#and I have so much emotional intelligence ^_^

[caracalla-dondus]

Suspicious Minds

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife

Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.

~~~

The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.

“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”

The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.

But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.

~

Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm. 

“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.

Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”

His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”

Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”

His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.

“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.

She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”

His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”

He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”

Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.

~

The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.

She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.

During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.

But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.

When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.

“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.

His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”

“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”

“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”

His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”

~

For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.

She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”

He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”

“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”

“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”

“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.

And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.

~

She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.

She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.

Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”

Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”

“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”

“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”

Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.

“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”

“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”

Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”

Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.

Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”

Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator. 

~~~~

reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol

[bumblesimagines]

Second Chances

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While the life of nobles has many privileges, politics and alliances spare no feelings. Deals are often struck.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD/GoT warnings, labor and death, age gap mention, death of lucerys mentioned, emotionally stunted father alert, Aemond (subtly) being a lil shit

~~~

It was a stormy night amid summer when (Y/N) Baratheon came to the gripping realization he was a widow at the age of nine and ten. The ear-piercing wails of the newborn babe in his arms, freshly cleaned by the somber midwife, mixed with the familiar pelting of the rain.

He wasn't sure what to make of the sight in front of him. He wasn't sure what to make of the wailing bundle in his arms. There were a lot of things, he realized, he wasn't sure of.

His wife, Lady Elowen Tully, was laying in their marital bed in the beige nightgown she loved so much because of the floral designs on the hems. It was a gory sight. And (Y/N) couldn't look away. 

Her nightgown was soaked and partially sheer from a mixture of sweat, blood, and other birthing fluids he wasn't familiar with. The blood was most prominent. There was so much of it. It was everywhere; her gown, her thighs, their sheets, on the midwife and Maester Edrick, on the floor. 

Elowen had always been a girl of shorter structure. How did she have so much blood in her?

The baby was still crying. He hadn't really looked at it- at her yet. He couldn't. There was so much blood. 

He knew the moment Elowen woke him up in a frenzy that it'd be a hard labor. She'd been frantic, sputtering about the blood between her thighs because nobody ever mentioned blood when her mother and his own spoke to her of childbirth. He thought it would be a small complication. 

There was so much blood. 

He barely processed the door opening and shutting, its stupidly loud hinges squealing like a captured rat. He was too busy looking at his wife, too busy staring at the blood dripping onto the dark stone floor when the midwife covered Elowen's lower torso. 

"(Y/N)," His father's voice rumbled like thunder. A Baratheon trait. Their voices were loud and hard and meant to pierce through the thundering of the storms that were a constant presence over their home. "Look at me." 

(Y/N) looked down at his daughter instead. She made him nauseous. She looked like her mother. "It's a girl." He barely recognized his own voice from how quiet it was. Shaky. Not a Baratheon trait.

His father looked grim, uncertain. "I heard." He nodded, his voice tight. "You're young. You'll have a son eventually." 

Borros Baratheon wasn't known for his emotional intelligence. He was a warrior, a man to be reckoned with on and off the battlefield. He didn't cry or get excited. Always somber, always serious. 

(Y/N) wanted his mother. 

Clearing his throat, Maester Edrick shuffled closer. His clothes were still stained red but his hands dripped with water. "Does she have a name?" He asked carefully, his weary green eyes watching (Y/N)'s face. 

Elowen believed the name would come to her once she looked upon their child's face. She'd been gone before their daughter could begin screeching. 

"Uhm," (Y/N) raised his head and set his eyes on the vase on the nightstand. Elowen always kept flowers on her nightstand. "Azalea." 

"Lady Azalea Baratheon." Maester Edrick nodded. "That is a lovely name." 

The blood felt neverending. The stench was overwhelming. 

His daughter was still crying. Her face was scrunched up and her toothless mouth was open to release her constant shrieking without stopping for even a second to catch her breath. His arms moved slowly, tentatively, bouncing her like he'd seen his mother do with his youngest sister. Azalea's face was bright red, and finally, she stopped.. only to suck in a breath and start her insistent screeching again.

He felt compelled to shake her into silence, to get her to understand that her mother's corpse was a more pressing matter but he only cradled her further into his chest.

"Please be quiet." He exhaled into her small ear, and the soft skin of her head pressed into his neck. Her tiny hands freed themselves from the golden-colored cloth she'd been expertly wrapped in to clutch at his tunic. Her crying ceased, and he felt relieved for a fleeting second. 

Maester Edrick's pity was suffocating. "The silent sisters will tend to her with the utmost care, (Y/N)." He spoke softly, his voice almost coaxing.

(Y/N) didn't understand at first until he realized everyone in the room was still and staring at him. He swallowed and moved forward, past Maester Edrick and his grimacing face and past the midwife who bowed her head to cover the sorrow on her face. He stopped near the nightstand where the candle had long gone out and stared down at the woman he'd married when he was a month shy from six and ten. 

Someone, one of the servants or Maester Edwrick, had the kindness to shut her eyes. She almost looked as if she were sleeping, if it weren't for the crimson staining her skin and clothes. Most of the color had already drained from her face, leaving her once naturally flushed cheeks a ghostly pale color. He willed her to open her eyes, to gasp for air and return from the dead, but she remained limp on the bed. 

He hadn't realized he was trembling until he reached out to touch one of her light auburn strands, frizzy and wild from all the frantic tossing and squirming. He rubbed the string of hair between his fingers. Her hair was always soft and vibrant, so bright against the natural darkness of Storm's End. Everything about her was so, so bright.

"Her grandfather-"

"A raven will be sent to Riverrun right away, I assure you." Maester Edrick's sounded closer than he expected. He felt that familiar bony hand rest over his shoulder. "But right now, you and the babe must rest, My Lord. The wet nurse and I will watch over her throughout the night, I promise." 

He kept Azalea cradled to his chest. His last piece of Elowen. "No, she- she'll stay with me." 

"My Lord-"

"She'll stay with me." 

Azalea stirred in his arms. She was so small. How could she be so tiny, so fragile? She was wrinkly and looked more like a balding old man than the toddlers he was used to seeing. Cassandra liked to say all babies were ugly. She was half right.

(Y/N) couldn't stand to be in the room anymore and so he walked away from their marital bed, from their room. The strikes of lighting outside illuminated the dimly lit hallway and the rumbles of thunder vibrated through his body. 

Azalea hardly flinched. A true Baratheon.

He stepped into the darkness of one of their many guest bedchambers, empty; Storm's End was never on the top of anyone's list when they considered which castle to visit.

(Y/N) moved toward the bed and maneuvered his daughter onto one arm, using his hand to tug at the sheets and blankets until they formed an oval shape just the size of his little girl.

Gingerly, he placed her in the center and crawled into bed beside her. Azalea didn't stir. Her chest slowly rose and fell and her balled-up fist tightly clutched at the cloth wrapped around her. 

Sleep would be fleeting, he knew that well. She'd wake soon enough with demands and shrieks until the wet nurse arrived but he'd tolerate it. Tolerating things was what he was good at. 

(Y/N) stared at her for a little while longer. Nothing felt real.

He loved his parents. 

His father was Lord Borros Baratheon, a man of few words and many actions. He was a warrior, a glory-seeker, a man with a permanent scowl and a love for battle. His father placed a sword in his hand the moment he was strong enough to carry it and was certain he'd every bit of Baratheon.

His mother was Lady Elenda Caron. She was what every noblewoman was expected to be; poise, peaceful, honorable, duty-bound. She completed her tasks as mother and Lady of Storm's end diligently. She knew Storm's End better than her husband.

He was proud of his parents. He loved them. He wanted to shove them into the raging waters that surrounded Storm's End and be done with their puppeteering. 

(Y/N) hadn't looked at his mother since they departed from Storm's End. He kept his stare forward and focused on his three sisters, partly to keep an eye on Azalea who sat comfortably on Ellyn's lap and partly to remind himself of his missing sister.

Ever since the dreary night when Prince Lucerys lost his life in their waters, their mother never failed to remind Maris it'd been her words that'd sent Prince Aemond into a rage. Their mother detested the embarrassment it brought onto their family. 

Maris wasn't known for holding her tongue. She was witty and clever and never failed to speak her mind, regardless of the situation. She was meant for great things, but she was her father's daughter and her anger controlled her. 

Their mother decided the only thing that would teach Maris humility was joining the silent sisters. None of them had been thrilled at the idea. 

As for the irritation he felt for his father... 

Exactly two moons prior, a letter arrived at Storm's End from King's Landing; a proposal made by the ruling regent Prince Aemond. He'd left before they could decide which of the Four Storms he would marry, and to make up for his lack of answer, he offered a better betrothal:

One between Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower and the future Lord of Storm's End. 

His beloved Elowen Tully was dead. The moment the air fled from her lungs and the life drained from her body, he was an eligible bachelor back on the marriage mart. It was an offensive idea and one that everyone treaded on lightly around him. 

But his father believed three years was an adequate enough time for grief, never mind the fact his granddaughter couldn't even read fluently yet. 

It was useless protesting or arguing with a man like Borros, especially once his mind was set on something, and (Y/N) could only huff and grumble about it whilst his sisters celebrated the idea of joining the royal court. 

He watched the three of them lean toward the windows with excitement and anticipation while the carriage made its way up the road leading toward the Red Keep, their eyes big and wide. Ellyn held Azalea in her arms and pointed out things for the little girl to see. It was heartwarming to watch, but his bubbling annoyance made it hard to focus. 

"Heir and future Lord of Storm's End, (Y/N) Baratheon, his mother, Lady Elenda of Storm's End, and his daughter, Lady Azalea Baratheon." The herald's voice shouted into the quiet bustle of the courtyard. The gates shook while they slid shut behind the carriage. "And his sisters: Lady Cassandra Baratheon, Lady Ellyn Baratheon, and Lady Floris Baratheon." 

Cassandra immediately straightened the skirt of her golden dress, her palm pressing eagerly over the wrinkles while Floris combed her fingers through the raven waves resting over her shoulders until they were perfect. 

"A smile would not kill you." His mother muttered, fingertips gently prodding at her hairnet until it straightened. "It is not every day a man marries a queen." 

(Y/N) said nothing and took Azalea into his arms so Ellyn could tug at the sleeves of her dress. His daughter settled comfortably in his embrace and observed her aunts curiously, too young to understand their franticness in ensuring their appearances were nothing less than perfect.

Once the door to their carriage opened, (Y/N) held his breath and stepped out, his hold on his daughter tightening until his feet were firmly on the ground. Azalea grasped onto his collar with uncertainty and her lips jutted out into an uneasy pout. 

He couldn't blame her. He felt the same way. 

His mother and sisters shuffled out of the carriage after him, their giddy chatter swiftly ending with a single look from their mother. 

"Welcome to King's Landing," Prince Aemond's sharp voice sliced through the air, his long legs carrying him in strides toward them. He looked pleased with himself. "I hope the journey was not strenuous." 

(Y/N) was beginning to wish his father had accompanied them. 

"Your concern is most gracious, Your Grace." (Y/N) bowed his head and felt his adams apple bob with a swallow. His mother looked satisfied with his answer, and he sighed softly with relief. "We couldn't be more grateful for your consideration." 

Prince Aemond's smile was anything but comforting. "My mother will be returning from Baelor's Sept soon. She is a pious woman. I do not recall hearing of a sept in Storm's End." 

"We have a godswood." (Y/N) felt tempted to shrug but his mother inhaled sharply through her nose, so he added, "We can have one built for Her Grace." 

Prince Aemond nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Good, good. We can discuss more once you have settled in then, My Lord. Your belongings will be taken to your bedchambers; Ser Arving will escort you to them."

The Red Keep was, as expected, undeniably red, but only when the sunlight peeked through the grey clouds overhead. The massive walls encircling the castle reminded him of Storm's End, but that was where the similarities ended. 

He found no joy in following the knight through the dimly lit halls of the Keep. The air was thick and dreary, hardly what he expected from the Crown's home but his sisters appeared in awe of everything. 

"His Grace hopes to host the wedding soon, My Lord." Ser Arving told him, one large hand pulling on the doorknob to one of the bedchambers and nodding his head toward his sisters. 

"Soon?" (Y/N) repeated with a side step to avoid being trampled by the three when they hurried into the room with shouts of who it would belong to. Satisfaction made his lips quirk when he caught sight of his mother's flushed cheeks. 

Ser Arving nodded. "His Grace believes it is best to have the wedding before the battles continue. He wishes for a private affair, perhaps in the coming week." 

(Y/N) almost choked on his spit. 

"Week?" He managed, voice almost wheezy from a withheld cough. Azalea looked at him and her pout morphed into a deep frown. His hand gently patted her back until she relaxed again. "Surely, Her Grace would rather have a peaceful wedding once the fighting is over with." 

Ser Arving shrugged but had the decency to look understanding. "Her Grace hasn't spoken of the wedding, My Lord." 

(Y/N) had a feeling they had similar opinions on the marriage. Perhaps that meant he could convince her to speak with her son.

"I see." 

His sisters and mother were given apartments in the same hall, roughly the same size as their rooms back home but they all seemed effortlessly thrilled with them. Ellyn and Floris were always the easiest to please. He presumed Cassandra was just eager to emerge herself in the life of a courtier. 

Ser Arving led him further away from his family and a gnawing anxiety in his stomach grew. He wanted to be home in Storm's End with his father urging him to use their army in a fight against Rhaenyra Targaryen's men instead of the Vulture King in the Red Mountains.

Truthfully, the Baratheons cared little for which Targaryen sat the throne. Prince Aemond had simply struck the better deal between the two parties whilst Princess Rhaenyra relied on an oath taken by his late grandfather. Prince Lucerys never stood a chance against his uncle.

Ser Arving stopped before two tall sets of doors and murmured a greeting to the man standing by them. He was tall with tan skin, coal-black hair, and equally dark eyes. Dornish. His father would've scoffed at the very sight of him. 

"Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Criston Cole, My Lord." He introduced himself with a humble bow, strands of his hair falling over his forehead. (Y/N) caught the small, quick smile he sent Azalea and decided he liked the knight. "Her Grace returned from the Sept recently, My Lord. She awaits your arrival inside." 

Gods be damned. 

(Y/N) held back a sigh. "Thank you, Lord Commander." 

The doors groaned softly when opened and he reluctantly stepped inside the bedchambers, his hold on his daughter tightening when the doors shut behind him. He pressed a kiss to Azalea's temple and gingerly placed her on the floor so they could properly greet the Queen Dowager. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) bowed his head and observed Azalea as she grabbed part of his pant leg into her fist and clumsily curtsied. Her big (E/C) eyes peered up at him expectantly and he nodded approvingly. 

When he finally looked at his would-be bride, he first noticed her auburn hair which looked so strikingly similar to Elowen's. Everything about her was similar to Elowen; her fair skin that looked slightly flushed, the way her hair curled, the auburn color that was just a shade darker, and her slim figure. 

Grief constricted his heart and he averted his eyes to stare at the table she'd been sitting at. Bronze bowls filled with raspberries and blueberries, small biscuits and cakes placed expertly on scalloped-shaped stands, and steaming cups of tea. 

"My Lord," Queen Alicent greeted softly, her voice and dark eyes melancholy. She looked tired, and weary, as if merely standing was a chore. "I would have welcomed you to King's Landing sooner but I was busy." 

"It's alright."

He had an inkling she would've busied herself with something else if she hadn't visited the sept. 

(Y/N) reached down to give Azalea his hand, his shoulders forming an awkward hunch as they approached the small rounded table. Queen Alicent scooped a pillow from the nearby couch and smoothed it out over one of the chairs for Azalea. 

"Hello." She greeted warmly, her eyes crinkling with the delight of someone fond of children. She had grandchildren, he recalled as he helped Azalea sit. Were they to become his grandchildren? "You can have whatever you desire, My Lady." Her words had a lightness to them.

Azalea blinked her big eyes at him. She was quiet. His mother claimed she inherited it from both him and Elowen. They'd been very awkward children, almost too shy to function on most days. 

He took a plate into his hand and scooped the berries onto it with a spoon before cutting a slice of one of the cream cakes. As expected, Azalea dug into the cake slice first, smearing her lips and big cheeks with white frosting but it only made Queen Alicent smile wider. There was something sad lingering in it.

"Most lords would rather keel over than take such care of their children." Queen Alicent said gently, her attention largely focused on Azalea. She folded a napkin over her finger and carefully wiped the frosting on Azalea's chin.

"She's my firstborn." (Y/N) muttered and wrapped his fingers around one warm cup, strong hints of mint assaulting his nose once he lifted it to his lips. "She's everything to me." 

Queen Alicent nodded, understanding yet her eyes glided elsewhere, almost distantly. She'd been young when she had her firstborn to King Viserys, younger than he and Elowen. Five and ten, he believed. The news spread quickly throughout Westeros, with many softly spoken questions of Rhaenyra and her status as heir. Two more sons later and she remained grasping onto it until Aegon was abruptly crowned. He pitied her, somewhat.

"You are not much older than Aegon. That is a fact that... unnerves me." Queen Alicent revealed gently and leaned back into her seat, looking ever more regal as she set her arms over the rests and gazed back at him. "The Realm may be tearing itself apart but there are still eligible young ladies. Lord Jasper Wylde has plenty of daughters, many of whom are still without husbands."

(Y/N) took a delicate sip of the tea, mindful as to not burn his tongue, and set the cup back down on the table. "If I may speak plainly, Your Grace?" He waited for her to nod, and then took a breath once she did. "I am grateful that House Baratheon meets the Crown's expectations, and that we were considered to begin with, but I do not wish to marry. I know I will be expected to father many children to continue House Baratheon's lineage but.. I am content as is right now."

Queen Alicent nodded again. "It is to my understanding that you still grieve your wife. I cannot fault you for that." 

"I appreciate it, Your Grace. Everyone has expected me to pretend as if Elowen wasn't everything to me once. I only ever wished for... for sympathy. For understanding."

"For someone to say how sorry they are for what happened to you." Queen Alicent's voice sounded strained whilst she spoke as if her chest was constricting from simply uttering those words. Her fingers curled inward and formed tight fists over the armrests when he nodded wordlessly. "I'm sorry for your tragic loss. It is not easy losing a loved one."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I'm sorry about.. everything." 

Queen Alicent let out a breathless chuckle and raised her hand to run her fingertips over the edge of her eyebrow. Her shoulders lowered the slightest bit and her gaze softened, a newfound warmth emitting from her. "Aemond claimed you'd be a good match for me. He said you'd care for me better than my late husband. I was doubtful, for young men are often arrogant and impatient, but fatherhood and loss seem to have matured you." 

"Your Grace?"

"You do not want a new wife; I do not want a new husband. I believe, perhaps, we can save each other from much more unfortunate fates. We can marry and not consummate the marriage. Once you are ready to move forward, our marriage can be set aside by the High Septon and we will both be free of duties others wish to thrust upon us for their own gain." 

"That is... clever."

"It is." Queen Alicent smiled. "What do you say?"

[premiumbitch]

THINGS TO MANIFEST - MALENA THEMED PACK ! ⋆₊˚⊹♡

hi luvs! I decided I'd make this melena themed pack for the lovely person who requested it (@queencam19) and for people who want to manifest themselves to be a completely different person, someone they will feel confident to be! also for the amazing shifters who can script this about themselves! enjoy :)

⋆⛧┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈⛧⋆

BEAUTY ♡ //

Your beauty is haunting—so exquisite that it leaves people in awe, unable to form words.

Your eyes are deep pools of melancholy and desire—dark, mysterious, and filled with silent poetry.

Your lips are full, soft, and eternally kissable, the kind that can silence a man’s thoughts in an instant.

Your hair flows like the richest silk, catching the light in waves of effortless glamour.

Your skin is like porcelain, radiant even in the dimmest light, untouched by time.

Your body is sensual without effort, with curves sculpted by the divine—a living work of art.

You carry yourself with unintentional elegance, every step filled with grace as if you were floating.

Even in the simplest of dresses, you outshine jewels and riches—your allure needs no embellishment.

Your presence alone stirs something primal in others—desire, admiration, envy, longing.

You are beauty itself—timeless, unforgettable, a dream that lingers in the minds of those who see you.

AURA ♡ //

You radiate a quiet, devastating power—the kind that does not need words or actions to be felt.

Your silence speaks louder than words—people hang on to your every glance, waiting for your next move.

You are untouchable, not because you hide, but because no one is ever truly worthy of you.

You walk with an effortless allure, drawing attention without needing to seek it.

Your aura carries the scent of old-world romance, slow dances, and whispered confessions under the moonlight.

You are both adored and envied, admired and misunderstood—your presence alone stirs emotions in others.

There is something almost tragic in your beauty, as if you are a dream too perfect for this world.

You have the energy of an old Hollywood siren—sultry, soft-spoken, but commanding.

Your presence lingers even after you leave—a perfume, a memory, a longing.

You do not chase, you do not plead—you are the kind of woman people ache for but can never truly have.

SMARTS ♡ //

You understand the power of silence—words are powerful, but so is knowing when not to speak.

You are deeply observant—people underestimate how much you see, how much you know.

You have an old soul, filled with wisdom and patience beyond your years.

You are intelligent in ways most people do not understand—your mind is sharp, but your delivery is soft.

You do not argue or beg—you let people destroy themselves with their own foolishness.

You carry yourself with dignity, never lowering yourself to those who seek to bring you down.

You know how to captivate without speaking—your eyes, your gestures, the way you hold a cigarette or sip a drink.

You understand human nature deeply, even when it disappoints you.

You play the long game, knowing that time always reveals the truth.

You do not waste your energy proving your worth—your existence is proof enough.

PERSONALITY ♡ //

You are soft yet strong, delicate yet unbreakable—a paradox people can never quite understand.

You do not need to be loud to be noticed—your presence alone is enough.

You are kind but distant, warm but unreachable—you let people close, but never too close.

You do not seek revenge, but you never forget—you let karma do the work for you.

You endure with quiet resilience, never letting the world see you falter.

You love deeply, but never foolishly—you do not waste your heart on those unworthy.

You do not beg for attention—it comes to you naturally, effortlessly.

You are the kind of woman men write poetry about and women wish to befriend, yet fear.

You move through life like a beautiful ghost—always remembered, never forgotten.

You are not just a woman; you are a legend in your own right, a story whispered in admiration and longing.

hope you guys enjoyed! requests are appreciated! lmk if you want anything!

[theallianceofcelestials]

Hello again, I have another question!: Does SEA!Eclipse have a music box, and can you put a name to or describe whatever or how many physical, psychological, or other conditions/disabilities he and those in his family may or may not have? Oh, and their pronouns please, if it hasn't already been said?

Hi! I'll answer to the best of my ability, but to be honest I'm don't know how well I'll do so with your second question

So first question, Eclipse doesn't have a music box, he mainly put kids to sleep during naptime by exhausting them during playtime and reading them stories. But he does know a couple lullabies, so he can sing

To your second and thus most complicated one, I'll be honest and just say I don't know all of them. So I'll just say the intentional ones and put a bit of a disclaimer up because I'm not a professional on these things, so take what I say with a grain of salt

The entire family is made of entirely co-dependent people, which is a rather unhealhty thing.

Eclipse has depressive disorder, though he'd be fine for the most part if he didn't have all his trauma. He also has PTSD and internalised a bunch of unhealthy things during his time in the daycare

Sun has his typical cleaning OCD and anxiety, and he's fine for the most part. I guess he's the weirdest in the family because he doesn't have the heightened predatory instincts all that much, which I guess counts as a condition in this case

Moon has his anger issues and he's touch averse. He also has troubles sorting through his own emotions and doesn't always pick up on the emotions of others. He also suffers from self-hatred

Killcode is the first one to have a physical condition, and even that's only because of his sheer size. On one end, most buildings aren't made for him so he doubles over a lot, which makes his back hurt. Combine that with gravity, and he's almost constantly suffering from back pains to just minor aches. So I guess he has gigantism. He also has anger issues, though he's a bit more emotionally intelligent than his eldest brother and knows how to work on it

Bloodmoon is an interesting case that I don't know how to properly describe. They're technically conjoined twins, though their nanomachine body allows them to separate. They're also the biggest mess mentally, because they're two people in one. They have many antisocial behaviours, seeing as they eat humans, however different species prey on each other all the time so I'm not even sure that counts. They're quick to anger but they're also two people so a bit of heightened emotions can be excused I think. They're pretty self-depraciating though

Lunar has dwarfism and he's rather forgetful. He has the old Lunar colour blindness thing where he mostly only detects blue and glowing things, though that might just be because old Lunar mixed up colours. Or he has dyschromatopsia, a term which I came across when I tried translating my language's word for mixing up colours

Solar Flare I don't think has anything for the most part, though it is somewhat selectively mute, and it has some minor body dysphoria because it can't properly emote

I don't know if this is good enough, but this is the best I can think of right now. But I do think it's better to go through my stories and try analysing them from an outside perspective because I didn't plan for most of the things in SEA, so some things might be there that I just don't see or don't know

But now onto the easy part, the pronouns:

Eclipse: he/him

Killcode: he/him

Solar Flare: it/they/he, though it's fine with anything so long as it's not feminine

Bloodmoon: they/them because Bloodmoon is a collective entity, but Bloody and Rusty both use he/him

Lunar: he/him mostly, though he also goes by they/them sometimes

Sun: he/him

Moon: while Eclipse mostly uses he/him for him, Moon doesn't care at all. His pronouns are everyone else's problem, not his

[deusvervewrites]

Goliath au: so does Izuku have or later gain a separate hulk personality or is he just more angry?

Does he have lower intelligence with him not getting as much blood to his brain with his body bulking up or is it more like shishida where his emotions run wild but still retains some cognitive abilities.

I imagine that he’d be friends with tokoyami since his quirk also gets for bigger and aggressive with negative emotions. Also this kinda reminds me of rath from Ben ten where he’s just an angry physical power house

It's his emotions getting away from him. The more emotional he gets, the stronger he can be, but the harder it is to rein himself in. Less alternate personality, more blinded by rage. Which does mean that he can still be dangerously tactical.

Tokoyami is a comparison I hadn't considered but you make a very strong case.

[applestorms]

i don’t think people give ciel nearly enough credit when it comes to his emotional intelligence/how self-aware he is.

like, yeah— ciel is a brat, he’s a stuck up little privileged rich kid, he’s pampered and spoiled and struggles massively when he’s forced to live without the luxuries he’s always grown up with. but he also recognizes that, in a way that is actually quite mature for someone of his age and class. he’s cynical, he’s pessimistic, he has incredible little (if any) respect or hope for humanity left— but this is something he applies to himself and the others at his same social standing just as much as anyone else, if not more. he clearly connects and empathizes with finny (and honestly all of his servants) because he sees himself within him, trusting him like a (his) brother during the emerald witch arc. he understands where joker is coming from with regards to his desperation to take care of his family and doesn’t pass judgement on him, to the point of even planning to take care of the very family he thought he’d left behind after joker dies. he even seems to have some degree of genuine respect for lizzie, assuaging her insecurities by trying to see her for who she is and not who she wants to be or feels like she must be.

honestly, i think that in most of the cases where ciel is being a full on Brat™ it all goes back to one thing— ciel trying to asset his Power, and take back control over the situation.

ciel is a character who is very very very easily underestimated at first glance by most people who have just met him, and even a few people who know him longer than that. he’s literally a sickly victorian child with asthma and CPTSD-motivated panic attacks, the kid is frail as fuck, not to mention— a kid. the fact that ciel might have something of an inferiority complex is obvious enough even if you don’t bring the whole lesser-twin thing into it, his minute stature is something literally every fucking character brings up upon first meeting him.

sometimes, ciel can use this to his advantage, so he does. he puts on the cute little boy face and flutters his eyelashes and uses other peoples’ empathy against them to achieve his own goals (see: arthur, and also like the entire public school arc, etc.).

most of the time though, ciel doesn’t really want to do this, not only because it’s somewhat demeaning but also because he Does have a reputation to uphold. ciel needs to constantly be both on guard and on the attack for his job as the queen’s watchdog, he is basically obligated to constantly stand as the biggest threat in the underworld. much of ciel’s Brat behavior to other people comes down to this— him asserting his status, not really out of any pride for the title, but because he is a Threat and other people need to fucking know it. sometimes, this means shoving his (and sebastian’s) power in their face until they get the fucking picture and/or die trying to understand it, particularly in the case of more asshole-ish characters like all the random evil businessmen with criminal agendas that ciel puts through the evil haunted demon house schtick. other times, this manifests more in the form of a kind of genuine empathy— you Should get the fuck away if you actually care about the things you claim to care about cuz i will not hold back, etc.

speaking of— in the case of sebastian specifically, the fact that this is ciel’s desire to take back agency becomes even more clear.

sebastian and ciel’s dynamic is one of, if not the most compelling aspects of this series to me, in large part because of how goddamn codependent they are while simultaneously being inherently at odds with one another. this series Will end with sebastian eating ciel’s goddamned soul— i honestly think that even if the rest of the cast eventually becomes more aware of the specifics of sebastian’s demonic nature or their contract, ciel himself will stop them from trying to save him or break the deal somehow, and sebastian himself certainly doesn’t have nearly enough of an attachment to humanity as a whole to bother actually stopping himself from chowing down, even if he may regret it somewhat more than he expected afterwards. yet at the same time, right up until we reach that exact point, they have every reason to need and want to collaborate with each other— something that they do, even if it is with full knowledge of the exact sword hanging over their heads the entire time that they’re playing nice.

i really love the analysis from this post, which points out the fact that all of the three core rules ciel establishes for their contract are perfectly designed to turn sebastian into someone that ciel can trust. highly recommend reading that essay, but to elaborate a bit more in my own words— ciel knows that sebastian is going to eat him one day. he is incredibly physically fragile and aware of this, perhaps even aware of the ways in which he has been made mentally weak due to his traumas, and especially of the fact that he is vulnerable specifically in comparison to sebastian. every single time that sebastian saves ciel, it is another reminder that This is who ciel is going to die to. he is chained to this starving, rabid monster just as much as the monster is chained to him, and one day, those roles are going to flip. he’s not going to be in power forever, and he knows it.

therefore: when ciel is a Brat™ at sebastian specifically, i read this less as ciel actually being unaware/childish/stupid/etc., and more as ciel tugging on the proverbial chain to make sure he is still the one pulling the strings. ciel has a habit of emphasizing the fact that he is Ordering sebastian when he is in a stressful situation or panicking for any given reason, focusing on the language that he Knows sebastian will respond to. and it’s a trauma response. IT’S A TRAUMA RESPONSE!!

what i think ciel Hates, above all else, maybe even more than he cares to consciously admit, is not having power. he can’t stand to not be the one in full control of a situation. he can’t stand having his agency taken from him, not after Everything that he’s been through.

if there’s one thing that watching his entire family be killed while also being viciously abused by a cult taught (not) ciel, it is the feeling of having No power. he was helpless to stop his parents’ murders, he was helpless to stop the cult from violating and abusing him, he was helpless to stop his own brother’s death. ciel connects more easily and often more deeply on an emotional level with the lower class characters in the story because he knows what it feels like to be completely powerless in the face of the absolute worst of humanity. thus, when ciel acts like a Brat, when he asserts his title as an Earl, someone Respectable, or as The Queen’s Watchdog, someone Threatening, when he demands that everyone bend over backwards to serve his will— it is ciel taking back all the power that he can and gripping it as tightly as he possibly fucking can, because he knows what can and will happen if/when he lets it all go.

and there is no character for which this is more true than sebastian. one of the most powerful entities in the series, easily the one closest to ciel, who he depends on so incredibly— but who is also Destined and Required to bring his end once all this is over. ciel kicks sebastian around, treats him like shit and shows him rare moments of kindness and care, all for the affirmation that He is still in control. absolutely nobody can ever meaningfully hurt ciel again, so long as sebastian is there— and sebastian won’t hurt him either. not yet. but, instinctively, he needs to keep testing that bond. just in case. just to be sure.

honestly, i think that’s where the real tragedy of the series comes from— ciel never really grows, never really changes, because he Can’t. he guaranteed that for himself. at his absolute lowest point, ciel lost all faith in humanity and god and Himself. he lost his childhood naïveté, and the ability to believe in goodness in any form. ciel knows that one day, he’s going to be hurt again, that someone is going to snatch him up and chew him alive— all he wants now is the control to dictate for himself when that inevitable end will happen.

[hiding-under-the-willow]

obsessed with ancient/stone age human culture (would have gone on to study it if life hadnt gotten in the way) and so your ghosts au bdubs has me chomping at the bit. what a brilliant and wonderful choice. i dont have a lot of coherent thoughts rn but i love love love the tags in the og post of your recent fanart of him and i hope to see more of him and i love to turn him around in my brain. & wanted to tell you that.

i also think sometimes about how long he spent alone in death before any of the other ghosts joined him and oh, my goodness. how, uh,, how do you think he's doing?

Ghosts AU Bdubs is so interesting to me bc I came in at the beginning mostly just basing him on the portrayal of Robin from the show, which I knew wasn't entirely historically accurate in the first place so I would probably want to go more in depth with him at some point, but I just hadn't taken the time to do the research necessary to actually go through with that development, and then this semester half of my classes these last few weeks have been discussing Paleolithic and Neolithic people and art and something just snapped in my brain and I was like. Ah. Okay. The potential there is crazy actually. So there'll definitely be more of him!! I'm like half using him as an excuse to explore the stuff I learned in my classes more in depth and half using the fact that I learned about this stuff in my classes as an excuse to finally go through and develop him the way I wanted. Symbiotic relationship or whatever.

Also yeah, that long ass gap of time where he was the only ghost around certainly has been bouncing around in my head a bit. I don't have. completely coherent thoughts about it at the moment. I certainly think he might've coped in similar ways to the way Robin does in the show, getting attached to the people living on the property, spending a lot of his time learning from them and talking to them even if they don't realize he's there. I think he probably would've been a much more serious figure in life, and also in the early days of his afterlife (I mean not completely, it's still Bdubs we're talking about lol, but still), that spending all that time alone might've unraveled him a bit. I feel like it's hard to get a definitive grip on like. Who he is. Some days he's kind of obsessive and neurotic, in everyone's business, easily worked up, other days he seems perfectly content to ignore the happenings of the house, just do his own thing out on the property. I feel like most of the other ghosts wouldn't know much about his life, or even his early afterlife, he doesn't talk about it much and when he does it's always some crazy one-off anecdote that doesn't let you in on much of what was actually happening at the time. I think, like Robin in the show, he probably has his moments of like complex emotional or social intelligence that seem kind of out of nowhere from an outside perspective until you think about how long he's been around to have observed and learned about the world, about people.

[liquidorcard]

It's honestly so gross that Lily is now trying to rebrand as a cutesy, silly smol bean UWU even beyond all she's been accused of. How have literally any of her videos ever been funny except in the grossest, angriest ways possible? The girl has brought nothing but anger, harassment, vitriol, and her own repressed sexual fixations to every single space she's ever been a part of and yet, somehow, she still thinks she can rebrand as "UWU smol silly bean"

To me it seems like she's been angling for this for a while.

There's a tidbit of info about Lily Courtney shared once, which, I don't believe she'd take any issue we me sharing? I'm not in contact with her anymore, obviously, but.

When Lily was YOUNGER (but still older-- late teens, early twenties) and still living at the Peet residence, apparently she used to frequently uh . . . Let's use the phrase "hang out" with much younger children around the neighborhood. Unsupervised.

Her mother used to justify this behavior by basically saying Lily was mentally feeble and the equivalent intellectually to the children she liked to spend time with, so it's fine.

Getting past the . . . Upsetting implications of that. I suspect, based on all the other info we have on Lily, Mother Peet was making an . . . Accurate-ish observation, layered under several thick coats of yikes.

I actually don't think Lily is quite as mentally incompetent as Mother Peet was trying to imply there-- but emotionally, Lily is profoundly stunted. Emotional intelligence wise, Lily is quite underdeveloped psychologically. That is probably why she so heavily prefers the company of people I think it'd be fair to describe as, very easy to emotionally manipulate. Very easy to emotionally dominate. The mentally ill, the neurodivergent, the literally a child.

I know it can feel ghoulish sometimes to discuss predatory behavior beyond "this is predatory behavior, end of story." Practicing empathy for predators makes some feel uncomfortable because they're very (rightfully) worried it could turn into sympathy for predators, but. We can acknowledge Lily is an autonomous being who can and should be held responsible for her own actions while also, you know, talking about why she's like this.

Lily's profoundly unstable home life during her early childhood development years, her neurodivergencies she has herself and psychological issues on top of that, it's given her a very deep fear at her own vulnerability to social control. I do think everything from her incest obsession to her bravado bully attitude is at least in part linked back to this.

She likes being seen as a . . . Sweet and safe "big sister" type people can be absolutely raw and vulnerable to, not just to take advantage of them, but because that's the only social position she feels comfortable in. She's not actually that good at being that, but damn if she isn't going to keep trying.

[voyagefantastique]

Being sensitive to the beautiful, being marveling, it can be learned, it can be cultivated...

The emotion felt in the face of the beauty of nature or any work of art is a caress of the senses and an awakening of cognitive faculties.

This sharp sensitivity remains an open door to creativity and emotional intelligence.

... she had been self-harming and saying for the previous couple of years that she was going to kill herself after her eighteenth birthday. So for her eighteenth birthday I gave her a trip to see Paris. At least if she was going to kill herself she'd have seen Paris; and maybe it might help change her mind ...

Maybe it was as much about redemption, as what I mistook for something else I was seeing on a couple of blogs…

Être sensible au beau, s'emerveiller , ça s'apprend, ça se cultive...

L' émotion ressentie face à la beauté de la nature ou de toute oeuvre d'Art est une caresse des sens et un reveil des facultés cognitives.

Cette sensibilité aiguisée reste une porte ouverte à la créativité et à l"intelligence émotionnelle.

[leifyposting]

i am once again doing some numbers on twitter, this time for a frankly lukewarm take on jean:

and someone responded:

y’all. all love, but when i say “jean is no more emotionally competent than diluc and kaeya” i do actually mean “jean is no more emotionally competent than diluc and kaeya”

i simply believe that jean is as emotionally stunted as the boys. in fact i think that’s very hot of her!! and i don’t understand why we’re reducing her flaws down to “worse than a normal person but better than these male characters i like a lot”

[sysig]

How much of me is me? (Patreon)

[tremendously-crazy]

Relationship envy except I envy the bond between iconic fictional characters Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson

[seagreenstardust]

Anyone still calling late game Katsuki an abuser in 2024 is just not paying attention. Full stop.

[impish-ivy]

Thinking back on it, it’s so obvious Solomon isn’t as emotionally intelligent as I additionally thought he was. Which knowing his childhood and background…yeah that makes a whole heck of a lot of sense.

[redeemed-wren]

I am thinking about. Jamie and the Second Doctor.

Because out of all the incarnations of the Doctor, Two is arguably the one who uses manipulation and disguises the most. He thrives on using people's intelligence against them, on tricking people, on bluffing and his bluffs working. He has a different disguise every story pretty much and is constantly playing some kind of role.

And then you look at Jamie, and some of Jamie's most front and center traits are his loyalty and his honesty (and protectiveness, but less applicable). Jamie is loyal to a fault and extremely trusting of the Doctor. He's honest and straightforward and deeply caring.

And Jamie is the one who sticks by the Second Doctor for as long as he physically can--and you'd look at those two characters, one who is manipulative and cunning, and one who is loyal to a fault, and you'd think the Doctor would easily be able to take advantage of Jamie, that Jamie would just be a tool for him but he's not, they're on equal footing. Jamie pulls the Doctor down and reminds him what being human is all about.

[alygator77]

ya know, i flip back and forth between thinking gojo is more of a dog person like gege says or a cat person. like i can see both arguments, but what are your thoughts and why? (i put mine in the tags)