#and having people still think she's desirable and wanted and respected even though she's not rail model thin

[navree]

I straight up forgot about those Bridgerton posters! smh.

Like, it takes my breath away at how disrespectful it is to legit photoshop your lead actress to be thinner. That's a real fucking woman, have some fucking class!

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (6/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before had the wooden ceiling of a bed seemed so interesting to her.

The Maester was trying to be gentle and his touch was respectful – she knew that, but still what he was doing, the fact that there were other people around behind the cream curtains made her tense, even though she knew the verdict would be one.

When the examination was finally completed she sighed quietly and swallowed hard, rising on her elbow – she lowered her skirt down thinking she wouldn't give them the satisfaction and cry – Maester's voice and what he said was like honey to her ears.

"She is a maiden, My King. I have no doubt."

A moment later, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing with a loud slam.

Prince Aemond gave everyone an expression of his fury at this obviously unfounded accusation.

She took a quiet breath as someone pulled aside one of the veils – the king's face seemed satisfied, as if not the end result but the fact that he had once again shown his brother who had the last word was his reward.

"I am relieved, dear cousin, that you have come to no harm under my brother's care. I hope you understand that in no way did I mean to offend you or undermine your virtue." He said lightly, knowing that she could not reply anything other than to confirm his certainly sincere and good intentions.

"I am grateful to you for your concern, Your Grace." She replied, looking him straight in the eye, to her surprise feeling neither bitterness nor regret.

This would at least cut off any further gossip about her and the tongue of the servant who had given her pleasure that day, as promised by the prince.

She guessed he would not leave it at that.

"I wish to see your dragon and judge for myself the value he will bring to the upcoming battles. I also want him to stay in the Dragon's Pit with the rest of the dragons and not with Vhagar." He said, and she nodded, knowing that there was no point in standing up.

This brother or another, what difference did it make.

"He is still wild and untamed, my King. Accustomed to freedom. I fear that sudden confinement may kill his spirit." She replied softly.

Aegon nodded.

"I may yet change my decision. For now, I want to see him."

In accordance with his desire, he, she and a retinue consisting of several members of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston Cole, set off on horseback to Vhagar's lair where the two dragons rested.

When they arrived, she felt joy, or rather a new kind of it, one she had experienced for the first time when she saw Sheepstealer.

Her dragon squawked happily at the sight of her, coming quickly up to her on his paws, watching her from all sides, intrigued, paying no attention to the other newcomers.

He was as sweet as a baby, she thought with tenderness, lonely for long years, craving tenderness, understanding and attention as much as she did.

He was everything she was, which is why the moment she first looked into his eyes she knew she would succeed in taming him.

She knew what he needed and she was able to give it to him, and he reciprocated.

Her dragon was the only man she needed.

"Magnificent. Fierce. And large indeed. Bigger than Sunfyre. Very well." Exclaimed the King with a smile, clearly pleased and reassured.

When his brother was not next to him he felt in control of the situation again.

She stroked the muzzle of her dragon, for some reason also smiling, its scales under her skin hard and rough.

"We are at your service, my King." She replied, wanting to be sure they would leave her alone.

She just wanted to be close to her dragon, nothing more.

"Good. You and my brother will take turns patrolling the sky daily. This will relieve the burden on Vhagar and allow the prince to attend to other, equally important matters." He said, and she nodded.

"Present our subjects with our new dragon. Show them that we are stronger than ever." He commanded, and she held back the smile of amusement that pressed across her face.

Is that so?

Outside? Maybe.

But inside, they were one rotten fruit.

"My King."

Flying over King's Landing was a kind of liberation for her – she felt she was showing not only the world what she had become, but more importantly her father.

She hoped, feeling the wind in her hair, whirling on the Sheepstealer in the skies with laughter, that Daemon was throwing his cups in Dragonstone out of rage, cursing the day she was born.

Although she hated her heritage and her name, it was the dragon that saved her and gave her life meaning.

It felt like they understood each other without words, that one move of hers was enough to make him change his flight course to where she wanted or dive down.

Once they landed, she always spent a bit of time with him, lying on the grass beside him, stroking his muzzle – she wanted him to know that he wasn't just her tool that she used.

No.

She felt something completely different that filled her heart wonderfully.

Love.

Looking out of the corner of her eye at Vhagar lying in the distance, plunged into a deep sleep, completely ignoring them, she wondered if these were the feelings that Prince Aemond had for his dragoness.

You should fall to your knees before her, you fucking whore, not laugh.

This was not an expression of his pride then.

It was an expression of his deep affection for her.

She smiled at this thought, recognising that at last she understood him.

Her expression was gentle and contented when, walking down the corridor of the Red Keep with a guard who did not leave her side, she came across him, apparently heading for Vhagar's liege.

"Where have you been?" He asked disturbed, seeing her riding attire.

She sighed quietly, pulling her black leather gloves from her hands.

"The King ordered that we take turns patrolling the skies. I have done that duty today. You may rest." She said, and he swallowed hard, something expression in his face as if he felt discomfort.

Another thing he was taking away from him, she thought.

"Leave us." He directed his cold words to the guard. He nodded and walked away with the quiet clang of his steel armour.

The prince moved away towards the cloisters, and she moved with him.

He didn't want anyone to hear their conversation.

"What did you say to him?" He asked, looking sideways, as if he couldn't bear to see her.

"To whom?"

"To my brother. Did you betray me?" He asked coldly, throwing her a drawn-out, stern look.

She sighed heavily and shook her head, closing her eyes, tired after the physical exertion, not having the strength for his baseless accusations.

"How?" She asked, his jaw clenched, his body upright and tense.

"Don't play a fucking fool. You know perfectly well what I'm referring to."

She laughed at his words, shrugging her shoulders, bringing him to the brink of fury.

She could see it in his wide-open eye, in his feral, furious gaze.

"I know, but I haven't told him anything and I won't. It's not in my nature to complicate a situation where I'm comfortable. Being your enemy is not my desire. The lack of your unity drastically reduces my chances of survival, and having tamed the dragon, its value in my eyes has increased greatly." She said lightly, looking him straight in the eye, seeing that his hands entwined behind his back were clenched into fists.

He hated it when she spoke to him like that, but he couldn't do anything to her in public.

"I also wish for you to continue to teach me the language of Old Valyria. In return, I will report to you on what I am asked and what the King tells me to soothe your troubled soul." She hummed with a smile, watching with satisfaction as he drew in a loud breath and licked his lower lip, apparently trying not to use his hands on her long neck.

"Do we have an agreement, my Prince?" She asked, cocking her head.

He sighed, glancing sideways, and shook his head, clearly not believing that he had consented to such humiliation.

"In the library. Every day, right after supper."

She learned of Lady Floris Baratheon's arrival in the Red Keep from her maid – braiding some of her hair at the back of her head, she told her of what she had seen.

"Lady Floris arrived in a brown gown embroidered with gold thread. Her hair is black and long, pinned up in a braid, smoothed down in front, her forehead high, her gaze proud and solemn. Her smile, in my opinion, has no lightness or conviction." Said Lysa, and she giggled under her breath, looking at her and herself in the reflection of the mirror.

"What a harsh judgement. Perhaps it was that smile that the prince found so charming that he chose her." She replied lightly, thinking with amusement that her cousin was surely writhing in agony right now, entertaining his betrothed.

Good, she thought.

Let him suffer.

"Perhaps, however, the memory of that day must spend his sleep." Said Lysa, gracefully weaving one of her strands in with the rest of her hairstyle.

She blinked, intrigued.

"What do you mean?"

Lysa looked at her surprised, as if snapped out of her reverie.

"Don't you know, my Lady? It was on this day that Prince Aemond killed Prince Lucerys. That poor boy. His mother searched for his remains in madness and despair, but apparently there was nothing left of him but his cloak. He was devoured by Vhagar." She explained, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

He says that Luke's death was an accident, but I don't know if I believe him.

I don't recognise him anymore and I warn you that he's unpredictable.

She was sure she would eat her supper as usual in solitude, but it turned out that the King had held a small banquet and she was to attend.

Aegon wanted to show off her dragon and what she had done, while humiliating his brother and his betrothed, she thought wryly, walking there reluctantly.

When the door opened in front of her, she saw a long table, on either side of which sat the royal family and their loyal lords with their relatives.

She did not know where she should sit or what to do, the King, however, decided to take pity on her.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." He called out, and she swallowed hard, lowering her gaze, knowing that she couldn't react to this, that she just had to survive it.

She sat down in the only empty seat, between her cousin and the king's wife, Helaena – she was pale and sad, staring off into the distance somewhere with empty eyes.

She still had not come to terms with the death of her son.

However, as she sank into her grief and sorrow, the King, on the contrary, was bubbling over with a desire for revenge, ready for action.

When she glanced sideways, all she saw was his hand clenched into a fist, his familiar scent reached her nostrils – she swallowed quietly, twisting in her seat, feeling a pleasant pulsing between her thighs, for some reason remembering how pleasant the touch of his fingers was there, sinking into her damp folds.

She reached for her wine cup and took a loud sip from it, not bothering to look to the side, her gaze fixed on the Queen Alicent who sat opposite her.

"My Lady." She heard an unfamiliar female voice directed in her side and she let out a quiet breath, taking another sip from her goblet, hearing her cousin twist restlessly in his chair.

She looked at Floris Baratheon and forced herself to give her the kindest, warmest smile she could afford. Floris was also smiling; had it not been for her gaze, she might have found her expression even sympathetic.

However, her eyebrows arched in some sort of compassion, a sign that she wanted to show her false understanding.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said softly, shaking her head as if filled with sincere admiration.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she managed not to laugh.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She replied lightly, not taking her eyes off her.

Several people at the table chuckled at her words as Floris watched her for a moment, playing with the small gold ring on her heart finger.

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" She asked, as if giving her a challenge of sorts.

"Enough." She heard her cousin's impatient voice between them directed at his betrothed.

She, however, found that she was happy to answer her.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince." She replied, and Floris leaned back, intrigued.

"Support indeed needed." Aegon added, popping a grape into his mouth, biting through it with a loud crunch. "On which we all agree. Now, music!"

For the rest of the feast, she pretended to be very focused on her piece of roast, which she ate slowly, knowing that she couldn't flee immediately if she didn't want to offend the King – she didn't hold him in special esteem but she knew that he held her in some sort of affection, and after what he had accused her of after his son's death, she feared that one wrong move on her part would be enough for her to fall back into his disfavour.

True, the responsible parties had been found and the King himself had brought them justice, however, she could not let him begin to think again that she had helped her father let them into the keep.

He had to be sure that she was faithful to him.

They both had to be sure of it.

Him and his brother.

She swallowed hard, pulled out of her reverie, feeling a shudder when her cousin's knee pressed against hers. She was sure he simply wanted to change position, he, however, spread himself out comfortably, leaving his leg where it was.

Should she move away?

Do nothing?

What was that supposed to mean?

She glanced sideways at his hand out of the corner of her eye – she could see that his fingers were tapping the tabletop in some nervous, impatient gesture.

Their lessons.

Was he trying to tell her to leave and go to the library before he did, so as not to frustrate his betrothed?

She wanted to ask him that, but couldn't, so she decided she would do what she thought appropriate and simply stood up, nodding her head at the King.

"Your Grace. I will retire now, if you will allow me." She said softly, and Aegon nodded.

"I allow it." He replied, his voice through the amount of wine he had managed to drink like a babble.

Gods help me, she thought as she bowed to him and the Queen Dowager, without bestowing even a single glance on the prince or his betrothed.

She waited in her chamber for half an hour, changing in the meantime into the more comfortable, casual silk robe the Queen had given her, throwing it over her nightgown, tying it around her waist.

When she finally stepped outside her guard furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"Prince Aemond wanted to meet me in the library. Take me there." She said – the man hesitated and sighed heavily, indicating with his hand for her to go ahead.

Her cousin was already waiting for her – he gave her one protracted glance from over his open books, his eye open wide as if he was surprised by her appearance, candles all around him.

He nodded at her to sit beside him in the chair, and she did so, leaving her guard outside the door.

He moved one of the books towards her and opened it to a page he apparently wanted to discuss with her.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said matter-of-factly, sliding another book towards her and leaned in, his clearly defined cheekbone close, too close, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, feeling the tension in all the muscles of her body.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon."

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, something in his gaze from which her heart struck harder.

It seemed to her that his iris was black.

There was something obscenely intimate in his bent figure, in his slightly parted lips, in his proximity, the place between her thighs all swollen, increasingly moist and warm.

"Ñāqon." She whispered.

"Better." He hummed, his gaze never leaving her face even though his finger moved on to the next words, as if he knew this book by heart. "Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He said, something flashed dangerously in his gaze, as if he knew exactly what her reaction would be and he was not wrong.

She froze, clasping her hands on her thighs, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, the tightness in her throat indicating that she felt pain.

"Muña."

"Mmm. Kepa. Father."

She swallowed hard, looking at him with eyes glazed from tears, feeling her body begin to twitch. His lips parted slightly, as if what he was doing to her, the fact that she was vulnerable aroused him.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, feeling a single, heavy tear run down her cheek.

Kepa.

She shuddered, looking up at him in horror as his hand rose to her cheek, his thumb lazily rubbing the wet mark from her face.

"Trēsy. Son." He continued, his voice like the sound of water, calm and quiet.

Tender, as if he were moved.

Why?

She sighed as his hand traveled lower, his index finger running over her jaw.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

She shook her head, pressing her lips together, feeling that she couldn't do it, the feeling as if he was driving needle after needle into her heart made it difficult for her to get anything out.

She sighed, closing her eyes as he leaned lower, in some natural reflex pressing his forehead against hers, his hand sinking into the skin of her neck, his warm, excited breath enveloping her face.

She involuntarily clenched her thighs together, feeling the wonderful, familiar pulsing and tickling between them.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He exhaled, something in his voice from which she felt her nipples harden, peeking through from under the fabric of her robe. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

And that was a mistake.

He was looking straight into her face.

She sighed when she felt his other hand on her knee, moving slowly up to her thigh.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, feeling her cunt begin to leak with desire against her will.

"Lēkia." He said, as if he had done something definitive, a quiet moan breaking from her throat as his hand closed over her womanhood. "Older brother."

"Lēkia." She moaned and whimpered as his lips pressed against hers in an aggressive, loud, sticky kiss full of their saliva and panting, her palm touching his scarred cheek, drawing a low murmur of delight from his throat.

She touched him.

She sighed as she let her hand sink into his smooth white hair, for some reason seeking comfort in him, an escape from the cold, bleak loneliness and emptiness that filled her heart.

They sank again and again into each other's soft, fleshy skin, his tongue bursting between her teeth as his hand lifted the fabric of her robe, the other clenched in her curls.

She would have cried out in shocking delight had it not been for the fact that his lips muffled all the sound she made of herself as the tips of his fingers dug into the silken folds of her womanhood, dripping and throbbing with lust.

He groaned into her throat when he felt how unashamedly wet she was for him, and she gasped when his free hand slipped from her hair to her wrist, grasping it, drawing her to his body, pressing it against the bulge in his breeches.

He murmured and licked her encouragingly as her fingers tentatively ran over the outline of his swollen manhood, hidden beneath the leather material, hard, long and twitching.

He let go of her hand, embracing her around the waist and pulling her closer as he made sure she was going to give him what he wanted, their sighs of desire melting between their plump lips as his fingers pushed against her hot slit.

She spread her legs wider, wanting to feel it, wanting him to do it to her, but they both jumped away from each other as if burned when they heard the creak of the door opening.

Her cousin wiped his hand, sticky with her moisture in his breeches, looking at his betrothed's figure, pale, and she lowered back the material of her robe, staring blankly at the books open before her.

Was she able to see by their faces, by their quickened breaths what had happened?

She felt shame at the thought that she shouldn't have done this.

She was his betrothed.

She was the one he should be touching like this.

She was the one he should spend the evening with, learning about her body.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said calmly, however, disappointment and understandable annoyance could be heard in her tone of voice.

She swallowed hard, feeling that the material beneath her buttocks was wet with her moisture, her swollen walls pulsing greedily around nothing, begging to feel his fingers again, her nipples hard and sore, clearly outlined beneath her robe.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feigning composure, looking ahead but not at her even though she stopped right beside him.

She touched one of the books and flipped a page, remaining silent for a moment.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, her hand on his shoulder.

She looked at him and saw that he had closed his eye, as if he felt discomfort the moment Lady Floris touched him.

He swallowed loudly and opened his eyelid, his gaze helpless and childlike, filled with pain.

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered, his voice weak, as if he had run out of strength.

Floris's hand slid from his shoulder to his forearm, his figure tense, his lips clamped into a tight line.

He didn't look at her.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" Floris asked, and she twisted in her seat, deciding that this conversation was too private.

These were their problems, their betrothal, their worries.

Why was she allowing herself to be dragged into this?

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said quickly, wanting to get up, his gaze shifting to her, sharp and angry.

"Daor, hāedar."

She froze in mid-motion with her hands on the table, looking at him in disbelief, feeling her walls clench around nothing at his words.

No, little sister.

Little sister.

She swallowed hard feeling her lips part involuntarily, her eyebrows arching in helplessness, the heat that spread across her chest strangely pleasant and reassuring.

Floris looked at him then at her and shook her head.

"What did you say, my love?"

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said emotionlessly, as if trying to calm a whimpering child.

Floris swallowed hard and looked at her in a way from which she felt discomfort in her stomach, a sense of humiliation, frustration and irritation in her gaze.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" She asked quietly, both of them bouncing when his fists slammed into the table, and he sprang from his seat, towering over his betrothed as if he wanted to tear her apart.

She too stood up, grabbing his arm in some helpless, naïve gesture.

"Lēkia." She said pleadingly.

Floris's lips clenched looking at the fact that she dared to touch him, that her prince looked at her and not his betrothed, that it was her opinion that counted, her word that could stop him.

And then Floris' gaze fled lower, to his breeches, and she froze, pale, seeing exactly her answer to all her concerns.

Her hand let go of him when his nostrils stopped twitching with rage, when his jaw relaxed into an expression a little softer, though still frustrated.

He finally looked at his betrothed and licked his lower lip, as if trying to control himself.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He gasped in a voice filled with mockery, from which she swallowed hard, lowering her gaze.

Floris Baratheon looked at him with eyes full of tears, and then her gaze turned to her, her lips quivering with rage and grief.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

She was unable to look at him – the silence in the chamber, his taut silhouette standing beside her made her feel like her wetness was dripping from between her thighs straight onto the stone floor beneath her feet.

"You may leave." He said finally.

She nodded and moved towards the door on soft legs, walking out into the corridor, thinking that they had both accomplished some amazing feat by not simply fucking each other on that table.

She sighed loudly, running her hand over her face, thinking that maybe she wasn't such a bad person.

She figured that during their next lessons she wouldn't sit so close to him, that she wouldn't look at him or tempt him.

That she wouldn't let him touch her anymore.

She blinked, looking around, only noticing after a moment that there was no guard who should be watching her.

She turned when she heard the rustling of a gown behind her, something long and hard hit her head with all its force, and she fell to the floor with a thud.

It seemed a moment before she lost consciousness that she heard the breathy voice of her cousin's betrothed above her, only a quiet hiss left her lips.

"Whore."

[vivinens]

a lover's game !

characters: neuvillette, wriothesley & navia.

summary: little things they notice about you.

warning, minor fontaine story spoilers. gender neutral reader. here's a few short drabbles, hello tumblr!

Neuvillette, while famously intrigued by human behavior, often finds himself completely fascinated with you in particular.

For all his objective understanding of worldly matters, he is still confused as to why he specifically craves your attention. It's utterly strange, really, how his eyes seem to trail after your movements and expressions with more care than he would show to others.

You smile differently, when speaking to him. He's picked up on this after numerous conversations involving you two and a third party. When speaking to Monsieur Neuvillette (he often wonders about the soft way you say his name), your tone is easy and your smile is—for lack of a more appropriate word—entrancing. But, the moment your attention turns to the third party, that smile is dimmed.

At first, he simply chalks it up to you wanting to get in his good graces. After all, he's had no shortage of humans attempting to get close to him in order to satisfy their own desires. However, even with his lackluster social skills, he can see how your behavior is different from the people trying to appeal to them for their own merit. Your flustered sentences and bright eyes were not the same as others using flattery to gain status among the court staff.

...Perhaps he should ask Navia about it. Not for the first time, he curses his own lack of social understanding.

Wriothesley is not usually the kind of man who finds himself hung up on trivial details. He spends too much time working and worrying as it is; so why should he make life more complicated for himself?

There were some things he can't help but notice when it comes to you, though. It's midday when he overhears you mumbling to yourself about a new treat from Café Lucerne you'd like to try—as well as something about you having already spent all your "fun mora" for the week. You had sighed to yourself at your own respective desk all afternoon, and the sheer longing he could sense made his eye twitch.

You arrived to your work desk the next morning to see a wrapped gift box atop it. You had gasped when you opened it to reveal the outrageously expensive cake you had been craving all week. Wriothesley couldn't stay to further see your reaction, as to not raise suspicion, but he was content nonetheless.

It was when he arrived at work the next day that he realized—after seeing a steaming hot cup of coffee set on his desk beside a signed thank you note—that you're more observant than you let on. After all, he had taken great care in not letting it be known he was the one who gifted you the cake.

He takes a sip of the coffee. It was the way he likes it. Yes, you were very observant, indeed.

Navia has always had a soft spot for her underlings. She remembers their birthdays, their favorite songs, and those who they would prefer to work alongside. She claims it's her duty as their boss to know such things—although, in the opinion of many, she often goes above and beyond.

However, if you were to ask any of Navia's other subordinates, they would probably say she tries to understand you best of all. You have known one another for a long time, and this friendship was something she held very dearly—especially after the passing of her father. You were a beacon of light in those times, when the world seemed against her and her father's memory.

In some ways, she wondered if she was... taking advantage. You worked hard to support her and Spina di Rosula, and earned hardly nothing in return. Pay was rocky and sometimes even scarce. What if your talents could be better used elsewhere? What if you truly did want to leave? What if—

"You're overthinking again, Navia," you sigh, and before she can even think to respond, your hand is reaching to feel her forehead. You're sat beside one another on a bench, taking a small reprieve after a day spent out and about Vasari Passage. "Hm, I'm surprised you don't have a fever. You've been acting strange all day," you say, tilting your head. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The genuine worry in your voice makes Navia's heart flutter. "No, no, nothing at all!" She exclaims with more confidence than she feels. She seems to be doing that a lot lately. "But... thank you, for worrying about me. You shouldn't have to."

You frown. "I care for you—perhaps more than you understand, Navia. You don't have to speak about it now, but if something is troubling you, I will always lend you an ear."

Sometimes, Navia finds you truly are too understanding of her emotions. Instead of responding, she nods wordlessly, lest the things she wants to say so desperately clog her throat, and reaches to rest her hand against yours. You don't pull away, and the loud hammering of Navia's heart continues in her chest. It does not stop for a long while.

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - Touch Starved Hearts

Summary - In a tense confrontation, she lashes out at her unfaithful husband, Aegon, for his constant disrespect. Amidst the heated argument, she finds comfort and unexpected tenderness in the arms of Ser Criston, who offers her the affection and desire she has long been denied.

Pairing - Criston Cole x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving), violence (brief domestic), strong language

Word count - 2301

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You fucking idiot!" I yelled, my voice echoing through our chambers as Aegon stood before me, his hand pressed to his reddened cheek, still stinging from the impact of my slap.

His eyes blazed with a fury that seemed to set the entire room aflame. With a brutal shove, he sent a table crashing against the wall, splintering wood echoing his inner turmoil. "I am your king! I could have you killed for that insolence."

I sneered at him, barely able to contain my rage. "You think your title means anything to me? You're nothing but a puppet, a figurehead. That's all you'll ever be."

Aegon's face twisted in fury. "You've been warned time and again about your disrespect. I have the power to end you."

"End me?" I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn. "You can't even control your own affairs. I've told you repeatedly, do whatever you want, fuck whatever whore you want, just do it in private. Not in our chambers, not where people will know, not where you turn me into a laughingstock."

"You dare speak to me like that?" Aegon hissed, his eyes blazing. "I am your king!"

"King?" I laughed, the sound hollow. "A king in name only. You think sitting on that throne gives you real power? It doesn't. You're a disgrace, Aegon. To me, to our children, to this entire kingdom."

His face contorted with rage, and he stepped closer, his voice dangerously low. "You've gone too far this time."

"Too far?" I mocked, stepping right into his face. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

"You want respect? From me?" He scoffed, looking at me with disdain. "You haven't earned it."

"Earned it?" I repeated, my voice rising. "What about you, Aegon? What have you earned? You think fucking whores and ignoring me makes you powerful? It makes you weak. Pathetic."

I seized his face in my hands, shaking him roughly. "It's about decency, Aegon! It's about respect, but you can't seem to manage even that."

I let go of him, my anger too great to contain. I began to pace the room, my hand pressed against my forehead as I tried to compose myself. "What if one of our children had walked in? What then?"

Aegon's face hardened, and he scoffed. "I wouldn't let that happen."

I laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. "Oh, really? And how exactly would you have kept it from happening? Would you have hidden her under the bed or maybe told her to climb out the window?"

His eyes narrowed, and he looked away momentarily, unwilling to meet my gaze. I saw Ser Criston shift slightly, though he was used to the strained exchanges between us by now.

"You know," I continued, "perhaps Ser Criston could have kept watch. Instead of guarding our children and me, he could keep watch whilst you fuck your whores. After all, it seems your priorities are all mixed up."

Criston's gaze flickered up, and I could see the resignation in his eyes. He had long been a silent witness to our marital discord.

Aegon's face flushed with indignation. "What is it you want from me? To apologize?"

I glared at him, my voice icy. "What if I were to go and find one of your knights or lords and ask them to give me the same pleasure you so freely provide your whores? How would you like that?"

His expression turned to pure rage. "Don't you dare!"

I laughed a bitter and cutting sound. "It's not so amusing when the humiliation is turned on you, is it?"

Aegon's hands clenched into fists, and he ran them through his hair as though he could pull the frustration from his mind by force.

"Shut the fuck up and just do as you're told," he said, his voice dangerously low as he approached me, grabbing my arm with a vice-like grip.

"Aegon, you're hurting me," I said, my voice trembling as tears welled in my eyes.

He sneered, his grip unrelenting. "You're nothing but a worthless whore. The only thing you've done of any worth is bear my children."

I whimpered, "Aegon, please..."

He twisted my arm painfully, his eyes blazing with contempt. "You think you're special? You think you deserve respect? Look at you, snivelling and weak. Pathetic."

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, sending a sharp pain shooting up my arm. "You're hurting me," I repeated, my voice cracking with desperation.

"Good," he spat, his face inches from mine. "Maybe then you'll understand your place. You are nothing without me. Nothing."

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with tears. He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "You're just a means to an end, a vessel for my heirs. That's all you've ever been."

The words cut deeper than any physical pain, and I felt myself breaking under the weight of his disdain.

He released my arm with a violent shove, sending me stumbling back. I clutched my arm where his fingers had left bruises.

"You exist to serve me. Do as you're told, and maybe I'll find some use for you beyond breeding" he said coldly.

I looked up at him, my heart shattering and my body trembling with fear and heartbreak.

As he walked out of the room, the door slammed shut behind him. I crumbled to the cold, unforgiving stone floor, my body shaking as sobs wracked through me. 

The tears came freely now, a river of anguish that seemed to have no end. My cries echoed off the walls, mingling with the silence of the chamber. 

Footsteps approached, steady and reassuring, and strong arms lifted me from the ground with a gentle but firm grip. I leaned into the embrace, finding a strange solace in the coolness of the armour against my flushed skin. 

The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat provided a comforting counterpoint to the chaos inside me.

"Ser Criston," I murmured, my voice hoarse as I pulled away slightly to meet his gaze. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, though they continued to fall stubbornly.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied, his voice steady as he positioned himself opposite me, maintaining a respectful distance.

I looked up at him, my eyes still brimming with tears, and asked the question that had been tormenting me. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Criston's expression softened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he could say anything. "No, please. Speak plainly and answer truthfully. Why does my husband loathe me so much?"

My voice cracked as I laid my insecurities bare, the vulnerability of my question hanging heavy in the air. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of empathy mixed with his steady composure.

He took a deep breath, his gaze steady as he searched for the right words. "Your Grace, I am not privy to the inner workings of the king's mind, but I can tell you this, your husband's actions reflect his own struggles, not your worth."

I shook my head, the words feeling insufficient against the enormity of my pain. "But why? What could I have done to deserve this?"

Criston's eyes softened further, and he stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. 

"Sometimes, those in power are consumed by their own insecurities. It's not always about you, it's about what's happening within him. It may be his way of coping with his own failings, or perhaps he feels trapped by expectations he cannot meet."

I took a deep breath, the weight of my sorrow pressing heavily on my chest. At this point, I doubted that anything anyone could say would bring me comfort.

Criston stood before me, his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened with a simmering rage. 

He longed to call Aegon an imbecile, a fool for not treasuring the woman who stood beside him, but he knew such words could cost him his life.

Instead, he swallowed his anger, knowing it was futile, no amount of rage could change the bitter truth that he had to stand by helplessly, watching someone else possess what he longed for.

"Ser Criston," I began, my voice trembling. 

"He hasn’t touched me in a month," I confessed, each word falling from my lips like a stone into a bottomless chasm, dragging with it the last shreds of my dignity and self-worth.

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. His hand, which had been resting on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort, fell away as I turned my head, unable to meet his gaze.

"He finds me so repulsive that he can't bring himself to touch me," I continued, my voice cracking with anguish.  The pain of rejection and loneliness was too much to bear. "It's maddening." 

Criston took a sharp breath, his eyes betraying a moment of hesitation as they drifted to places they shouldn't.

"No one has touched me. No one has shown me any semblance of affection in a month," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

"You deserve better," he finally admitted, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. 

My head snapped toward him, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice, and my hand instinctively rested on the cold steel of his armoured chest.

"You deserve to feel all the pleasure this world can provide," he continued, his voice low and almost reverent, as though he were confessing a sin. 

His hand moved to my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down my spine.

"Your Grace, forgive me if I overstep. Stop me if you wish," he murmured, kneeling in front of me, his hands toying with the hem of my dress, raising the skirts slightly.

I did nothing to object, nothing to stop him. Instead, I shifted in my seat, giving him better access and allowing him to lift my dress, pooling it at my waist. His fingers looped around my inner garments, tugging them down swiftly. 

He looked up at me once more, seeking permission, and I nodded slowly.

He leaned forward, his breath warm against my skin, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment. 

"You are beautiful," he whispered against my skin, his kisses starting at my knees, soft and tentative, a trail of warmth that slowly made its way up my thighs.

Each touch of his lips sent shivers through me, igniting sensations I had forgotten. His mouth moved with a purpose, deliberate and patient as if savouring every inch of my skin.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my thigh. I nodded, unable to form words, my body responding to the intimacy.

As he kissed the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, I felt my breath hitch. His hands were gentle, caressing my legs as he positioned himself closer. When his lips finally reached the apex of my thighs, he paused, his warm breath teasing against my most sensitive area. 

I could feel my pulse quicken, my anticipation growing with every heartbeat.

"Is this what you want, Your Grace?" he asked softly, his voice a hushed murmur.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, don't stop."

Criston's mouth descended upon me with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes. His tongue traced delicate patterns, exploring me with a reverence that made my heart ache. He was gentle, almost worshipful, his movements slow and measured. 

His tongue flicked against me, sending jolts of pleasure through my body. I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders, needing something to anchor me to this moment.

I moaned softly, my fingers threading through his hair, urging him on.

He continued his ministrations, his tongue and lips working in harmony to draw out my pleasure. His kisses were interspersed with gentle sucks, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every fold and contour. 

"You taste divine," he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with awe.

I could feel myself unravelling, my body responding to his touch in ways I had not experienced in so long.

"Don't stop," I pleaded, my voice trembling with need.

Criston's hands caressed my thighs, holding me steady as his mouth worked its magic. His tongue circled and teased, his lips closing around the most sensitive part of me and sucking gently, sending waves of ecstasy through me. 

"Gods, Criston," I gasped, my back arching as I surrendered completely to the sensations he was drawing from me.

His tongue flicked and swirled, his mouth creating a symphony of pleasure that built and built until I felt like I was on the edge of a precipice. He seemed to sense my rising need, his pace quickening, his sucks becoming more insistent. The pressure inside me grew, a tight coil of anticipation ready to snap.

"Ser Criston," I gasped, my voice trembling with urgency. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of devotion and desire. 

"Almost there, Your Grace," he whispered before his thumb replaced his tongue, applying gentle pressure as he leaned in to kiss my inner thigh. 

His mouth was everywhere, moving from one sensitive spot to another, never lingering too long, always leaving me wanting more.

Finally, the tension became too much, and I cried out, my body convulsing with the force of my release. Criston held me steady, his mouth never faltering, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I was left trembling, spent and sated.

He rose slowly, his hands caressing my legs as he did, his eyes never leaving mine. He gently lowered my skirts, his touch lingering on my skin as he helped me adjust my dress.

There was a softness in his gaze, a promise of more to come, should I wish it. 

In the suffocating silence that settled over us, the bitter truth hung in the air like a curse, a love that could never be, condemned in the shadows of duty and honor, forever yearning but never free.

A/n - National domestic violence hotline (CALL: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), CHAT: www.thehotline.org/, TEXT: "START" to 88788) 💜

[elsecrytt]

okay NEW curse technique concept: love conquers all!

your technique straight up alters reality. it will heal you or others, kill or harm people in any specific way, you can travel quickly, produce objects/food/etc. out of nowhere, whatever you want.

however. you can only do it if you genuinely believe it will make your loved one happy. otherwise you are just a regular person.

if you're not in love with someone, you're an ordinary person.

thankfully (?) you're a bleeding heart romantic and you fall in love pretty often! you might be shallow at first but your desire to pursue a relationship and get to know your crush is 100% sincere!

for added comic effect, you do not know what curses are and are unaware of your cursed technique. you just know that you're super capable whenever you're doing it ~for love~

unfortunately, when you fell in love with satoru gojo, he pretty much immediately shot you down.

commitment issues, sorcerer problems, yada yada. he could tell that you were genuine with your feelings, too, and satoru does do hookups but he's not a total asshole.

satoru being LITERALLY the luckiest person ever - six eyes, limitless, ridiculously tall and beautiful, talented students and powerful allies - and he's handed an instant win ticket to life in the form of your undying love and devotion and he just tosses it out LMAOOO.

so you go through your heartbreak phase, grieve for a while, and of course eventually get back on the market.

and you find him! the kindest, most considerate, respectful man alive.

he's a bit of a workaholic, but he's unbelievably polite and sincere, and every bit of understanding you show him is repaid tenfold.

seriously. he was late for a date once because of work, texting ahead twenty minutes and apologizing profusely, showing up with flowers and a thousand "I'm so sorry, my superior at work was a bit unreasonable - he works hard, too, though. I'll plan better in advance!"

when you smile and hug him and accept his apologies easily, you can see him holding back tears, a giant load releases his shoulders.

the more you learn about his work, though, the more you realize it's his only flaw. it's not even his fault!

his superior is just this giant asshole. "he works very hard, he's excellent at his job" your fucking ASS, why should your man have to put in constant overtime to drive his ass around?

apparently he had to drive three hours to pick up some sweets. kikufuku, of all things, from this one specialty store in another prefecture, just for his stupid coworker -

it pisses you off!

so when ichiji arrives for your date one day, nervous, with his unreasonable coworker in tow - well, you're shocked to see that you recognize him.

satoru, of course, immediately gloats that he recognizes ichiji's precious girlfriend - she even asked him out, once, before!

internally, he supposes it's kind of nice that you found someone better suited for commitment. although ichiji really doesn't deserve someone as good-looking as you -

SLAP!

he stares, dumbfounded, his cheek red and stinging. something strange curling in his chest at your vicious glare.

"You're Ichiji's shitty coworker?" You growl, "I'm glad you turned me down. Don't ever bully my man again, or you're dead meat."

holy shit, satoru thinks to himself as you snarl at him, ichiji panicking, trying to hold you back.

dead meat. holy shit, he actually believes you.

-

obviously from there the plan would be enemies to lovers, with the requisite comedy and pining on gojo's part about having let you go the first time.

you have a very strict policy of never EVER pursuing someone who turns you down (you don't know this, but it's actually a condition of your cursed technique). but satoru will find out - that doesn't stop him from pursuing you.

unfortunately, you're also unbelievably prideful, and still very in love with ichiji (who himself is struggling with a sense of inferiority which will eventually tank your relationship).

so gojo gets his ass beat on multiple occasions,,, watching in awe as you do thinks even he can't, and doubly flabbergasted when you insist you're not doing anything particularly weird.

you punch through his infinity? "are you telling me you think you're a wizard with an invisible force field around yourself? seriously?" cursed spirits? "is this a cult?? ichiji is your coworker in a CULT?" his hollow purple doesn't leave a scratch "i mean, was it supposed to?"

god i'm just feeling the comedy these days. i need to make fun of these silly little guys in this silly little manga, i love them so much

[yandere-sins]

About the thing where darling's descended from a close friend of Maleficent, imagine if darling's ancestor befriended Maleficent when she was still a princess and darling looked exactly like her ancestor in her younger days. Maleficent would definitely teach darling to be a strong, amazing woman like her ancestor (I'd say that she inherited her ancestor's magic, she hid it in NRC though). Malleus is done for, grandma's personally teaching HIS darling now.

I'd say these didn't age 100% well with the story, but we're reviving the Maleficent's friend!Darling!! Thank you for chatting with me about it ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

I think Malleus would honestly grow so pissed at his own grandma as he has to idly watch her take all of your precious time while being so focused on you she doesn't even help him with the nobles. She is not the one who should stand by your side as you are introduced at the ball. He should have been the one who showed you off and strengthened your bond with Briar Valley. While Maleficent is boasting about you, Malleus still has to fight off eager nobles who want him to take their children as his partner or at least concubine.

He really wanted to enjoy the night with you, though.

Even though he is well aware of what his grandma is doing—boasting your own confidence while being in the scrutinizing eye of every noble of Briar Valley—he is very miffed that you are so far away from him, almost unreachable, transcendent. As if he can't reach you while he puts on a fake smile and uses short, dismissive rejection on the next nobles of his beloved home. He's been asked to dance by so many people but not you, it makes him feel dizzy from anger.

Would you be concerned if he collapsed? Should he use some orchestrated weakness to gain your attention, your worry, and your affection? It might be worth it to lose some of his high standing in front of the nobles if it brought you back to his side, your beautiful eyes stricken with worry and grief about his condition. Your hands are on his body instead of the countless hand kisses that have been offered to you that night. Yes, yes, his grandmother was doing a good job weaving your fate back into Briar Valley after centuries of your bloodline being lost to another world. Still, Malleus cannot help but be selfish when he desires you so much. His eyes are constantly on you, barely forced away to greet another unimportant noble approaching him. There is so much longing and want in his eyes that he is very hard to approach despite having to maintain the facade.

Maleficient definitely notices his staring, the wistful puppy eyes of her grandson, but she does it for him, too. After all, to be able to marry off a non-fae (even without your knowledge) to someone as important as Malleus, she needs to gather all the approval she can get. It's not easy when you are respected while also being a grandma to an obviously lovesick fool of a grandson.

So she constantly, albeit very subtly, corrects your posture by poking you, make you use your fan as she has taught you, clears her throat when you laugh too loudly or speak too quietly. She is constantly nitpicking every one of your mannerisms, only satisfied when the nobles walk away nodding and approving of your presence at court. She does it all night long while feeling the daggers Malleus glares into her back. But she does it for you two.

And before the night ends, she asks the orchestra to play a few gentle songs before leading you away from the crowd. You are exhausted and sweaty, but Maleficient has to make a statement, and seeing her grandson light up as he realizes it's finally his turn with you makes all the training and hard work worth it.

Malleus is by your side in an instant, asking you for the dance. You are exhausted, but a last clearing of Maleficient's throat reminds you to do as you are told. She announces the last dance of the night, and although all eyes are on you and the heir of Briar Valley, quite a few people join in as if to show you their support.

You may be uncomfortable after going through such a long evening of being nitpicked at and forced to behave like someone you aren't. But Malleus makes it easy to follow his steps, always keeping a soft smile on his lips even when you step on his foot. You are so relieved when the song finally runs out, knowing you can finally go to bed, but as you two bow to each other, you are surprised to find Malleus clinging to you. He turns you to say goodnight to his grandma before pulling you out of the ballroom before anyone else, picking you up once you reach the hallway so he can walk even faster and fly away to get to his room more easily.

Because for the rest of the night, you are all his.

[1960z]

it’s always interesting how edgeworth and franziska textually share a sibling-esque kind of relationship but with manfred very rarely, if ever is a “father-son” sort of relationship evoked.

I think it could be because maybe even now in edgeworth’s “omg mvk is so cool I must be like him in every way possible” era he still doesn’t want anyone to replace gregory as the spot of “father” in his mind.

I also think that the ideas of “the von karma successor” and “the von karma family” have a… complicated relationship with each other. like edgeworth very specifically is always talked about as mvk’s successor. like how in the previous case ernest amono emphasised that he thinks of edgeworth as mvk’s “true successor”

and though I think franziska absolutely expresses a desire to also be looked upon as his successor, she doesn’t get that respect from a lot of people nearly as easily. in fact I think the only time she directly gets referred to as his successor is when she’s first introduced in jfa and it’s invoked in a “big bad von karma” type way.

it honestly feels like edgeworth gets a lot of the benefits associated with the von karma name and very little of the downsides whereas franziska gets a lot of the downsides of the von karma name and not a lot of the benefits. which I think definitely adds to the tension and at times strain of their relationship.

[calisources]

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on this meme have been taking from different media and sources. They all touch on the topics of romance, difficult and forbidden love, mostly setting in the political schemes of war and peace and royal court. Change names, locations and nouns and you see fit. Some lines might have foul language.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, but hurting ourselves to avoid it doesn’t make it better.

Could someone treat you badly and still love you? 

Even so, in the midst of this complicated love, there is a holy union.

Love is complicated. It’s sticky. It’s bliss and it’s a mix of emotions. It’s not easy.

I hated him now because I has loved him then.

 I'm not like you. I can't afford to be reckless.

When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?

Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact I'm an heir to the fucking throne? 

You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family.

She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

Your wish is my command, my queen.

You can always leave my service.

Don’t you see, Diana? If I did that, I’d break not one but two hearts. For I know you love me, though you haven’t said it yet.

You do know me. I love you so much, it sometimes terrifies me.

You are going to regret that, Your Magical Regalness.

Just because I am  a prince doesn’t make my life a fairy tale.

So kiss the others for all I care, but don’t hold back with me.

You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.

He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.

I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.

 I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.

You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king.

Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.

There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.

You can't treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires.

We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.

...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.

I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man.

You're the most important person I've ever met.  And I should have never met you at all.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

I find that happiness can always be recollected in tranquillity, Ma’am.

It's almost impossible for those who have had an intimate relationship to return to a formal one.

I question if within you is any magic.

You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.

The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.

For kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.

A king deserves reverence when being addressed.

Yes, she had abused her title and station before, but for minor stuff, not to steal a warship.

You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.

When God calls you into His Kingdom, your way of life will reflect royalty if you serve Him with loyalty.

My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.

You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.

I have to be seen to be believed.

Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.

That is your very own myth. The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.

I know that names have power. That is why I cannot let her forget hers. 

You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.

A bad king revels in his importance. A good one hates his office. 

Crowns belong to those that serve.

She was their witch queen, and they adored her.

Beatrice is going to be queen someday.

Kings are only kings because one ancestor was quicker than another to place a crown on his own head.

Queen, do not allow a commoner to dethrone you. Own that throne. You are royalty.

A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.

My mother once told me that everything is fuelled by either money or sex, because both lead to power.

Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.

She holds a nation’s fate within her shaking hands. She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?

Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky.

Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.

Climb up the family tree of any of them high enough and you’ll find a commoner who dared to take a chance.

Am I forbidden to do what all may do?

My arrival saved the kingdom, while his only reiterated that his blood would fill the throne one day.

Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?

So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them?

If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.

I’d decided that I was going to stop dressing like a princess and start dressing like a queen.

Don’t touch me. Don’t tell me how beautiful my eyes are, how soft my hair is, how you love to hear my voice. Don’t. Don’t pretend you are falling in love with me. 

I know you are lying, and every word you say hurts even more. 

Before the wedding, and the bedding, when I will have to take you as my lord and husband?

I may not be a king or a queen, but I'll be damned if I'm not treated like royalty.

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass.

It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.

Men only treat women like princesses when they want to use them like prostitutes.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you're a woman.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him.

Anyone can attract a man. The trick is to keep him.

To save my son, I would plot with the devil himself.

Only fools wait when their enemies are coming, to see if they may prove to be friends.

When a man wants a mystery, it is generally better to leave him mystified. Nobody loves a clever woman.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust.

I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for your touch.

And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons.

[kissitbttr]

kiss it, kiss it better, baby

☆ ghost is insecure with the way he looks, but you’re there to help him realize he’s pretty ☆

pairing is with fem!reader

-

first thing you had learned about simon is how much of a closed off person he is. to the point where he shuts almost everyone out except his colleagues.

so when he first met you, he had no expectations whatsoever. sure, he thought you were breathtaking. ethereal even. the first thought when he saw you walked into the room for the first time is ‘how could God let His prettiest angel roam around free on earth? why had he not have any desire to protect you?’

your aura and smile is enough to make his knees wobbly. the sound of your laugh makes his lips twitch into a genuine smile. almost.

and he’s trying to figure out why your presence is making him turn into a puddle.

but he’s been there before. manipulated by soft and delicate looking people only for them to be a complete different person once he gets a little too attached. that reason alone was enough for him to protect his heart even more. despite your affection and your warm nature, he was still cold. harsh even.

and you understand completely. fully taking your time in getting to know him, being patient and soft, because a person could only handle so much given to his story. you heard from soap about how much he had to endured and your heart was torn.

‘poor lad… went through a lot’

is what soap had said.

so you made it your mission to make him feel at ease. become his person. his home. moving slowly but surely. this made simon baffled by your actions. why do you still hang around? why do you keep giving him affections? why can’t you just go and find someone who’s not bottling too much of emotions and trauma?

answer is simple. you love him.

and boy, was he shocked. in a good way. because it has been far too long someone had said that word to him. and not just say it but you actually prove it.

in time, simon begins to learn how to properly love again. he learns how to be someone’s someone. he yearns for you now. opening up a bit more about his past and he can’t forget the way you clutch his hands tightly around yours as he spoke. a simple act to remind him that it’s just you and him and no one else.

there’s only one thing he has been afraid of.

unmasking.

the thin scars decorating his face is one of the things he has always been so insecure about. and he’s scared that you might think of him differently after seeing. in your own opinion, he’s stupid to think that — will all due respect— encourage him day after day that you wouldn’t think so, still he doesn’t budge.

despite you being impatient on wanting to see his handsome features, you never push him. you would never do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. you adore him too much to do that.

“so i said to her… ” you emerge from the bathroom while brushing through your hair, eyes focusing on your long locks. “ ‘bitch, please you are looking at the owner’ and i kid you not… she went pale as shit” you chuckle as you tell him a about what happened at work

he hums, pretending to listen. the only thing that matters to him is how beautiful you look tonight. the way your fingers running softly through your hair, your glowing skin, your cute giggle and fuck,

how your night gown leaves little to no imagination,

“and then i took my G19 and shot her in the head”

“that’s good, baby” ghost mutters lowly, his eyes falls down to your exposed thighs. his train of thoughts were interrupted by you throwing a pillow at his direction.

“ow! hey!”

“you aren’t even listening!” a grunt of protest falls from your lips, arms crossed over your chest. “i was telling you about my day!”

he puts his hands up in defense. playful smirk across his face. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry! you just look so good standing there in your night gown, love…”

putting down your brush on the bedside table, you roll your eyes. though you can’t help but smile.

“that good, huh?” pulling the covers next to him before slipping inside. “i look that good to you?”

his large hand moves to palm your thigh. “more than good. you look absolutely divine”

your smile grows, and you can feel him smile too underneath the mask. both of your eyes locked for a while before you sit up a little bit and pat your chest.

“wanna lay?”

ghost quickly nods with a grin, scooting closer towards you before carefully laying his head. his fingers tap your leg, signaling you to put it over his thigh, you oblige.

a sigh of contentment escape from his lips once your press a kiss on top of his masked forehead. gentle fingers tracing lightly against his traps.

a question bubbles into your mind. a question you have been dreading to ask. tongue clicking against your teeth as you contemplate.

“what’s on your mind, beautiful?”

it’s like he could read your mind. you can never escape him.

shrugging you reply, “just wondering”

“wondering what?”

you inhale a sharp breath. “about when i can see this handsome face of yours.”

a smile on ghost’s face falters a bit. he knows you have been waiting for him to unmask. it has been months since you begin your journey together, and he knows that you have waited too long to see him. it isn’t fair to you, he knows that.

but again, he doesn’t want you to think differently of him.

“hm?” you place another kiss on his head when he’s not answering. “am i getting closer to getting the privilege to see that handsome face?”

the question is playful, though ghost could feel his heart beating far too loud. he believes every word you say to him, because he knows you would never lie to his face. except this one particular thing

“ ‘m not, lovie” he squeezes your thigh, fingertips grazing your soft skin.

you gasp, moving your head back a bit to the side so you can see him. “and who told you that, huh? soap? gaz?”

he’s quick to shake his head. “no one has ever seen me. i just know that i am”

“baby, that’s bullshit and you know it” you argue, bringing your other hand to rub his cheek with your thumb.

a silence falls between you two. he doesn’t know what else to response to that. it has been too long since he lets anyone see how he really looks like.

he moves his head closer to your chest, pressing his cheek against it to listen to your heartbeat better. “i just don’t want you to regret being with me, tha’s all”

if a heart could break, yours would in that moment. for all the times you’ve spent together with him, ghost is not the person that would showcase his vulnerability nor emotions. he’s tough. cold. stoic. he’d rather die than to do that.

but something in the way he speaks in a tone you’ve never heard from him before just makes you want to protect him even more. the insecurity laced in his tone is enough to do so.

“do you trust me?” your voice is gentle as ever, seeing him nod slowly. “then you know i would never do anything to make you feel small, yeah?”

he snakes his arm around your waist, nodding again. “yes”

your eyes casting down to him. “can i see my pretty baby, then?”

he feels his cheeks warm at the compliment, swallowing a small gulp as he tightens his grip a little.

simon is quiet for a moment, making you almost feel guilty for pushing him a bit. but you can’t help it. you want to see him.

you want to see your man.

and as you’re about to apologize, he speaks up,

“okay.”

a wide grin slowly makes an appearance on your face, “yeah?” he nods slowly, looking up to you with a soft smile.

“yeah” his voice is low. husky. “i trust you.”

“you do” you confirm, fingers moving gently to the bottom of his mask. for a moment you stop to see any sign of him fighting back or fidgeting. but he gives you nod, telling you to continue

with a smile, you tuck both of your thumbs underneath his balaclava. slowly you remove the material up to his nose, familiar soft pink lips that has been brushing against yours for the past few months appears. you stop for a moment and let your finger thread lightly on it, goosebumps rises against his skin as he feels you getting closer to fully unfold him.

the beat of both of your hearts are thumping. one part, you’re excited and the other he’s anxious. anxious that you’re not going to like it.

he closes his eyes the moment you completely remove the balaclava from him. hearing a gasp falls from you is making his nerves go up even higher.

‘please don’t leave me, please… please don’t’ he thinks

“simon you—you are so. fucking beautiful’

the moment he hears those words, his eyes snap open. seeing your wide eyed gaze travel from his forehead and down to his chin. both of your hands move to cup his face with jaw slightly wide open. no words are uttered.

you are truly speechless. taking the time to observe every single detail of his features. from his dirty blonde hair, big brown eyes, sharp nose, thin scars around his eyebrow and down to his cheekbone. you believe those things compliment his entire face.

he is absolutely handsome.

“my god” your voice comes out in a whisper, his breath hitches. hand still gripping tightly around your waist. “you’ve been hiding all these from me?”

a hearty chuckle rumbles from his chest, avoiding your eyes because he fears that you might see him blush.

“you don’t have to lie to me love, i—“

“fuck i ain’t!” you exclaim with a laugh, head shaking at his response. “simon you don’t realize how handsome you are, do you? and these?” finger pointing at the faded scar,

“prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

he cocks both of his eyebrows, eyes glinting full of hope. “you think so?”

“i know so, my darling.” plants a kiss on the tip of his nose. “gorgeous.” one on his eyelid. “my pretty man.” one on his cheekbone. “my baby” last one on the scar.

he pulls your body closer to him, melting at the feeling of your lips all over his face. “‘m not” he mutters

“definitely are. my handsome man” you argue, ruffling his hair. wide smile spreads across your lips as you watch your handsome man hides his face in between your breasts. “are you my pretty baby? hm?” you coo in a soft tone, not stopping to pepper him with kisses and praises.

he becomes shy, because he’s not used to this. choosing to find comfort in your chest yet he can’t help to admit how much he enjoys the affection. you feel him smile against your chest, and he’s hiding it but you can definitely sense him blushing too.

god, you love this sight. your hardcore, stone cold, military boyfriend becoming putty in your embrace. one you truly never thought you would see, and you’re enjoying every bit of it.

he does too. perhaps even more than you enjoying yourself

“me, me me. I’m your baby.” he mutters softly, eyes fluttering shut

-

i love babying a man, arrest me

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

Addressing The Tinhatters: A Statement in Solidarity With @dtmsrpfcringe And Others

I've been active in this fandom for a little over a year, and in my time here I've kept my slate pretty clean. I try not to involve myself in drama and discourse, and when I see something I don't agree with online, most of the time I keep it to myself. I've been aware of the blogs I refer to in this post basically from the onset, but I've stayed quiet, partially to not come across as disrespecting others' opinions and preferences and partially to protect my peace and my own life as a creator. But what started as mostly harmless, if a bit unhinged and delusional, behavior, has turned on some fronts into unimaginable cruelty the likes of which I never imagined this fandom to be capable of. As someone who it seems people in this fandom have come to respect, I think it would be unfair and selfish for me to stay neutral any longer.

Fanfiction has been a genuinely transformative force in my life. It has helped me discover so much about my own relationships to love and desire, and I would never want to tell anyone that it is wrong for any ship to be that source of inspiration for them, including RPF. Nor do I think, as I've said, that it's inherently wrong to have speculative thoughts about David and Michael's sexualities. As someone who has been lucky enough to interact with David several times now, and probably will again, I choose not to do so myself in a public forum out of respect, but curiosity doesn't have to be invasive, and David and Michael being in loving partnerships with women certainly doesn't mean they can't be attracted to other genders too. There's nothing wrong with liking the idea of a relationship between David Tennant and Michael Sheen, or even, really, with believing they might have feelings for each other. If that's all you're doing, this post isn't about you. What I absolutely cannot excuse is the proliferation of hypocritical, nonsensical, and nasty rumors about the women in their lives.

Nothing Georgia Tennant or Anna Lundberg seems to do is ever good enough. Every expression of positivity is curated and phony, anything that could be perceived as negative vile and mean. I see these women attacked on a daily basis as partners, as mothers, as actresses. Georgia is simultaneously presenting a false ideal of a perfect, happy family for her own gains, while somehow at the same time being too irresponsible and incompetent to be a proper parent. Anna, a still young and up and coming actress herself, is expected to perform the ideal of an affectionate partner on social media, is perceived as unsupportive of Michael when she doesn't, when in reality she may simply be trying to make a name for herself in the industry without people solely associating her with the man she loves. Both of these women share in David and Michael's advocacy for marginalized communities, sometimes in different, more or less obvious ways. David and Michael are always brave and sincere, while Anna and Georgia's actions are always self serving and performative, though no evidence is ever given to indicate that the things they post or charities they support are any sort of cover or deflection. Nor are there ever any reasons given for their perceived lack of onscreen talent, other than that they're "boring" or don't have as many jobs as their husbands- never mind that both of them are in an extremely competitive industry and get perfectly respectable amounts of work, especially for mothers of young children. Worst of all, I've seen them accused of things as awful as child abuse and rape, all for the crime of simply being married to the wrong men. It's all so horribly gendered too, David and Michael often referred to as the "men" while Georgia and Anna are reduced to negative stereotypes of nagging, shallow gold diggers. As a fandom populated with so many queer people, many of whom, myself included, have found freedom from gender roles with Michael and David's characters' help, I thought we knew better.

I've been lucky enough to meet both David and Georgia now, and have witnessed firsthand the easy, joyful affection they have for each other when no one of consequence is watching, the way they giddily hold hands on the street and make each other laugh while tenderly looking into each other's eyes even and especially after sixteen years together. Georgia when I met her was incredibly kind, down to earth, and approachable, and my partner, who's met her several times more than I have, gushes about her constantly- how funny, authentic, and intelligent she is, and of course, how much she and David love each other, how they look out for each other and adore each other's flaws and quirks. David of course still gushes about Georgia every chance he gets in speeches and interviews, her strength and brilliance as well as her beauty, and Georgia, while maybe not always as effusive, shows her love for David in plenty of ways, the beautiful candid photos she takes of him, for instance. There's such a soft, painterly tenderness and fondness in them, for the man, not just the dazzling star everyone else gets to see. Her David, gentle, devoted, goofy, aging, melancholy, imperfectly perfect David. Where would we be without Georgia giving us these little glimpses of him? I suspect the same people who deride Georgia's social media presence as try-hard, cringeworthy, artificial, would feel a bit differently if one day they stopped coming.

I can't speak as clearly on behalf of Anna and Michael, but the accounts I've gotten of her and Michael's relationship from eyewitnesses have presented it as no less loving than David and Georgia's, albeit in slightly different ways. Even then, why should I have to? She doesn't owe me anything. I doubt anyone who's made the posts accusing Anna and Georgia of being nasty baby trappers has ever had children. There's no such thing as a perfect mother, and even one child is a massive task. It's normal to not be a shining ray of affection all the time, and Georgia I know more than makes up for it with her fierce love and support for her children in all of their endeavors. Georgia is also a diagnosed neurodivergent woman, and so many of the remarks I see directed at her are clearly discriminatory and often directed at women with her diagnoses. Everyone coos over how charming David is when he shows signs of being AuDHD, but the second his wife does too, she's careless and cold. And don't even get me started on when photos of Michael and David looking anything less than beatifically happy get interpreted as them being miserable due to their wives treating them so poorly. THEY'RE HUMAN BEINGS!!! NEUTRAL FACIAL EXPRESSIONS EXIST!!! WOULD YOU BE A SPARKLING RAY OF SUNSHINE IF YOUR DISNEYLAND RIDE GOT STUCK!!!

I say all this now not even because I think I have any hope of stopping the people in question, but because one of the main fighters on the front of the opposition, @dtmsrpfcringe, has been both a wonderful online friend to me and dealt with even worse abuse than that which gets hurled at Anna and Georgia on the daily. When my blog was briefly overrun by TERFs in light of the Tennant/Badenoch/Sunak drama, Tori was the first person to stand up for me, and as she recieves more vitriol in one day than I've ever experienced in my entire life online, I think I've taken far too long to do the same for her. This woman has dealt with doxing threats, attacks on her character, and most horrific of all, wishes of death upon her and her baby. No one would blame her for stopping, but she has remained steadfast in her mission to call bs where she sees it, and she shouldn't have to do it alone. Tori, I think you are so brave, and I am proud to stand in solidarity with you against the misinformation, meanness, and misogyny that threaten to corrupt this fandom we call home.

Even after all we've been through over the past couple of months, I still believe the Good Omens fandom and David and Michael's individual fandoms to be places of kindness, empathy, and inclusivity. Which is why such cruel behavior (because there's no other word for it) is utterly disappointing and baffling to me. You should be utterly ashamed of yourselves. You're the exact kinds of people David and Michael speak out against on a weekly basis, and I guarantee that if you engage in the kinds of behavior I've highlighted here, they would be disgusted with you. Or maybe they'd simply pity you, because your lives are so empty that you've decided the only way to fill them is to sacrifice the reputations and peace of innocent women on the altar of a relationship that in all likelihood takes place solely in your own heads.

And if you read all this and find you still ship David and Michael, which even I do sometimes, well, there's always polyamory.

I'm sleepy! good night and kindly fuck off! - Lauren

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 9

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, isildur x reader, sauron/halbrand x reader

Word count: 2k.

Summary: dudes just gotta stop deceiving people.

Tags: angst, insecurities, isil being a Good Dude, Galadriel and the reader still hate each other

Notes: I'm very tired (two sick kiddos will do that to a mom) and not too happy with this one. But it's a filler part. As always love yall and the feedback

You stood in silence as Halbrand left. His revelation of his past with his father and uncle had broken your resolve in your anger towards him. Confusion still sat in your chest and itched the back of your mind, but you had forgiven him. He seemed so passionate in his intention to earn you, but you had no idea what he meant by that. His deeds had already shown his character. He had saved you so many times it would be useless to count. You could only wonder what had plagued him so that he felt he still felt as if he was too tainted for you.

You thought this over, getting lost in your thoughts and thoughts of what had transpired the night before. You had never felt anything like that. Sure, you'd had desires that crossed your mind late at night. You’d had a rather large crush on one of the local farm hands, and he had entered your dreams many times. However, nothing compared to the heat that burned through you at Halbrands touch, the gruff sound of his voice, the feel of his hot breath. You had to close your eyes, and your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you willed the thoughts that filled your mind to go away.

Soon, though, you found yourself wishing for the sound of the waves and smell of the ocean air, so you made the venture outside the inn. You watched the hustle and bustle of the locals, the sound of children's laughter. You never wanted to leave this place. It was so different from your home.

The sound of your name being called made you stand straight and tall. Soon, Isildur was running up to you, breathing heavily. “I don’t have much time, I have to be at the beach in…well, very soon,” He looked at you with a smile, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I came here to apologize for making a scene and for putting your honor to question. That was never my intention, and if you wanted to, I would completely understand if you wanted to slap me in the face a time or two. I have more than earned that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head, “I don’t think that will be needed.”

He laughed, “I am relieved, I was not looking forward to explaining that black eye to my father.”

His smile faltered for a moment as he searched for words, “If your heart belongs to another, I hope you know that I would find contentment in your friendship as well. Perhaps it would not be my first choice, but being your friend would be an honor beyond measure.”

You nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “I would be content with that too. I hope that I did not lead you to believe there was more.”

Isildur shook his head, “You did not. You are simply beautiful and kind and funny, and I am but a man. I still would like to show you more of my city's culture. There is a massive library and halls of art and food better than what we were treated to last night. That is, if you are indeed interested in that.”

“Of course,” you grinned, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“Yes? Yes! Well, then I shall see you later this evening? Right before sun down. I’ll meet you here?”

You nodded, your lips parted to answer when you heard one of his friends call his name, and he simply smiled at you before running off. You remembered what Halbrand said. He wanted you to have friends, and so you would. Isildur was kind. He was respectful, and you had no reason not to trust him.

~

“Where is Halbrand?”

You looked from your lunch of rice and fish, your spirits dropping at the sound of the elf's voice. You had avoided her as best as you could, and it had been successful for the most part. You knew she hated you, and while you did your best to understand her hatred, there was part of you that blamed elves as well. If it weren’t for them, your mother would still be alive, and you’d have the baby sibling you had been so excited for. But you knew it was unfair to blame Galadriel for that. You just wish she would understand the same for you.

“Where is Halbrand?” She repeated, sounding annoyed. You noticed that in her hand, she held what appeared to be a scroll.

“I do not know. I have not seen him since this morning.”

“Did he give you any idea to where he was going?”

You shook your head, turning back to your food. You did not want this conversation to last longer than it needed to.

“You seem rather content to sit and do nothing, to feast on the food of a people who have earned prosperity. I seek to fix the wound your ancestors and your family caused. Do you not seek redemption?”

You stared at the rice on your plate, your expression hardening as you tried to keep your tongue. A fight would solve nothing. You knew she was hurting as were you but the smugness in which she carried herself, the arrogance that radiated from her, it was fueling an anger in you.

“I have committed no crime to be redeemed for.” You spoke softly, not bothering to look up at her.

“Do you not feel guilty for the 37 elven souls your father, brother, and uncle took. Are they not worth redemption? Are they not worth trying to right your fathers wrongs?”

“And what of the families in the Southlands that your kind oppresses for a sin none of us committed. Crops die, money is scarce and yet we have to give a portion to the great elves who want not for food or medicine.”

“It is a reminder…”

“A reminder that to elves, we will always be less than. You act as if the Numenorians were bestowed greatness by your kind as if man can not achieve that on his own. You act as if children are responsible for the sins of their fathers as if the elves have committed none.”

“You speak of which you know little,” Your raised voices were beginning to draw a crowd. “Do you feel no guilt or remorse for what was done?”

“I feel remorse every day. Do you forget I was a child? Do you feel no remorse for your people making me watch as your people executed my only family.”

“It was what had to be done.” She replied, coldly staring you down.

“You are but a petulant child. Your callousness and arrogance will leave you without friend or affection, and I can not imagine what a lonely existence that will be for someone who does not die.” You stood up and pushed past her, walking fast to escape the eyes following you.

`

It was after Isildur took you to the grand library and to get dinner that you had learned of Halbrands fate from the whispers of locals as you walked past. You had enjoyed your time, feeling a true bond of friendship between the two of you. You were falling more and more in love with this island and hoped upon hope that you would be able to stay here. There was nothing for you at home. Orcs had burned down the only home you knew, but this seemed so far away from that. As if evil could not touch it.

Halbrand wasn’t evil, but he may be ruining your chances of being here with his antics. You had come to the realization that wherever you went, he was likely to follow. It was a strange sentiment to have in such a short time, but you knew you’d follow him too. No matter where his temper might land him. It was for this reason you had found some food and skin of wine and were down to the dungeons.

It seemed you weren’t the only visitor he had. You heard the elves' voice before you saw her and waited in the shadows, listening to the conversation unseen. Perhaps you shouldn’t but your curiosity got the better of you. A dispute about a woman? You could tell from the way he was speaking that it was about her.

Of course it was.

You wanted greatly to believe all that he had told you that morning, that he had shared something personal with you and that was a sign of how he trusted you but here he was so freely telling her of his past. The heir to the throne of the Southlands, how his ancestor was who swore a blood oath to Morgoth. All of those had been lacking from the story he had told you. You didn’t think him a liar, but you didn’t know what to think as it seemed he so easily opened himself up to the elf.

You heard as the elf mentioned fate bringing them together, of him going to Middle Earth with her, and he did not argue against any of it. If his intentions were truly with you, why then did he not make that known to her? You were able to see his expression as she ascended the stairs. He watched after her as if she was some grand prize with a twinkle to his eyes and a smirk playing at his lips. She was a prize, you supposed, she was an elf. Truly unattainable, with beauty that men merely dreamed of finding. She was mysterious and strong.

And what were you?

You had nothing to your name. Your only talent was in what your mother and the family kept you as a ward taught you - healing and gardening. You didn’t suppose you were all that beautiful. No one had attempted to court you. You were not mysterious or battle hardened or the daughter of a noble bloodline.

You were just you.

Of course, she would be the prize.

Quietly, you slipped from the shadows and made your way to where Halbrand stood. You saw his smile, and perhaps if you hadn’t been so caught in your insecurities you’d see how he looked at you as if you were the dawn itself. But his smile faded slightly when he saw your face.

“Sweet one?” His hands reached through the bars for your hand, which you simply pulled away from him. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I brought this for you,” You slipped him the cloth full of bread, fish, fruits, and cheese along with the skin full of wine.

His eyes never left yours, sitting it all behind him on the bench as your eyes looked at the ground. “Will you not look at me? Are you upset about this? It was simply a…”

“Dispute about a woman,” you repeated his words back to him. You saw his expression shift. He knew you heard his conversation.

“Sweet one…” He started.

“I could find contentment in a friendship with you. That would be an honor,” Your words echoed what you were told mere hours before.

“Friendship?” He laughed softly in disbelief, looking at you as if you grew two heads, “I told you of my intentions, and I meant it.”

“I do not know if you did. I do not know if you know what it is you want. I do not want to fight in a competition with the elf when I know I would lose it.”

“What are you talking about?” He breathed the words out.

“I see how it is you look at her. I hear how you two talk. I am not stupid enough to think that you do not want for her as she does for you. In talks of what your future holds, you never mentioned me.”

He scoffed, “You are reading too much into it.”

“I do not think that I am.”

“Do not reduce this to mere friendship. Please, sweet one.” He looked at you as if his heart was breaking, his eyes frantically searching your face for an answer.

“I need to go,” you backed away from the cell.

His fingers reached for you, but you pulled away, “Please, sweet one, please do not go when I can not follow.”

You spoke no more words, turning on your heels and wiping at the hot tears that were spilling from your eyes. You ignored the desperate calls of your name as you ascended the stairs. The only thing you could see was the way his face lit up when he saw Galadriel.

[violetasteracademic]

Does Elain Archeron want to be human again?

Theory debunk ahead.

I have personally *tried* (though I am absolutely not perfect) to take a hippocratic oath with my presence on the internet and wish to do no harm. The Libra moon to my Virgo sun is always trying to approach things peacefully. The wing 2 on my type 1 ennengram is always trying to take an open hearted approach to compassion and empathy for others while still defending my views on Elain (and Azriel).

However, the take that Elain's book is going to be centered around her acting in risky, irrational, or damaging ways because she has one goal and that is to be human again, is a theory I have ZERO respect for. So, with all due respect, which is none, please feel free to self insert disrespectfully at the end of each point as I systematically debunk this theory. This is probably the longest post I'll ever make. Strap in.

So, where TF did this come from?

On my tiktok, I addressed the fact that the rumor that there is going to be a betrayer in the Night Court ranks has zero grounds. We should collectively start to work to realize this is as accurate as Sarah having an announcement on May 1st, but alas it is a losing battle. However, I received a comment that said they also agreed that it was fake UNTIL they saw someone use text to support it. Apparently, one of the human queens insinuated there is a traitor in the Inner Circle. This is why, even though Sarah NEVER said this, people are now continuing to push this "Elain will be a traitor" agenda. Even accidentally or unintentionally out of her desire to be human. I made a whole video on this, but for context, here is the quote being used to fuel this:

Briallyn and Nesta are in a game of chicken with Briallyn trying to force Nesta to get the Trove by threatening she'll have Cassian kill her, and he'll never recover. When Nesta calls her on her bluff and says Briallyn won't kill her, Briallyn responds that there are other court members as delusional as Nesta (she is referring to her love for Cassian making her weak, delusional, and vulnerable) and she can just keep threatening members of the Night Court's loved ones until someone gets her what she wants. However, she put in *quite* a bit of time and effort on trapping Nesta first, didn't she?

My friends. Where does Briallyn say "there is a traitor among the Inner Circle's ranks?" Where does it say there is a mole? It doesn't. Yes, Briallyn has spies. As do all courts and kingdoms. But to suggest Briallyn said there is already a traitor in the Inner Circle specifically because of these quotes is unhinged and beyond willful distortion of the text to serve an invented narrative based on an unfounded rumor. I don't have time or energy to recap the whole vid, but moving on from this for now. Disrespectfully.

The next layer of the conversation is this: They think Briallyn is probably still foreshadowing Elain because Elain wants to be human so badly she'll unintentionally harm the Night Court and betray them, somehow, because of this quote and the conversation with Amren on Solstice. To which I said, there is way too much evidence in ACOSF that Elain is healthy, adjusted, and has friends and purpose in Velaris. The response to that was, well that's Nesta's perception and we can't trust her.

While the convo on tiktok was, I felt, respectful discourse and we agreed to disagree, the parasite in my brain went into full annihilation mode over this theory after thinking on it.

Because by this logic- if we aren't allowed to trust Nesta's or Cassian's perceptions that Elain is healthy and well and adjusted, or glowing with good health and finding purpose and friends, then we ALSO aren't allowed to trust Amren's assumption that Elain was curious about her choosing her Fae form because Elain wants to be human again. Elain never actually said that. Amren assumed it:

(yes I'm bringing so many receipts I exceeded the photo limit and had to start combining pages.)

At no point does Elain say anything about wanting to be human. In fact, this entire conversation is about Elain's curiosity over why Amren chose the form that she did, why she selected the gender, ect. It's honestly an interesting conversation, and when Amren makes assumptions about Elain having ulterior motives for asking the interesting question, *Elain's brow furrows in confusion.*

Elain straightens and becomes cold at Amren's assumption Elain still wants to be human. One could read this as Elain feeling embarrassed for being called out, but the pure fact is that it isn't the only explanation. In fact, Elain has spent all day cooking for everyone, spent the week shopping for Solstice presents and waxing poetic about the importance of honoring Solstice traditions (more on that later) and participating in the Fae customs, fussing over her appearance for the dinner she prepped for, ECT. It's equally as likely that she is hurt over being misunderstood by the new friends and family she has spent the day trying to making a perfect Solstice meal for and shop for everyone. Which is, if I'm not mistaken, Elain's whole damn theme. Her loved ones don't really see or understand her, while she observed and understands everything. Far more than they give her credit for.

Or maybe Elain has a fucking BEAST FORM. And is curious about what her powers can do with changing form.

The point is, it is all theory and assumption from another character. So, the dinner conversation at Solstice is now off the table using the very logic enforcing the Elain betrayal plotline by suggesting Nesta's perceptions of her are untrustworthy. So are Amren's. What's next? Disrespectfully.

There's only one other item people can use, from ACOFAS, which is Feyre's perception that Elain still wants Grayson. Which again, by this logic, is off the table now.

Feyre is the one who says Elain wants a human man. Elain didn't. So this can no longer be used as evidence.

All Elain says is Lucien is not entitled to her time and affections, and it's impossible for Lucien to care for her because he does not know her. Hmm. Someone thinking they know and care for Elain without actually knowing her. Theme, anyone? I thought I heard a theme bell chime.

Alright. So Nesta is wrong about Elain. Amren is wrong about Elain. Feyre is wrong about Elain.

So where are the grounds that Elain still wants to be human based on the text?

They don't exist.

But oh, that's not even the fun part! NOW is the fun part.

By eliminating others perceptions of Elain from the conversation as they are unreliable, what does that leave us?

Perhaps with Elain's own words and actions and nothing else?

You guys, I felt like a kid in a candy story with this one. Let's see what Elain told us about her thoughts regarding the human lands, starting with the most recent publication ACOSF:

Elain describes in great detail how she was bullied by other girls when she was younger. It's interesting, because Nesta previously said that Elain used to love balls and parties. And yet here, we find out that Elain wasn't treated well by the other girls in her own words speaking on her own experience. She goes on to *shudder in distaste* that in the human lands, it would have been perfectly suitable for Nesta to have been married off and "reserved" until she was old enough to reproduce. A thought that made Rhysand, a Fae, choke on his wine. And then of course, those same girls that tormented her delighted in her downfall.

When Elain speaks for herself instead of others speaking for her, it doesn't seem like she thinks very highly of the human lands, their customs, or their behavior, or the balls she attended does it? She certainly doesn't have any friends or anyone she misses. Everyone turned their backs on the sisters when they lost their money. And Elain witnessed this with Grayson as well, who turned his back on her the second her circumstances changed against her will again.

So uh, no. I don't think Elain is desperate to go back there.

And if course we have this ACOMAF banger:

So.... yeah. In Elain's own words, sharing her thoughts and beliefs, this is what she thinks about the rulers of the mortal lands. By the way, these same queens had her kidnapped and risked her life and took everything from her so they could test out whether mortals could survive being thrown in the Cauldron. But please, tell me more how Elain misses her human life so much that she'll screw over her friends and family to get it back. Disrespectfully.

Alternatively, in A Court and Frost and Starlight, here are the lovely thoughts Elain had about Fae culture:

Here's Elain working with her friends to bake Feyre's birthday cake, a representation of the three sisters:

Here's Elain surprising Nesta and Azriel with presents her very first Solstice, after chatting with local vendors and working with the Night Court's trusted healer:

Here is what Elain, Elain and no one else, has to say about being a member of the night court and ready to use her powers to serve it:

This is what happens when you cherry pick context. You create a new set of rules, which people like me are more than willing to follow. And if the rule is: Elain's thoughts and feelings are the only pieces of evidence allowed and not anyone else's thoughts or perceptions of her, it actually only proves the theory that Elain is going to betray the night court because she wants to be mortal again and return to the mortal lands even more wrong. Considering the theme once again, of how misunderstood and unseen Elain has been, the unbelievably ironic meta-ness of it all is overwhelming. Please, unplug yourself from the Matrix. Pay attention to Elain. It's in your best interest to at least attempt to see and understand her if you plan to read her book, or you are going to be very lost and confused.

Disrespectfully.

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Personas' Unique Skills

All this talk of Maruki made me think of the special skills that individual Personas can have. These are clearly born from some strong aspect of the User. Something strong enough to define them as a person. So to determine what counts as a Unique Skill(tm) I consider the following:

No other Persona in their respective games is able to do it.

Almost never included among the skills you can use during normal combat.

Users can just use it whenever without needing to power-up or receive a boost.

It's related to the User's personality and/or journey.

Must have possessed it from the moment they awakened to their Persona. It was a package deal.

Users can or have been shown to use it passively in their daily lifes.

Off the top of my head, here are the Personas with Unique Skills, though feel free to add more if you remember any:

MOT

Belonging to Reiji, it possesses a fear aura. Unlike everyone else on this list, this actually made Reiji's life harder. Useful while trying to be an edgy teen, not so much as a salesman.

AKUMA

Belonging to Kenta, it can create desire in people. He used it to make himself a successful salesman. You gotta respect the hussle.

NIGHT QUEEN

Belonging to Tomomi, it's less of an original power it had and more what it mutated into. By separating itself from Tomomi due to the Demon Mirror, the Night Queen could (potentially) bring an "eternal night" into the world. Maybe her original skill as a Persona was a weaker version of this. Maybe darkness/shadow manipulation. Something to go with her name.

VULCAN AND APOLLO

Belonging to Tatsuya, they could slow down time and give him brief bursts of super strength. This made him ridiculously OP in Tatsuya's Scenario, soloing entire quests while the main plot was happening. Then again, he was running on NG+, so maybe it was a mix of both.

PERSEPHONE

Belonging to Musubu, it could brainwash people like a parasite, with the infected spreading the brainwashing to other people and growing stronger as the number of infected grew. Strong enough to create pocket dimensions.

PENTHESILEA AND ARTEMISIA

Belonging to Mitsuru, Penthesilea had some minor enemy-detection abilities. Just enough to know there's a threat. It also seems Mitsuru's ice skills go beyond what is normal for other Personas, manifesting in the physical world as well without the need to summon her Persona. That's a Unique Skill, alright.

LUCIA AND JUNO

Belonging to Fuuka, they have the Navi Package (get info on the enemies, sense the location of other beings, heal the party, etc). Navis might appear every game, but that doesn't make them any less unique.

MEDEA

Belonging to Chidori, it could fuck with Navis and, most importantly, heal. Chidori had one of the strongest healing powers, from people to plants to herself. Derived from this, she could also transfer some (or all) of her own life to heal someone else, even from the brink of death. Junpei would later inhereit a weaker version of this.

HIMIKO, KANZEON AND KOUZEON

Belonging to Rise, all her Personas have the Navi Package, though a bit more active than Fuuka's, mostly due to her experience and training as an idol (having to know what people want and how to please them without letting them step on you is an art).

NECRONOMICON, PROMETHEUS AND AL AZIF

Belonging to Futaba, they also have the Navi Pack, though way more active than Fuuka and Rise's, reflecting Futaba's deeper understanding of cogniton and her experience obtaining information.

LOKI

Belonging to Akechi, it could cause any being to go berserk, including himself. This power tells us that Akechi needs to get proper therapy.

AZATHOTH AND ADAM KADMON

Belonging to Maruki, they can alter a person's cognition of themselves and/or the world. The world-reaching powers he showed were the results of many shenanigans that had nothing to do with him, but it's still a pretty strong power, as shown with Rumi and Sumire.

Before anyone says anything, I count Third Eye as a gift by Yaldy rather than a natural skill. You can count it if you want, but for me its an extra thing. This also implies it's an AKIRA skill, not a PERSONA skill. Same with Minato's Great Seal. That's a MINATO skill, not a PERSONA skill (one born from having an embodiment of Death inside him for years). Both of them could still use those powers even if they didn't have access to their Personas, say, if they were reaped or something.

I truly believe every Persona has or is capable of having a Unique Skill, but either they aren't shown or the User doesn't know about it. Based on their Shadows, what unique skills would other characters have? For example, I would love to see Madarame's.

[suuuupernovaaa]

asap si

‘ASAP SI [English] to be shocked, be startled

Adult Neteyam returns home to find you’ve grown into a beautiful woman, and you’ve been keeping a secret from him all these years.

18+   |   1,177 words

My hands had begun growing tired, the joints in my fingers aching, but I still had a little time before my parents were expecting me home, and I could finish just a little bit more here at the mother loom.

Li’ei and Zoavey had been generous to allow me not only to use the mother loom, but to teach me. Between them, they possessed over 100 years of experience creating tapestries and cloths for our clan, and they were both held in very high regard for what they provided to our people.

“Y/N,” Li’ei chastised the next time I sighed under my breath, “go home. We must all rest.”

I sighed once more, feeling the thick, coarse fabric between my fingers. “I feel as though the job will never be done.”

Zoavey tsk’d at me. “It does not matter how long it takes - only that you do the job properly.” 

Standing up, I nodded at the two elders. “Thank you for your time today. May I return tomorrow?”

Li’ei smiled. “Yes, darling.” I felt compelled to ask every day, even though they had made it clear they were training me so that I could take their place when the day came.

Touching my forehead and lowering my hand, I signed my respect to my elders, who had so graciously taken me under their wing, and quickly turned on my heel to make my way through our village back to my parents’ home.

--

The closer I got to the center of our village, to my home, the louder things seemed to be. It’s was always quite busy at this time of day, but this seemed to be something else; a commotion, almost.

As I neared the epicenter of home tree, my parents rushed to me, almost out of nowhere.

“Y/N!” my mother gasped, wide eyed. “Jakesully and his family have returned.”

The tools I was carrying fell from my hands, clattering on the ground. I should have bent and grabbed them, pay them the respect they deserve, but I am frozen to the ground.

Neteyam is home.

Suddenly, I am transported to five years ago. Once again, I felt Neteyam gripping my arms too tightly as he told me his family was leaving, and he didn’t know if they would return. He left, with so much left unsaid between us.

Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I forced them away.

“Where are they?” I asked  finally, after a long pause that I knew my mother noticed.

She gestured to the fires, around which we cooked and ate our meals. I saw it then, the large crowd gathering, almost too large to push my way through - but I knew I had to try.

“Sorry, excuse me, sorry,” I repeated over and over as I wormed my way through the throng of bodies here to see Taruk Maktow and his family.

It’s was hard to believe it had been 5 years. After the Sky People left and Jakesully and his family didn’t return, we weren’t sure what to think - maybe they had died in battle, or found another clan they wanted to stay with instead.

I never gave up hope... but it was hard some days, especially with Ueku nearly relentlessly pursuing me the last two years to be his mate. 

Ueku was one of the most desired of The People, our strongest hunter, and everyone was staring to look at me as if I had two tails - they could not figure out why I would not agree to be his.

And it felt so dumb to explain that it was because of a crush I’d had when I was fifteen, on someone I hadn’t seen since then. 

It took much effort, but I finally made it to the front of the crowd, and saw them standing there.

Oh, they looked so different. All four children were taller, the boys had much broader chests and Kiri and Tuk had grown into lovely young women. I wanted to cry and rush forward to greet them, but they were being bombarded with welcome greetings.

I stood back, staring, and finally allowed myself to really look at Neteyam. His hair was longer now, halfway down his back and braided intricately, woven through with many beads and fine weaves. He was taller, as tall as his father, with strong shoulders and a wide, firm chest.

The sight of him made me feel light headed. I closed my eyes, and took a steadying, deep breathing. 

“Y/N!”

--

Tuk called her name, and Neteyam snapped his head to see where his youngest sister was looking. Since the moment they’d arrived, his only thought was to find Y/N, his oldest and best friend.

Tuk took off from next to him, rushing towards a woman in the crowd who was almost unrecognizable. This beautiful woman lifted Tuk up in her arms effortlessly and hugged her tightly.

She was an angel. Her hair was impossibly long, and she wore a woven crown around her face to keep it out of her eyes. Her leggings were green, and he could tell the care and effort that went into making them. Tucked into them were various tools for use on the loom. 

She looked tired, but her amber eyes were wide and full of joy. His eyes trailed down to her smile, ear to ear as she excitedly talked to his sister, her full lips spread across white teeth. 

Ewya, was this Y/N?

Tuk was pulling her towards him now. He lifted his foot to take a step forward, but before he even moved an inch, Lo’ak had her in his arms.

“Y/N!” he shouted excitedly. 

“Oh, Lo’ak!” she exclaimed, returning his hug enthusiastically. It made a quiet rage bloom in Neteyam’s chest, and he shoved it down quickly.

“Wow!” Lo’ak exclaimed, taking a step back, and Neteyam stepped up beside him. Lo’ak threw his elbow forcefully into Neteyam’s side.

Neteyam winced and grabbed his ribs as Lo’ak said, “Y/N sure grew up, didn’t she?”

“Well, we all did, Lo’ak. It’s been five years!” Y/N replied with a soft smile. Even though she was speaking, the beauty of her voice sounded like a song to Neteyam’s ears.

Neteyam raised his hand to his head, touching his fingers to his forehead, and lowered it as he took a step towards Y/N. “Y/N...” he said, but after all these years, words failed him.

He had spent countless nights thinking of Y/N, but never had he imagined her to have such an effect on him when he was finally able to stand in front of her. His mouth felt dry, and his heart was beating out of his chest.

“Neteyam,” Y/N said, returning the gesture. “I’ve missed you.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders, and after only a moment, he wrapped his around her waist. She even smelled lovely, like fresh tapestry and earth, and he took a deep breath.

He would savor this moment forever.

--

It was a while before I could get Neteyam alone, but I was determined. Something about the look of shock on his face when he first saw me gave me hope.

Had he been missing me too?

After we ate and the excitement began to die down a little as the singing began, I grabbed Neteyam and pulled him from the crowd, into the jungle.

We walked in silence for a while, until I found a familiar spot to sit. It was a large fallen tree next to a small pool of water. We could sit and dangle our legs, our toes just dipping in to the small pool.

“I missed you, Neteyam,” I said finally. Though I had been shy when Neteyam left, five years had made me bold. It felt as if I had to tell him how I felt, or I might stop breathing. “I thought of you often.”

Neteyam smiled, and though much about him had changed, his smile had not. “I missed you as well, Y/N. Lo’ak had to tell me I was not allowed to speak of you anymore... but I still did.”

I glanced away for a moment. “It’s been a long time. You might have... you might have found yourself a woman, while you were gone. I, uh, Ueku has asked me to be his woman, but I-”

Neteyam cut me off. “Ueku! Bah!”

I grabbed his arm, trying not to laugh at the disgusted look on his face. “I told him I would not. Well, that I could not. Neteyam, I have been yours since you left. I wanted to tell you, but you left so fast, I could not.”

His look of anger softened, and his eyes widened in surprise. “You would be my woman, Y/N?”

My lips spread into a wide smile. “I would.” My heart felt as if it might leap out of my chest, and my fingers trembled. I clasped my hands together to steady them.

Neteyam reached over and took my hands into his.

“I have thought of almost nothing but returning and claiming you for my own, since we left. Y/N, you have become more beautiful that I ever could have imagined, and one of our people’s most prized women. I would be honored to have you as my mate.”

The stars swam in front of my eyes, and I reached up and pulled Neteyam’s face to mine, capturing him in a kiss I had waited five years for.

He wasted no time, and lifted me up into his lap so that I was straddling him as he deepened the kiss.

“Teyam,” I moaned into his mouth.

“Paskalin,” he replied in a breathy voice, pulling me even closer to him. His hands roamed my body, up and down my back, and I pushed down onto him, creating friction between us that made him groan into my mouth.

He was kissing me desperately, feverishly, as if we would have to part for another five years after this.

I was equally as desperate as I pushed him back onto the mossy tree, and lay on top of him, stopping to look at him for just a moment.

“I should have come back sooner,” he said with a sly grin, and I laughed.

Leaning down, I pressed my head to his chest to hear his heartbeat - it was quick, to match mine.

“We have all the time we need now,” I whispered, and he wrapped me in a tight hug.

“I will never let you go again,” he whispered, his voice full of determination and reverence.

I believed him.

[nyaagolor]

Thinking about the rose scene in Umineko again and how, even though it's about Maria, it really shows us a lot about Rosa and themes of romance with respect to Sayo. Maria is stuck out there in the rain, shackled by her own conscience to something that is gone and completely incapable of returning to her no matter how badly she needs or wants it. There's this deep sense of wrongness to the whole thing-- it's something that's supposed to be there, expected to be, but nonetheless is not. And I think this attitude kinda reflects on how Rosa thinks of her husband / the men in her life (also Sayo but we'll get to that).

Social norms dictate that Rosa's husband is still supposed to be there-- to be a single mother in her eyes is some perversion of the natural order of things. There is no reason that the rose / her husband shouldn't be there, and yet it's not. She desperately wants and needs him and is constantly engaging in the same kind of stubborn thinking as Maria with respect to her attachment. Somehow, if she just looks hard enough, she's going to find a man to take care of her and fill that role of her husband. (Note that when I say husband here I both mean Maria's father and Rosa's boyfriends-- the game seems to use "Rosa's husband" more as a social role than an actual individual)

And while I love the parallels between Rosa and Maria's lines of thinking and how this gives us a glimpse into Rosa's desperation, I also think that it kinda hits on one of the other major themes of Sayo's story and the desire for romance. The rose is emblematic of something that should be and is not there, with Maria acting as the mouthpiece for the stubborn and ultimately futile desire to have something that doesn't exist. Both Rosa and Sayo are convinced of the idea that this unattainable thing (romance in both cases) is integral to them as people. Their life going forward and happy endings, as they see it, are predicated by the existence of that other person. The rose is not there, they cannot have it back in the way they thought, but they are so single-minded and focused on the idea that the rose / a man is integral in their self-actualization that they will stand in the literal and metaphorical rain for even the hope that it might reappear one day, if only they look hard enough