#and fundamentally she is not the master of course

[larrythefloridaman]

slow and deliberate bong rip, as if sampling wine. prism and the ciblings are christian but theyre not christian but they are.

Their relationship with Spectrum is best understood as religious, they are the ciblings parent in the divine emanation sense and the portrayal of this is filtered at the meta level through the lens of ryan the creator's christian faith with the structure of Prism's faith, prayer and service to her master. Crimson, who loves to tightrope walk on the fourth wall without ever quite EXPLICITLY crossing it (atleast by the blurry standards of CPUK where the commentators exist as fictionalized versions of themselves and the show is about a show,) says in the same section of CPUK Orange where he foreshadows his spirit by cracking a joke about the college ryan went to and says that if the audience thinks he can't read the twitch chat then they dont know him at all, also calls CPUK Orange a christmas special in an ambiguous smarmy wink wink sort of way that leaves it unclear whether the joke is meant to be him sincerely celebrating but leaning on the fourth wall, him mocking the notion of him celebrating christmas given hes a god by being insincerely festive, or a combination of both, 'isnt it absurd that because this show's run by a christian guy I acknowledge and celebrate christmas, even though im supposed to be a demonic god of a pantheon structure that is fundamentally incompatible with christianity?' A type of ambiguity that goes on to strongly feature throughout the nccts with regard to how it handles the metafictional.

the ciblings are gods and so is prism in some respect but they also decidedly arent THE god, that's spectrum, whom Prism devotes her life to serving and uses the power of to oppress control and orchestrate, to both justify and enact violence, whom the ciblings, spectrums 'children,' have been raised to please, raised in worship of. Cobalt knew of the nelson, a vessel of spectrum's will and voice, as a thing of 'legend,' suggesting they were likely raised on stories of spectrum and the forms it takes. They were also raised to believe they were uniquely chosen, as 'gods,' to do their jobs as caretakers of the world and that they and their immortal souls existed uniquely above and beyond 'mortals' tiny lives and inability to comprehend. They are Superior in their secret knowledge and that is their Burden (which is their business and noone elses no matter who else's lives it may effect) as well as their Privilege (so mortals opinions can be discarded). Of course, this is a crock of shit that largely serves to isolate them from others and keep them under her thumb. Faith in a god of creation and connection's power and influence is warped, in Prism's hands, into a weapon, a tool, of division and suffocating restriction.

cobalt has 'altar boy with Doubts and Questions that keep getting shut down in favor of encouraging blind faith and belief in the unerring supremacy of the divine' issues and chartreuse has 'perfect church girl in love with someone the church categorically rejects' issues and crimson has 'my abusive mother who teaches sunday school and hosts cutesy church ice cream socials like she doesnt try to kill me regularly decided to name me judas did you honestly expect me to turn out well-adjusted' type issues.

But also spectrum definitely isnt a 1 to 1 reflection of any of the mainstream traditional conceptions of the christian god, at their closest resembling the gnostic esoterica concept of the pleroma but not even quite that because spectrum is an amoral gestalt being who Happens to support good more often than not (at least in theory) but also creates awful circumstances because kindness and hope in the face of despair is Compelling, and thats what its really wants, compelling feelings and thought, because it creates and then feeds on the ideas and feelings its creations elicit, which inspire new creations in turn.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

yaz, whose master mirror status becomes so very obvious when shes mad: nice house you got there.........would be a shame if someone..............burned................it down..............haha! unless

[corallapis]

ooc imo for tegan to be thinking this way but. still.

[princesssarisa]

As I've read different people's views on Little Women, I've realized that for different readers, it's a fundamentally different book.

When I see someone describe the "universal" experiences of identifying with Jo, wanting her to marry Laurie, and disliking Amy, I remember all the proof I've seen that these are far from universal. The latter two weren't even my experiences: identifying with Jo, yes, but shipping her with Laurie and disliking Amy, no!

Even people with equal amounts of knowledge of the historical context and of Louisa May Alcott's life seem to come away with vastly different feelings about the story and characters.

I suppose there are a wide variety of reasons for this. First and foremost, which of the four March sisters you personally admire or relate to the most. Then there are other factors like your gender, your age when you first read the book, your relationship (good or bad) with traditional femininity, whether you read Parts I and II as a single novel or as Little Women and Good Wives, your relationships with your own family members, your religion and ethical values...

The list goes on.

That post from @theevilanonblog that I reblogged recently about the different interpretations of Frankenstein makes me want to write out a similar list of ten different views I've read of Little Women. Here it is:

Little Women is about the March sisters learning to be proper virtuous women of their time and place. With Marmee as their role model (a role later shared by Beth as she becomes increasingly angelic in her illness), they learn to conquer their flaws, give up their wild ambitions, and settle down as good wives and mothers. This is especially true for Jo, whose character arc is a slow taming from a rough tomboy to a gentle nurturer. It's a conformist and anti-feminist message, which Alcott probably disliked, but she wrote it to cater to public tastes. (This reading seems mainly to come from critics who dislike the book.)

Little Women is about Jo's struggle to stay true to herself in a world that wants to change her. She struggles with whether to stay a tomboy or become a proper lady, whether or not to marry Laurie despite not loving him romantically, and as an author, whether to write what she wants, write what earns the most money, or give up her writing altogether. In the end, she changes only in ways that make her happy, e.g. by learning to control her temper, and later by embracing romantic love. But in more important ways, she stays true to herself: always remaining slightly rugged, clumsy and "masculine," finding success as a writer, and marrying Friedrich, a man just as plain and "unromantic" as herself, but whom she loves and who respects her as an equal.

Little Women is about learning to "live for others." That phrase is used often and could well be the arc words. Beth is the only March sister to whom a selfless life comes naturally, but the other three master it by the end of the story (as does Laurie). They learn to conquer their moments of pettiness and selfishness, to live in better harmony with each other and with their friends and love interests, and to give up their self-centered dreams of fame and wealth, building lives that focus on service instead.

Little Women is about growing up. The first half is mainly about the March girls' maturing by surviving hard times and learning to be better people, while the second half is about reaching adulthood and bittersweetly parting ways to start new lives. At the beginning, Jo is a girl who doesn't want to grow up: she wants to always be a wild young tomboy with her family (and Laurie) by her side forever. But of course, she can't stop time or womanhood, and is eventually forced to accept the loss of Meg, Amy, and Laurie to marriage and Beth to death. After grieving for a while, she lets go of her old life and willingly builds a new one with Friedrich.

Little Women is about family bonds and the fear of losing them. We meet and become attached to the wonderfully close, cozy March family, which gradually expands through friendships, marriage, and new babies. But throughout the story, the family is in danger of breaking apart, whether due to conflict (Jo and Amy's sibling rivalry, Meg and John's marital problems), or separation by distance (Father going away to war, Amy going to Europe, Jo to New York), or death (the danger of losing Father and Beth in Part I, and the ultimate loss of Beth in Part II). But in the end – unlike in reading #4 above – the family doesn't break apart and never will. Conflicts are resolved, travelers eventually come home, the surviving family members always live near each other and stay as close as ever, and even Beth isn't really gone, because her memory and influence live on.

Little Women is about femininity and each March sister's relationship with it. Meg and Amy happily conform in different ways: Meg to "domestic femininity" as a housewife, Amy to "ornamental femininity" as a society lady. Beth pressures herself to conform to self-effacing domestic femininity, until sadly, it kills her – either because she's too selfless and nurturing when she cares for the fever-infected Hummels, or because she has anorexia, as Lizzie Alcott might have had. But Jo strikes a successful balance in the end, conforming just enough to fit into society, but only on her own terms, and otherwise living a happily unconventional life as a writer and schoolmistress.

Little Women is about Jo's unlearning of internalized misogyny. At the beginning, she's a "Not Like Other Girls" tomboy, who wishes she were male, disdains feminine girls (especially her sister Amy), doesn't care enough when "her boy" Laurie behaves badly toward women, and is afraid to be vulnerable. But gradually, and without losing her strength of character, she learns to embrace the sweeter and more tender aspects of herself, sees that Amy's ladylike manners have practical benefits, and learns to say "no" to Laurie when he turns his childish, unhealthy romantic attentions to her. Then after Beth dies, she realizes how precious Beth's utterly domestic, feminine life was, and embraces a more domestic life herself. Yet by doing so, she becomes a true feminist, as she enters an egalitarian marriage and devotes her life to teaching boys to be good, respectful men.

Little Women is only what US Americans know as the first half. It's just about the March sisters getting by and learning moral lessons over the course of the year their father is away at war. Nobody gets married and nobody dies. Everything else is in Good Wives, which is a sequel with different character arcs and different themes, and which should be published separately, as it originally was and still is outside the US. Trying to tie them together into one narrative never feels quite right.

Little Women is Alcott's idealized version of her own life and family, where no one suffers quite as much as they did in real life, everyone is slightly less flawed, and Jo ends up happily married to a man very much like Alcott's lost love Henry David Thoreau. She wrote the life she wished she had.

Little Women is just a semi-autobiographical slice-of-life that Alcott wrote quickly for money.

Which is the truest to Alcott's intent? I don't know. But while some of these readings I like better than others – and some of them I despise – I'd say they're all understandable and reasonably valid. Some aren't even mutually exclusive, but can be used together... although of course, other readings are mutually exclusive, like whether the story is feminist or anti-feminist, or whether the March family ultimately breaks apart or holds together. And they're all worth using as springboards for discussion.

Alcott wrote more books than she ever realized she did, because Little Women can be many different books to different people.

@littlewomenpodcast, @joandfriedrich, @thatscarletflycatcher, @fictionadventurer, @fandomsarefamily1966

[igotanidea]

Probation : Dick Grayson x reader

part 2 to Shattered

the gif is there on purpose, you'll get it ;)

***

„Y/N!”

„No, Dick, no! We’re done. I’m done! Have a happy life or whatever-!”

She shut the door behind her, walking away from everything they build for the last months and years.

Something that could never been permanent only because the fundaments of their joined life were being successively undermined by a mole in the form of Barbara.

His best friend.

Huh! Even thinking that, was some sort of aberration of her. Best friend, damn it. Best friend who wanted nothing more then to jump his –

No.

No, enough.

Y/N was free. Free from manipulation, free from mind games, from fear, from pain and constant self-questioning her worth.

Free.

And if that freedom came with sense of betrayal, loneliness and stupid aching pain in the chest due to holding back tears – so be it.

***

“I don’t understand…”

Meanwhile Dick was sitting on the couch in his apartment, face hid in hands, shaking head and ruffling his already messed up hair.

At least he had some decency to put on a shirt, cause somewhere deep inside, the last of his braincells whispered that it was sort of inappropriate to sit half-naked alone with Babs.

And honestly, that was the first surprise, cause such thought had never haunted him before.

So why now?

“I know you don’t, Dick…” Barbara whispered sitting cross-legged next to him placing hand on his shoulder – “Me neither. I just don’t get it why she would suddenly get so – vicious and – and mean and – vulgar.”

“That was not my Y/N…” Dick stuttered, barely noticing that Babs started tracing soft, comforting circles on his shoulder.

“Maybe that was the part you didn’t know before?”

“No!” Dick raised his head abruptly. “no! no, of course not! I know her! She can be bossy and mean and tend to want to have things her own way, but she’s not – aggressive!”

“Hey, hey relax, I’m just saying-“ Barbara raised her hands in the air, in the sign of pure intentions and innocence (yeah, right). “- people change you know.”

“but not like this! Not so – abruptly!”

“Dick-“

“I mean it Babs!”

“Ok, ok, relax. How about we’ll make some tea and watch a movie to get some perspective?”

“Tea? Are you being serious right now?”

“Dick-“

He almost jumped off the couch and started pacing around the room, rubbing his face nervously.

‘I’m not going to be drinking tea while Y/N is somewhere, god knows where!”

“But she’s the one who stormed off.”

“Well then maybe I should have done more to make her stay-“

“Dick, you can’t stop a girl when she’s angry-“

“It’s my Y/n!”

“So what?”

“So – so what?! What do you mean so what? She’s my girlfriend!”

“Have you ever considered she may not want to be your girl anymore?”

“What---?”

“Dick, just listen to me-“ Barbara stood up and walked to him, reaching for his hands and squeezing them reassuringly. “she doesn’t respect you-“

“What are you-?”

“She doesn’t cherish you-“

“This is not-“

“She doesn’t love you.” Barbara cupped his cheek and caressed it softly but if her intention was to make Dick lean into the touch it definitely backfired when he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip, almost tearing her hand from his skin.

“Don’t.” he almost growled.

“Dick-“

“I said don’t. she loves me. And I love her. Her. You hear me loud and clear now. I love Y/N.”

“She’s not good for you!”

“Not good, huh?” Dick scoffed ‘how would you know what’s good for me? You? With your manipulation? With your tricks and puppet master role?”

“I don’t-“ she tried to defend herself but it was too late. Dick Grayson may have not been the sharpest tool in the shed but if anything he was tuned in on any manifestation of injustice, unfairness or cruelty. Mix that trait with the fact that the object of said behavior was his Y/N and add the sprinkle of guilt of not realizing it sooner and you get an explosive match.

“Enough.”

Dick Grayson, the nightwing, the hero was gone.

All left was a protective and possessive boyfriend, even if a little belated.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But I’m your best-“

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no? We’ve known each other since we were kids! You can’t put her over me!”

“That is exactly what I’m doing.”

“You’re gonna regret this.“

“Maybe. Or maybe not. But right now, I want you out. Out of here and out of our lives.”

“You are going to regret this. Besides, in case you didn’t notice, you already lost so-called your Y/N. She’s gone and she hates you. So if anything, I half-succeeded and you are left with nothing. When you come knocking at my door, you’ll realize I won.”

Barbara grabbed her clothes and walked out the door, shutting them behind herself in the same way Y/N did some time earlier, leaving Dick with a heavy heart and weighing conscience.

Already masterminding a plan to fix everything.

***

“Y/N.”

“Y/N?”

“Y/n!”

“What!?” Her colleagues finally managed to throw her out of her reverie, by yelling her name repeatedly, making her awfully angry. “what is so important that you have to resort to screaming match?!”

“Dick is waiting outside, staring at our window.”

“Dick is waiting - what?”

“come on, look for yourself.” One of her friends dragged her towards the window so she could see for herself. The second that Dick caught her silhouette he raised hand in a shy form of greeting. And damn, that smile that always made her knees weak.

“Are you crazy?” Y/N wriggled free and jumped to the other side of the room “we had a fight! I don’t want to see him!”

“How were we supposed to know you had a fight! You never share such things!”

“We’re work colleagues not friends!”

“Oh! Great, now she’s mean. Do not pour your relationship frustrations onto us!”

“I’m not- ugh!” she groaned, throwing hands in the air in frustration, falling onto the nearby chair in a sense of defeat.

“Y/N…”

“Leave me alone….”

“We’re not going to do that.”

“I’m gonna start crying.” She warned.

“Oh god, forbid you have some human emotions in you.”

“Stop making me feel better when I’m feeling bad.” Y/N chuckled “That’s mean…”

“Go talk to him.”

“No!”

“Go!”

“No!”

“You love him!” her friend reminded her. “you love him, you love him, you love him, you-“

“Fine! Fine! I do! I love him! Happy now!’

“Extremely.”

Before Y/N could realize what was happening, she was being wrapped in a coat, with a hat on his head and a scarf over the half her of her face and literally pushed outside to have a conversation with that poor guy who was freezing in the cold.

***

A life lesson worth remembering is that a person should make sure the scarf does not limit one’s field of view before stepping outside onto the snowy, slippery ground.

In the heat of the events Y/N failed to do her homework in that area and found herself tripping over the frozen surface, starting to fall down, her entire life flashing through her eyes, already saying goodbyes to her worries, closing eyes in a wait for eternal bliss –

“I got you.”

She did not meet with the creator and definitely not with any of his angels, but the face she saw was pretty close.

Of course she had to end up like a rom-com heroine, engaged in a seemingly funny but awfully cliché, embarrassing and directed scene of being saved from bruised ass.

“Great….” She muttered, but made no move to free herself from his grasp. “just what I needed.”

“You want me to drop you?” Dick chuckled

“By all means, please do. Just make sure I hit my head hard enough to not remember this.”

“How about I’ll help you hit yourself so hard you won’t remember how much of an idiot I’ve been?”

“Mh. Interesting idea, even if that would mean forgetting quite a few years.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed and she raised an eyebrow.

“Are you admitting you’ve been wrong in something?”

“Wrong? No! Never. I’ve never been wrong in my whole life!”

“Never? I’ll be merciful and give you five seconds to reconsider. Four… three… two…”

“Fine! Fine! I was wrong….” Dick muttered, looking down, his words barely audible and hardly coherent.

“Better. Please continue.”

“I cast her out.” He muttered

“Your myopia? Poor you, I’m sure you feel lonely now-“

“Y/N!” his grip on her waist tightened, blue eyes threw daggers at her.

“What?”

“You’re making it awfully hard to apologies to you!”

“You were expecting me to make it easy?”

“Nah.” He grinned “Not in the slightest. Though I figured it was appropriate to point out how much effort I’m putting into getting you back.”

“This is not a teenage movie, Richard.”

“Of course not, you are way past your teenage years, love – Ouch! You hit me!?”

“You mocked my respectable age, you dumbass!” she wriggled free and started throwing half-formed snowballs at him.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he attacked right back, grabbing onto her, spinning her around, pushing her hat onto her face (blocking the view again!), and beginning to gradually turn her into a giant snowman.

“Stop it!” she laughed struggling against him, wriggling arms and legs in poor attempt to break free before the snow landed under her coat.

“I’m sorry!” he yelled, not letting go.

“I said stop it!”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“You’re yelling in my ear, I’m practically deaf now!”

“I’m sorry.” He turned her so she was facing him, fixing her hat to meet her eyes “I’m sorry. I should have-“

“Idiot.” She cut him off

“Absolutely.”

“Dumbass.”

“The biggest in the world.” He agreed without missing a beat.

Y/N bit her lip, thinking deeply.

“Fool?” she tried again.

“Without a doubt.” He nodded “But are you going to keep throwing synonyms at me?”

Suddenly she got an idea, the mischief flashing in her eyes as she reached for her phone and flashed the camera in her face.

“What are you doing?” he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

“Rudolf.” She laughed

“What?”

“No more synonyms. You are so ugly Dick!”

“Ugly? Ok, I get it your mad, but that’s a low blow, even for you and – OH MY GOD!”

The photo she snapped?

With him having red nose, messed up, flat hair  full of snow, crooked scarf and red mark on the cheek?

“Betrayal!” he yelled

“Again – did you expect me to make it easy?”

“Seriously, now you absolutely have to forgive me.” He grabbed both her hands in his.

“I have to?” she smirked

“With that snapshot I suppose we’re even?”

“Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

“I love you.”

“Oh? Do you?” she teased “Since when?”

“No idea. It’s just kind of happened to me. Like a lightning bolt.”

“Bless mother nature for giving us subtle signs. “

“She’s gone. I’m sorry for being blind. You are the most important to me and – “

“and-?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes you have to.”

“You were right…” she sighed “you were right about Barbara all along…” he bore eyes into the ground.

“Eyes up Mr Grayson.”

“Y/N… you are the most important to me…”

“You’re officially on probation now.”

“Really!?” he lighted up immediately “I am? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He spun her in the air, upon hearing that she was kind enough to put him on probation.

Things were looking good.

@fullbelieverheart @peachmartini @flooofity @gloomysel @disi2507 @marzzrambles @justliving15

[pirateshelly]

One thing that really fascinates me about interview with the vampire (the show) is this sort of tension between power and powerlessness in all of the characters. Because it doesn't present becoming a vampire as something that just gives you power and magically makes you completely detached from all human concerns and struggles.

And that seems to be something Lestat does very much want to believe, and he's in enough of a position of privilege that he's able to convince himself it's true, and it's a fundamental area where he just cannot understand Louis because Louis CAN'T pretend even if he wants to. (And of course Lestat cannot ACTUALLY separate himself from "human troubles" the way he likes to think he can, he just has an easier time pretending than most). Because as much as becoming a vampire grants these characters supernatural power it doesn't just magically take away the very tangible human ways that they were previously vulnerable or powerless.

Becoming a vampire doesn't negate Louis' struggles with racism; in some ways it amplifies them with how he is alienated from his own family and community; his closest connection becomes Lestat. He loses his economic independence and becomes socially dependent on Lestat in a way he wasn't to anyone as a human because in some ways becoming a vampire made him MORE vulnerable, despite granting him physical strength/speed/etc. The promise of freedom in vampirism Lestat presents to Louis (that I do think he does genuinely mean, but "freedom" means very different things to Louis than it does to Lestat) is never fulfilled.

Likewise Claudia learns the hard way with Bruce and later with the coven that she may be a vampire but the world still looks at her and sees a vulnerable young black girl and that will always put her in danger.

Claudia rescues Madeleine then turns her into a vampire, but rather than protect her from future harm the "crime" of turning her becomes the very thing that gets her killed by yet another angry mob.

And 514 years as a vampire will never be enough for Armand to truly trust or believe in his own power. Because the first 200 or so years of his life he was literally never once allowed any agency at all over his own identity or his own body (child slave sold to a brothel, sold to an abusive master, captured and violently indoctrinated into a vampire cult for centuries). No amount of material strength and power is going to undo the psychological effects of that. (And I know some people like to read his frequently passive demeanor as simply manipulation and a way of catching people off guard (because how could someone so old and powerful possibly feel a genuine sense of fear/vulnerability/etc 🙄) but to me that's an incredibly disingenuous reading of him. But that's a different rant for another time!). Being a vampire does not save him from being horrifically abused, nor does it save him from the lasting emotional effects of that abuse.

And I think there's something interesting to be said about the way that, in order to survive safely, they have to feed on the most vulnerable members of society (people undesirable and therefore least likely to arouse suspicion) in order to go unnoticed. If they want to live they have to prey on those vulnerable in possibly the same ways they themselves once were (and in many ways still are).

There's a frequent argument I dislike that we shouldn't be viewing any of these characters through too human of a lense because they're literal monsters (to be honest it's an argument I see most often made when people simply don't want to talk about the show's complex depiction of racism/misogyny/abuse/etc and used to dismiss those as issues "too human" to be relevant to a story about a bunch of monsters with a supposedly alien sense of morality), but I think the show itself makes a huge argument that for these characters there is no escaping or separating themselves from the very human struggles and vulnerabilities that marked them before they ever became vampires. It's like a sort deconstructed power fantasy.

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about the Mirror Scene

also know as horny edition, reprise, again I decline every responsability if "feelings" arise during the reading of this thread. I'll be tempted of discussing the scene frame by frame, but I shall restrain myself to the most important points maybe

1) Words. This is not just about the speech at the beginning of the scene but also throughout the entire piece. I'm a writer, ofc I love when people use words well. Pleas don't make me say how many times I though about Mr Colin "I love dirty talking" Bridgerton (a couple of people actually knows) because it could become uncomfortable very quick.

2) Consent. Consent. Consent. I'll repeat every time because it's the sexiest thing I've seen. What do you mean it ruins the mood? Your partner is checking in with you and it builds trust connection and intimacy. It's not apart from the act. It's a fundamental part of the act.

3) Boobs. I'm sorry to report that, even as a fellow member of the perfect breasts club, I'm absolutely not immune. Not even one bit. I'm not even sorry I'm not immune. Thank you, Nicola, your service was wildly appreciated. (But seriously, did I buy a more revealing dress because I was a bit more confident of my own because of this bit? Yes! So, jokes aside thank you Nicola for your service)

4) Guidance. Gentle Dom Colin is my favorite Colin and I will never be able to hear the word "lie down" without thinking of him. But also, the tenderness displayed, the softness, the attention to the partner's needs, it's all part of a pattern of Colin being the most attentive partner.

5) "You are so beautiful", I'm not going to lie, I'm still walking 5 feet taller because of that. It healed something in me. It doesn't magically cure all the self issues problems, but it hit me the first time and it hit me again everytime. And if it was healing for you as much as it was for me, let me give you a hug. You are so beautiful!

(I can't believe I can't find the gif, if someone knows where to find it, please tell me, i'll edit the post)

6) "Not there. Not yet." Colin Bridgerton, Master of Edging. I see you Sir. I approve you wanted to wait for round 2 for that. But don't hide you did say that because you would finish in 0.1 second if she would arrive that. Still, even just for the cutest expression on Pen's face, it was worth it.

7) "Is there more?", Pen I want to hug you (respectfully and dressed, of course). His nod. Her blinding smile. Lord (don't) forgive me, I do not care about sinning when it never looked and felt better.

Gif by @polinsated

8) All the moments where you can see the lust and the pleasure in Pen's eyes. I will never shut up about it. They send me always into the stratosphere because it feels real. I don't know they do it, but it just feel real.

9) "Can we do it again?" What can I tell you? It's always the quiet one (I should know, I'm also a quiet one 😏) I'm not sure Colin realize what he did awake but he will become aware soon. I'm sure he doesn't mind.

(it's not my gif, stupid Tumblr, it's from @polinsated )

10) Let's be honest. All the above are real, but what really sell this scene is trust, connection and intimacy. It's not an easy thing to communicate but somehow they do it perfectly. And the nudity is functional to this goal. It adds another layer.

I love this scene but the me I was some years ago might have hated it because it is a mirror indeed for me. The me I am now is grateful that this scene exist. Because it's kind of the goal, to have that trust, intimacy and connection. So maybe it's a sign from the Universe. Maybe it's a sign of things to come. I certainly do hope so.

Maybe one day I might be able to talk about this scene without tearing up, but today is not that day.

[katakaluptastrophy]

What do Captain Deuteros, the Princesses of Ida, the Baron of Tisis, the Lady of Koniortos Court, the Duchess of Rhodes, the Master Templar, and the Reverend Daughter all have in common? They almost certainly own slaves.

Ok, not "slaves". As I'm sure Housers would be the first to tell you, they do not have slaves. Gideon herself explicitly establishes this in chapter one:

I’m indentured, not a slave.

But functionally, what does that mean?

We don't get a definition of what Gideon means by a slave, or how this word is used in House (do the Houses also have slaves? Are slaves something other, uncivilised people have in the benighted darkness beyond the light of Dominicus and the empire?). Gideon is an unfree person who is subject to violence and exploited for the financial gain of her masters, but it means something to her that she is not, in some economic or legal sense, a slave. So what is an indentured servant?

Gideon's status is referred to using several other terms over the course of GTN, primarily by Silas Octakiseron. While Silas is not an unbiased commentator, it's interesting that his objection to Gideon is not just because she's Ninth, but because she has usurped her social position:

“Thrall,” said Silas. “Serf. Servant... Villein,” continued the necromancer of the house of the Eighth, warming to his thesaurus. Colum was staring at Gideon, almost cross-eyed with disbelief. “Foundling. I am not insulting you, I am naming you for what you are. The replacement for Ortus Nigenad, himself a poor representative of a foetid House of betrayers and mystics.”

We don't know the exact connotations of these words in House. But a "serf" historically was a sort of feudal peasant tied to the land of a manor. Unlike a slave, a serf usually couldn't be bought or sold as an individual, but could be transferred wholesale with the land. Generically speaking, serfdom involves a tie to the land, an obligation to generate income/goods for the feudal lord of the land through labour and/or rents, and a lack of freedom of movement. It could be from birth or a voluntary indenture.

The contextual information that we get about Gideon's status backs up this very feudal image:

Gideon is, as Crux repeatedly reminds her, in some way the property of the Ninth. She wears a security cuff, and her attempt to run away is described as theft and misuse of House goods. In a typically House way, it is not just that she owes them her labour - she owes them her body once she dies. (What's interesting is that this part isn't specifically tied to her status as an indentured servant, but it fundamentally colours how it is understood in world.)

"You talk so loudly for chattle, Nav... You chatter so much for a debt. I hate you, and yet you are my wares and inventory."

Crux is Harrow's seneschal. And it would seem that at least on the Ninth, this role is very much the same as its medieval feudal equivalent: the official in charge of the management of the estate's goods and labourers.

Gideon is a legitimate subject of violence in House law: Harrow talks about how it would be "master's sin" if she "employed unwarranted violence" against her. Which means that some degree of violent punishment of indentured servants is legally permissable.

She is meant to be a financially useful asset: regulations exist governing indentured people joining the military, where they can generate revenue for their House. However, Harrow warns Gideon that "the Cohort won’t enlist an unreleased serf" - because the movement of a serf is at the discretion of her Lady, not something over which she has free choice.

The description of how Gideon came to be of the Ninth is particularly interesting in shedding some light on the institution of indenture in the Houses:

The Ninth had historically filled its halls with penitents from other houses, mystics and pilgrims who found the call of this dreary order more attractive than their own birthrights. In the antiquated rules of those supplicants who moved between the eight great households, she was taken as a very small bondswoman, not of the Ninth but beholden to it: What greater debt could be accrued than that of being brought up?

Medieval serfs too had no freedom of movement; they required a license from their lord to spend extended time away from the manor.

It's easy to forget, when the Houses themselves likely range in scale from the size of Los Angeles to Aotearoa New Zealand, that legally they seem to understand themselves to constitute feudal households. Those born in each House are part of - or in some cases it would seem, property of - the House. We see discussion in the Sermon on Necromancers and Cavaliers of the heirs of cavalier lines being traded between Houses for political capital. Necromancers, meanwhile, are apparently such a political or reproductive asset that they are usually not allowed to marry outside their House. Obviously, these are examples of people at the top of House society, whose movement brings with it political power, or financial assets, or reproductive capacity. Where does that leave a more ordinary person who lacks those desirable assets? It would seem that they can be their own asset, granted access to another House on a debtor's bond - it's not clear in the House context whether this is typically an exchange of people already debt bonded to their House, free people entering into such bondage to secure a right of passage to another House, a combination, or something else entirely.

But it speaks to a much more ancient understanding of how people are tied to lands and lords, alongside the Houses' very different attitude to the value of human lives:

“You’re no slave, but you’ll serve the House of the Ninth until the day you die and then thereafter"

One could infer, since we've encountered nobles and serfs, that the Houses have something akin to a three-tier system like many historical European feudal systems, with nobles, freedmen, and serfs.

The medieval European feudal system was primarily a function of the management of land - serfs and freedmen's statuses were a result of their relationship to obligations to the land - requirements of work, or rents to their lord, who ultimately controlled and profited from that land. This is where the tricky difference between serfdom and slavery tends to arise.

But the Houses are not a European medieval feudal kingdom. They are not, presumably, a primarily agrarian economy. So what use might such bondspeople be? What does that society look like, outside of its highest nobles investigating each others' murders and its strangely incestuous demigods?

There must be some agriculture and industry. Given the trying conditions of living in inhospitable space environments, that there might be some class of labourers fundamentally tied to their Houses, perhaps initially stemming from the order or situation of their ancestors' resurrection, isn't impossible to imagine (after all, ruling families and cavalier lines also trace their status from the Resurrection). From the information about the rules governing movement between Houses, perhaps there are also people living in dire conditions on remote moons willing to sell their freedom for a chance at slightly better conditions, or a new start in a different House. Most Houses do not have the necromantic capacity to create skeleton constructs on a scale to manage most of their labour - in The Mysterious Study of Dr Sex, it's clear that the Sixth has a finite supply of skeleton constructs that they would require Ninth input to overhaul. We have to assume most labour on most Houses in human, and some portion of it at least in some way unfree.

But the Houses are a spacefaring society with a large, centralised military and an economically complex empire. It does not function entirely like a medieval kingdom, however much it may sometimes look like one. Much of its imperial structure seems to be on a much more 19th or 20th century model.

And the Cohort is one area where we can see some non-medieval, but awful implications to the Houses' practice of serfdom. Consider the commission that Harrow offers Gideon:

It purchased Gideon Nav’s commission to second lieutenant, not privy to resale, but relinquishing capital if she honourably retired. It would grant her full officer training. The usual huge percentage of prizes and territory would be tithed to her House if they were won, but her inflated Ninth serfdom would be paid for in five years on good conditions, rather than thirty.

Gideon is not being promised as canon fodder - this is a promise of officer training. And yet, Gideon is a serf - and that officer training would be an investment in financial returns from her involvement in the bloody machinery of empire.

How many people in the Cohort are not free? Are serfs released from their usual obligations in the House to which they are debt bonded to instead generate income for their House on the battlefield or die trying? What proportion of the Cohort are functionality enslaved children, sold a dream of glory by smutty comics and released by their Houses because their eventual deaths will be more profitable to their Houses than their labouring lives?

And fundamentally, if the Houses are in some way substantially reproducing aspects of medieval feudalism, there's only one person who can be responsible for that...

[mikavlcs]

Static Patterns

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Wednesday’s struggling to say those three special words, so she decides to instead show you how she feels.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday(!!!), reader’s kinda unserious, sorry

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: this was requested by @beauty-in-the-brkdwn​, hope you enjoy<3

Masterlist

Never in her life had Wednesday felt more stupid than she did now.

Mere months ago, she had faced and overcome unthinkable odds, defeating an undead pilgrim and saving the entirety of Nevermore from destruction. A feat she pulled off with moderate ease.

And now here she was being bested by something as trivial as words.

It was humiliating to think about, even conceptually. That she—an aspiring writer—was struggling with words. A communicative tool she had mastered using before the age of five. This was even worse when paired with the fact that what she was struggling to say was so torturously simple.

Three words. Eight letters.

A phrase that millions were able to say in passing and yet the thought of actually saying those words to you was somehow more daunting than the Hyde and Crackstone combined.

It shouldn’t have been, she knew that. Her candor was one of her defining features, a thing of pride even. But when combined with everything they symbolize, those three syllables suddenly weighed a thousand pounds on her tongue.

She tried and failed multiple times and as bitter as defeat tasted, she had no choice but to swallow it down and rethink her strategy.

Thus, a new, different approach was taken. After all, they did say that actions spoke louder than words. One of the most fundamental rules when writing was show don’t tell. So she settled for showing you how she felt rather than vocalizing it.

It started small with something as small and insignificant as breakfast. One morning she decided to procure a bowl of your favorite cereal and another, smaller bowl of assorted fruits.

You would always whine about how they were gone by the time you got there—which was entirely your fault, seeing as you arrived nearly ten minutes after everyone else did—so she figured this was a good place to start.

The excitement on your face as you took your place next to her told her she was correct.

From there it branched out slowly, like roots growing within soil.

She would take your books from you and carry them while she escorted you to your classes—even the ones she didn’t attend with you. It made your commutes much easier since nobody dared step into Wednesday’s way while she marched through the halls.

Stealing snacks for you from the kitchen became a daily occurrence. And with a few well-executed threats, she was able to take them free of charge. They were left in your locker, Wednesday feigning surprise when you found them, but you both knew the truth.

When you mournfully showed her the C+ you got on your Botany test she demanded politely offered to tutor you.

It even got to the point where she was willing to indulge in what she would consider blasphemy—physical touch.

This specific form of affection was something she vehemently avoided, its alleged pleasures something that eluded her. But you abstained for the sake of her comfort, so she would be willing to put forth an effort for the sake of yours.

It wasn’t much, but sometimes at lunch when she was absolutely sure no one was paying attention, she would tentatively cross her pinky with yours. And when you sat across from her at the Weathervane, she lightly rested her hand over yours.

She would admit—never aloud—that it wasn’t terrible.

You noticed the abrupt shift in her behavior, of course. The first few times you let it be, curious glances in her direction your only acknowledgment of the situation.

But eventually, the questions started, and Wednesday being always prepared, had her answers ready on her tongue.

“Your complaints about these being gone every morning are tiresome, so I got them for you since you can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

“Your feeble arms looked like they were struggling more than usual. The pitiful display has gotten rather boring.”

“These grades are not reflective of your limited intellectual abilities, it’s disappointing. I’ll fix that.”

Her snark never had much effect on you, so the excuses always earned an honest, if a bit bewildered chuckle from you (though she swore she could see fear in your eyes after that last one). But you didn’t question her further.

If she were to hazard a guess, she would say that you refused to inquire about her actions because you were afraid she would stop upon confrontation. And she knew you didn’t want that.

It was clear to her that you were enjoying her efforts. You were always a more inherently joyful person than her, but she had never seen as many smiles and blushes from you as she did these past few weeks. It was a pleasant thing to witness, she supposed.

And perhaps, somewhere deep down in the dark recesses of her mind, she was enjoying it as well.

-

You were late, like usual.

The Saturday study sessions she set up were scheduled to start at 12:30, meaning that you would arrive at 12:40. Your chronic tardiness was something that was so deeply ingrained that even she couldn’t correct it. She had long since given up trying.

She instead used the extra time to her advantage.

Opposite of you, she arrived every Saturday at 12:20 on the dot, preferring to be early so she could secure her favorite booth in the back of the café. The time before you arrived was used to plan out the lessons she would cover with you and color-coordinate her notes to make sure they were easy for you to understand.

The usual medium hot chocolate you ordered was placed on your side of the table, steam rising steadily from the top, but a new addition was the croissant she decided to order alongside it on a whim. You would appreciate it, she knew, you were always hungry.

At exactly 12:40, she heard the bell on the door chime and the familiar sound of your footsteps followed. She fought against the urge to straighten up and look back at you, gluing her eyes to the notes she was organizing.

There was movement in her peripherals as you slid into her sightline, the crooked grin on your face immediately identifiable, even out of focus. “Hey.”

“Hello,” she greeted evenly, sparing you only a glance as she pushed the pastry further over in your direction. Naturally, your eyes followed the movement and lit up comically once you spotted the food.

“For me?” you asked rather redundantly, the beginnings of a smile pulling at your lips.

Wednesday gave you a blank stare. “You’re the only other person at this table.”

That stupid, stunning smile only widened. You picked the croissant up and took a bite, never breaking eye contact with her. “Thanks, Wen.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, running her eyes over the expanse of your face. Then, “Now, open your textbook to page 274.”

Your face dropped but you obeyed.

Thirty minutes were spent taking notes and going over terms. A great use of the early afternoon in Wednesday’s opinion, though she knew your feelings would differ vastly.

You were focused on working for all of ten minutes before you started sending her long, blatantly obvious glances from across the table.

At the fifth consecutive look in a row, she decided to confront you. “If you have something to say then say it.”

You didn’t seem surprised to be called out, but you still took a minute to delve into your concerns. “What…is all of this?”

She paused her writing, glanced up briefly. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Yeah, sorry that was vague,” you apologized, lightly shaking your head. “I mean all of these things you’ve been doing for these past few weeks—carrying my books, getting me my favorite foods at school, helping me study, and now buying me things…I love it, really but I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to-“

“I don’t,” she interrupted. “I do nothing out of an abstract sense of obligation, you know this.”

She didn’t have to see you to know that you were smiling. “Yes, I do. I just want to make sure that you know you don’t have to do all of this if you don’t want to.”

You were giving her an out. An unnecessary one, but the thought managed to be both touching and offensive. That you would sacrifice something that you are clearly enjoying for her was…courteous.

But the fact that you could possibly that she—Wednesday Addams—was doing anything for someone else because she “felt as if she had to” was nauseating and it needed to be fixed immediately.

“I do. Want to,” she said, her normally seamless cadence stunted as she tried to phrase her thoughts in a way that wasn’t painfully embarrassing. “I’m attempting to express the depth of my…feelings toward you.”

“Feelings? And what exactly do you feel for me?” Your tone was sincere, but there was a hint of smugness in it. Like you already knew the answer to your question.

“Disdain, at the moment,” she deadpanned as her mind receded elsewhere.

If she were to stop talking now, she knew you would drop it and take the win for what it was, but, strangely, she didn’t want to stop. The repulsive desire to open up pulled at her and she couldn’t help but lament the devastating effects that these cursed feelings continued to have on her.

Wednesday accepted her fate, took a deep breath, and swallowed her pride.

“In all seriousness, I…don’t hate you,” she ground out. “At all. Quite the opposite actually. And I felt it was important to let you know that, even if it was only through small, inane gestures.”

There was a moment of silence. Then another, and another. Unable to resist, Wednesday lifted her eyes to you and found that you looked positively awestruck. Eyes wide, brows raised, and lips parted. Utterly speechless.

She drank in the admittedly rare sight.

Slowly, the astonishment abated, and a wide, unruly grin crept onto your face. She knew right then that you were about to make her regret her confession.

“Awww,” you cooed, and, to her horror, you moved forward to press a warm kiss to her cheek.

Wednesday grimaced and glanced around to make sure that there were no witnesses to your display of affection. 

Thankfully, it seemed that no one had seen or if they had, they made the smart decision to look away before she gauged their eyes out.

She turned back and glared at you with as much murderous intent as she could muster, trying to seem utterly disgusted with your behavior. But she knew the undeniable burning in her cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

Giggling, you sat back, reaching over to thread your fingers together with hers. Your smile tempered, softening around the edges until only tenderness and an emotion that she was becoming all too familiar with remained.

You leaned forward again, and this time, she was too enraptured to bother looking around.

“I love you too, Wednesday.”

[crooked-wasteland]

I'm very much looking forward to your Stolitz/HB is a bad musical essay. I've had my own thoughts on HH being subpar as far as a musical goes but never really felt like I had the knowledge on musicals as a narrative style nor as a music genre to do it much justice; excited to see you tackle the topic in regards to HB! 🫡

I absolutely understand the hesitation. It isn't like I personally have a masters in Musical Theory, but I think we as a generation have had musical theories subliminally inculcated into our psyche from the sheer amount of exposure that we can understand what makes a good musical and recognize when those qualities are simply not there. No one has reservations talking about how bad Wish was as a musical, and what I am finding in my own deep-dive for this essay is that Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel suffer the same issues as Wish. The lead in music being Sam Haft who is not a musical theatre composer and frankly doesn't understand how musical theatre functions on a fundamental level.

For a small preview of a major point in my essay that I plan on expanding much more, Helluva and Hazbin completely lack an understanding of musical diegesis. This may be a new term for some. Diegesis is most often referenced in how music interplays within a movie or film.

Most of the time the music is not diegetic to the story. When we have big moments in our media with that swelling emotional music, we don't think that there is an orchestra just off screen playing this music for these characters. We are aware the music is an external component to the story. In this way, the music is most often not diegetic to the narrative.

Of course that isn't always the case. Take for example Guardians of the Galaxy and how the films utilize their soundtrack. Starting the movie off, we hear Come and Get Your Love as we would hear any other soundtrack, only for Peter Quill to remove his headphones and the music can be heard playing faintly over them. That makes the song Diegetic.

Another example is Shrek. All of the pop songs in the films are non-diegetic, but there are diegetic songs in, say, Shrek 2 with the Fairy Godmother singing Holding Out for a Hero.

To pull back to more direct inspiration, Happy Day in Hell is nothing more than an embarrassing parody of Beauty and the Beast's opening number Belle. However, Belle is non-diegetic. The Townspeople are singing their thoughts and feelings, but that is not what literally is happening. And Belle turning at the end isn't supposed to be taken as literally the town coming to a halt just to follow her and talk about how weird she is, but that the town as a collective sees her as an outsider and she gets that sixth sense sort of feeling of people judging her. Because they are, they just don't say anything. That is a key crux for the film.

Every single song in Helluva Boss and Hazbin are diegetic. We know this because Vaggie tells Charlie not to sing and we are told by Angel Dust explicitly that Charlie is, in fact, physically singing. Stolas' song ends with Stella telling Stolas to stop singing. Striker, Verosika, Moxxie, Stolas, Fizzarolli, Glitz & Glam, and Asmodeus all sing as a part of a literal performance.

In fact, Hazbin goes out of its way to shoehorn in-universe reasons to have a song rather than just allowing the world to exist in that heightened reality. Additionally, by having the songs explicitly being legitimate songs in the world, we actually face more issues with the world building because on one hand Vaggie is begging Charlie to not sing and is struggling with the secondhand embarrassment, only for the denizens of Hell to join in? Except the world has established that singing is not something people just do. It is the one time the criticism of "Why is everyone singing" and "How do you all know the words?" Are legitimately valid questions.

This all screams insecure and shows a clear discomfort with the genre of musical theatre as a whole. There is no depth of understanding how music in musicals function, just like Wish.

That isn't even touching on how San Haft's lyricism is identical to Wish's worst numbers with how he just borks the internal structure and meter of his songs.

[janearts]

Loved reading your thoughts for Roisia's companion quest! Do you have any thoughts on how Roisia would resolve the situation with her father while she is the protagonist? Would one of her companions (like Wyll or Karlach, perhaps) notice that her father is unhappy as he is and remark on it, which could help sway her in one or another direction? Or are you just letting all of the possible resolutions live as nebulously-canon at this point? (I'd be so curious to know how she'd feel about the Avatar of Kelemvor asking her to kill Astarion who she romanced, were she put in that situation.)

[The ask refers to these thoughts on Roisia as a companion.]

Thank you!! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've answered your questions below the read-more.

Do you have any thoughts on how Roisia would resolve the situation with her father while she is the protagonist?

Roisia would be oblivious to the fact that her father is deeply unhappy with the current state of affairs. Roisia is too fixated on the fact that he's here again and she gets to have more time with her father (her gain) than on the fact that his life in the here and now is fundamentally different from how it used to be (his loss).

Unfortunately, Roisia would not resolve the situation with her father because she's not aware there is a situation to be resolved.

Would one of her companions (like Wyll or Karlach, perhaps) notice that her father is unhappy as he is and remark on it, which could help sway her in one or another direction?

I thought that Wyll would gravitate to Roisia's mother since they're both monster hunters or Yasmin was at one point anyway. (Yasmin can show him the trophy room!) I see the same thing happening with Karlach. I thought that Shadowheart or Halsin would be more intuitive when it came to Jairus, but I also considered that Astarion might clue in as well as an "undead creature" himself. I don't know if any of them would remark on it to Roisia, however. If they did, my concern would be that Roisia would persist in the belief that the solution to her father's unhappiness is the true restoration of flesh and bone rather than asking him if he would prefer a merciful death at this point.

Or are you just letting all of the possible resolutions live as nebulously-canon at this point?

100%. As far as I'm concerned, all of the resolutions I outlined are possible, but none of the resolutions are canon. (Or they're nebulously-canon as you've said.) I scripted what I thought could happen if Larian were to say, "Hey, I need you to write a companion quest for Roisia that has a beginning, middle, and an end." But as an artist outside of that hypothetical scenario, I definitely like to live in the middle of the story.

(I'd be so curious to know how she'd feel about the Avatar of Kelemvor asking her to kill Astarion who she romanced, were she put in that situation.)

By my own fictional parameters, I played a game in which I encouraged Roisia to pursue Necromancy, which means that she is deeply, deeply familiar with the spark of humanity that lies within the undead. She has tried to wheedle information out of Withers, reunited Mayrina with her undead husband, freed Thrumbo and his zombie compatriots from their mummy lord, she's talked with ghouls and ghasts, and has freed Astarion from his vampire master.

So even if she hadn't romanced Astarion, she would still deny the Avatar of Kelemvor because the undead aren't just glorified field experiments to her, they're fully-fledged people in their own right, worthy of care and having a voice in their own destiny.

The fact that she romanced Astarion just adds angst to the picture because she would be asked to choose between two [undead] people whom she loves very dearly. She so very badly wants to restore her father to how he was when he was alive and a part of her still wants to be a Cleric of Kelemvor, but she wouldn't be able to bring herself to kill Astarion. (Which he knew. Of course. Naturally. Didn't have a single doubt or a flicker of fear in his mind at all.)

[2ofpentacles]

An Extensive Character Analysis of Zelkov

You guys know that I'm a little unhinged about him, so have a lengthy examination of who he is and why he's like that.

Zelkov is an extremely unique, multilayered, and complex character. His supports are all excellent, ranging from funny to heartwarming to tragic. He had me from the moment he said, “It may appear as if I am sitting *mysteriously* by the fire, but I am actually cooking yams.” 

A few facts

His birthday is August 2nd. He’s 6’1”. His hobby is listed as “everything,” but he specifically likes reading, cooking, and sewing. His talents are “medicine and mystery.” His favorite foods are mostly carbs and potatoes. He hates being in the sun/heat and finds it exhausting. He carves a statue of Alear on the Somniel. The Ally Notebook describes his personality as “Meticulous and multitalented. Speaks in a *mysterious* way. Pursues activities passionately. Strong nurturing instinct.” I might add “extremely depressed, melodramatic, perfectionist workaholic.” So let’s break that down.

What’s his deal? The first thing you notice is that he emphasizes seemingly random words in his speech (also he never uses contractions). Why? For fun. As he says to Alear, “I may speak in a way that *suggests* a deeper meaning, but rarely is that actually the case. It is simply another way of “killing time.” Idle *amusement*, nothing more.” He also does it to appear more mysterious. The second thing you notice is his hobbies. Why does he have so many hobbies? To give him a reason to live. Again, as he says to Alear, “Once my work is done each day, I fill my evenings with these varied *pursuits*. As I *enjoy* them, I am always mindful to leave something unfinished for the next day. That ensures I always have a project. A reason to *continue* living.” He describes something as being “*fatally* boring.” With anyone else you would think it’s hyperbole, but with Zelkov you kind of wonder.

Additionally, he is a master at all his hobbies, as you see in many of his supports (such as Amber’s) or else he will work tirelessly until he does master it (as in Clanne’s). Of course he’s just as (if not more) serious about his job. As he tells Roy, “Our training begins now, Roy. It ends only when my body *collapses* from exhaustion.” He’s a perfectionist. He tells Camilla, “The thought of *failure* fills me with dread.” If he has to be healed frequently in battle, he’ll say, “That I should suffer so many *injuries* in battle is positively humiliating…”

The next thing you notice is his “strong nurturing instinct.” It’s particularly obvious when he’s interacting with children like Jean and Anna, and also Emblems that he thinks of as children, such as Tiki and Veronica. This often manifests as him giving them things (he also gives gifts to Ivy and Kagetsu). It’s most obvious in his support with Citrinne where he flips out about a bird he raised leaving the nest (he literally asks how he can keep living and is not over it by the end of the support chain), and then she asks him to write letters of advice to people struggling.

One of his characteristics that is less noticeable, but still very present if you look, is his lack of self worth. He calls himself a wretch in his support with Jean. He considers himself to be a bad influence on Alear. At Florra Mill Town he says, “Quite an *idyllic* scene, this. Someone like me is as wrong for this place as battle.” Most blatant is his bond conversation with Corrin. He says, “I have killed many people. So many, in fact, that I sometimes feel *violence* is all I am good for.” Corrin says, “If that were true, you would be a fundamentally bad person. I don’t think that’s the case.” He replies, “Your words are comforting, but I am afraid that is *precisely* the kind of person I am.” 

Now, as much as I’ve emphasized what a sweetheart he is, he can absolutely be ice cold. He’s not afraid to say exactly what he thinks (albeit very politely) in a cold, impersonal way as you can see in his support with Ivy. On the way back to Elusia, he says, “I have no issue with cutting down anyone in the Elusian army now. Not even the *familiar* faces.” In the DLC, he tells Fell Ivy, “I will end you now, and I will feel nothing.” (After she says that he can die for her again.)

There’s a reason why a lot of people start out scared of him. It doesn’t seem like he quite realizes this though. He doesn’t understand why Kagetsu thinks he dislikes him, and has to ask Yunaka about the impression he gives. Yunaka gives a good rundown. She says, “You’ve got the same killer instinct I do. It practically oozes from your pores. Like slime!” She describes his eyes as ice cold and calculating, and goes on to say, “Normal people don’t go around evaluating what folks’ lives are worth. That’s an assassin thing. You’re always probing for weaknesses too. Considering vectors of attack, right?” If he throws himself so entirely into his hobbies, you can imagine how intense he was about training to be an assassin. Which leads us to…

His history

The Ally Notebook tells us “From a wealthy family in a forest town of Elusia. Parents and younger brother were murdered by bandits.” In the Japanese version, it’s specified that his brother was his twin. We also learn from Jean’s support that Zelkov’s mother was a physician. It’s because of her he knows so much about medicine. We don’t know how old he was when his family was murdered, but he says that his mother has been dead for more than a decade. He swore revenge (he calls it his first pursuit) and became an assassin. He tells Alear, “A decade ago, my efforts bore their last fruit. All my family’s killers were vanquished.” If we’re considering his datamined age (28) to be accurate, that would put him at 18 when he accomplished his revenge. He continues to tell Alear that, “Once I had achieved my end, I suddenly became aware that I had nothing left. No purpose. It was King Hyacinth who rescued me, quite by chance. I was selected to join the royal guard. Then I was promoted to retainer, and that purpose has sustained me in large part since.” We don't know exactly how long he's been Ivy's retainer (although I have theories), but we know he was there before Kagetsu. (As an aside, Zelkov was able to defeat Kagetsu, so we know that Zelkov's a better fighter than Diamant who could only fight Kagetsu to a draw. /jk… mostly). Anyway, it’s clear that he fears his life lacks a purpose, and he uses his hobbies to fill that void. Now let’s talk a minute about…

His purpose

It’s being Ivy’s retainer, currently. He says as much in that quote above, but it’s reiterated multiple times. Edelgard tells him, “I’m glad you work hard for Princess Ivy’s sake, but be sure to take care of yourself as well.” He replies. “My duty *preoccupies* me. That is all the care I require.” In his conversation with Marth, he says, “The loss of my family left me with an emptiness that not even *revenge* was able to fill… Fighting for Princess Ivy gives me *relief.*” To Ivy herself, he says, “Princess Ivy, I hope you know I *enjoy* my work. In fact, when I have a task before me, it is my way to *immerse* myself in it entirely. In those times, and *only* those times, my mind is truly at peace. So long as I am your retainer, so long as there is *work* to do… I have a purpose. That is how deeply I appreciate working for you.” (I think people tend to take their support chain at face value that they dislike each other, when it’s much more complex than that, but that’s a whole post on its own.)

Although being Ivy’s retainer is currently his purpose, the fear of not having one in the future is still something that occupies his mind, hence all the hobbies. His ending card says that he later founded an orphanage.

In Conclusion

So what we have here is a man who has no sense of self worth who believes his life is meaningless. Despite all the kind and caring things he does for everyone around him, he thinks he’s only fit for violence. He ponders with Sigurd whether his revenge was just, and comments on Yunaka’s lack of regrets in a way that implies to me that he does have regrets. He’s desperately searching for a purpose, but in the meantime uses his hobbies to fill all his free time so that he doesn’t have to think about all the terrible things that he’s experienced. And speaking of which, his “superlative” in the Ally Notebook is that he sleeps the least of any ally. This is because, as he tells Tiki, “Old *nightmares* preclude me from proper sleep. I only dare to nap.” 

But for real, most of his supports are pretty funny.

Anyway, let me know if there’s anything you think I missed or disagree about. Also if you want to hear about my extensive headcanons, including: What’s with the keys? and Why does he have crit quotes in French?

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xiii: Girl's Night

Chapter Summary: The night is young, and so are they. 🍷🍷🍷

Word count: 4530

Sneak Peak: Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Warnings: Copious amounts of alcohol, public intoxication, a fun time.

T H E   R E D S

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Valeana was quite surprised at how fast she fell into friendship with Wylla Stark and the third Baratheon daughter, Ellyn. It was within their company that she realized a fundamental truth of her life: she had no real female friends. She had her sisters, but sisterhood bonds through blood and marriage was an obligation. Valeana was always on guard with Floris, and Shyla was… Shyla. A cross between a cat in heat and a drunk butterfly. She had little in common with her.

The day of the two house’s arrival was the same day the King and several of their family members left to attend the funeral of the late Princess Visenya, the youngest grandchild and only daughter of Rhaenyra. Val would have gone with her brother, but she was more of a stranger now to the crown princess. She might have known her better as a child, but after a decade, it felt improper to reunite under the dire circumstances. Clement, however, knew them more closely, having sailed back and forth to Dragonstone and Driftmark more times than she cared to remember. 

The days began somberly now that the Keep was garbed in black and bleak clothing. While the sun still blared overhead, there was a dark cloud over King’s Landing; even the smallfolk mourned the loss. Though life at court still went on, and the convergence of the castle’s occupants was required as if it was a job.

It was expected for all eight of the young ladies to mingle. Cassandra, the eldest, was nearly as hard to endure as Floris (Grafton). Always complaining and pinching her face in clear disgust over the most trivial things that bothered her. Maris was quite the talker; she loved the sound of her own voice almost as much as she loved correcting people. Though, Valeana had noticed whenever a male was present, she would go silent and red-faced. Little Floris was delightful though, but incredibly naive. She took to Shyla early on, but seemed to be struggling to keep up with her. When she did talk, it was only ever about Daeron Targaryen. To balance that out of course, Shyla would talk about Aegon, so it was really an endless circle of prince talk between the two. And then there was Ellyn, who was mostly quiet but often made silent looks behind the rim of her cup that clearly communicated her opinions.

At one point, Cassandra scoffed at younger Floris when she swooned over her absent lover boy, claiming it made her look desperate, and how she– Cassandra that is– “would never be so easy for a man” and how Floris should act more “mysterious and unavailable”, like her. Ellyn’s eyes widened and her perfect U shaped smile quickly hid behind her cup while her trembling shoulders exposed the internal battle she had with her own giggles. 

Valeana felt a bubble of laughter from the girl’s expression alone, and tried fruitlessly to swallow it, but it ended up coming out like a suppressed hiccup. 

Then there was Wylla Stark, who embodied mysterious and unavailable. She sat with her legs perfect crossed under her grey and blue skirts, glass goblet in her elegant hand with her long almond shaped nails, and asked:

“How is that going for you, Lady Cassandra?”

Valeana and Ellyn could have died at the way they were holding their breath to prevent themselves from laughing. 

After that moment, the three spent as much time together as possible. Valeana needed the distraction to keep her mind off of Aemond and his rejection of her peace offering. With Helaena and her brother at Dragonstone, and Aegon fucking off somewhere, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. 

It was the evening sometime after the hour of the bat, and the three girls were deep into their cups. Their faces flushed with laughter, liquor, and the humidity that still lingered in the night air after a long hot day. 

“It is so bloody hot here, I do not know how you southerners stand it,” Wylla pulled at the loose fabric of her bodice to air herself out. It was enough to see the tops of her breasts, which Valeana caught Ellyn openly staring at. “I miss the cool breeze coming from the North.”

“You get used to it,” Ellyn said, moving her fan to cool off Wylla, who arched her neck in gratitude. “In Storm’s End, it’s always humid. We’re so close to Dorne, but with all our rain, it is never a dry heat.”

“I can’t imagine living somewhere where it storms that frequently,” Valeana leaned her head back into the armchair she sat on, closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning of her head. “Claw Isle has its storms, but at most a few times in a moon’s cycle.”

“I do envy your home, Valeana,” Wylla sighed when Ellyn stopped fanning her to relax her arm. “I’ve always wanted to go to the beach.” 

“You’re in the south now– plenty of opportunity to see the beaches,” Ellyn suggested. 

Valeana made a face, “King’s Landing isn’t a place known for it. Unless you want to smell like fish and shit, and find severed feet along the shoreline.”

“Severed feet?” Wylla said appalled, “Why feet?”

“When people die at sea – or dumped in the water – fully clothed, overtime the water causes it to bloat and decompose. However, the shoes keep the feet afloat, so eventually it just–” Val makes a motion with her hands, micking a limb being pulled off. “--pops off and floats around until it gets beached.”

“That’s disgusting!” Ellyn looked both shocked, but morbidly entertained. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Me and– and Prince Aemond,” invoking his name already gave her a headache. “We used to walk along the shores of Blackwater Rush with Ser Criston, and we would find them more often than I’d care to admit. Maester Orwyle explained to us why. Now this knowledge haunts me to this day, so I must pass it onto others.” 

“How considerate of you, Val,” Wylla shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “I will treasure it always.” Val cracked open her eye and pointed at her with a heavy arm, “Good! It will be useful information. In the North… where there are no beaches. Just snow… and hairy men… and-and, whatever it is in the North. Whatsitcalled? Cold Walkers? Ice Soldiers?”

“Shhhh,” Wylla chastised her through her laughter, “They’re called White Walkers, and please do not say it so loudly. It will summon my brother and that is the last thing we want.”

“I mean,” Valeana lifted her head and wagged her eyebrows, “It’s what you don’t want.” 

A pillow went flying at her face, causing both her and Ellyn to bark out laughing. 

“What? What?! Is that not why we are all here? To marry? Find a husband, and all that–” Valeana made a raspberry noise with her lips. 

Ellyn snorted, covering her face, “Oh, gods, do not remind me. That is all I’ve been hearing from not just my father, but all my sisters.”

“You would not want to marry Cregan, darling, trust me,” Wylla waves her off. “He will bore you to tears.”

“But he’s nice on the eyes,” Valeana smiled sheepishly, knowing she was baiting her Northern friend.

“Just wait until your brother returns from Dragonstone, Celtigar. I’ll climb him like a tree.”

“What’s stopping you now, Stark? I’ve got a brother right here.”

“Little Arthor,” Wylla mock pouted, “He’ll suffocate too easily between my thighs.”

“Oh, gross,” Val covered her face, “Please do not paint that image in my head.”

Ellyn shook her head, mildly amused, mildly horrified, “I am so glad I do not have brothers.” 

“Yet,” Wylla reminded. She adjusted herself in her seat, tucking her bare feet under herself to get more comfortable. “So, ladies, tell me: what are your goals for this Conclave? Who do you desire to be betrothed with?”

The Baratheon snorted, “Like we have a choice?”

“Let’s suspend belief for a moment, and pretend we do.”

“I haven’t thought of it,” Ellyn confessed, pulling her knees up to her chest, mug delicately cradled between both hands. “To be honest, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not marry at all.”

“Here, here!” Valeana raised her drink. 

Wylla snapped her head in her direction, “Oh, I find that hard to believe. You grew up in court, surely you, of all people, are more knowledgeable of all the noble born bachelors here in the south, and have an idea or two who you’d like to attach yourself to.”

“I lived here as a child. I spent most of my years here tailing the princes like a lost pup… I barely remember anyone that ever visited,”  Val scrunched up her face in thought. “I vaguely recall the Greyjoys visiting one moon… Only because they were hard to forget. Their sons were absolutely batty, especially the eldest, Dalton.” She straightened herself in her seat, now that her memory was catching up with her. Gesturing with her hands, she continued, “I remember, actually, even at seven years old, that little shit would find every opportunity to accidentally bump into, graze, or even so much as grab my arse! I was nine!”

Wylla huffed a shocked laugh, “Hells, what a little monster. I can only imagine what he is like now, a man grown.”

“Did you tell your father this?” Ellyn asked, face equally appalled. “Mine would have lost his mind.”

Val heaved a sigh, laying her head back against the chair once again, her entire body practically melting in the seat. “No.There was some tension at the time, not sure what it was, but I remember my father telling me to not upset Lord Greyjoy’s sons,” Suddenly, lost in her reminiscence, the blonde laughed. “But-but, Aemond, he–he, oh gods…” She snorted loudly to contain her laughter, covering her face as it got beat red. “He, Aegon and the Greyjoys were sparring in the training yard. He kept on dodging Dalton and using the flat end of his training sword to slap him on the rear, like thirty bloody times. He-he–” Her laughing intensified as she used her hand to illustrate the image she was trying to explain, “He was bruised all over, and so severely he could not sit or lay down on his back for two days.” 

While Valean giggled (by herself) Wylla and Ellyn exchanged knowing glances and smirks, then turned back to the drunk flustered crab.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question,” Wylla quipped smugly, nestling into her seat, smile barely being hidden behind the rim of her goblet. 

Val ran a hand over her face in an attempt to calm herself down. She blearily peered at her raven haired friend, a bit confused, “What question?”

“Who you desire to be betrothed with.”

Valeana looked at her incredulously, “Dalton fucking Greyjoy?!”

“No, you idiot!” Ellyn flailed her arms, “Aemond. Prince fucking Aemond.” 

“Ooh, gods,” Val scrunched up her face, digging the butt of her palm into her eyes as the two girls gushed and agreed with themselves. She had forgotten for a moment that she was no longer friends with Aemond, and he, in fact, hated her. “No, no, not Aemond,” she shook her head vehemently. 

“What!” Wylla nearly shouted, dark icy blues wide, “My Lady Valeana, what do you mean not Aemond? The way your face glowed at just talking about him.”

“And it makes perfect sense!” Ellyn added, “The two of you grew up together, you were quite close from what I was told. Of course it would be Aemond. It’s so sickly sweet, it almost makes me want to vomit my dinner.” 

“No, no, no, Aemond– Aemond would never want me,” Val kept on shaking her head. “He hates me. Loathes me, even. Do-do you two even know what he did to me? Why my family left King’s Landing in the first place?”

The two exchanged looks, faces scrunched as they tried to recall. 

“You injured yourself, I believe?” Wylla tilted her head.

“My father told me that Aegon accidentally knocked you down the stairs? I think?” 

“You two are close– It was Aemond,” Val noticed her cup was empty and bent forward towards the squat table to refill it with red. “And it was not an accident. Our fathers were discussing our betrothal, which he disapproved of, apparently. I was under the foolish impression we were the best of friends, and were meant for each other. Stupid, really, in hindsight. 

“He decided that he disliked me so much that he needed to get rid of me, so he pushed me down a flight of stone stairs after calling me a pig.” She surprised herself at how casually she spoke of the event, but it was likely the alcohol that numbed the reality of her emotions. “Broke my leg so severely they had to cut it off a few moons after.”

She lifted her left leg then, her dress falling down above her knee to expose her wooden foot and calf. Then with a gentle wave of her hand, she motioned along the appendage as if presenting a great trophy, “I call her Lady Footlyn Woodsby, first of her name. Her heir is Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, the E-bone-knee Knight.”

The two other girls had fallen into a shocked silence for a moment, but that was short lived after Valeana’s introduction of her leg. 

Wylla clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, “Val-Valeana…” She snorted into her palm. “That’s– I’m so sorry.”

Ellyn had both her hands upon her face, brown eyes peeking through the cracks of her fingers, “Oh-ooooh, I should not be laughing. I am sorry, Valeana.” 

Val waved them off, returning her skirts over her leg, “Worry not. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

Her heartbreaking admittance, despite being veiled with self-deprecating humour, did not go amiss. Wylla and Ellyn’s expressions went soft as they shared another knowing look between each other. The former reached out and placed her hand on Valeana’s knee, thumb moving in comforting motions. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, my dearest. Men are horrible creatures, especially the ones closest to you.” 

That simple gesture and those kind words were enough to crumble her all at once. It had sobered Valeana enough to allow her sadness seep through the armour of numbness she had been trying to craft around herself. Her mouth, nose and eyes felt watery all of a sudden, forcing her to swallow and tilt her head back to stop herself from crying. 

Ellyn made a cooing sound as she unfolded herself from her seat and walked over to her friend from behind and enveloped her shoulders in a hug, resting her cheek on top of her head. It was that gesture of comfort that had made the waterfall finally break through. Valeana had not realized how touch starved she was, how hungry she was for comfort over her heartbreak. This was a level of vulnerability she had never allowed to be exposed around her family, not even Clement. Despite her love for him, men were not well equipped to handle emotional women; he would’ve reacted how men usually did, either dismiss it with aggressive advice, or unsheathe his sword and wage a war in her name. Her step mother, despite her natural maternal instinct, was a woman who would cuddle her to her breast and smother her as if she was a child, not unlike a kiss on a bruise or scraped knee. Nothing substantial, nothing deep or empathetic. Just a salve to numb the pain for a few hours.

No, the comfort from a friend– from a fellow female –was different, almost stronger. 

Like her tears, everything rushed out of her; a great purge of words, of pent up sadness, of suppressed emotions. She shared how much she loved Aemond, missed him down to her bones, how he broke her in more ways than physical, and then she shared the story of her return and the catastrophe she had made that could have been avoided, and how in her most earnest attempt to reconcile, she was ultimately left scarred more, and still yearning for him. A stuttered breath left her lungs when she finished, her shoulders caving in as if the weight of her heart finally did her in. Ellyn still cradled her head from behind, but Wylla had moved to squish in beside her and hold her middle and lay her head upon her shoulder. 

“He does not deserve your love, my darling,” Wylla stroked Val’s hair. “No man alive deserves any of our love. Selfish, fickle-hearted beasts, they all are.” 

Valeana sniffled, head laid in Ellyn’s arm, cheeks sticky with tears, and red from humidity, alcohol, and spending the last several minutes pouring her heart out. These three women were effectively strangers not three days ago, and yet now Valeana never felt more close to another human being. Not since him. Not since Aemond. 

“Except for Cregan,” Val muttered in a small voice, light but coarse through the dryness of her throat. She reached out and patted Wylla on her arm, “Him and his manly shoulders and broad chest–”

“Please shut up,” Wylla replied with a small voice and a weak smack to Val’s face. 

“Let him know I’ve got the hips to birth more of his heirs.”

“I will kill you.”

“Ladies,” Ellyn lifted her head up with a heavy sniff to clear out her sinuses. She wiped her nose and peered over to the table in front of them. “We’ve run out of wine.”

All their heads perked up to glower down at their empty bottles and carafes. This would not do– the night was still young, and so were they. The three ladies also sobered too much for their liking, and the only way to heal this disease was to drink more. 

“Where’s that serving boy?”

“We sent him away for the night, remember?”

“We were fools.”

“Indeed.”

There was a beat of silence, until: 

“Wait, wait,” Val sat up, forcing the two girls to unravel their arms. “I know this castle. I know a shortcut to the kitchens… There’s a secret door over there– behind that tapestry.”

“Which tapestry?”

“The one with the orgy.”

“... They’re all having orgies.”

“This-this one! Where she’s sitting on his face and eating a fig out of the other woman’s mouth,” Valeana stood up, wobbling a bit when she did. She hadn’t realized how much she drank and how long she had been sitting until that moment. But, she was convinced that she was too sober, and that wouldn’t do, so she marched over to the tapestry, unevenly and ungracefully. With one swift movement she shoved the tapestry aside to expose a stone wall.

“Valea–”

“Shush!” The silver haired girl eyed it for a moment before moving her hands along the edges of the stones until she could feel the cracks that formed the outline of a door. With a wicked smile she pushed her shoulder into it, throwing her whole body weight into moving it. With a groan the secret entrance wedged open, an amber glow emitting through the gap from the torch inside. 

Ellyn gaped at it, “How did you know that was there?”

Val waved dismissively, “I was a fat child. If there was a quick route to the kitchens, I was aware of it.”  

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They had reached the kitchens in a fair amount of time, but they did not, in fact, find wine. But they found bottles and bottles of dusty ale, and they weren’t about to complain. The problem they inevitably had was the trek back. Now that their minds were fully in the thick of inebriation, they got lost within the walls of the Keep and ended up in a completely different part of the castle than they were originally. 

“Valeana, where the hells are we?” Wylla hissed as they rounded yet another stone corridor with very few windows. 

The blonde squinted around them. The three were hanging off each other’s shoulders for dear life. Each clutched a large bottle of ale by the neck as if it was a lifeline; as if it was the only thing that was keeping them from floating away. Valeana craned her neck over their arms and took a sloppy swig of her drink, a droplet escaping her lips and dribbling messily down her chin.

“The barracks hall?” She said after a swallow.

“Are you askin’ us?” Ellyn laughed. “Chisisyerhome, and y’dunno where you ARE?”

“I know where I am!” Val shouted, brow furrowed in determination. “And this is not my home.. It’s-it’s– hic – my personal hell. Fuck it’s so hot, why is it so hot?” She cried out, slumping a bit, forcing the girls to bend at her weight. 

They stumbled forward until they heard the tell tale sound of metal armour clanking ever near. A form of silver and white rounded the corner and immediately halted at the sight of the three noble women linked together by their shoulders, sloshing around drinks shamelessly.

The knight stepped forward, concern marring his face, “My ladies. Are you quite alright?”

“Ser Arryk!” Valeana shouted, arms shooting up in the air, narrowly missing Ellyn’s brow. 

The knight bowed his head, “Erryk, my lady.”

“Oh, right, ‘m turribly sorry,” She threw her head back and jutted out her bottom lip in a pout at her own stupidity. “Forgive me.”

The corner of Erryk’s lip twitched upward. It didn’t take him very long to understand that these three girls were skunked out of their gourds. He gave her a nod, containing his amusement, “You are forgiven, Lady Valeana.”

“You see!” She launched herself forward, disentangling herself from her friends and reaching the white cloak’s side. Her bottle of ale fell from her fingers, clattering and rolling away along the flagstones. She then prodded her finger into his plated chest and looked over at Wylla and Ellyn, “Y’see how easy that is? I apol-ap– apolojiz–fuck me– Apo. Lo. Gized– there you go…— hic — N’you forgave me. Because yer a good man, Ar-Erryk. ‘M sorry, yer names are similar too, is very confusing.”

“Good Ser,” Wylla sauntered over, “Mayhaps you aid us troubled maids… Our foolish guide, full of hubris, led us astray, and now we are hopelessly lost.”

“How dare you insult your future Lady of Winterfell!” Val shoutted, pointing an unsteady finger at Wylla with a step towards her, but ultimately ended up wobbling on her bad leg, forcing Erryk to hold her upright.

Erryk was having a hard time keeping a straight face. It wasn’t every day that he stumbled upon drunk noble born daughters; it wasn’t very ladylike to get this drunk this publically, but he wagered that this wouldn’t be an isolated event these upcoming weeks. 

He snaked an arm under Lady Valeana’s shoulder and hoisted her up on her feet, allowing her to lean against him.

“You’re below the Throne Room, my ladies,” Ser Erryk informed, and the three of them exchanged looks. 

“How the hell did we end up here?” Valeana asked, chin turning up to her anchor. “Erryk, we were in the kitchens. The-the north one. I think.”

“No wonder we are lost!” Ellyn threw her head back. “Ugh, father will be furious.”

“Do not worry, ladies, I’ll safely escort you back, and arrange for a wheelhouse to bring Lady Wylla back to her pavilion.” 

“Such a good man. Ser Erryk,” Wylla’s words slurred when she took an uneven step towards him. “May I ask…Why– no –would you ever consider breaking your vows?” 

“Wylla!” Valeana weakly smacked the Northerner, then promptly turned to the knight. “Do not – hic – listen to her, Erryk. Don’t let this–this–temptress tempt you.”

“I am only saying,” Wylla and Ellyn started to follow the knight as he made his way out of the maze of halls beneath the Throne Room. “All the honourable ones end up being a Kingsguard. It’s such a bloody waste to womenkind!” 

Erryk smiled to himself, though decided to ignore the comment, “Up these stairs, ladies.”

“Oh no,” Ellyn grinned, “Valeana’s mortal enemy.”

Wylla barked a loud laugh and the victim in question craned her neck to shoot her a poisonous glare. 

“I’ll send you to the Wall! Ser Erryk, send this Baratheon traitor to the Wall.” 

“Mayhaps tomorrow, my lady. The hour is already late as it is,” was the Knight’s gentle, albeit amused, reply as he helped her up the stairwell and into the cavernous Throne Room, where he immediately paused upon seeing a pair of men with silver hair.

The women’s collective gasps and loud attempts at quieting themselves had naturally gained the attention of the Throne Room’s sole occupants. 

Ser Erryk immediately bowed, “My Princes. Apologies for the disturbance, I was merely–”

“Egg-On-Toast!” Valeana shouted so loudly it echoed like a lion’s roar. Her arms flew to the air above her head, then immediately marched over, completely ignoring the second prince. Her vision was tunneled, and hadn’t realized that Aegon wasn’t alone. Her warm and slightly sweaty hands gripped the eldest’s face, then she started laughing when he started laughing.

“Valeana–” Ellyn tried to reach her, eyes flickering over to the stiff Aemond that stood not six feet away. 

Aegon’s eyebrows reached his hairline, his grin uncontainable. His hands gripped her wrists, but he didn’t remove them from his face.

“Are you drunk, my darling?”

“... Yes,” she giggled sheepishly. “I see why you do it so often now, is’so fun. Egg-y. My Prince of Scrambled Eggs. Eggs and Bacon–” Val sharply gasped, mouth agape at her genius. “We are Eggs and Bacon, Aegon. Tha’s a good bard song– Ellyn, write that down.”

Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Valeana’s entire body swiveled around, brow furrowed with clear confusion. “Who are you– SHIII–T!” When she turned she was immediately greeted by the imposing, towering form of Aemond Targaryen. Standing there, head tilted, with his judgey one eye, lips in a thin line and looking delicious with his narrow waist she openly stared at. 

Wylla and Ellyn were snickering behind their fists, nearly down to their knees, failing to contain their nervous laughter. 

Val turned her wobbly, heavy head back at Aegon, lowering her voice in a very poor attempt at a whisper, “Where the fuck did he come from?”

“Darling, he was here the entire time.”

She peered at him skeptically, then looked back at Aemond, and then back at Aegon. Her head dipped to his ear, and attempted to whisper conspiratorially, “Fecker comes outta nowhere all the bloody time, pilfering through the darkness like a thief of joy– hic. Is he a man or a forlorn ghost?”

Aegon contained his laughter when he bit down on his lip, and then glanced up at the silent shadow that was his brother.

“I can hear you, Lady Valeana,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice irritably condescending, which instantly bristled her. 

Val peeled herself off of Aegon’s side and approached Aemond, angling her chin in the air to peer at him with as much dignity as she could possibly manage. And on wobbly knees, she curtseyed and said in the most patronizing tone the Throne Room has ever witnessed: 

“Prince Almond.” 

His eye narrowed, alight with challenge and something else.

Notes: This and the next two chapters are my favourite chapters of this series, so I really hope you guys enjoy it too.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

You said you wanted to talk about power sets and I have to say- have always been a bit confused about Seers. I've done so much research (because one of my ocs is a Seer of Heart) but I've really come up with nothing (I'm NOT the best at classpect stuff, the whole passive/active thing goes Right over my head for example). So! I guess I want to hear your thoughts on it (or if you want something more general, hearing your thoughts on the passive/active thing would also be nice)

so seers are the passive counterpart to mages, and they're both combined under the similarity of "sees the future."

Thing is, "the future" in homestuck is a mutable concept, being laid down by the actions of the players. this is the split between the seer's powers and the mage's powers: the mage's "prophecies" always come true, because the mage's ACTUAL ability is to CHOOSE a future. mages, an active class ("exploit their aspect to benefit themselves" according to calliope) actively use their aspect to collapse the possibilities of the future into a single course of events that Definitely Will Happen. because players are 3d beings experiencing time in cross-sections, this appears to be prophecy, rather than active determination.

on the flipside, then, Seers are the actual prophets, because their powers allow them to see the branching paths of the future (along with letting them just, like, regularly "see" things associated with their aspect - terezi can see brain ghost dirk, and kankri jumps in on the cronus/meenah conversation right as something pale is happening, implying that he's able to sense relationships developing so he can cockblock them.) passive classes "allow their aspect to be used by others" (according to calliope), so that's what seers do: they see the branching paths of the future through the lens of their aspect, and by doing so, serve as guides for the rest of the party - Rose, after god tiering, is constantly leading her party down the "most fortuitous path," and terezi, whose mind powers are associated with consequences, behavior, choices, and karma, is a master manipulator, able to see the branching webs of outcomes from even minor changes in behavior.

That all being said, Aspect is tied to fundamental personality, and Class is tied to character arc. The Seer character arc is hubris, followed by a fall from grace, and then with self-inflicted "blindness" to cope with the shame and guilt. For example, Rose's need to be the smartest person in the room made it easy for Doc Scratch to manipulate her; this led to her mother's death, which Rose coped with by drinking herself stupid. Terezi's overconfidence in herself as a master manipulator led to her eschewing her personal feelings and painting herself into a corner where the only viable option was to kill her BFF Vriska, the guilt of which she coped with by throwing herself into a toxic relationship with Gamzee, which was a loss for the forces of justice and karma, but a big win for the clown (plus all the stuff with her literal vision). And Kankri is currently suffering from both at once, his insistence on being the team's "spiritual leader" making him widely disliked, and his insistence on celibacy a self-induced "blindness" to his clear feelings toward latula and cronus - feelings which make him act really shitty to mituna, and make him step between cronus and meenah right as meenah's about to make Cronus reconsider some harmful behaviors.

Heart, meanwhile, is associated with feelings, intuition, motivations, the soul, and the self. Its players are characterized by vulnerability and sincerity - its players have very strong emotions, sometimes overwhelmingly so, and are also naturally gifted at understanding other peoples' inner selves, able to see them for their best... and for their worst. There's generally two ways for an Aspect to manifest "at its worst" - toxic overabundance, or "inversion," where it starts to exhibit the traits of the opposite. A Heart player at toxic overabundance is needy and fawning, demanding attention at the same time as they enthusiastically allow those with stronger desires to walk all over them, in an attempt to please the strong desires they sense - Dirk often flips between critical/controlling and needy/desperate; Nepeta lets Equius walk all over her; Meulin has TWO awful, shitty boyfriends who do horrible things to her. At inversion, they become misanthropic and manipulative, using their influence over emotion and desire to engender terrible outcomes - seeing only the worst in others, they actively work to ensure the worst sides of others are provoked into the open. At their best, then, a Heart player is able to separate good desires from bad, just wishes from selfish ones, and encourage the best in people while helping them deal with their worst.

So a Seer of Heart would start out arrogant - perhaps a Mean Girl type? Someone assured in not only their ability to engender their desired emotions from others, but entitled to those emotions. "You know you love me!" is the "vibe," so to speak. Heart players are naturally capable of sensing motives and emotions; a Seer of Heart turns that up to eleven. They'll be perfectly assured that their ships are the best ships, that their read on people is the correct read, that they'll be able to tell how others feel and how they'll react. Also they might be able to see ghosts because of Heart's sway over souls.

When something finally happens that shatters this arrogance, they'll fall into willful self-blindness to cope with the guilt and shame. As Heart is what they can see, that means they'll deliberately try to obfuscate their ability to sense feelings, motives, and emotions - perhaps literally isolating themselves and becoming a NEET/hikikomori, perhaps replacing their brain with a computer, etc. etc.

Once they overcome this and figure themselves out, they're going to specifically be great at, tbh, therapy and life coaching. able to literally see all emotional conflicts and the ways in which people will emotionally respond to certain situations, a Seer of Heart is going to be amazing at helping others understand themselves, their own feelings, and the feelings of the others on the team. they'll be insane diplomats, too, able to grok at a glance what all parties on a negotiation desire. you can't lie to a seer of heart!

[kybelles]

so after a recent conversation with my friends we’ve come to a realization: fandom loves Slave Rights Advocate laurent trope. whether it be an arranged marriage au, a time travel au, an auguste lives au or any kind of setting where slavery is still in motion; it’s always laurent who opens damen’s eyes to the horrors of slavery and insists they can’t be with each other until slavery is abolished, that slavery is a deal breaker on whether they can be together or not. now i certainly don’t want to sound like i’m policing anybody’s creative choices but it’s become such a common trope in the fandom that it is baffling at this point because. here’s the thing. slavery isn’t one of laurent’s battles. at all.

allow me to explain further before i make people angry. it’s clear laurent is against the fundamental premise of slavery and finds it inhumane. but through the series (counting out taofc where he and damen are trying to build an empire together), he doesn’t actively fight or challenge the system or slavery. i don’t even think this is a hot take when you remember that he;

i. didn’t protect the akielon slaves in arles until damen begged him to and sold them to torveld for personal gain (which was the best course of action he could take under the circumstances but as i said, he wasn’t above using them)

ii. referred to damen as his slave constantly in both a technical and romantic sense

iii. got turned on by playing master and slave and master and pet

iv. used isander as a way to get back at damen: was fed by isander in the feast, stroked him, allowed him to kiss his feet and boots etc.

in fact here are plenty of instances where it’s clear laurent enjoyed the type of power he had over damen:

and here’s the only part where i can remember damen and laurent discussing slavery after damen’s identity is revealed and they have the possibility of a future together. as you can see, laurent’s attitude towards it is pretty neutral. he doesn’t approve, but it’s clear he’s not a passionate champion of the anti slavery movement.

let me make it clear that none of this is a criticism towards laurent. it’s important to remember that capri started as a slavekink fic (in pacat’s own words) and though it evolved, by the final draft she still kept some of those elements: like making the first night between lamen a romantic, sacred, precious thing between them; laurent telling damen he’s his slave by feeding him as a slave would, damen calling himself laurent’s slave as a sign of submission/love/romance before their first kiss, laurent saying damen is still his slave before sleeping with him… the narrative still eroticizes slavery to some extent and uses it as a vehicle of romance.

the thing is, laurent finding enjoyment in these practices is not the problem. when the fandom loves to pretend like laurent would be so disgusted by the idea of slavery (even though the text repeatedly shows he’s not) , that he; a perfect civilized blonde veretian angel would come to akielos and educate those barbarians about how horrible slavery is and damen would only open his eyes to the truth through laurent’s guidance, that’s when my issues start. because, like i said, this was never laurent’s battle and it pretty much reads like laurent is some sort of white savior, someone who comes to damen’s country to “fix” the problems of akielos without understanding their history, needs, or the region’s current state of affairs.

another very important thing to underline is that the whole slavery ordeal in the series was damen’s character arc, not laurent’s. he’s the actual slave in the scenario, and as much as laurent doesn’t like slavery, damen didn’t come to the conclusion that it was bad because of laurent’s preachings. it leaves a bad taste in the mouth that damen was the one who actually experienced slavery and faced countless humiliations in vere and yet people still insist on making laurent educate damen about why it’s wrong, even though he himself has never experienced slavery in his life. (one might argue in aus where damen was never sent to vere as a slave he wouldn’t come to the same realizations but that still doesn’t mean laurent would have a passionate agenda regarding slaves. at best i believe he would demand damen to stop sleeping with his slaves as they are monogamous.)

choosing laurent as The One who firmly stands against slavery is bad from a narrative pov too. making this specifically about laurent makes no sense because it's got nothing to do with him. it's not his country! he doesn't care about akielos the way damen does. everything about it thematically relates back to damen; who exists as a metaphor for akielos - any insult or injury done to him is an insult to akielos. he embodies it’s values and it’s people, and by becoming a slave he’s reflecting the current slave state of akielos, and through finding liberation for himself he’s also finding liberation for akielos. it’s a powerful symbolism for how akielos is changed and freed directly BECAUSE of his own personal liberation. laurent has nothing more than an intellectual interest in anti-slavery and he only ever begins to care about akielos because he cares for damen. but damen was raised with it and experienced it and cares very deeply about it. it’s his country! it's his story!

tldr; through the series, it was damen’s journey to experience what it was like to be a slave, to see the true horrors of this practice and decide he doesn’t want to rule his country that way anymore. so taking his agency and giving it laurent, someone who was neutral at best about slavery, feels incredibly insensitive and wrong.

[eretzyisrael]

by Terry Glavin

In Liberal circles, a new ideological construction is gaining ground—one that threatens to destroy all that it touches in much the way Critical Race Theory has done. That new idea is “Anti-Palestinian Racism,” defined in such a way as to place Zionism—that is, the view held by the vast majority of Jews—beyond the pale of polite society, and potentially beyond the bounds of Canadian hate speech law.

According to the Arab Canadian Lawyers Association, anti-Palestinian racism is defined as follows: “Anti-Palestinian racism is a form of anti-Arab racism that silences, excludes, erases, stereotypes, defames, or dehumanizes Palestinians or their narratives. Anti-Palestinian racism takes various forms including: denying the Nakba and justifying violence against Palestinians; failing to acknowledge Palestinians as an Indigenous people with a collective identity, belonging and rights in relation to occupied and historic Palestine; erasing the human rights and equal dignity and worth of Palestinians; excluding or pressuring others to exclude Palestinian perspectives, Palestinians, and their allies; defaming Palestinians and their allies with slander such as being inherently antisemitic, a terrorist threat/sympathizer or opposed to democratic values.”

It is worth reading that twice. It is a definition of racism that makes the most fundamental defense of Israel’s existence racist. It renders it impossible to describe antisemitism without running the risk of being described as racist.

Michal Cotler-Wunsh, Israel’s special envoy for combating antisemitism, has some special insight into Canada. The Jerusalem-born 53-year-old former member of the Knesset spent about half her life in Canada. She went to school in Montreal, completed a law degree at Hebrew University, then came back to Canada for a master’s degree. A decade later, she returned to Israel.

Anti-Palestinian racism is a legalistic rendering of a vulgar slogan routinely chanted at anti-Israel marches across Canada over the past 10 months: “All the Zionists are racists.” Cotler-Wunsh points out the obvious: “APR renders anyone who self-defines or who is identified as a Zionist or just believes Israel has a right to exist as a racist.”

What we’re witnessing in Canada is the diffusion of “a very particular kind of antisemitism,” Cotler-Wunsh told me. The country’s susceptibility to the “anti-Zionist” iteration of antisemitism is partly because Canadians have lost the capacity to identify with strongly held national values, Cotler-Wunsh argued. “Canadians aren’t especially patriotic,” she said. “So there’s a ‘live and let live’ idea, but it results in indifference.” And that has allowed antisemitism to course through Canada’s institutional bloodstream, largely unchecked.

Cotler-Wunsh’s adoptive father, Irwin Cotler, is a renowned international human rights champion and Canada’s former justice minister. A tireless advocate for dissidents in Russia, Iran, China, and elsewhere, Cotler served as Canada’s special envoy on preserving Holocaust remembrance and combating antisemitism until just days after October 7.“I have never seen in all my life such a thing, such expressions from people of all ages, such expressions of apprehension, of isolation, insecurity, foreboding, expressed in different ways,” said Irwin Cotler. (Dan Balilty via AP Photo)

Last December, after he failed to show up at a Toronto event celebrating the imprisoned Hong Kong dissident Jimmy Lai, it was disclosed that Cotler was under 24-hour police protection because of a threat to his life. The assassination plot was hatched in Tehran.

“Seeing that was heartbreaking,” Cotler-Wunsh told me. “The thought that this would happen in Canada, the thought that in this multicultural beacon of dignity for all, that Canada’s former justice minister, a human rights warrior who fought for hundreds of people around the world, is under house arrest—you could say, trapped in his own home—is really heartbreaking.”

Heartbreaking is a word that well describes the way Canadian Jews see their predicament these days. “I have never seen in all my life such a thing, such expressions from people of all ages, such expressions of apprehension, of isolation, insecurity, foreboding, expressed in different ways,” said Cotler, 84, when we spoke last week. “I see it when I meet with students; I see it when I meet with elderly people. I hear, ‘This is not the Canada I know,’ or ‘This is not the Canada I came to.’ Or ‘This is not the Canada I have ever experienced. This is something else.’ And they are afraid to publicly express it.”

In part, that’s because antisemitism is no longer just some protest culture eccentricity. It’s going mainstream, from the bottom to the top.

Consider the fact that the Toronto District School Board has voted to incorporate “Anti-Palestinian Racism” within its overall anti-discrimination strategy. APR has been endorsed by the NDP and championed by Liberal MP Jenica Atwin. Its most senior advocate is the Trudeau government’s own Special Representative on Combating Islamophobia Amira Elghawaby.

Last month. Elghawaby said Trudeau himself had agreed to come up with a definition of APR and put it into practice.

It’s already gotten to the point that if you enter public conversations by saying anything contrary to the APR doctrine, you’d better be very careful. Say anything that contradicts Palestinian narratives, or questions the right of Palestinians to sovereignty in all of “historic” Palestine, or something that could be construed as “denying the Nakba,” and you can end up destroying your political career, no matter how solid your progressive bona fides might be.