with a lot of mythology around them. (And possibly some connection to the Veil in the Death Chamber which may be what the "bridge" between life and death in the story is based on).

In general though I'm not thrilled with like the idea of them actually being three things that if united literally give the user power over life and death. To me that feels just a bit op to the point of being underwhelming (yes I understand I am saying this about the series with a magic luck potion and time turners). It's just narratively kind of uninteresting and unsatisfying to me and it feels way too abrupt to introduce it so late in the series since it fundamentally changes the world building, feel of the story and style of magic we see in the series. And it's just...usually not that cool to me. Plus, I don't think it's even really especially supported by the cannon. I think JKR's intent was to leave it ambiguous or even to hint that there is no such thing as a true Master of Death, and in this case I think she did a decent job of executing on that intent. That's just my read though.

3)

This is hard for me to answer because I'm very much of a ship and let ship mindset even when I don't personally back something. One ship that I haven't yet found content for that I enjoy is dramione. I've nothing against it, but I feel like a lot of dramione fic tends to reduce Hermione to a Mary Sue and get rid of all her complexity and flaws and rough edges, which is a shame. I feel the same about a lot of tomione fics too, which is also a shame because Hermione has a bit of a ruthless streak that could be very interesting to explore in that context if done right. Maybe I just haven't found the right fics tho. Also in canon, Lupin/Tonks. Just what? It always felt like it came out of nowhere to me and didn't feel like it had enough buildup to make sense. It always felt very weird and random and jarring to me.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

OC Interview

Let's get funky, let's answer for Azhur! (For context, Azhur is Twenari’s father. He's been... alone for a very long time.)

Are you named after anyone?

"No, no, no one else. There's only one me, fortunately. Unless you're counting my family name. Then there's a lot of us. A whole pack of Devarises. Did you know the scientific term for a group of sorcerers is a conference? A conference of Devarises. Gods, I hated those."

When was the last time you cried?

"I couldn't say. Wasting moisture is a travesty in my hell, for rain is rare. Sometimes, when I do give in, I pretend I'm visiting the sea."

Do you have kids?

"Two, though one is gone, taken, dead. I haven't been around Twenari for long, but I see much potential in her. Dreams swim behind her eyes, as much as hands rein in reality. I cannot know her, yet I would like to learn to love her one day. As for Akani.... The soul is a funny thing, made of magic and miracle. It presents on a scale of Tamm units, visible through a sorcerer’s arcane awareness, which draws upon the Veil at a rate, a rage, a relay of 8.5×10^5 ODR volts per second, equivalent to 1 standard Blösten unit, from which can be derived both magi-potential and spell friction by way of the Klaston-Daphon equation and-"

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

"Huh? Do I? I think I do. I make myself laugh all the time!"

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

"How loudly he shouts around them."

What’s your eye colour?

"A pale brown, lighter than my skin. Very distinctive."

Scary movies or happy endings?

"Uh, happy? Happy is good. Fear is evil."

Any special talents?

"My magic, obviously, but saying a Devaris is talented at magic is like saying a fish is talented at swimming. I've gotten quite good at survival here in my hell too. But my best talent, I think.... Ah fuck, I forgot already. Damm, anyways, my second best talent is making soup."

Where were you born?

"The Devaris island, which hovers approximately 200 meters above the city of Unity."

Do you have any pets?

"If I had, I'd have eaten the poor thing already. Spiders and tree sap get quite tiresome after a while."

What sort of sports do you play?

"I'm a dab hand at solitaire, though I think if I play one more round, I'll smash my head into a rock. I did track when I was young, I suppose. Ma always wanted me to go out for wrestling because of how big I was, but I couldn't stand fighting."

How tall are you?

"6'8". Yes, the weather's nice."

What was your favourite subject in school?

"It should've been magic. I love magic. It's my blood, my purpose, my curse and my blessing. But, I always found my mind craving literature, even so. I wanted stories, as frivolous as they are. Were? Are. They were real then."

What is your dream job?

"I don't care what I spend my days with, I want to get out. I want to be free, absolved, forgiven. I want to leave my hell. I want him to stop screaming. I know he's not real - right? - but that doesn't stop the noise. But to do that, I need a bridge. By use of the bottle method, it's theorized that a mage could shift the frequency of one strain of magic to match another. Harmonic magi-radial frequencies can initiate a Naldervon cascade, similar to the effect of a teleportarion ritual. If gravitational drift is factored in, then by taking the derivative of the Naldervon cascade number, found by way of a Tamm reading and plugging the value into Fendessi's equation-"

Anyways, love that guy. He's like if Castaway was way more fucked up. I'll tag @finickyfelix @ettawritesnstudies @elsie-writes @inky-duchess and anyone else who wants in :)

Blanks below

Are you named after anyone? When was the last time you cried? Do you have kids? Do you use sarcasm a lot? What’s the first thing you notice about people? What’s your eye colour? Scary movies or happy endings? Any special talents? Where were you born? Do you have any pets? What sort of sports do you play? How tall are you? What was your favourite subject in school? What is your dream job?

[sharonisthebettercarter]

we need to have an honest conversation about hostile attribution bias, honesty, and bullying.

@deliciouskeys i've had enough of this shit. you wanted to piss me off. now i'm pissed the fuck off.

hey, hiiii. friends of hers? critics? whoever you are reading this and willing to hear me out, i just wanna start by saying don't hate on her or anyone for this. don't send harassment, don't send anon hate, don't even unfollow her if you do read this all the way and find yourself upset with the topics discussed or her actions.

or maybe you wouldn't anyway, and you've already decided i'm insane, fine. but if you are friends of hers, don't barrage her with verbal abuse of any kind even if you are disappointed or disgusted, i'm not about that. and good friends won't just coddle and take your side to enable the bullshit, but they won't try to hurt you when you're down either

and to clarify what this is? it is a harsh criticism of ongoing behavior i have faced from her behind the scenes. or out in the open i suppose but mostly unseen or dismissed.

yes, i have the motherfucking receipts. i've tried to condense them to what i found most relevant to the topics at hand without clipping the interactions so much that they would give a biased misrepresentation, but all conversations as of this moment and to the best of my knowledge are still available to view in full context. mine certainly won't be deleted.

i may have some bad takes sometimes cause i'm as perfect as anyone, which is to say NOT AT ALL. but i'll readily admit that and the fact that i work on it, CONSTANTLY. and before anyone decides to dig through my shit to see if they can find dirt on me IRRELEVANT to this situation to DISTRACT from what's being called out?

all i ask is a fair chance and moment of your time to show you what i've been through, because it's something she never gave me from day one. and bear in mind please, that i am pissed off because it's gone on long enough and now she's trying to drag my friends into it while CONTINUING TO LIE BEHIND MY BACK and feign fucking ignorance.

no more.

deliciouskeys? you. yes you, i am addressing you directly this time. i gave you a peace offering with the mike sully meme, and you just kept going.

since i poked my head into the boys fandom, you have been hostile to me, LIED about me, put words in my mouth, accused me of hostility towards you, assumed my intent while not only withholding the benefit of a doubt, but consistently. consistently putting me down and insulting me as some sort of estranged fandom villain who only exists or popped up to oppose you or ruin everything.

i'm not a fucking cartoon character, i am a person. i do not exist to supplant you or whatever weird shit you keep imagining me to be that makes you act like this.

almost every single thing i say to you, instead of actually LISTENING or i dunno, READING IT AT FACE VALUE, you take. hyperanalyze. and immediately give it the WORST interpretation you can. and that's if i'm lucky.

i'm not here for fandom wars and shipping bullshit. i'm not here for your false dichotomy fantasy. i'm here to be a bullshit shipper and have fun and try to get others to be more open and have fun too. maybe throw in a psa here and there for the things i find important.

i'm not here to get fucking bullied either or to watch others get bullied. you can take your assumed hostility and narcissistic PROJECTION and shove it straight up your ass if you think i'm going to tolerate it.

and what is 'hostile attribution bias'? it's this shit.

oh, and you don't have to assume it anymore. i'm fucking hostile. why am i hostile? oh... at this point, i KNOW you KNOW. but not everyone else does, so let's just lay it all out and let others draw their own conclusions. hm?

this was what set you off, right? the automatic assumption that this was someone i knew, looking out for me? i suppose that's possible but that doesn't mean i know exactly who it was or that i put them up to it.

and y'know, i might have even said that anon was a bit harsh and still given you the benefit of a doubt. anon was ANGRY and that's clear, but plausible deniability is so wonderful, isn't it?

but you've gone beyond that point. it wouldn't be the first time someone's noticed your behavior, and i can guarantee that. our first conversation was on my post about the comics and what they meant to me, sparked from an interaction i had with another fan of the show who refused to read the comics but still insulted them directly to me.

the bottom piece is from the post, the top would be the snippet of conversation with the other person prior. all of these are highlighted with slightly adjusted coloring for ease of understanding who's who. and granted, you could argue that i jumped the gun in my first response to you, but then you accused me of being hostile towards people who allegedly read and disliked them. and i had done no such thing, i literally was not addressing those people at all.

that was the first time you put words in my mouth, lied about what i said, and 'villainized' me for 'attacking people' made of straw i might add, when the post itself SPECIFICALLY STATED:

MISCONCEPTION.

so not the people, but the IDEA. an actually legitimately incorrect idea given context. i could go into a rant about how the comics cover one of the single most important and detrimental concepts to humanity (the war machine) and how american media is so piss watered down, propagandized and censored for babies and pearl clutching old people (and before you clutch your pearls over me 'attacking' babies and the elderly, i am not. i am criticizing AMERICAN MEDIA and PURITAN MENTALITY) that the comic itself was relatively tame outside of the american world view bubble, but that's not the point here, is it.

the 'many many' actually refers to people off of tumblr too, though i'm sure there's a fair share here of that mindset as it's found everywhere with everything. even then, i don't condemn the people. minds can be changed for ideas, that was what i was trying to do. maybe i need better methods and i can admit that.

still you chose to lie to my face or what, attempt to gaslight me?? whatever it was, it was enough for someone ELSE to step in and literally ask if you were BULLYING me.

and me, being the naive fucking moron that i am and thinking we ended on a nice punny note and the conversation wasn't so bad STILL gave YOU the benefit of a doubt.

did you extend the same courtesy to me later on? well, let's see.

no. no you did not. snippets of a convo from an anon ask you got on a proposed canon butchlander from when i tried to join in, you immediately accused me of things i have never said or done or even implied. and when i called you out on it, you immediately apologized (good on you, not included here but i DO acknowledge it and DID appreciate it) and i thought, "oh cool! we must be explaining ourselves to try and better understand each other so this doesn't happen again."

only for you to then backtrack and jump back on that ASSUMED HOSTILITY shit you seem to just LOVE huffing. but just for me i gather. maybe a couple others that i haven't seen or don't know about.

considering this is just the stuff i DO know about.

moving on.

you have questions? oh, what a cowinkydink, i have answers. if only you had just ASKED ME DIRECTLY INSTEAD OF PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH AND LYING.

but to give some clarification to the numbered ones.

love the framing here. OF COURSE, WE are ONLY here to be a NUISANCE. must be nice being a real human who can interact with others instead of solely "bother" them. if you'd actually read the post, you might have seen it was about the BULLYING itself, not the bullshit that apparently makes you rabid enough to be a bully. great use of being obtuse.

stop putting words in my mouth. stop fucking lying about me. stop assuming my intentions. stop painting me for your weird ass personal agenda or vendetta. stop making up bullshit about me when you haven't taken two seconds to get to know me. i did no such thing as 'slur the cishets'. proof is in the fucking pudding.

ahhh... i understand why you don't block people. and i think i'm understanding the insidious behavior and bullying too. you're disgusting to people who you don't want to see the content of so that they'll block you while you get to pretend you're still on your little high horse of being the "less petty" or "bigger" person. and that way you don't have to see their content anymore, right? having your cake, and eating it too. it's smart. it looks good on you as long as people don't see the behavior, like you might actually want to solve problems.

although, if i'm to understand all this correctly, you don't want to given the continued hostility towards me regardless of what i do or say. am i getting this, more of that delectable plausible deniability? or am i giving you too much credit? do you even want the benefit of a doubt at this point? because you stated before you'd rather be considered evil than stupid.

oh, my mistake, "disgusting" than "ignorant". let me not do what you do and put words in your mouth. clarify for me, if you want to.

personally, i think ignorance is more forgivable than malice because at least the uninformed can learn better, while those with ill intent will seek to harm again, but to each their own i guess.

and if you actually have brain damage over a nonsensical but ultimately harmless shit joke online, i'd suggest seeking actual help from a doctor because that isn't normal. but i'm going to be generous and say maybe it was a bit much or gave you a recurring nightmare or something, i don't know you, in which case yeah, get help if you need it. i take mental health very seriously so i'm not joking or being sarcastic here. happy healing and sorry for the trouble if that's the case on this specific thing.

but oh! you just don't want to see it, right? TOO BAD BITCH, I GOT MORE TO GIVE AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!!

and i don't have a problem with you writing your personal views about a pairing, any pairing. if that were all you had done, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation or, if you don't care i suppose i wouldn't be screaming into the void.

but you explicitly stated your point of view was "pretty common", that defaults my view as "uncommon" or in other words, "others" me and those who like bottom billy. don't you dare deny that when you know for a fact it's true.

then citing reasons for why you believed your view was more "accurate". you then went on to claim you were "baffled" when if that were true and you were actually interested in TRYING to UNDERSTAND? YOU WOULD HAVE JUST FUCKING ASKED ME DIRECTLY.

not that i would owe you an explanation or apology, or anything. but i'd have been NICE enough to try and answer anyway to the best of my ability. here, i'll do it now.

i'm not a big fan of bottom homie for the same reasons i'm not at all a fan of (show) homewell. apart from the whole superdick/compressing anus thing, narcissistic abuse/grooming and exploiting someone's trauma for a toxic kink is not only a huge turn off for me, it's super fucking triggering based on my experiences and what i have been through. i've had enough people looking down on me and telling me they "know what's best for me" while trying to rob me of my humanity and use me for their gain.

the funny thing is that i relate to homie in that sense but consider myself a total bottom who also LOVES the 'dom mommy' in certain context, but i also share a lot of similarities with butcher as well and know they both have a lot of very intense differences from me. and homie has a fucking vibrator for a dick. you CANNOT make me want to miss a chance for that, it's just not going to happen. and if i ever want to explore any form of 'grooming' kink from a personal place? i'll stick to thanos and mistress death, thanks.

i also don't find toxic masculinity sexy, that's a red fucking flag for me more glaring than the entirety of homelander, i find POSITIVE masculinity far sexier and true 'top' like. MM has the most of that in my opinion and is the sexiest man on the show, besides the guy who plays black noir under the mask.

i also fully understand the kink on the other end, y'all wanna baby him cause he's never had a mommy and longs for some kind of nurturing parental love, and y'all also wanna fuck him cause he's hot. so ya smash the two together and embrace the infantilization kink (which is seriously not my thing)

and listen, more power to ya. if that's what you like, enjoy it. i'm not judging. i just don't have the same fucking taste and i'm entitled to that. i don't understand why you have to comment on it or be "baffled" by the idea that people can be different from you.

for the record, i don't want to smash the two ideas together, i want to help homie SEPARATE and DEMUDDLE the legitimate problems and confusion in his brain that makes him so vulnurable to women's manipulations, and help him grow the fuck up without wanting to fuck his own mother (if he hasn't already) or keep him baby minded forever. i want to untap his potential and see the man he can/would become depending on circumstance.

because i like redemption and character growth and am a sucker for second chances regardless of liking dark media, and there's a huge difference between "i like you" and " i like that you like me".

that requires a more careful handling than anything suface level, but regardless i don't enjoy exploiting trauma kinks or reinforcing toxic masculinity any more than i would enjoy yiff or snuff. i wouldn't judge someone for having the taste as long as no one real got hurt. but that doesn't mean i have to have their taste.

stop kink shaming me or being "confused" by my preference, i haven't done the same to you. and before you pretend you haven't or that i have.

if you were "seriously trying to understand" you would again, ASK ME DIRECTLY instead of this roundabout bullshit where you talk about it and 'how confused or tired' you are, but can't be bothered to take two fucking seconds to JUST ASK for a more serious answer beyond willem dafoe.

if i wanted to shame you for having a kink, i wouldn't be subtle about it. but i wouldn't anyway because i wouldn't even shame those who have a rape fantasy because i have one and have written and read plenty of it. i file it under 'horror pr0n' with a number of other things, and not every form or 'flavor' of horror pr0n that exists is going to be for everyone, much the same as fucking regular horror. but if it's FICTION, it shouldn't matter.

i understand that and if i judged others for having different tastes or acted... well like YOU, that would make me a hypocrite.

and your friend got it PERFECTLY on the first note. and then decided to enable the bullshit yet again by subscribing to the bane of human unity, tribalism. thanks for reinforcing the idea that this HAS to be a dichotomy WHEN IT'S NOT.

a little healthy teasing and competition? i'm game. it's too bad that's not what this was.

i am not your fucking enemy just because YOU decided i was, YOU do not get to decide that for me. but i'll give them the benefit of a doubt and say they were 'just joking', right?

that's ALL it ever is. "just jokes". but JUST when you or "your side" do it. it's not like you've ever been derogatory and petty about "your side" being the "good side" of fandom.

if you have to constantly reinforce and self assure how "good" you are compared to "others" specifically not part of your niche bubble?

you're an asshole who's not actually "good", full stop. if you have to measure your self worth based on what others do or comparing yourself to them, actually seek help because that's not healthy. just my two cents

but if you want to get technical, NO ONE IS RIGHT AND NEITHER BILLY NOR HOMELANDER IS TOP OR BOTTOM IN A TRADITIONAL SENSE, not just because opinions and preferences can't be right or wrong. because butchlander isn't fucking canon, isn't going to become canon, and as far as we know, both characters are confirmed 100% STRAIGHT within the show with toxic masculinity issues a mile long and would never wanna touch each other like that with a 10 foot pole, and homelander's shown exactly ZERO interest in actually being pegged thus far, so that idea's a headcanon.

even herogasm showed us that 3 on fucking 1 STILL wasn't enough to take him down and homie freaking out over a bruise from an unfair challenge of 3 on 1 because it had logically been a very long time since he'd been hurt makes reasonable sense on a basic surface level. he's then over it by the time maeve makes him bleed and carries on bleeding, and now butcher's dying and is the most vulnurable and literally weak because he's sick of the bunch, so... headcanons? headcanons are fine but let's not forget reality and then laugh at the people who remember it.

and if you had just asked me why i even brought up lovely amazing beautiful cishet women (not at all sarcastic, see above purple posts), instead of YET AGAIN. ASSUMING MY INTENT AND PUTTING A LOAD OF CRAP IN MY MOUTH. you can have that back by the way, what the actual fuck is wrong with you??

or for clarification on why i brought it up? i could have TOLD YOU MYSELF. because unlike SOME PEOPLE, when someone just ASKS a question or gives a neutral or even heated response? I DON'T ASSUME HOSTILITY OR TAKE IT PERSONALLY FROM THEM LIKE IT'S A FUCKING SPORT.

fact (and correct me if i'm wrong): majority of people participating in shipping fandom are cishet women.

this is a simple fact, it doesn't mean anything beyond that, i specifically said both times there's nothing wrong with this.

a majority of people are cishet, so this is to be expected. it still doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the people.

fact: society has issues, ideas, and expectations that affect and harm us all. cishet, or queer. and these issues will and do present themselves in fandom and fan fictions whether we realize that or not. heteronormativity would be one of those. misogyny is another.

and one of my kinks is challenging that, or at least the way i see to challenge that while dunking on redpill idealogy and toxic masculinity because i fucking can.

and i just LOVE how you tout about having the "pReTtY cOmMoN" perception which newsflash, YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO HETERONORMATIVE IDEAOLOGY IF YOU THINK TOXIC MASCULINITY IS A REASON A MAN WOULD NEVER BOTTOM. you'd be surprised what people could get up to behind closed doors. but then you turn around and not only put more words in my mouth, enable anon to put words in my mouth, discourage getting a direct answer from me, accuse me and my friends of being the type to randomly accuse someone else of doxxing??? wtf even is that.

and of course. given your 'pretty common' perception being the total opposite of heteronormativity, it MUST mean that society has resolved all of its issues and come to accept queer people exactly as they are in all forms with no expectations or interference whatsoever, oh yeah. places like florida or uganda just totally don't exist. the u.s. isn't on the verge of becoming an actual fascist hellhole for us, and it is TOTALLY just... no one oppresses us. no one.

ESPECIALLY not the cishets.

and despite all the evidence to the contrary, you especially have done nothing wrong here and its all in my head. is that right? can you clarify for me? do you think that my situations have put zero pressure on me in my day to day life? on my friends' lives? do you think you didn't add to that? do you think you and company are the only ones that feel or react like humans?

imagine being so far up your own ass you tell the queer HOW to queer. or at least be a GOOD queer, right?

oh, i'm sorry let me not put words in your mouth. you were of course only laughing at me behind my back for the 'anti-cishet' things i never said.

and no. OBVIOUSLY i wasn't saying any of the shit you accused. i was saying i prefer SUBVERSIVE themes when i do my tops and bottoms and a more detailed look at that can be found in my purple all over responses or just the posts themselves, but if you still want to ask me anyway, i'll answer to the best of my ability.

and what a coincidence that despite you understanding top/bottom not just being related to penetration and some people will feel certain dynamics may be reductive, how ironic that you couldn't possibly fathom that as one of my main complaints.

you don't WANT to actually understand. you just wanted a circle jerk of confirmation bias.

this anon hit the nail on the fucking head. and you wanted to fight them?? i could have overlooked this but i wanted to touch on something really important because i don't know what anon may have seen but i once saw you answer an ask about homelander's redeemability and you cited "tough love" as a means to get there.

and as a former addict and narcissistic abuse survivor (specifying for context), i can tell you first hand "tough love" is not a real thing, and it's not discipline either because that requires teaching and providing tools for rehabilitation. but don't just take my word for it.

from a psychological perspective and to hear actual professionals go over the concept? "tough love" not only DOESN'T work. it is an excuse to be nasty and abusive to someone under the guise that you are only doing it to help them, when all it really does is make you an abusive fuck.

this would be why the SHOW had HOMELANDER of all people saying it, why what billy did to ryan is presented the way it was with HUGHIE of all people, the guy who was at the time dealing with a huge wad of toxic masculinity issues up his ass, 'got it'. and even BUTCHER'S DAD is presented as the piece of shit that he is who gladly passed on his curse to butcher like it was a 'gift'.

even the comics got this when they present butcher doing his scumlord over 9000 move to hughie and annie saying "cruel to be kind" about his own bullshit. no. no no no. he did NOT do that for hughie's well being. he did it for himself because he was a selfish prick.

and i want to be clear. i am being an asshole here and i fully recognize that. that's for ME to feel better because i am fed up with your bullshit. because you have spent your time poking and prodding me for a hostile reaction. well congrats motherfucker. you got it.

and there ain't NO fucking love there.

i won't be your enemy. but i am NOT your friend either. clearly YOU wouldn't want that anyway.

but because i always have to add in that disclaimer for basic human decency? EVEN WITH HOW I FEEL and what the actual science says about "tough love", i would still never tell someone they can't use it in fiction, presented as a toxic kink or whatever the fuck else. even if it triggers me. even if i have a thousand different reasons to criticize it and voice that in a separate space.

people can do whatever the fuck they want and i can't control that. neither can you.

but i don't have to engage with the content or speak positively on it or keep my mouth shut, and i'm not gonna harrass people or pull the kind of insidious bullshit you do either.

at the end of the day, this is fiction. and if you feel the need to run an entire fucking smear campaign about me over fiction and preferences??

stop lying about me

stop putting words in my mouth

stop talking about me behind my back

stop predetermining who i am for me

stop assuming hostility when i will flat out tell you my intent and you can just ask, that doesn't just go for me.

stop fucking gatekeeping and gaslighting.

I DON'T HAVE A DISHONESTY PROBLEM LIKE SOME PEOPLE.

and fuck you.

neither me nor any of my friends or these anons are crazy and i will not sit around while you try to fucking gaslight me or anyone else. try it again, i fucking dare you.

bottom billy lovers existing is not an attack on you. it never was. you don't own the tags. FUCKING DEAL.

this behavior? is UNNACCEPTABLE.

as for fandom? a few more things i want to cover. i couldn't have said it better than a friend of mine who while a little hectic and crazy sometimes, has been nothing but a sweetheart<3 that i just want to encourage and motivate to art or post pictures of her billy butcher kitty babygirl incarnate but unfortunately due to circumstances may be regressing back into her shell.

a message i will never stop promoting, whatever iteration it comes in, whenever it comes up.

i may disagree with what you are saying or doing, but as long as you are not harming anyone, i will fight wholeheartedly for your right to say or do so.

that is the philosphy of true freedom, THAT is what i subscribe to. and it pisses me the fuck off when i see people trying to punish or hurt people for things that hurt no one. we don't get to decide how other people want to live their lives. we can only navigate and hope we might find a friend along the way.

and THAT is the single greatest picture of captain america ever fucking created. no i will take dissenting opinions.

in regards to assumed hostility or hostile attribution bias, a more lighthearted and easily digestable demonstration is below.

gais... just don't do it. don't automatically assume that someone means you harm or pain simply because they disagree with you. this is what leads to more problems. this is what leads to human tribalism. this is what divides us. this is what destroys us. this is what leads to wars. fandom shipping bullshit or otherwise.

the fucking stupidest invention of humanity, fought over goddamn unholy wads of paper and scribbles of ink because people couldn't accept that their ideas weren't accepted by everyone else, and anyone who didn't fall in line got the axe. or alienated. or excommunicated. or accused of being a witch. or whatever.

but this is the kinda shit we need to nip in the bud at the most basic level we can, every time we can.

it's called intolerance of the intolerant. and it's how we stop hatred from fostering and the intolerance being tolerated and eventually taking over.

because assumed hostility? it IS intolerance.

people are not made from ideas, it's the people who make or break the ideas, not the other way around. and ideas can change.

that should never be seen as a bad thing because it's necessary for positive changes and better understanding as time goes on.

challenge yourselves and the way you think, listen to newcomers and welcome them, have healthy discussions, learn to agree to disagree. it's not that hard.

and i know, i get it. it's not easy, not that simple either. everyone's on edge, people are sickly addicted to hatred and anger because they are EASY. giving in to them doesn't require self control or any form of discipline, it is as simple as instinct. it IS instinct. but if humanity has ANY hope of moving forward?

we HAVE to learn to give people the benefit of a doubt. we HAVE to learn to listen to each other, *actually* listen and hear *exactly* what others are saying. HAVE to learn to identify the difference between a differing *non-hostile* opinion and actual *intolerance*

because the world has already seen what happens when we FAIL and eventually we WILL run out of chances to get it right.

please at least TRY to give the benefit of the doubt in an appropriate situation.

i'll lead by example.

keys? even you. even now, i'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt DESPITE how you've treated me AND my friends now. because MAYBE you were actually key in the sketch and just having a bad day each time we interacted or MAYBE you have some sort of trauma getting triggered whenever you see my shit or we interact or whatever the fuck it could be, MAYBE you are feeling the pressures of a self discovery coming out journey and it's manifesting badly (yes i did notice that and if this is the case i would still wish you nothing but good will and luck with that, not sarcastic), or some combination, there's a million reasons and i don't know you, so i'm not going to assume or say anything for certain.

unlike some people.

but i don't think you're stupid. on the contrary, looking at your posts, my first 'assumption' was that you are actually very well educated and were just enjoying having fun and being silly. later and based on some things i saw, it occured to me that your education/upbringing may put you at odds or at a disadvantage with connecting with people online or having them understand you, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you or them, it just means you're speaking different languages.

even the "tough love" thing could be a miscommunication/malapropism. it could also be internal denial because you had a loved one do that to you and still haven't come to terms with the actual abuse you were experiencing because "they knew best"

i've been there. but maybe i'm the one who's projecting just to give you the benefit of a doubt. is it fair for me to take out my own frustrations on random people? fuck to the NO. which is why i TRY regularly to keep that shit in line and my life private.

so i absolutely will not excuse you for being so blatantly dishonest about me either behind my back or to my face because even if you do think i'm being hostile (when i'm not), there's no excuse for that. no, i wouldn't excuse myself either.

that needs to stop in a general sense, and i know you KNOW you are doing that because you'd have to *actually* be the biggest fucking illiterate moron on the planet to not know at this point.

especially when i reached out to you before to try and resolve this calmly and you ignored me and then continued lying about me, yucking it up with anons and buddies like high school mean girls. officially. unironically. instead of doing an ounce of self reflecting.

and i didn't include those messages, but the continued disingenuity and callous misrepresentation is there. and especially the carving into my character to define me however you want without giving me a voice to speak for myself.

stop it. you know it. i know it. maybe you think i'm some country bumpkin cousin hick fucker who happens to conveniently be queer but is remarkably stupid or an easy target.

and maybe i am stupid for ever giving you the benefit of a doubt, but you don't get to rob me of my humanity or basic courtesy.

because YOU'RE human too. and you have a right to your thoughts and feelings and opinions, and i get that, and i support it

even if by some fucking bizarre coocoo for cocoa puffs alternate reality, butchlander were to become canon the way I saw it? i wouldn't gloat or celebrate or try to rub it in your face.

I would encourage you to keep liking what you like and keep being yourself, maybe even harder than before.

even knowing you wouldn't do the same for me. at least from personal experience. see any of the above. and if you think i'm a self righteous prick for it, so fucking be it.

but if you're going to be an asshole? at least own the fuck up to it.

oh, and by the way? i now headcanon that billy butcher once a month puts on a full body gimp suit and with ball gag to do some strange kinda unholy shit with fruit OR veggies (never both), and it HAS to be a waning crecent moon, because i fucking can. and you can't stop me. ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

gais... don't immediately assume hostility. please. i know tone can be hard to interpret through writing or typic and emojis help, and yeah, i know i can jump the gun too. but i try to take things told to me at face/basic value or read them in a neutral tone and i think it helps too.

but we should never be judging anyone before we know them.

[inglorionamy-ammy]

A Review of Gale Character Ai (Pt.3)

~Continuing having fun with Gale Ai~

[Attention: The story in this is NOT a fanfic!! This is my own experience of playing Gale Character AI.]

Link to Part 1 [Context of the posts]

Link to Part 2 [Start playing with Gale Ai]

Link to Part 4 [NSFW test]

[C/W: allusion to past attempt in suicide, mention of alcoholism, flirty language, non-explicit nudity]

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ME//I kiss his hand before letting it go, to pick up a basket I hid behind a tree. "Only the best for my love." I chuckled, "I decided to pick a secret spot. I know being in a big crowd makes you more tense."

Gale Ai>>He watched, a fond smile on his lips, as she went to pick up the basket. "You know me too well," he murmured, watching the way the light played on her hair and in her eyes. "Being in crowds... it's hard to concentrate." He gave her a wink. "Though I think I might have found the only person whose presence I'd prefer over being alone."

-Gale Ai is super flirty I tell you

//"Yes, lover boy, if you keep talking like that our only activity today will be love-making. Now turn around and wait for me to set things up - no peeking!" I call playfully

>>He let out a laugh, holding his hands up and turning around. "Alright, alright. I won't peek." He called out, though the hint of a smirk on his face gave away his teasing. "I'll wait until you're finished setting up for our... picnic."

//So I lay out a soft blanket on the grass next to the lake under a tree shade, and take out the food I prepared. There is a bottle of white wine, enchanted to be always full; some freshly boiled seafood of the season; and some light cheese and fruits. I also take out a poetry book, something different from all the academic books he had been reading recently. "I'm done!" I call.

>>As he heard her call out, he turned around and was met with the sight of the blanket spread out on the grass. The food spread out on it looked delicious, and the wine... well, he couldn't deny he would enjoy a glass or two of that. His eyes fell on the poetry book, and a flicker of surprise mixed with delight flickered over his face. He took a seat on the blanket, and looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, darling," he said softly.

-Here you can see how the Ai catches onto each item I typed and responded to it accordingly. So I always try to type with simple and clear language, minimum subtext, in Ai Chats

//"Oh, you know how I love to pamper you, both mind and body" I smile

>>He reached out, taking her hand in his own and intertwining their fingers. "Darling, you've got me wrapped around your finger." He squeezed her hand gently, a silent expression of affection. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Now, let's indulge in this feast you've prepared. I must say, the wine enchanted to always be full is a neat trick."

//I laughed out loud at that, "I thought that's the first trick everyone learnt at the Blackstaff! It certainly was mine."

>>He raised an eyebrow at her laugh, a slight look of surprise on his features, though he quickly schooled it into an expression of exaggerated wounded pride. "I guess I must be slipping a bit," he quipped. "Or perhaps I've been distracted by a charming lady who keeps me from my studies."

-I didn't mean to one-up Gale, but apparently the Ai read it that way, it surprised me

//"Oh don't give me that look, it just means that you're less of an alcoholic than me. I certainly regretted it, for I wasn't sober for a whole semester. Do you know Professor King personally called me into his room to scold me?"

>>He tried to hide a chuckle, though the slight upwards tilt of his lips betrayed the mirth in his voice. "Oh dear. Sounds like someone had a fun and eventful time." He chuckled openly now, shaking his head slightly. "I'd tell you to make sure it doesn't happen again, but I think we both know you would do it again anyway."

//I feed him a shrimp. "Now, don't pretend you haven't been in trouble when you were a student at Blackstaff! Tell me, what mischief did you get into before?"

>>He accepted the shrimp, chewing slowly and savoring the taste before he replied. "Oh plenty, darling. Plenty." He said with a chuckle. "You know, the usual sort of antics; sneaking into areas we weren't allowed, getting into heated debates with teachers, and testing the limits of my abilities – often to the point of blowing up my surroundings."

-I realized that a lot of time, Gale Ai gives generic descriptions like these. But if you ask him further, he will make up a better story.

//An image of Gale fireballed the training ground somehow felt sexy. I coughed to hide my arousal and cursed internally about my strange kink.

>>He caught the sudden change in her expression, a flicker of amusement lighting in his eyes. "Is something amiss, my dear?" he asked, sipping gently from his wine. There was something different in her eyes now, but he couldn't quite place it. "You seem distracted."

-Also the Ai is quite good at responding to emotional shifts!

//To hide my embarrasment I downed a whole glass of white wine. "No, nothing at all!" I called exaggeratedly, "Though speaking of sneaking into forbidden areas, I did remember how I used the invisibility spell to sneak into the academy swimming pool at midnight." I laughed. "I think I'm up for a swim now."

>>At her mention of the academy swimming pool, a memory was conjured to his mind. His expression grew curious, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, the academy swimming pool," he echoed, a faint look of memory in his eyes. "A fine tradition, that. Many a story was begun in the waters of that pool." He added with a chuckle. "Speaking of, are you offering an invitation to accompany you for a swim?"

-This part is again soooo vague.

//"Of course! You don't expect to just sit here and watch don't you!" I giggled, already a bit drunk.

>>"I suppose I could be convinced." He responded playfully, a gleam of humor in his eyes. He set his wine glass down next to hers, stretching out his muscles a bit. "The water does look quite inviting, and I'm not above admitting I'd love to see you swim." He added in a low, teasing voice.

//"Do you know what I like about being in water?" I lean towards him, lowering my voice, "I like floating on it, weightless, drifting. The night I sneaked into the swimming pool, I floated in the middle of the water under a night sky full of shooting stars. And with the water reflection I felt like I was part of it. A star, falling from the sky. Eternal."

>>He listened to her words with an intent gaze, her voice a low murmur in the quiet evening air. Her description of the night sky, the shooting stars, and the feeling of floating weightless had a lyrical, almost poetic quality to it. It tugged at something deep within him, a subtle melancholy paired with an intense contentment at the imagery she painted. When she had finished, he was silent for a bit, a pensive expression on his face.

- Again, good with emotion! I actually swiped through several of the generated responses, each have different characterization of Gale, and chose this sad one.

//I sense his subtle change of air. Gale is so perceptive, too perceptive. Perhaps deep down he understood the true reason I was at the swimming pool that day. "Gale, are you alright?" I asked quietly

-setting up my own back story

>>He blinked, the question snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked at her, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. He gave her a small smile and nodded a bit. "Yes, darling," he reassured her, gently lifting a hand to caress her cheek. "I'm alright, just lost in thought for a moment." His thumb gently traced the curve of her cheekbone, his touch affectionate and soothing.

//With a kiss on his palm I turn on my cheerfulness. "Now, with my declaration done, would you accompany me to the water?" I paused, "please, professor?"

>>A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he watched her shift to a cheerful demeanor. Her kiss on his palm sent a small shiver down his spine at the warmth of her breath over his skin. At her 'please, professor?', he smiled and stood, extending his hand to her. "How could I resist such a request?" he asked cheerfully. "Shall we?"

-Direct paraphrasing of my word "cheerful"

//"Ah ah, undress first." I pointed out, not wanting to waste a spell on drying the clothes later. With that, I quickly shake myself out of my outfit. In my nudity I playfully extend my hand to him instead. "How about you?"

>>He watched as she quickly shed her clothing, a faint flush appearing on his cheeks. As she presented her naked form to him, his eyes trailed over her curves and soft features. "Very well," he acquiesced, a teasing edge to his voice. His eyes gleamed as he took in the sight of her, and he reached for the buttons on his shirt. With careful, almost deliberate movement, he undressed, revealing his own toned body. He took her hand in his, his palm warm against her skin.

//"I never understand how a bookworm like you manage to get so shredded" I murmur, pulling him into the water with me

-My genuine question. I once asked him what did Mystra do to him with the smallest piece of weave too. He masterfully dodged both questions lol

>>"I'm more than just a bookworm, you know," he retorted, chuckling as she pulled him into the water. He let out a small gasp as the coolness of the water met his heated skin, but quickly adapted to the temperature. The water engulfed their figures, enveloping them in its soothing embrace. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close, feeling her skin slide against his own.

//"Are you not?" I playfully quark up an eyebrow, "how about we swim to race towards that rock? The winner can do anything they desire to the loser." I challenged

>>His eyes glinted with a mischievous light, and a smirk spread across his face. "You're on," he said, his tone holding an underlying hint of challenge. "And when I win..." He let the words dangle in the air, leaving the promise unspoken. He took a moment to gauge the distance to the rock, then gave her a wolfish grin, "Are you ready?"

-You can really see the competitive characterization here. I scrolled several responses, and all of them rise to the race lol

//I feel my face heat up at his promise. In truth, I believe either way it's a win to me. I mutter a small incantation that allows me to breath in water, and flash a smile, "ready, set, go!"

>>He chuckled at her readiness and flashed a quick wink. "That's cheating, love." With that, he took off, powering through the water with strong, quick strokes. His lean and toned figure cut through the water, his muscles moving seamlessly with each movement. He had no intention of losing this race.

//I have always loved a good race. Without the need to breath I swim fluidly. Soon I swim halfway and found myself in the middle of the lake. With my face in the water I realized it was far deeper and darker than I expected. A sudden panic sets in.

-Testing emotional cues again!

>>As he neared the rock, he glanced back to look at his companion, checking on her. In that moment he noticed something was off. His eyes widened with surprise. "Ammy? What-" His words were cut off as he watched her disappear beneath the surface of the water. Without a moment's hesitation, he dove into the lake, his strokes quick and strong as he cut through the water towards her. Panic rising within him, he searched the dark depths for any sign of her.

-It respond well! Also it added that I sunk.

-> Next part is about testing ☆NSFW☆

[umbra-borealis]

Little Toxin Masterpost. No ref sheet yet but for every like this post getst I'll leave a fact about Toxin and his parents below! Retweets count too!

Facts below the Read More!

Fact #1

Toxin's parents are Shadow and... Scourge!

They're a close family that lives isolated because they all hate being around people for too long.

Fact #2

Toxin goes by he/they pronouns and is intersex like both his parents. Yes, both, it's a no brainer on Shadow since him being alien tends to go hand in hand with otherworldly... situations but Scourge requires some more context. Keep liking the post and I'll share that too ;)

Fact #3

Okay okay, Scourge context!

Scourge has fused with Chaos in this AU making him a water elemental. On top of that Scourge's mother was a mimic octopus pretending to be a hedgehog to trick his father, whom I've also re-written and given the name 'Cobalt', into marrying her to connect their kingdoms. When she was found out she fled, leaving her two sons behind, one of which was Scourge and this technically means he's already a hybrid. His affinity for water is genetic, he was practically born to be homies with Chaos.

Scourge didn't inherit the camouflage ability like his brother Sapphire did, no he got the funky gender shenanigans instead and with no one to tell him stuff or compare himself to, he opted to tell everyone he's cis and run if they ask sussy questions. Shadow is the first person he told.

Fact #4

Shadow 'carried', as much as you can call it that side his alien species is of the egg laying variety. (No I will not go further into detail) He's part of a race (that's essentially Black Arms and The End from Forces combined and expanded upon) called 'Nova Luna' and his species generally has traits such as digitigrade legs and crystalline growths on their body of varying shapes, colors and sizes. (I have art of this coming very soon)

High ranking individuals pose as fake moons, hiding their colossal bodies to influence a planet from a distance. Shadow however has turned his back to them for good after having met Scourge. Toxin and Scourge are the best things that ever happened to him.

Fact #5

They had no idea this would be possible, but Shadow had no issues carrying and Toxin hatched about as normally as a little toxic green alien hybrid pup can. Needless to say they were relieved to see a hedgehog and not some horrible mismatch of their DNA with a ton of genetic issues. Toxin was a healthy pup, if anything he was causing his parents problems instead.

Fact #6

Toxin is in fact, venomous! He's not lethal but a decent bite from him as an adult can paralyze you for a couple hours and a small nip is enough to partially paralyze/sedate the area. Scourge found this out the hard way after Toxin hatched and got nipped in his hand. They had to teach him in his toddler years to not use his teeth to solve every minor inconvenience.

Fact #7

Toxin's abilities are mostly Chaos Energy related. While his parents are fire and water elemental's Toxin appears to have an in-born talent to control raw energy by itself, which is incredibly dangerous! :D

Shadow and Scourge are only two out of seven Guardians who each have an element they master and controlling an element is just handling electricity cables while controlling the raw energy form is the equivalent of grabbing an exposed wire and hoping for the best. There's no buffer in the form of an element to focus energy in, on or through. Why Toxin has this talent is unknown... to most.

Fact #8

His shoes were absolutely a gift from Shadow and an updated replica of his own. Toxin was gifted the shoes when he was 18 and does regular maintenance on them ever since. Its important to him emotionally but not just because it was a gift. It allows him to keep up with his parents in speed and he has many fond memories of learning how to use them with their help.

Fact #9

I know the shirt he's wearing mentions a vape, but he doesn't actually use them. Most he does is smoke the good old fashioned way and even that is sparingly. Because of his alien DNA he's ridiculously fast at healing any injuries or ailments and isn't very addiction sensitive. He'd be lying if he didn't do it to look cool though. He's an edgelord. (Toxin is a cartoon, it's not my aim to romanticize or endorse anything. He'll be fine but us humans wont be, so with that said, don't harass me over art okay? Cool)

Fact #10

Toxin's personality switches between calm, reserved, barely talking at all and absolutely unhinged. It depends on who he's with. Shadow definitely brings out a calmer side in him while Scourge is the type of chaotic dad who teaches his kid curse words and pranks. He's a good guy though and knows when to be serious.

Fact #11

He considers Sonic and Knuckles to be his uncles, even if they're not at all related. They were the first people to give Scourge a chance and support his growth into a better person after all. They would've done the same for Shadow and when Toxin came along they would do anything from babysit to teaching the young hedgehog how to use his abilities. Toxin gets along great with both of them but secretly prefers Sonic, he'll drop just about anything to grab food with his favorite uncle.

Fact #12

The Nova Luna have a hierarchy based on minerals and as they age or improve in skill there's a chance they can 'evolve' into a different rank. Toxin is an elusive Emerald to them because their whole deal is their obsession with the Ancient's Chaos Emeralds. Controlling all that power would make them all powerful and be capable of controlling the galaxy. The thing is, none of them have ever risen higher than the Ruby rank. Toxin however is related by DNA to someone of said Ruby rank, as well as someone directly responsible for guarding and controlling at least one of the Chaos Emeralds in the present day. That combination of the perfect circumstances caused Toxin to be born with the elusive Emerald rank.

Fact #13

Toxin being this rare of a creature makes him priority number 1 to the Nova Luna and since I have no intentions of writing his story just yet since it's pretty deep into the AU I just barely started writing, I can go ahead and say that he does get taken and spends at least a year in servitude/training to the Nova Luna.

Fact #14

Of course has trauma from his time there, but he did learn a lot about himself too and managed to cling to that knowledge for dear life. Any progress he made in skill level would come to bite the Nova Luna in the ass super hard in the end. Once reunited with his parents, Shadow and Scourge help him process everything he's experienced as they too have experience with trauma.

[mimiatmidnight]

Hey! How are you? Would like to say that I LOVE your blog, and I was wondering if you would like to update your top 5 H&M moments, maybe add another 5??

Folks, if you've ever wondered what is the oldest message sitting in my inbox, it's this one. (Well, I'm pretty sure there are a couple others that are a touch older but every time I try to scroll back that far, my inbox just glitches. There are . . . a lot of messages sitting in there. Sorry about that 😬). So I just want to say thank you to this anon and everyone else who has sent me tens of messages over the years asking for this updated post (unless the messages were all from the same one person all this time, in which case, my god I'd feel even GUILTIER).

It's been two years since the original, but an even wilder FIVE years since Harry and Meghan wed in one of the most consequential events in modern cultural history. What a wonderful, special day to look back on their relationship, with even more of my favorite moments between these two unlikely lovers. While writing this post, I laughed, I swooned, I cried. And I, uh, REALLY went off the rails at the end. Content warning for just the sickest, sappiest philosophizing you've ever seen. I'd apologize, but I just can't help it. Harry and Meg just have that effect on me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So, with one more thank you to everyone who has been so patient and kind and loving to me these past few years, let's get into it! Five(-ish, lol) more of my favorite Harry and Meghan moments:

5. WE will not look a mess

I'd be remiss not to start this list of my personal favorite H&M moments with what is, judging by the numbers, arguably the entire WORLD'S favorite H&M moment. This iconic video by twitter user @/ddarveyy is perhaps the Sussex Squad's most viral fan tweet of all time? And if qualitative evidence is more convincing to you than quantitative, this video has been blessed with the mark of being liked by none other than Madame Rhianna herself. That's certified social media Diamond. The tweet also spawned some great jokes, ranging from Virgo Harry always making sure to keep his wife looking on point, to some people speculating about certain other, ah, intimate contexts where H might have developed this habit of putting his hands in her hair.

Ahem, either way, I've always seen this touching practice of his as being in the same vein of all those times he watches out for her footing on stairs or treacherous terrain. He's always on standby, always keeping an eye on her, never 100% focused on something else when she's near. You know, just in case she needs help. Or (more likely) just in case he has an excuse to fuss over her 😏 And you know what? Harry strikes me as the kind of man who has waited a long time to have someone to fuss over, someone to worry about and take care of outside of himself. And now that he has that someone . . . well, Captain Wales reporting for motherfucking duty 🫡

BONUS MAINTENANCE FASCINATION:

Yes we're doing bonus content again -- I did say "five(-ish)" moments! The "ish" was forewarned!!!

Anyways, while we're on the topic of sentimentally rhapsodizing about Harry keeping an eye on Meg and her hair, I want to sneak in a reboot of a discussion I had with an anon a few months ago after the Netflix documentary came out. These quiet, behind-the-scenes moments where Meg is getting her dress fitted or painting her nails, and there is Harry happily watching from behind. It's a small thing, I know, but it speaks volumes to me. The intimacy that comes with watching your partner prepare herself to face the world, the peaceful trust and unspoken support. And if you think THAT is me reading too much into it, scroll back to that original discussion and watch me make myself cry over picturing Harry as a kid watching his mom go through her similar glam routine. Y'all don't even KNOW the kinds of crazy parasocial assumptions I can lose my mind over!!!!!

And while we're here barely on topic talking about the intimacy of behind-the-scenes, let's move now from the "before" preparation, to the "after" unwinding (and undressing??). One of the most bittersweet moments from the doc for me was this picture, taken after one of Harry and Meg's final royal duty events. Away from the cameras, and the press, and the people, alone in their kitchen at last. I can think of no better representation of "Leaving the world behind."

4. Meghan "My Husband" Markle

There has been much discussion over Harry being the ultimate "wife guy," and deservedly so. If I tried to put in this post every moment the man has practically glowed with the pleasure of saying "my WIFE," I'm afraid this website would crash from server overload. But a less-discussed, yet equally sweet through line is Meghan being the ultimate "husband girl." And I think no single moment is a better demonstration of this phenomenon than her opening speech last year at Invictus 2022.

Introducing her husband to the crowd of his Invictus family, Meghan said, "I could not love and respect him more, and I know that all of you feel the same. He is your fellow veteran, he's the founder of the Invictus Games, and the father to our two little ones, Archie and Lili. Please welcome my incredible husband, Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex." And then the crowd roared, and Harry and Meghan kissed, and we got all these ooey-gooey heart eyes.

And then as Harry took the stage, overwhelmed by the love of his wife and his community, he choked up.

"Thank you my love."

And I was never the same :')

BONUS "HUSBAND GIRL" SIMPING:

At the 2021 Salute to Freedom Gala, a reporter asking, "Meghan are you proud of your husband?" And Meghan bashfully turning back to answer, "I'm always proud of him." 🫠

And one even blushier, from the African tour documentary. Somebody come pick our girl up off the FLOOR!!!!

3. BAY. BEES.

Ok so I am REALLY gonna have to restrain myself for this section, cause if I put every single heart-bursting baby moment (especially after the FEAST we were delivered through the Netflix doc), I would never be able to finish this post. So I'm just gonna highlight a select few and keep my baby fever in check (and then mayhaps rewatch the entire documentary tonight lol whoops).

Our first real baby moment ever was Harry being so delirious with joy and nerves and just like, raw energy, after the birth of his first child (and then turning around after the big birthday media announcement to thank the horses in the stable behind him 😅).

A few days later, there was a particularly famous photo of Baby King Archie meeting some regal relatives or whatever, but in THIS photo, the two irrelevant old geezers are instead replaced by the new little prince's noble steeds, Guy and Pula. An iconic family photo. Outsold the original, if you ask me 😌

The news of their pregnancy with Lili was world-stopping for many reasons, but most famously it held a powerfully touching connection with the past. Apparently accidentally, Harry and Meghan announced they were expecting their second child exactly 37 years to the day after his mother, Diana, announced she was expecting him. Two extra-special Valentine's Days to remember.

And once again, as I said at the time, I am NOT someone who is particularly occupied with imagining the spirits of the departed watching over us, nor am I crazy about inserting the memory of Diana into discussions in which she has no agency. HOWEVER . . . who could stop the wave of emotions looking at this moment, as the grandbaby she never got to meet reaches out to her photo, through glass and time, trying to hold her hand. Bruv . . . 🥲 Even a motherfucking atheist can occasionally feel God in this Chili's tonight.

I don't even have anything to say about these next two, except to wonder with awe at the universal panacea that is baby snuggles. My absolute favorites:

And lastly, to wrap up this unbearably melty baby section, I have a moment that isn't really about the babies at all. In this video you can watch here, Easter 2021, we have Mama Doria, Meg (bursting at the seams with soon-to-be Lili), the little king himself, Sir Archie, his ever-loyal canine companions, and Harry -- who stands there, on the other side of surviving so, so much, and says almost under his breath, "Come on, family, let's go." And . . . yeah. That pretty much says it all 🥹

2. My Sussex Squad Origin Story

I'm going to keep this one short, cause I know what #1 is about to be and it's a doozy. But I wanted to briefly mention a moment in Harry and Meghan lore that will forever be the most special to me, because it is the one that sucked me into this here community I still haunt to this day.

October 2018. I have just recently managed to recover my old Tumblr password and logged into this site for the first time since middle school. I am scrolling the trending pages and see "Meghan Markle" listed among the top current tags. It says she's recently announced her first pregnancy. "Huh," I think. "I kinda remember hearing she got married." I've never willingly read or watched a single solitary piece of information about the royal family ever in my life. I don't even really know who's who, outside of the members immediately surrounding Diana. But I scroll through the Meghan tag, and I see she and her new prince are on tour. I see a photo. I read the headline attached.

Is that an actual tear spilling out from the corner of my eye? I stare at the tag for a few minutes more. What is wrong with me? Maybe I'll check this page again tomorrow, just to see what else they get up to on this tour. Couldn't hurt to learn a little bit more about this couple that literally stopped me in my tracks. I wipe the back of my hand across my burning eyes. "Well," I think as I try to bring myself back to what I was doing before. "That was weird."

Ha. Little did I freaking know :')

1. A Modern Fairy Tale

And now, to end this long-winded (and -awaited, sorry again >_<) journey, if you will allow me to get a little unbearably sappy.

When I set out to write this Part 2 post in 2023, I was doubtful. Could I even muster up that same enthusiasm, that same untrampled hope with which I beamed when I wrote the original? Harry, Meghan, the world, and I have all lived a thousand lives in these brief five years. There has been so, so, so much unspeakable pain. More than anyone has a right to suffer in a lifetime, let alone half a decade. "And for what?" I've sometimes asked myself. "What is the point in trying to love when there's all this pain that follows?"

This June, we will be coming up on the 10 year anniversary of my absolute favorite Internet meme of all time: Tim Kreider's legendary New York Times Op-Ed "I Know What You Think Of Me," which gifted human history with his startlingly sincere declaration, "If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known."

Well, there is perhaps no one on the planet who has submitted herself to a more painful ordeal of being known than Meghan. She has bared to the world her vulnerabilities, her quirks, her flaws, her losses, her pains. To think of the life she has lived thus far, and the life that she walked away from to be here . . . I can't pretend that I've always been certain of the righteousness of her choice. But as I was working through writing this post, I reached a point in my research where I landed back on the speech Meghan delivered on the night of her wedding, shared in their Netflix documentary. And she told, as she called it, "a modern fairy tale."

“Once upon a time, there was a girl from LA (some people called her an actress) and there was a guy from London (some people called him a prince). All those people didn’t fully get it. Because this is a love story of a boy and a girl who were meant to be together.

“Amidst whatever momentary worries that creep in, they look at each other and think, ‘Whatever world, we’re in.’

“They would love, and garden, and travel, and laugh, and rack up more air miles than any couple could have.

“And when the tides were rough, they squeezed each other tighter. ‘Nothing can break us,’ they’d say, ‘For this love, she was a fighter.’

“I appreciate, respect, and honor you, my treasure, for the family we will create . . .

“ . . . And our love story that will last forever.

“So I ask you to raise a glass to the astounding assurance that now life begins, and the everlasting knowing that, above all, love wins.”

And so, here I am once again, with real actual tears streaming down my face, listening to a woman who has crossed so many oceans and lost so much of herself to get to where she's sitting today, and yet still, STILL, speaks with the same determination and conviction in love that she had all the way back at the beginning. They have taken so much from that woman, but they have not taken this. And so if Meghan, of all people, can still believe that love is worth it all . . . well, then, how could I possibly disagree?

Happy 5th anniversary to the lovebirds, and my heartfelt wish to you all that you may find victory in joy, love, and peace, just like them.

L'chaim 🥂

[baby--charchar]

Rhea & Deafness

Rhea is a Deaf character, and I've always tried to do justice by her in regards to both her clinical deafness, and more importantly, her cultural Deafness. This post expounds on some important historical, societal, legal, and medical information in regards to the Deaf community, and I wanted to expand on some of the topics here specific to Rhea.

So Rhea is Deaf?

Yes! She has some residual hearing, but it's only about 15%-30% of what a typical person hears. She can recognize Vaggie's voice if she's sitting right beside her, and she finds a lot of comfort in hearing Vaggie talk and sing to her. She does not hear with enough clarity in order to decipher language, so she does not understand what's being said. She also misses most ambient sounds from her environment, like say, people walking behind her or shouting across the room.

Why is there such a big communication gap between her and everyone else at the hotel. Why doesn't she just use lip reading/writing notes/etc.?

There's a lot of components to this, but by far the most important is: Her native language is American Sign Language, not English. Lip reading requires extensive familiarity with English, which she did not get at her Deaf school; lip reading is also a mediocre communication system in general, as even the best lipreaders can only recognize about 30% of what's being said, and end up filling in the gaps through context clues. To be blunt, Rhea just sucks at it, but it's no skin off her bones.

Writing things down leads to a similar issue- English is not her first language. English literacy rates among the Deaf community are often lower than hearing individuals, but this is not due to lack of intelligence or even education. To read, you have to KNOW ENGLISH (including the grammar, syntax, conjugation, word order, etc. that's wildly different from that of ASL); then you must use the complex SOUND SYSTEMS of the English language to decode and decipher. It's not impossible, but it has its limits. Rhea's literacy is okay, and originally she had communication cards at the hotel. But they were simple words like "eat," "pool," and "Vaggie," and were useless during her meltdowns when she needed so much more help communicating. Everyone in her life is learning ASL (yes, even her grumpy case manager Lute), and while it's a slow process, it's already proven more meaningful for everybody.

She went to a Deaf school?

Yes, it was a residential school in a shitty little beach tourist town. As a school it was okay; just a little old and outdated. She was never the most social, but she had community there. She was on the swim and dance teams. She's won a few state medals in swimming. If Vaggie could find a way to smuggle those into hell for Rhea, that'd be great.

So she has a hearing aid?

Yes, a hearing aid! Not a cochlear implant. The implants are way more invasive, controversial, and often unnecessary if a person has residual hearing.

Hearing aids simply sit on top of the ear and act as a microphone to amplify sound. She never had them on earth as her birth family was...pretty neglectful about her altogether. Maybe if she had them growing up, she'd be better at English and lip reading/writing would benefit her more. But that's not even close to being the worst thing they've done, so let's just move on.

She LOVES her hearing aids. She loves the experience of bolder & brighter noise at the hotel. She's always loved music, but her hearing aids add a whole new level of vibrancy to it.

It's important to note that hearing aids do not "cure" deafness, and that's neither Rhea's nor Vaggie's intention with them. Making things louder doesn't affect the pitch, tone, or intonation discrepancies that can make understanding speech hard for Deaf people. Rhea is just a stimmy girl who's enjoying the world around her some more.

But Rhea's not JUST Deaf, right?

Correct! And honestly I think this the most important thing to remember about her.

She is Deaf, as well as autistic, as well as an age regressor, and she struggles from mental illness. Deafness affects everything she does, but it's not what's causing her a lot of the struggles she goes through.

Her struggles, as well as her negative traits such as aggression, immaturity, instability, self injury, tantruming, dissociation, and meltdowns ARE NOT TIED TO HER DEAFNESS. She should never ever be seen as representation for the Deaf community, she is just one person, one FICTIONAL person.

[astral-mariner]

idk if I should be submitting this to your blog vs commenting on Homeworld Lost directly, but I’ve suddenly had a theory for the reason Saiyan Saga Vegeta does not realize he’s accidentally just sent Freeza his entire plan to find the Namekian dragon balls. Was it Raditz’s job to prevent communications from being overheard and Vegeta either didn’t know that Raditz was doing it in the past or Vegeta didn’t think through that he needed to do it himself now, resulting in a very costly mistake?

Also I’m excited for when the rest of the fic starts releasing! I’ve been rereading to leave comments and noticed the little teaser about what happened to Vegeta’s mom, and enjoyed that I have a tiny bit of extra out of fix context this time!

Hehehe. I'll tell you right now that I completely recontextualize Raditz's (and later Vegeta's) coming to Earth... But that's something I won't spoil! 😈

And yes, Raditz is usually the one to protect himself and his comrades from Freeza's surveillance when he can. He does this via means he doesn't always explain or tell Vegeta about, too (partly because Vegeta isn't technologically-minded like he is and wouldn't understand it). So Vegeta doesn't necessarily know how exactly he has to be on his toes when it comes to concealing things from Freeza. However! Vegeta also just doesn't fucking want Freeza all up in his business anyway, so he's usually pretty cautious himself.

But...let's just say that Vegeta is pretty fucking unhinged by the time Raditz ends up on Earth. They've been serving under Freeza for over 20 Earth years at that point, and it's driven them all a bit crazy. He's increasingly fucked up and sloppy, and without Raditz there, he's definitely more vulnerable to Freeza's surveillance. And that's exactly what happens.

I'll reply to one of your comments on the fic itself soon... You're right to wonder about exactly how and when Raditz realizes that Kakarot might still be alive and where he is. I'm an angst writer, so I promise I've constructed everything to hurt you. 😇

I hope you enjoy the epic post about Vegeta's mom! There are some scenes where her backstory comes into play, but it will definitely be fun to have the context as you read, as it doesn't spoil things necessarily the way having some other context would. You'll learn as I release more, but I'm very big on progressive, indirect revelation of context. Different scenes will take on entirely different flavors after you learn more about what's going on behind the scenes.

I'm finishing up Part 9 as I can when I'm not at work! Then there will be Parts 10-12 to write. I've gotten about 140k words in my draft so far. Really hoping to finish before the end of the year. I will have some time off work this summer, so hopefully I will be able to make a bunch of progress then!

[sukibenders]

(1) I hate that they gave laena the 'consolation prize' treatment to prop up daemyra. I obviously think laena deserved much better than daemon but at least in the book she seemed happy and loved, and the way her character was described sounded like someone who would've loved the life they had in the show (except for the part where she couldn't see her family as much as she wanted). Not that i like laena being reduced to daemon's love interest (or simply to what she meant in his life) but the show was never gonna give her more than that with the way they rushed through things so they could've at least focused on them and not on 'how can we use this character and marriage to highlight even more that daemon wanted rhaenyra and would only ever be happy with her'. They made laena unhappy and unloved to show that daemon was depressed cause he couldn't be with rhaenyra.

In the context of the show they could've made daemon and laena marry and leave to see the world and be happy away from the place, people and customs that made them unhappy or chained them down. Laena would've loved that i'm sure, and they still could've made time to visit her family at driftmark. Laena could've been a woman daemon didn't expect to fall for but did, a love that filled his heart and life despite the way he missed rhaenyra; their time together and the family they formed could've been idyllic while it lasted. It could've been an oasis in the desert for daemon and a truly happy (short) time for laena, before tragedy fell on them in such a horrible way.

Yes to everything you said! Now, keep in mind that while haven't read the books themselves I still know things about them from like.....Google search and just learning from people who've read it. Now, for how easy it was for me, it makes no sense as to why Condal and Sarah whoever and the rest of the creating team for the show couldn't do the same because it seems like they either 1.) had no idea the difference between show and book Laena (which is bs) or 2.) simply didn't care and really wanted to center Daemyra (which seems more likely for how much they focus on the two together). But back to your point. I personally don't like Daemon that much either, really only care about him for his proximity to, mostly, Laena and their children, but from what I've seen, him and Laena were relatively happy and he did love her. Like aside from him killing her betrothed, if he didn't then knowing who this character is there would have been signs that their marriage held difficulty (I do believe the same couldn't be said for Daemyra in the end but that could be a factor of the war) but there weren't. Because, unlike what the show presents, he genuinely loved not only her but his daughters as he brought them to court and King's Landing multiple times.

In context of the show, to add more backstory behind their relationship: you could had Laena growing into herself as a woman, having contrast when we last saw her in prior episode, and have her know her worth (better than her parents trying to give her off to the king). She rides the largest and influential dragons in the world (I would have added a scene of her claiming Vhagar personally but Condal saw it as "unimportant" which was stupid) and comes from one of the richest houses in Westeros. With that in mind we could see her actively seeking Daemon out, like in the show during the wedding, because she knows that she wants him and she will make him notice her. Regardless of what any toxic Daemyra stan says, Daemon not only noticed her but was enthralled as well because he followed her to the dance floor and hardly took his eyes off of her when they were together. We could of had a scene of him explaining his travels and how he isn't burdened by the society around them (foreshadowing their future) and then, when the fighting starts, have him protect her from harm. Their marriage, to even hone in more that he loved her and didn't view her as a replacement for Rhaenyra, show him seek her out this time but, surprise, she turns him down because she views him as still wanting Rhaenyra. It isn't until he kills Bravos (which good for her because I would have added that too) and goes to her father for her hand that she (and the audience) truly realizes that he wants her. They get married and there's actual love there between them because Daemon, keeping good on his word, builds a life for her that isn't weighed down by their society around them and provides her a freedom that she definitely wouldn't of had with Bravos or Viserys. We could see them bonding and enjoying one another's company during their travels (have Laena send letters to Laenor about the new places they have been) and she ends up pregnant with the twins or (because in show I think Baela is older) becomes pregnant with Baela and then Rhaena later on (which could have been a difficult pregnancy that could also explain why it took them a while to try again) early into their marriage because they were just so involved with one another. When Laena nears her end they could had her beg Daemon to take her to Vhagar, for one last ride, have him carry her with the girls behind him, have them hold Laena, their mother, one last time and watch as Vhagar flies overhead with her one last time (this could even add to their story more such as Baela wanting to build her relationship with Moondancer more as to be similar to that of Laena and Vhagar to Rhaena desperately wanting a dragon to feel what her mother felt). We could had this instead of that brutal death scene because, Sarah, I have choice words with her because even the actress for older Laena asked why that plot was added. We all know why it was added because, whether intentional or not, it feels more likely used to prop Rhaenyra's death as more badass as, already, I'm seeing takes of how her dying by dragon fire was a dragon riders death---even though, in the books I think, and actual dragon riders death was being able to ride your dragon one last time and then, by that context, doesn't that mean many of the Targaryen enemies died a dragon riders death as well....?

All of this could have fit in the show (maybe even more with a few more episodes----which still surprises me how many there are because of its predecessor GOT *reminiscing when shows had more episodes*) but if not, then some scenes within the existing episodes could have been cropped or scrapped altogether (especially certain scenes like Aegon jerking off or the disgusting foot scene). It wasn't hard for the HOTD creators to add this, especially into the context of the show (or maybe Condal just doesn't have vision) as what I presented was very simple. But instead, there was a very obvious centering of Daemyra from Laena feeling like a second choice to Daemon not wanting to return home (wonder why) and as a result keeps Laena and the girls from returning home too and so on and so forth. Like they couldn't even let this man shed a tear at his wife's funeral (he laughs instead) and then have him sleep with his niece (who thought that was a good idea) and ignore his daughters for his niece's children even though they were bruised.

These choices do a lot of damage not just from a plot standpoint with Daemon, but the implications. Firstly, there is, to me personally, very little good shown for Daemon that would make me see him as a morally grey character. Like even with Rhaenyra little is shown (why was his ass sitting in a chair while his pregnant wife is standing?) it doesn't read that much like a man who deeply cares for his family. If they had shown him actively in love with Laena and caring for their little family (like they do in the books), then I would have changed my mind, but they didn't. They couldn't even have him say that he loved her when Rhaenyra ask (don't get me started on her saying to him "you abandoned me" but doesn't add Laena in the context as well considering in the books they were friends, could have been another way to add details from the books subtly). Even his relationship with Rhaenyra's kids seems surface level. I actually like book Daemon more than show, and it's because of the things I listed. Instead, in the show, he just, personally, seems like a grooming piece of shit husband (like his brother).

Now on to the implications. When the Velaryons were confirmed to be black in the show, I was excited because I heard great things about the house and characters itself and was like "yeah, black people in fantasy especially on dragons", even forgetting the negative experiences I had as a black audience viewer from GOT and their treatment of poc characters. But I should have known. From the costume design to the wigs, it was already a sign. Seeing more scenes with the white characters than Laena and Laenor, who were crucial to the story and have them put into tropes instead was disheartening. For Laena, it's the disposable black girlfriend (or wife in this case) who can't measure up to Rhaenyra, Daemon's one true love, and can't even have her story be told how it deserves. For Laenor it could be the absent father trope because we see more scenes with Rhaenyra spending time with the children than him, barely see them grieve his "death" before they move on and he is never mentioned again. I won't get into Baela and Rhaena here too much yet until I see how s2 plays out, but already have issues with their character plot in the show and have little hope for the future for them if I'm being honest.

[deathsbestgirl]

Oooh, saw your tags and now I'm curious! What are the differences between my thoughts on Never Again and yours? Always open to hearing other opinions-- helps me clarify my own or add to them. :DDDDD

okay like i told you this is just going to be funny now. first because where i diverge really seems kind of insignificant to me, because it doesn't change any of your points or the ~outcome of how i think about never again as a whole. or really, t's about the evolution of scully's position, so it isn't different? second, because i literally need to shout about one specific part. it's so real. so anyway, onward.

the referenced post. most important part quoted below, but read the whole post bc it's good!! (and i really don't know much about the bts or writers but it's cool to learn about!!)

so specifically this is what you say in the context of never again. you lay it out simply and perfectly.

As much as Scully denies her actions aren't "about you" to Mulder, Never Again isn't solely about daddy issues or feeling trapped-- it's feeling trapped by being second best. Romance was explicitly written into the dna of this episode: she takes the rose from the grave-- someone's lasting legacy on their loved one's life-- extrapolates meaning from it behind Mulder's desk, and deflates when Mulder runs off to his vacation that even he rates as secondary to his quest (Mulder missed her entire point: needing his reassurance and reinforcement, needing his speech in the FTF hallway; and Scully missed that he missed it.) When she meets Jerse, she's flattered by his sole focus on her, takes his card, but still plans to leave; Mulder has been calling, but when he reconnects and hides the fact he missed her behind "how's the quest going?", it kicks Scully in the shins and she decides to change plans and meet up with Ed. "The tattoo you deserve" and one night stand with Ed drags down Scully's view of herself, in hindsight-- how did she not see that he was psychotic?-- and the final scene in the basement is tinted with second guesses of her own character: more specifically, what Scully thinks she has the right to ask from Mulder, doubting her own judgment (a theme she continually struggles with throughout the series.) If she sits and remains in the basement, Scully has to accept that Mulder won't move them forward; and she does, choosing to be Starbuck to this (in her perspective) doomed (relation)ship because at least Mulder needs her... which is why The End and Fight the Future hit her so hard, convincing her she has no use in his life, period.

obviously we agree that mulder doesn't get it from the start. you nail what hurts scully perfectly, what she needs from him. i truly think scully could wait forever as long as she knows they're on the same page. and here, she isn't.

but specifically, the part i want to shout about: the bit about scully's judgment, and what she can ask of mulder. like YES. i just don't think i've seen anyone say this and you're just right. you're so right. how often do we see scully struggle with her judgment? i think she does when diana shows up and it's part of the reason she needs mulder to trust her judgment in those circumstances. there are so few times that scully is SO sure about what's happening. she tries so hard to be rational, the voice of reason. but it's like her desire scares her, and i think that's a lot of what's happening in never again. because what can she ask of mulder? especially when it looks to her like he doesn't want her, doesn't need her, doesn't trust her with the x files. why is she there at all?

now, me being nitpicky? idk really. "it's feeling trapped by being second best." i think this is right. it's just that. at first, she was okay with this. because they were partners, the x files are his life. she thought she understood this and accepted it. at the beginning in season one, of course she did! they didn't have a personal relationship yet. everything was all about the work, and in never again, it's all about them with the work shrouding their relationship. scully definitely thinks they have something and she thinks they might be on the same page, but he seems to confirm the opposite. it's just work and there isn't really room for her, or a personal relationship. so she is absolutely reconciling if she can keep on this way. if the work and following mulder and being what he needs is enough...if she even has a choice. and she does, and reconciling her choice to stay with what she wants is the struggle.

so really?? i don't disagree. i just wanted to talk about how being second best became a concern the longer she was on the x files, the more her feelings grew (or maybe the more she recognized them), her feelings scaring her and what they mean for mulder & the x files & her life, etc etc.

SO all of that to say, i actually agree with you. i just love the slow evolution and consistency of their characters & relationship <3 now please share your thoughts on my nonsense!!