#and i do Not need to know that. ever. i resent that it's plain as day and i have to know it.

[ssaalexblake]

wild that for the whole of chibnall’s run nobody worked out that the man apparently doesn’t find somebody forcing themselves on somebody else funny and that’s why 95% of the kissing in the show disappeared 

[tokkiwrites]

summary: joel witnesses yet another fight between you and your dad, and frankly, he's tired of the way you've been talking to your old man. so he decides to teach you a lesson.

tags: pwp, dbf!joel, daddy kink, brat taming, spanking, age gap, p in v (unprotected yikes!), degradation, pet names, dirty talk galore!, creampie, head (f receiving), a short fight scene, family problems kind of, mean joel kind of.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ happy spookytokki kinktober!! the third and most anticipated one i think!! dbf joel wowza! 3.46k words of just pure smut >:) hope u likey! if u see any errors..no u dont.

“You’ve always gotta push every button, don’t you?” he snapped, his words flaring like sparks off dry wood. the kitchen boomed with both your voices. “Can’t you just do what’s best for once?”

You felt your pulse quicken, anger twisting up inside you like a coiled spring. “What’s best?” you spat back, incredulous. “You mean what you think is best, don’t you? God, Dad, you can’t keep treating me like I’m some clueless kid who needs his hand held!”

His face flushed a deep red, brows pulling tight together. “If you didn’t act like a kid, I wouldn’t have to! You wanna run off and live some big-shot life, fine. But don’t you dare act like I’m the one in the wrong for worryin’ about you.”

Before you could bite out a response, the sound of a chair creaking interrupted you. Joel shifted where he sat in the living room, the leather of the old armchair groaning under his weight. He hadn’t said a word since the argument began, just sat there with his arms crossed and a distant look on his face. Now, though, he glanced over, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before sliding back to your father.

“Maybe…” Joel’s voice was low, that drawl he had stretching the word out slow and easy. “Maybe you both wanna step back a bit. Cool down some.”

Your father exhaled, frustration radiating off him in waves, but he gave a terse nod, like he knew there wasn’t any use arguing anymore. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Probably for the best.”

He threw one last look your way—one full of hurt and something else, something that looked a lot like regret—before turning sharply and stalking out of the kitchen. The front door opened and then slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the house.

You stood there for a moment, the silence thick and oppressive. Then, with a growl of frustration, you spun on your heel and stormed down the hallway to your room. The door banged shut with a sharp thud, and you collapsed onto the edge of your bed, breath coming in quick, angry bursts. You hated that he could still get under your skin like that, twist everything you said, and make you feel small, childish.

Minutes ticked by, your thoughts a jumbled mess of resentment and guilt, when you heard a soft knock on your door. It was barely more than a tap, but it sent a jolt through you. You sat up straighter, glaring at the door.

“Come in,” you said, voice flat.

The door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, the light from the hallway casting his shadow long across the floor. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s gone,” he said quietly, his accent thickening his words. “Gone off to cool his head, like he always does.”

You just huffed, crossing your arms. “Good. Let him stew all he wants.”

Joel’s gaze flickered, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You know, you sure got a smart mouth on you,” he drawled slowly, each word rolling off his tongue like honeyed molasses. “Always did. But there’s a fine line between standin’ up for yourself and bein’ plain disrespectful.”

You stared at him, taken aback. “Disrespectful?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “He’s the one who—”

���—who’s worried ’bout his little girl.” Joel’s voice was steady but firm, cutting through your protest. He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “Look, darlin’, I know you’re frustrated. And I know he ain’t the easiest man to deal with. But the way you talked to him back there? That’s somethin’ you oughta be ashamed of.”

Heat flared up your neck, your pulse pounding. “I’m not ashamed. He never listens to me, Joel! No matter what I say, it’s like—”

“Don’t matter if he’s listenin’ or not,” Joel interrupted softly, shaking his head. “There’s a right way to talk to your folks, and that wasn’t it.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to hold his gaze. “So, what, you’re on his side now?”

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his brow furrowed like he was tired of this whole conversation. “Ain’t nobody pickin’ sides here. But I’ll tell you this—you sounded like a brat, plain and simple.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart lurching. “A brat?”

“Yeah,” he drawled, the word drawn out and almost lazy. He took another step closer, his gaze sharpening. “Actin’ like you know it all, like you’re too good to hear what he’s got to say. I get it—you’re grown, got your own ideas. But a little respect don’t hurt none.”

Something about the way he was looking at you—like he could see right through the front you were putting up—sent a strange thrill skittering down your spine. You shifted on the bed, your breath catching as he moved even closer, the distance between you shrinking to just a few feet.

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” you murmured, the words lacking their usual bite.

“Maybe not,” Joel agreed softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I reckon you need someone to remind you how to mind your manners.”

Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, the room suddenly feeling too small, too hot. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Joel’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Means you’re actin’ like a spoiled little girl who needs to be put in her place. Someone’s gotta teach you how to behave.” You swallowed, pulse racing as you held his gaze, the challenge hanging thick. “And you think you’re the one to do that?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, voice rough. “Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” There was something dangerous in the way he said it—something that sent your heart and head into a frenzy. You knew you were treading into territory you shouldn’t, but the pull was quietly simmering beneath the surface.

It was hard to ignore how close he was now, standing just a few steps away, his broad frame taking up so much space in the room. You tried to look away to push down the tension that was building, but your body betrayed you. You wanted to deny it, the way your pulse quickened when he spoke to you like that. The way his presence—strong and steady—always made you feel something you weren’t sure how to handle.

“I don’t need you telling me how to behave, Joel,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual edge. His lips quirked up, his eyes dark as they held yours. “someone’s gotta.”

Joel was always calm, always collected, but there was something in his voice that you couldn’t shake off, and it only made the knot in your stomach tighten. He took another step toward you, and you could feel the air shift. “You’ve always had a way of pushin’ boundaries, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice tickling you, “but there’s a fine line between speakin’ your mind and actin’ out.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to push him away or let this go further. You’d always had a thing for him—Joel wasn’t just any man. He was the kind of guy who was steady when everything else wasn’t. Rugged, manly in a way that most men your age couldn’t pull off, and there was something about him that made you feel both safe and completely off-balance at the same time. It was a crush you’d tried to bury, but moments like this made it impossible to forget about it.

Your heart raced in your chest, a wild rhythm that matched the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Joel had always been a figure of strength, a constant, rugged presence in your life. you’d always admired him from far, always found yourself drawn to him, even when you tried to deny it. That unspoken crush, the way your gaze lingered on him longer than it should, the way your stomach twisted when he called you "darlin’." It had been easy to brush off before to keep it hidden in the safe corners of your mind. But now, those feelings were too close, too raw, spilling over into the silence between.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak. Joel’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and before you could pull yourself together, he stepped closer. Close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him, his presence filling the space around you until it felt like you could barely breathe. his smell was suffocating, making your lungs burn.

“I think I know exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, "You do too. And since your daddy didn't teach it to you, it seems like i need to take the brat out of you." His gaze didn’t waver, his words deliberate, each one sinking into your heart like they were meant to. Your breath got stuck as his words settled over you, thick and heavy like a weight you weren’t quite ready for. The air in the room wrapped around your throat like a chain.

His eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His presence seemed to swallow everything else—the fight with your dad, the anger simmering in your chest, the stubbornness you wore like armor. Now, it all felt fragile, like glass under pressure. And Joel, standing so close, felt like the force about to shatter it.

A shiver rippled down your back, and you felt disarmed. Your body betrayed you—heat rising in your cheeks, your heartbeat so fast and loud you were sure he could hear it too. You wanted to protest, to say something sharp and cutting, to remind him he wasn’t your father and didn’t get to tell you what to do. But the words got stuck.

There was something in the way he looked at you now—unflinching, steady, like he had all the time in the world to watch you break. You’d never felt so vulnerable, so completely exposed. And yet, beneath that vulnerability, a dangerous thrill settled through you, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. It was wrong, wasn’t it? To feel this way, to let his words, his presence, affect you like this.

But you did let it affect you.

Joel scanned your face as if he was waiting for something—for you to break, to push back, or to surrender. You felt exposed under his gaze

And God, the way he stood there—so solid, so sure of himself. You had never felt smaller, more out of control, and at the same time, more drawn to that feeling of submission. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss, knowing you shouldn’t jump but feeling the undeniable urge to fall anyway. fall into him.

"So here's how this is gonna go. While your dad is out to cool off 'm gonna teach you some manners, and when he comes back, you'll be good and ready to apologize." His calloused fingertips trace the side of your face. "How's that sound, angel baby?" You wanted to reply, to say something. this all felt like a dream, granted, a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

"Stayin' quiet now won't save your pretty ass, girl." Joel tuts, fingers slowly tangling themselves around your locks, pulling at them to make you look up. it made it hard to think straight. " I'm sorry.." And he chuckles at your words. "Now that's somethin'...so you can apologize." he said, almost mocking you. truthfully, him talking to you this way made all of your thoughts fuzzy, so you were basically on autopilot. the ends of your brows tie in a frown, unable to say anything more.

"Get up." Joel taps the side of your shoulder, his stern tone deafening the ring in your ears. "W-why?" You stammered. he rolls his eyes and tugs lightly on the blouse you had on. "Cause I'm 'bout to teach you a lesson. So you learn that being a brat has consequences. I ain't as soft as your dad."

Slowly, you shifted, pushing yourself off the bed, your legs shaky beneath you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stood in front of him. As soon as you were upright, Joel’s hand released you, settling himself down on the edge of your bed, the place where you'd just been sitting, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The bed dipped under his weight, his broad shoulders taking up more space than they should, and your eyes couldn’t help but linger on him for a second longer than you intended.

"Bend over." You swallowed hard, eyes widening. "Excuse me?" You could believe what he just saidㅡ" Surely you were dreaming. It's like he crawled into the deepest space of your brain and digged in there to find the exact ways to make you fold. "C'mon, i ain't got all day. And your dad is probably coming back soon. So bend over." Joel said whilst patting his thick thighs, signaling you to settle on them. Every part of you was attuned to him—his voice, his movements, the way he looked at you - so you obey.

with shaky movements, you bend over his legs, your behind perked up and back arched. you feel his palm on the small of your back, spreading warmth through your body, before he fully moves it down to pull on the hem of your pants. "Can I take these off, sweetheart?" Your heart trembles, eyes closing as you mutter a soft 'yes'. Joel drags your pants down to your folded knees, along with your underwear, the sudden cold feeling enveloping your skin. "Look so pretty like this, baby." joel leans in, trailing soft kisses down the curve of your spine all the way to your lower back. your body jolts as you try to remain quiet.

with no warning, he pulls his hand back and settles in with a hard smack on your sizzling skin. the harsh hit priks at your skin as it reddens, and you can't help but let out a soft yelp. "Count for daddy." and it takes you off guard, but you comply.

"o-one." joel hum, rubbing that spot before delivering another slap. "Two -" three slaps, then four, then five more, and you turn into a teary, weeping mess. how beautifully you splayed yourself onto the man's lap, each jolt of your body inviting him further in. for him, it was over in seconds, but for you, it felt like an eternity before you heard his voice again.

"Up. And bend over." in no time, you're bent over the edge of the bed, ass up and face flush with the mattress. the cold air hits your exposed cunt and your skin still hurts where he spanked you. He grips your hips, nails digging into your soft flesh, and you can feel his hardon resting between your legs. "This pussy is crying for me, huh?" he's cocky with the way he says it, two of his fingers gathering up the glistening liquid from your puffy lips, then bringing them to your mouth. "Be a doll." he's playing with you, but you? you do as you're told because he has you so drunk on him, in a way you've never felt before. you lick around his digits, tasting yourself and he delivers a proud slap to one of your asscheeks. "You pretty brat." back behind you, he crouches on one knee before drawing a long strip from your sensitive clit to your entrance with his tongue, the same two fingers you had licked, now slipping inside of you.

your back arches as a wave of pleasure breaks over your body like water on a shore. his licks are now concentrated on your bud, fingers quickening their pace as Joel hums at your sweet taste. You moan and writhe, that familiar warm feeling building up inside of you again. but as soon as you were there, he stopped, pulling back to see the shaky, wet mess you were. "P-lease, daddyㅡ"

he tuts, slapping your plush thighs. "You take what I give you. don't get greedy. You're lucky if I'm gonna let you come at all right now. this is supposed to be a lesson." the pain of that sick pleasure envelopes you and you sit with your cunt exposed as you hear Joel fumble the pockets of the pants he had already taken off. 'condoms' he mumbled, as if he knew what you were thinking.

"I'm clean.." You manage a whisper. "And on birth control." he sighs in relief. "Good." You can feel he is less tense now, his presence still behind you. with no warning, he flips you over, back on the bed and ass on the edge of it, that had your legs settle around his hips with ease. "Spread 'em." So you do. you spread your legs as much as you can, giving him a full view. Joel smiles, thumb back to rubbing circles onto your clit. "You're so beautiful." it was so sincere, so sweet you could almost taste it.

his gentle gaze soon got replaced by the hungry one he had all this night whilst staring you down. Finally, he aligns the tip of his shaft with your entrance and slowly pushes the tip in. Your breath got stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thornsㅡ Every prick of discomfort is countered by an unexpected surge of delight. Your tears fall down onto the mattress under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're okay, baby, you're okay. C'monㅡ" he assures you, asking you to surrender. "Take it all- theere we go.." Joel praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. He moves gently, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements.

you wrap your legs around him loosely but he takes you by your ankles and almost folds them over your stomach, providing him a better position to pound straight into you, hitting that sweet spot on and on. his hips dive down, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, knew you could take it. Now you gotta apologize for being a little brat." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around Joel.

"C'mon baby, say it, say what i wanna hearㅡ fuck." he hammered deep into you, the trinkets from your bedside table clinking soft melodies, as Joel held you by your hips. "I'm s-orry, daddy! I'm so sorryㅡ" you sob, trying your best to be coherent. "That's it, good girl, good fucking girl."

Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, giving you a chance to take in a big gasp of air. "want me to breed this pussy, huh? fill you up with my babies? maybe then youll learn to behaveㅡ shit!" the room spins around you, body floating as if ready to plummet back down, you try your best to reply. "yes, yes- please, please, daddy, I'm sorryㅡ"

"Dirty fuckin' girl. Go ahead, 'f daddy." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much daddy!" you say as if praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into you. he pounds into you as you come down from your high, your body almost too limp to register your surroundings. he slap your thigh, strong grips now onto your breasts as he comes ropes inside of you, then he pulls his length out of your pulsing walls, some come landing on your stomach.

and for a moment there was silence. this really just happened. joel pulls out and watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him. You squeeze around nothing, licking your lips, as you feel the warm trickles of come dripping from your stomach to your chest due to your position. you're both quiet for a bit, catching your breaths, as he scoots you better on the bed. "shit, babyㅡ look at that. so pretty." he smiles kissing your shoulders, "so pretty like this, f' me."

"I'm sorry for being a brat.."

" 's fine, baby. if you're too good i won't have any reason to punish you anymore. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

you wouldn't, indeed.

[bloodycassian]

Heights - Reader X Cassian

short oneshot. Reader is terrified to fly and Cassian tries to convince her. Anxiety/Comfort

Flying was a recurring nightmare in your childhood. 

To be newly mated with an Illyrian, of all beings, was some kind of twisted joke from the Mother. 

It was a warm summer evening, the sun making it’s final glint over the Sidra when Cassian made his newest plea. 

“You know, I’ve been flying my entire existence.” He began, and eyed you from the corner of his vision. The way you straightened immediately, bracing for another go at this disagreement told him the answer already. But he’d never stop trying. Not until you would at least make an attempt at the joy of flight with him.

He couldn’t stand it, needing to walk or be winnowed everywhere. He noticed his jealousy toward Rhys and Azriel mounting of late. Truthfully, he’d always been resentful of their abilities to transport to and from at will, but it’d never bothered him to this extent before. Now, it chafed at his self worth. Seeing how your eyes would light up with apprehension of the void around, then amazement once you’d arrived was something he both loved and hated.

“Cassian…” You sighed, taking a deep breath of sea salt tinged air. The city was finally coming alive around you after a blistering day in the sun, and you kept your voice low as you protested your mate. “I have told you, I wont do it.” 

He took two long strides, stepping in front of you and stopping. “That’s not a good enough reason anymore.” He grunted, and seemed truly upset. You looked at him with a confused expression. He’d never taken such a serious tone about it before.

“I-” He sighed, and took your hands in his, squeezing tight. His throat bobbed, and he looked into your eyes with determined sorrow, a pleading look that left your heart cracking as he spoke. “I need to know truly why. Do you not trust me?” 

“Of course not!” You squeezed his hands back and smiled. “I just… dont enjoy heights.” 

He gave you a plain look, annoyed. “And.. what if you crash us? What if you drop me?!” Your voice raised as your mind raced through the possibilities of him bringing you to the height you’ve seen him at before. When he was barely a speck against the sky, a black star in the broken up sunlight with his armor, black against the blue-gray haze of Velaris. 

“What if we drift into unfriendly lands and they fire upon us? You can’t fight and carry me. I’d be dropped or you’d die getting us away and I can’t live with that-”

He squeezed your hands hard, breaking you out of the spiral of anxiety that was taking over your thoughts.

“Should you fall or be dropped, I’d follow, and greet the ground happily.” 

Your thoughts stuttered, then kicked up new images of him hurtling towards the ground and blood following. 

“You cannot die. Even if I were to-” panic climbed into your throat. He steadied you quickly.

“There is no instance where I live without you.” He said it with finality, surety. Like he’d already vowed this and had an answer for just how he’d make sure his words were the truth. Your eyes welled with hot tears, and he pulled you to his chest, his wings wrapping around you. They blocked the last of the setting sun, blanketing you in shade. “There’s also no instance where I’d ever drop you.” He said with a laugh.

You shoved at his chest, and he pulled back his wings. His smile was soft and hopeful. “You’ll consider it, then?” He asked.

As much as the idea of flying made you want to squirm and run, you nodded. It clearly meant a lot to him, and you couldn’t deny him an attempt just because of some of your fears. He was right, he’d never drop you. You couldn’t help your eyes from wandering to his thick biceps. The urge to bite him there became insatiable. 

His eyes followed yours and he raised his brows. “Shall we fly back to the apartment now, darling?” He teased.

You cleared your throat, and took his hand in yours, restarting your walk back down the streets of Velaris. “Let me think about it. I promise I’ll truly consider it.” You provided, giving him a soft smile.

“That’s all I ask.” He purred in your ear. His wing snapped out, shielded your backside while his hand gripped your ass. “For this as well, I suppose.”

[imastrangeone98]

Boothill may have made up with Luka, but I have not 😤😡😡👿 (SPOILERS FOR THE 2.5 EVENT); mainly thinking of homecoming y/n bc it expands on her lore and warning- it's a little sad

"Baby, come on, I told you- I apologized already! That Luka kid and I are on good terms now!"

"So you think that'll just brush things under the rug? You think human lives are just things you can toy with now that you're mostly metal?!"

"I never said I'm playing with people's lives! Yes, I admit that betting someone's life is out of hand, but I was just testin' his resolve!"

"Testing his resolve?! Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?! Are resolve and strength really worth one's life?! For a simple tournament?!"

"He's a fighter! Fighters can't just go in a battle half-cashed, or they lose their lives! And that kid wasn't just fightin' for himself, but for his whole planet!"

"He would've never lost his life if you hadn't even threatened it! It was a contest!"

"For aeon's sake, woman, do you even know how to fight?!"

Boothill's eyes widen. Yours narrow.

"Wait, I- I'm sorry," he stammers, reaching out to you. "I didn't mean a word- I was just-"

"I think you said enough," you say icily, spinning sharply on your heel, avoiding his outstretched hand. "I've had enough."

"Wait- moon lily, just wait-"

But you don't wait. The blood rushing through your ears blocks out all sound. You blindly walk away, your feet taking you anywhere from here- from Boothill.

You don't even hear Boothill's now weak voice, asking if you'll at least come home tonight.

[...]

"Why did you leave?! I searched everywhere for you!"

"It was all to make you stronger! Tougher! And you did it, you're here now, aren't ya?"

"How could you do that to a child?! I needed you, and you weren't there!"

"It made you a fighter! We're a family of fighters!"

"Well, I didn't want a fighter, I wanted a father!"

You sigh, leaning heavily on the guardrails. The Xianzhou Luofu is absolutely stunning, especially at night with the glowing lights from the soaring starskiffs, but the fog in your mind and heart make it difficult to fully appreciate the scenery.

Ever since you saw Boothill face off against the young boy from Belobog, all you could see was red- and though you know why, it frustrates you to think that the past still holds such a strong effect on you to even start resenting your own lover.

You don't want to hate your past; your parents did what they did for a reason, even if it hurt you. And it led you to finding better, more beautiful things in the horizon- growing beautiful flowers, making wonderful friends... and meeting Boothill, your one and only.

Yet in that one moment, you saw yourself in that boy- Luka.

Echoes of your past, your desperate attempts to prove your strength, to prove that you were worthy of your parents' love, that you were worthy of this thing they called life, all came crumbling down, suffocating you once more.

With yet another sigh, you bury your head in your hands. "Why is living so hard?" you grumble to yourself.

And to make it worse, your stomach starts growling- and with the witching hour rapidly approaching, your options for dinner are rapidly closing. You know there's some midnight spots open in Aurum Alley, but your window to getting there in time is immensely short.

You rub your rumbling stomach sadly. You'll have to sneak back on the ship and find something to eat, and hope and pray that Boothill's occupied with something else-

"Ya didn't eat, did ya?"

You shriek, nearly jumping out of your skin. When you manage to turn around, Boothill stands in front of you, rubbing one of his ears while his other hand holds a takeout container.

"Jeez, woman, you nearly blew out a fuse! Anyway, I gotcha some food; they only had those plain chili oil noodles, but it's pipin' hot, so get 'em down while it's fresh."

He opens the to-go box and hands it to you, but you don't take it just yet. "How'd you find me here?"

"I only started lookin' once midnight came 'round and you didn't come back to the ship." He lifts an eyebrow at you, and you decide your feet have become magically interesting to look at. "Anyway, quit your yappin' and eat up. Fight or no fight, you ain't goin' hungry on my watch."

He offers you the box once again, and this time, you take it and gratefully shove noodles in your mouth. It's silent as you eat, Boothill refusing to say another word, instead focusing on making sure you ate every bite.

Once the noodles are gone, you put aside the now-empty box and pat your satisfied stomach. But now the two of you stand near the railing in awkward silence, Boothill more fixated on watching starskiffs delivering last-minute passengers soar through the air.

You finally clear your throat and say, "Look, about what happened-"

He lifts up a hand to stop you, then points up in the sky. "See that? That's Polaris."

You tilt your head, confused at the sudden change in topic. But you indulge him and look up in the Xianzhou's artificial night sky to see it ablaze with stars. "How can you tell? There's so many. Also, they're all fake here."

"Don't matter; it's still based on the real thing. See the Big Dipper?" He moves behind you, gently taking your hand to map out the pattern. "If you look down the last two stars that make that weird little cup, it'll lead you to Polaris. Back home, we always used it to find our way back." Slowly, gently, he nuzzles into your neck. "I'm sorry, for what I said back there. I know better than anyone else that you're the toughest fighter around. And I dunno what's goin' on in that head of yours, but ya gotta know that no matter what, nothing you do could ever take me away from ya- I'll always find my way home. So just... know that you can do the same, yeah? No matter what, you can always come find me, and I'll be right here waitin'."

Shame rises within you, and you stare out into the false sky so you have a better chance of hiding your tears. "...I'm sorry too. For running away. For being so mad. I just..."

Boothill hums. "Aw, sugar- you don't need to apologize or nothin'. I ain't got much in my head, but I know when somethin' weird's goin' on in yours. You don't gotta explain anything, just... I'm always here, alright?"

You nod with a sniffle. "...Yeah. I know. My sweet, capable cowboy." You allow yourself to fall into his waiting arms and press a kiss on his cheek, your heart softening when he melts at your touch.

And you feel a bit lighter as you tell him a bit about your past, your family, your reasons for your anger. And when he nuzzles into you and carries you back to the ship, murmuring soft apologies and words of comfort, you feel better already.

...And when you both find Argenti standing by your ship, you can't help but laugh hysterically at the nonstop lecture the Knight of Beauty gives to Boothill, who keeps giving you desperate looks for help.

You think you'll be a little petty and let him endure it. Just for a bit.

6 hours should be enough, right?

[geekgirles]

"I would've preferred it if Amalia were our Queen instead."

"Like many others, sweetie, but you can't say that right now."

"Where did Amalia go, Mum?"

"She's gone explore the world, like she usually does."

Okay, but this little piece of dialogue is crucial to understand so many things about the Sadida and their opinion on their royal family.

And we stan that little girl. Yes, baby, I, too, wish Amalia was queen instead. I don't trust Armand and Aurora as far as I can throw them.

It's already been established Armand resents his sister not only because of her wanderlust or the fact that their father seemed to favour her, but because so does their people.

The fact that there are apparently many who support Amalia, the younger princess, over her brother, the Crown Prince, comes to show that for the Sadida actions speak louder than words.

There is no denying that both royal siblings care immensely about their kingdom. Armand was in the front lines when Nox attacked alongside King Oakheart and many of Amalia's best, most mature moments were in relation to her wanting to protect and serve her people. Like when she decided to stand up against Armand and inform their father of Nox's attacks back in season one, or how she was more than willing to forego her chance to marry for love and marry Harebourg instead if that meant her kingdom would survive Ogrest's Chaos in the OVA.

The difference between the two of them, however, especially in the eyes of their people, is their actions or, more accurately, the consequences of said actions.

Armand is the Crown Prince, and he remains in their kingdom carrying out his duties while Amalia went off to explore the world and have fun, away from her duties. At first glance, that should make Armand the better choice in the eyes of the Sadida, except that also means they've probably been far more subjected to his less pleasant moments.

Having to watch your tongue out of fear of severe punishment or even death just because the prince is sensitive over his bad breath is overkill, plain and simple.

Not to mention, every time Amalia left her kingdom, her adventuring evolved into a life-or-death mission to save the world.

With Nox, the fact that she ran away allowed her to gain the intel needed to go back home and warn them of the upcoming attack. Something Armand refused to do anything about until King Oakheart entered the picture and took matters into his own hands, all because he couldn't believe his sister would ever be more than a spoiled brat trying to run away from her responsibilities.

With Quilby, what at first was a simple, humanitarian mission to retrieve his dofus and welcome the Eliatrope children eventually turned into a desperate battle for the survival of their world.

Again, in the OVAs, the entirety of the Sadida kingdom was aware and celebrated Amalia's sense of responsibility and selfless decision to enter an arranged marriage for their sake. I haven't watched beyond the Throne of Ice, so I don't know if the Sadida ever found out Harebourg's true plans for their forest, but if they did, all the more reason to respect Amalia for refusing to put her people in jeopardy.

Finally, people talk. In season 3, it's made apparent that since Aurora entered the picture (at the very least), the royal siblings' relationship has strained practically to the point of no return. And while Amalia isolated herself and mourned her father's deteriorating health, it's very likely the castle guards and servants bore witness to how the prince's treatment of his sister worsened each day. So I wouldn't be surprised if word got out and the rest of the kingdom sympathised with Amalia either.

Now, it is true that while Amalia does have a sense of responsibility and duty to her kingdom and a deep love for her people, despite her royal upbringing, she is not really made for the stifling life of royalty. Hence, her constant wanderlust. In that regard, Armand is indeed the most reliable of the two.

It just so happens that when it comes to personal flaws and his treatment of others he is wholly unreliable. It's his way or the highway. And that is a very terrifying quality for a king to have, to be unable to compromise.

But most importantly, what really sets these two apart in the way their people perceive them is that while Armand is a prince, Amalia is a hero. And she has proven time and time again that she will do everything in her power to assure everyone's safety and well-being.

And that alone speaks volumes of a ruler's true character.

[moonrisecoeur]

apathy — leon kennedy

author’s note: this is so horribly self-indulgent self-centered self-serving, it might as well not even be x reader and literally just leon x moon i’m so sorry. this is angsty smutty nonsense for anyone who wanted more feelings and less horniness out of gratitude. i do not apologize for any comparisons of the reader being like the moon.

wc: 3.3k

content: switchy/sub!leon x switchy/dom!reader, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, afab reader, re4r leon, scratching and bruising, hickeys, masochist!leon agenda, reader’s got a lot of feelings, mention of edging and denial, mentions of food

warning: this is not dark content, but reader is lowkey toxic. please be aware that i don’t endorse treating your partner like this. mention of using a knife on him once.

notes:

“i will begin to despise you if i let you in.”

“and i will adore every moment of your resentment.”

“i won’t get better. i won’t change for you. this is what you’re stuck with.”

“it’s okay, i like you as you are.”

—

“i promise that you don’t want me,” you had said once. leon didn’t really know what to do with that statement. it was a promise, but you would have already broken it a million times over; that is how badly he wants you.

he knows what you really meant. it wasn’t some promise you had no way of keeping. it was a warning, a cautionary tale. wanting you would not be good for him, plain and simple. though, sometimes, plain and simple isn’t always as such. sometimes it’s much, much more complex than meets the eye.

he recalls the moment in his apartment as clear as day. you had said, “look. i want you. i very clearly do, this is not… me denying that fact. what i am trying to say is that you do not want me. i don’t care what you think you know. what you think you want. you don’t want to have me.”

he took a while to think about what you had said. it wasn’t a choice he had, to pick you or to pick freedom. it wasn’t one or the other. you didn’t let him pick you, because he would have, you knew it, he knew it. he would give you anything.

his biggest problem is he never knew why. you made yourself very clear, you wanted him, and this, you had him, but you refused to let him have you.

“you don’t want me,” you said, but he does.

you try to block him out, to avoid him, even as he tries and pushes you for answers, to know why, why you don’t let him have you, why you insist he can’t want you.

he keeps pushing, keeps chasing you. in a way, it’s nice. you like being chased, being wanted, desired. the only problem is that it’s leon. if it was anyone else, anyone less moral and perfect and everything the world needs desperately and does not deserve, then maybe you would be more okay with letting this all happen.

but leon doesn’t deserve how you’ll inevitably treat him, using your power over him to do whatever you please, using him for every last drop of pleasure he has to offer you, and then leaving him when you’re done. he would be the most delightful treat, but you abstain simply out of guilt from how perfect the man is.

you don’t know if you could ever forgive yourself for ruining leon, making him recover from the misery that would be your love.

—

“you know i’m not good for you,” you whisper to him, “i love you and love you and love you until you can’t breathe with how filled to the brim you are with my affection and adoration and then i leave you alone to… do whatever it is you do while i want to be alone,” you tell him, more like lecture him, as he stands there. he’s trying to get closer you and you won’t let him, both figuratively and literally. he tries to reach out for your hand but you pull back.

“i’ll leave you alone. you hate people who do that,” you murmur that last part, and leon notes to himself that someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t remember his propensity to dislike the people who have left him alone before.

“that’s… fine. i know you’re introverted and… you need alone time, i get it,” he tries to reason, even with his own insecurities, “i’ll be okay.”

“no, you don’t understand, i am terrible. i will crave you and ache for you and need you and still know i am not a torture that you deserve,” you’re glaring at him with an anger that isn’t real, it is more out of desperation, “if i can know i am awful, why can’t you?”

“call me ignorant if you want, i don’t care. i want the worst of you,” he says, reaching out again. you take a step back, but he takes two forward, and his presence is never one you’ve been known to resist, “let me have y—”

“i will hurt you!” you tell him, but you give in just slightly. you bring your hands to his waist, too gentle for your previous statement to make sense. he thinks you’re lying, anything to push him away. you’re too soft on him to be so cruel.

“you know i’m a masochist,” he still laughs. he holds you back as you reach out for him, your soft, teary eyes vaguely make out a smile from his pretty lips. what a terrible time to be joking, leon.

“that’s not funny, leon,” you whisper.

“never said it was,” he feels tears prickling at his eyes too. he wonders how you could be so cold and uncaring if you’re crying for him right now. he wonders if maybe, just maybe, you’re not selfish like you say you are. you’re just a girl who has only ever had to look out for herself.

“i will hate you,” you bite your lip, nervous. he’s winning, “i will do terrible things to you.”

“i will love you just as much to balance that out. and there is no crime you could commit against me that i would not forgive you for. not that you… would need or want my forgiveness.”

moments pass where your hands are digging in trenches into his skin, knowing you’ll never be able to let him go if this goes on any longer. he holds onto your hips, afraid you’ll leave if he lets go.

he aches to break the silence, but you won’t believe anything he says anyway. he’d tell you he saw the good in you, the girl who was nice and cared about others, and you would have the displeasure of telling him it’s all a facade.

“i will begin to despise you if i let you in, you realize that, right?”

“and i will adore every moment of your resentment,” he smiles softly, sadly, like it's all he wants. like he’d take the sweet fragments of you over any other full person. of course he would. they wouldn’t be you.

you dig your fingers into his skin, rough but not painful, aching to take him but still nervous that he doesn’t really know what he’s signing up for, “i won’t get better. i won’t change for you. this is what you’re stuck with.”

“it’s okay, i like you as you are,” he says, his voice as gentle as ever. leon has always been gentle, kind, soft. god you just want all of him to yourself. you are everything he is not, possessive and selfish and cruel, but he loves it. he wants the worst of you.

give me the devil as my lover and i’ll serve her forever, his heart calls.

you can’t help the urge to give in, to let him win, let yourself take what you want by letting him win. you can’t help tightening your grip on his waist, pulling him in for a full hug that he reciprocates, big arms wrapping around your shoulders like he could shield you from the world. even if you were the monster you say you are.

words fail him, but he’d give you anything. he’d let you do anything, take his breath, his soul, his sanity, his life.

you say you’re a monster? prove it.

—

you do just that.

he’s not saying you’re dramatic… but you’re not the evil monster you’re painting yourself out to be. you’re a little apathetic sometimes, but aren’t we all?

he gets why you think you’re some monster. you can be selfish. you’re a loner at heart, and that just doesn’t work out well with the whole ‘relationship’ thing. you’re possessive despite not giving him attention, no one else can either. you want him all to yourself even when you don’t want him at all. sometimes he wonders why, but he doesn’t question you. you’re not even possessive most of the time, if anything, you just want his attention.

you said you’re mean and cruel and you warned him that you wouldn’t change, but he just doesn’t believe it. you’re the ‘stop to help old ladies cross the street’ type of caring. you’re the ‘hand on his shoulder to get him out of someone else’s way’ type of caring. you’re the person who stays behind as everyone else walks ahead when someone’s tying their shoe. you care. you’re kind. you don’t see it.

you, and everyone else in this world, mistakes apathy for cruelty. it’s like, you don’t care about what people have to say? you must be the devil incarnate.

1. wrong. you not being interested in people around you isn’t something you can control. sometimes people are just boring.

2. he thinks the devil (you!) is hot.

and you feel too deeply, too ashamed about everything to be as apathetic towards the world as you think you are. leon looks at you and sees how you care. it’s different, but it’s not wrong. he knows you don’t care about the stories people tell you, you don’t remember pieces of their lives or their birthdays. you don’t care when they share those fragments of themselves, vulnerable and desperate for reassurance you’re not going to give them.

you don’t care. and you hate that you don’t care, but hating your apathy doesn’t make it go away. it doesn’t cancel out the cruelty you think you are. and that is the epitome of it all. you care so badly about how much you don’t really.

leon holds you close as you cling to him, arms wrapped around his torso as you curl your head into his chest as you lay on the bed, cold feet hanging off the edge of the mattress like the evil monster underneath would come to take you away. maybe it should, you muse. maybe then i could forgive myself for being so wrong.

and for stealing leon away from the world. someone so perfect. not actually perfection, because things are less likable when there’s nothing to critique about them. it is only when something is flawed in many ways that loving it so deeply is possible. it is easy to love something perfect. it is rewarding to love something imperfect and raw and human and real.

but in an ironic way, it is easy to love leon. he’s so loving and kind, you wonder why he’d ever want you because you’re very much not easy to love, but to leon? maybe you are.

so when his hands cradle your head against his chest, his body enveloping yours like a thick fog settling over you, you let him. and you wonder why he could love someone so wrong. to him, your flaws are a million times more prominent. and that means he could only love you deeper.

—

if you’re a bad friend, then you’re a worse lover. your body aches for his just like him for yours and you give him nothing and take everything. you take and take and take until he’s exhausted, but the worst (best?) part is leon only wants to give and give until you push his head away from you, until you force him to stop.

your body takes him like he’s the only drug you’ve ever craved, carving sweet nothings into his wrist and thighs and shoulders with your fingertip, though he’s sure you imagine doing so with a blade encompassing your hand. he shivers at the thought. maybe he wants it too.

you shatter him to pieces with every touch, picking up the broken pieces of the mess you’ve made of him. you keep them close, treasuring every kiss you place on his neck, every touch on his waist, the way his cock fills you up so perfectly.

he loves that you just take whatever you want from him. no warning, no concern for him. you know he wants to be used for your every desire, every need. he’s yours to drain of life like a vampire sucking the life out of its helpless victim.

you tell him what to do, order him around viciously, and he has no choice but to obey. what’s he going to do? try and tell you what to do? dominance has never been his forte, he’s too awkward, too shy. besides, if he even tried to tell you you’re a ‘good girl’ right now, you’d probably slap him.

to be fair, he’d probably like it, like the sting of your palm against his cheek, like the burning feeling afterwards, like the red mark on his face in the aftermath. he still won’t do it, for your sake. call that self-sacrifice.

you dig your nails into his skin, into his chest, his waist, his thighs, until small little crescent moons cover his entire body, leaving the mark of the moon that you were in his sky.

if he was the sun, you were the moon. he shines and shines and shines and you take his sunshine and keep it as your own. he lets you because it makes you brighter, happier, lighter, god you’ve seemed so much happier these days. ever since you gave in and let yourself be loved by him, he’s made your life nothing but brighter. doesn’t make you feel bad for your incredibly chronic case of general apathy, just makes it easier to not feel like a monster on the daily, which is appreciated. you worried so much about how cruel and selfish you would be to him and he’s been nothing but joyous since.

when you’re not pressing your nails into him, you’re gripping him so tightly that you just might bruise him. it’s alright if you do, he’s always liked it rough. his body is a clean canvas that’s yours to depict your destruction upon. by the end, he's heaving, skin red and irritated from scratching and bruised up all on his neck and thighs. your mouth is insatiable when it comes to his neck, the vampire comparison must have really been accurate.

he likes that you’re selfish, that making him orgasm was never your goal. sure, you’re not going to deny him, though maybe you would, now that he thinks about it. okay, try that again, you weren’t trying to deny him this time, but that doesn’t mean you cared if he did cum. if anything, you did it for your own selfish wants, getting to watch him fall apart so helplessly.

you took care of yourself, because that’s all you know how to do.

his heart still aches when he sees tears welling up in your pretty eyes, switching positions so he could hold you close as you ride him, his hands rubbing circles into your back, “i got you, pretty girl. just breathe.” and that’s it.

he knows if he keeps talking, you’ll get uncomfortable, and you’ll run away. like a wild animal that might get scared off at any moment, he treads cautiously and treats every moment of you in his arms with the utmost value. you come undone just a few moments after him, and you ride out your orgasm even as he bites back whimpers of pain. he’s sensitive and tense, sure, but you’re still grinding down on him, using him for every last drop of pleasure, and he’s not in any position to stop you.

you collapse onto him, as if fully giving in to that feeling that says to trust him. to hold him close. to love him endlessly for putting up with your constant bullshit.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers as you lay together on the bed, his fingertips brushing through your hair. he’s painfully gently, so much more so than you are with him. (you’d feel bad if he wasn’t moaning so loudly every time you hurt him.)

you hum, hand rubbing his side, up and down motions following the curve of his torso, enjoying the way he groans in discomfort, “i warned you that i was mean,” you say, enjoying the way he laughs.

he’s so bright and lively with you, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve brought out something in him that was hidden away too. more youthful, free of the problems bestowed upon him by the events of his early 20s. he’s even more beautiful than you are to him. not that he’d ever think that’s possible.

“i know, i know…” he mumbles, his hand placed on the back of your head as he pulls you in for a soft kiss, his other hand on your cheek, thumb brushing against it almost as if to wipe away tears. luckily, you were past that. you had cried enough.

you warned him that you were mean, cruel, apathetic, distant, etc, and maybe you were. or maybe you would become those things. maybe this is the high high before the low low you had talked about once. the moments where you’re perfect and loving and amazing right before your descent into resentment and cruelty.

but for now? all leon knows is you’re a helluva lover and he can't imagine a better way to sleep than in a lover’s arms. he falls asleep before you do, sleeping like a baby before you doze off.

you stay awake a little bit longer, still plagued with the thoughts of what the hell you did to deserve this man. you come to the conclusion that sometimes bad things happen to good people.

and sometimes? good things happen to bad people. leon’s love was the best thing you could ever obtain, and you refuse to let it go.

—

the next morning, he kisses your cheek as he serves you breakfast, and talks about something you don’t care about. he’s sure you’re not listening, but he doesn’t mind. he’s more just thinking out loud to himself.

you stare at the plate as you eat, off in your own world. he just waits until he can be a part of your world again, watching you intently. he likes looking at you, even like this. you’re far too beautiful for his soul to handle.

you look over at him as you notice him staring, “hm?” you groan, making a small sound to acknowledge and question his gaze.

he just shakes his head, “just like looking at you, pretty,” he smiles, and you roll your eyes. you can’t help the adoration that fills your bones at the sight of him. he’s perfect. everything to you. even if you can’t always show it, or even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

you told him you wouldn’t change for him. and he never wanted you to. there was nothing to change, you were already perfect to him. he can’t help but keep his eyes on you the whole morning before he has to leave for work.

as he does, even though it’s with a heavy heart because you look so sad that he has to go and he never wants to make you sad, he gives you his goodbye kiss. your hand finds the back of his neck and your thumb pressed on a newly tender bruise on the side of it. he winces at the touch, and you smirk. he’ll never forget how fatal you are, even in your… softer moments.

[10underoot2]

I have a headcanon of BaekHong being this power couple even as they raise their daughter.

They're very hands on. The nanny, Mrs.Jang, is always available but she feels like it's the easiest gig she ever got. She's seen other rich families just birthing the child and giving it to the nanny to look after. They only feed or play with it when convenient but not Mr. Baek and Mrs.Baek. Soobin is the light of their existance. They both wouldn't be at peace until they saw her once back from work. Mrs.Baek would only go for a few hours, most of the time taking Soobin and the nanny with her. She never would have believed someone like Ms.Hong would find a way to conduct her meetings but still cradle her inconsolable child in her office. She had never imagined Mr. Baek would play with her in his office plain for all to see. She also hadn't imagined either of the parents' amusement when the 6 month old puked on designer bags and clothes. She had seen children resented and glared at for that. But not this rich couple. They loved their child like their life depended on it. Even when tired, overworked, frustrated they made time for their daughter always. Mrs.Jang often felt like the last resort. Moments when even she could see that the strain of work and life could no longer render them available to care for their child she took over for them. But even then these moments were scarce. She had heard months into her employment that the couple was actually against hiring her but had only agreed due to incessant requests of the child's maternal grandmother.

So when she was informed that the couple was throwing a big networking party for the Queens department store, she was sure this was her moment to shine. Because what rich couple feeds, changes, plays or cares about their child in the presence of 400+ highly influential people. Even if they both wanted to they wouldn't find the time.

But come day of the event, Haein was all dolled up looking magnificent beside Mr. Baek as they both laughed and dressed up their 6 month old baby. During the party, Soobin went from welcoming guests in her Armani clad suit father's arms. To discussing complex legal matters and networking with him still viewing the world from the high vantage point her father's height afforded her. Smiles representative of only pure joy, adored Hyunwoo and Hae-in's face each time they talked, interacted or received a smile from Baby Soobin.

At long last Soobin urged her father to put her to sleep in his arms where he kept her for half an hour before parting with her achingly in Mrs.Jang's care. When she woke up hours later fussing, he was there before the nanny could try to appease her. She had seen him excuse himself as soon as politely possible as Soobin continued to cry. He stood there, fully dressed trying to appease her a while before he went to his wife who was deep in conversation trying to recruit brands for her store. Mrs. Jang knew it was an important event for Mrs. Baek, so she expects not to see her all night near Soobin. From what she had heard (but never seen) about the couple's rocky relationship she thought this would be it. She would now see them fight as he dared approach her during such important talks.

But for Haein, seeing her husband walk towards her with their adorable daughter in his hands was a sight in and of itself. Her eyes were already on them. Hyunwoo politely greets everyone and leans in close to her to say: 'I've tried everything I could. I think she needs you.' She pauses her conversation on the spot. Says her apologies and moves inside to care for her daughter. Hyunwoo takes up the conversation and sells the store for her until she comes back with a happy Soobin in her arms for the crowd to coo at. Among the many photos the photographer had taken of the night their favourite remains of Soobin absolutely overjoyed to see her father as her mother mirrors both of their joy at being able to witness the moment.

Little do the happy family know there's gossip - and a lot of it at that. There's gossip on the mighty lawyer Hyunwoo being a wuss who's not in control of the house. On Hyunwoo not doing his part as a father 'So what if he has a pretty face, he should be slaving away taking care of his daughter why give her to the mother when things get difficult?' On Haein for being duped by his charms. On Haein for holding the baby wrong. For growing soft, for being dumb enough to ignore big shot CEOs because a human with a brain not even fully developed was crying.

No one sees the couple take respite in caring for their adorable daughter. Even when Soobin cries the shrillest, it makes Hyun woo just pick up another toy and Haein make the funniest face she can think of to appease her. They know the pain of the loss of a child. They cannot fathom not doing everything in their power to love this gift of theirs. No matter what she does she has both of them wrapped around her fingers. Because they're the luckiest to have her and call themselves her parents. It feels like a miracle each day and they'd be damned if they let a stupid department store take that away from them. So what if they lost a contract or two, the extra wons wouldn't fill up their candy jar. After all, all the money they had couldn't bring back their baby either.

[avvail]

Inspiration dare: pick a flower, any flower, and find a way to incorporate it into a story.

Have a nice weekend :)

The villain never really liked flowers.

The thought of displaying them in their home never really resonated them, no matter how many times the hero would tell them it helps clear the air, and it might help them think a little better.

The villain could think fine on their own. They didn’t need flowers to do that.

The hero brought them over one time. A pot of Chrysanthemums, all neat and tidy and effecting their plain home with a splash of vibrant colour.

“Aren’t they just so pretty?” the hero would say, smile warm and their eyes sparkling. The villain would always hum, frown, and then huff.

“For flowers, I suppose,” they would shrug. The hero would laugh, apparently finding their words funny. Every single time.

“I love them,” they would giggle. “They’re my favourite. But no one’s ever really given me flowers as a gift.”

The villain would then hum again, bitterly. “That so?”

It wasn’t that they didn’t care.

But they wished, every day, that they would have showed that. That even if they didn’t care for flowers, they would have taken a second out of their day to buy some for hero. To see their eyes light up, to see what they would look like when they were gifted their favourite little plants.

There were a lot of flowers lay upon hero’s grave.

No one ever gifted them to the hero, but the city knew that they loved them. It was cruel, disgusting sight, that bland, overbearing gravestone covered with hundreds upon hundreds of flowers.

Flowers that the hero would never see. Flowers that the hero would never even know they recieved.

The villain realised, on that day, staring at their grave, that the hero was their flower. They had been that splash of colour in their home. In their life. The villain resented flowers so much because they didn’t compare to the beauty of the one in front of them.

They never layed flowers on their grave.

Instead, they created a garden of Chrysanthemums to fill the void of their beloved hero. It was never quite enough. But the villain knew the hero would have loved it, adored it, even, and that was okay with them.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Your idea about Molly throwing Weasley!Reader on the back burner until they start making money breaks my heart but it’s so real

Lestrange!Daughter would catch onto it before anyone else — seeing her darling trying to buy his mother’s love with desperation — she’d call Molly on it but never in front of him knowing it would make him upset

And it’s something the three Black sisters notice to.

Bellatrix isn’t sure how to approach the situation, for all the faults her parents had, they were nothing but loving towards the three girls so it’s a completely different atmosphere watching a child nearly kill himself for scraps of his mother’s attention

Andromeda’s heart breaks in the rare times she bares witness to it, wanting to go all mama bear, and Tonks would be just as protective

Narcissa, much like her niece, would simply resolve to making snide comments about it

Definitely! I imagine the dynamic between Molly and the Reader is what really garners Bellatrix’s, Andromeda’s, and Narcissa’s own fondness towards him, leading to their own maternal obsessions kicking in cause how dare Molly treat such a precious child like that, let alone her own child for that matter.

Lestrange!Daughter!Oc would greatly resent Molly for the fact she neglected and put the Reader to the side in favor of his other siblings. And she would not bite her tongue about it either, at least not when her darling was around. She doesn’t need her darling to divulge anything to her about the situation or how he feels about it, she knows him better than anyone after all and she can see plain as day how much he tries to earn an ounce of his mother’s attention, let alone her affection. And it enrages her to no end. After all, her darling only ever took up being a criminal and building a criminal empire in the first place to support his family, to support his mother. And Molly is none the wiser to how she’s treated him, or rather how she hasn’t treated him, all she sees is that one of her sons has come into money and a consistently large amount of it at that.

I definitely see Bellatrix basically adopting Criminal!Weasley!Reader especially after knowing about his relationship with his mother, or rather the lack of it. She would be more affectionate towards the Reader, she would tell him how proud she is of him, she would actually make the effort to know about him, to see him as his own person unlike what his own mother has gone about doing herself. Like, does Molly even know his favorite color?? No. But Bellatrix does and she didn’t even need her daughter to tell her.

Bellatrix would greatly detest Molly, at first it was only for her amusement and in defense of her daughter that she behaved the way she did but after learning how Molly has been towards the Reader, Bellatrix can’t stand the woman whatsoever and would insist that the Reader live with her and her daughter even before he graduates. Even if he doesn’t move in right away, Bellatrix will ensure he stays over during the entire summer. Hell, she may just pop into the Burrow herself and collect all of the Reader’s belongings herself or she’d probably just buy him everything new that he nor she has to go back to the Burrow and be in the presence of that woman again. She would really try to get him away from Molly as soon as she can.

Andromeda would honestly be disgusted with Molly. She gets that Molly and Arthur have quite a few of children but there’s no excuse to not pay any mind to one of your children more so over the others until they start bringing something to the table that benefits you and the rest of the family. Unlike, Bellatrix and Narcissa, Andromeda would bite her tongue and keep her opinions very much to herself but she will make sure to give the Reader the attention he deserves and more so that he does feel seen and heard. I can imagine her actually really only having long in depth conversations with the Reader that isn’t just small talk and fluff to fill an awkward/uncomfortable silence. She greatly enjoys the Reader’s company, criminal or not, and she would be more than happy to have the Reader stay over at her home if ever need be, possibly in the scenario that Molly does find out about him being a criminal let alone him running an entire criminal empire and kicking him out (possibly even going as far as disowning him?) for it before he’s even close to graduating Hogwarts.

I could see Tonks taking on an older sister figure relationship with Weasley!Reader. Maybe she’s even come across him doing his criminal activities as an Auror and she just turned a blind eye, even going as far as covering for him. She knows he’s not a bad person, he’s just trying to make a living to support his family the only way he can. She doesn’t exactly know the full depths of Criminal!Weasley!Reader’s activities and inner workings, and honestly she doesn’t want to know in case she’s ever used to try and get to him by the Ministry, but she’ll help protect him however she can. Not to mention after finding out about how Molly treats the Reader, Tonks would very quickly lose respect for her and not be able to look at her in the same light again from then on.

Narcissa would be very similar to her niece and Bellatrix in how she doesn’t hold back too much from ripping into Molly. The only difference is the way she goes about it, she chooses her words very wisely but they’re still sharp enough to cut deep. And she aims to cut Molly very deep. Narcissa would prefer not to interact with Molly whatsoever but especially after finding out about how she’s been towards the Reader his entire upbringing. She would be outright appalled to hear how a mother can treat her child so terribly so and without meaning to. Like, it’s not like Molly purposely picked the Reader out of the lot and chose to neglect him the most out of his siblings, but that’s just how it ended up. Either way, Narcissa is only all the more repulsed by the Weasley matriarch after learning everything. Similar to her sisters, Narcissa would also give the Reader all the attention and praise he deserves, tenfold. Whenever Molly is gushing about one of her other children, I could see Narcissa being the first to chime in/interrupt her about the Reader and the accomplishments he’s made for himself all on his own, not allowing Molly to get away with neglecting the Reader anymore than she already has.

Basically just these three women becoming absolute protective mama bears for their poor neglected and pushed aside ginger bby. Meanwhile, Lestrange!Daughter being that overprotective wife of her darling husband who deserves more than the world has to offer for doing what he does solely to help his family have a life they never had the chance to experience before. And Tonks being just as protective of the Reader cause he felt the need to go down the route he did believing it to be his only option.

[acourtofquietdreamers]

“Elain shouldn’t have to convince anyone that she belongs in the Night Court.” “Elain needs to leave the people that coddle her.” “Elain just needs to give Lucien a chance and she’ll realize he’s perfect for her.”

Elain is often criticized for being passive and not standing up for herself yet some people believe she shouldn’t fight for what she wants and what she believes in. She should just run away. She should just give in to the mating bond and give Lucien a chance. She should continue being passive.

I believe Elain’s growth would be more impactful if she continues down the path we’ve begun to see her go down where she passionately fights for what she wants and doesn’t back down. We may not have Elain’s POV yet, but Elain has made her feelings known on a couple subjects. I’m focusing on Elain’s words only because I do not believe others know what’s best for her.

Elain very confidently declared herself as a member of the Night Court.

When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

Should Elain abandon her declaration and leave the place she’s begun to build a life in because she looks plain in black? Or because Nesta thinks Spring is made for “someone like her”?

Or should she prove them wrong by earning her place within the court (cue Elain using her powers) and show the claws she’s been hinted to have?

Elain no longer wants to be coddled by her sisters and we see her stand up to them for the first time in ACOSF.

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Should Elain run away from this battle and leave her imperfect relationship with her sisters behind?

Or should she continue to address the issues in their relationship so they can come out stronger?

Elain has made it clear that the mating bond means nothing to her, regardless of others trying to convince her to give the “nice guy” a chance.

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?” “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”

“You belong to him.” “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.”

Should Elain give in to the pressures of giving her mate a chance? Forget about her dream of a love that would trump even a mating bond?

Or should she fight for a love of her own choosing?

I don’t want Elain to give in. I don’t want her to be passive and let others make decisions for her. I want to see Elain surprise everyone and continue to fight.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 3.5k

summary : the mandalorian does some thinking

warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever?

The look on your face when he had lied so blatantly to you made him want to collapse in on himself. If someone else had made you that upset he would have caved their skull in, why does he deserve any less?

He did it. That’s what matters, even if he had to lie to get you to believe it, he ended things. He doesn’t bother taking off his armor as he collapses onto his mattress. 

His eyes find the plastic flower on his nightstand. It’s a good reminder that he’s a bad person for what he’s put you through. He never should have slept with you. 

He never should have loved you. 

He deserves every form of torture that would be performed on him if they found out what the two of you had been doing. 

He deserves damnation for what he has done. 

And he gets just that when he sleeps. 

Most of his dreams follow the same theme. You, in his cabin, sometimes he finds himself entangled against your naked form, sometimes it’s just laying on his twin bed, enjoying the warmth of each other. 

Something is immediately off about the dream he’s in now.

His first thought is that this cabin is different. 

It’s bigger. There’s more dressers, the bed is twice the size of his. His confusion is palpable as he tries to find you. 

He knows he will if he looks. 

You’re always there when he closes his eyes. 

So he stands, and he walks around the house. It’s completely new to him yet so familiar and as he turns the corner and you’re there.

His breath hitches. 

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, with a genuine smile, and your hair hanging down across your face. But what catches his eye the most is the little green baby in your arms. You pinch at his cheeks as he makes those all too familiar babbles that used to fill the Crest. 

His heart is in his throat. 

He can’t move. It’s like he’s staring down the greatest threat of his life and if he moves an inch it will attack. 

Maybe he died in his sleep and this is heaven.

That doesn’t make sense, he’s done nothing to earn his place. Or it’s hell, and his torment is knowing he can’t stay here with you and Grogu, that he’ll have to wake up and live with what he’s put you through, and the kid will still be gone. 

He’s content to stand in the doorway and watch this alternate reality for as long as he sleeps. His chest heaving as he takes in the sight of everything he’s ever wanted, just a few steps away. 

The two most important people in his life, and in his reality he’s pushed you both away. 

He could have kept the kid. He hadn’t been sure about leaving, he truly believes that if he had asked Grogu to stay that they could have been happy. But he was just so scared. 

What if he got hurt while out on a hunt? What if he changed his mind and years down the road resented Din for keeping him? Or worst of all, what if plain and simple, he just got sick of Din? 

And then he did the same thing to you. 

He got scared.

He can’t already be regretting it, it’s been less than a day.

The sound of your voice calling him snaps him out of his trance. 

You say his name. 

His real name. 

Din. 

Second to the little noises the kid makes it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He’s not in control of himself as he stumbles towards you. Falling to his knees in front of your chair, scared to reach out to touch you because deep down he knows this isn’t real. 

You should be upset. Upset that he’s lied to you, told you that he doesn’t want you, used you. You should be throwing insults into his face but instead you reach down to put a hand on his cheek and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that in this particular dream he isn’t wearing his helmet. 

He’s so at ease from your touch he doesn’t care. 

You don’t speak. You just use your thumb to rub gentle circles into the planes of his face. Eventually the house is gone, the kitchen is gone, the table and chairs are gone and it’s just you. Standing above him, caressing his face with one hand, holding the kid to your chest with the other. 

He doesn’t dare move a muscle as he tries to burn the sight of the two of you into his memories. 

He wakes up with a start, sitting upright in his bed, his hands clawing at the helmet as he gasps for air. He haphazardly tosses it onto the sheets as tries to catch his breath. 

Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his flight suit he stuffs some rations into his satchel and locks his helmet back on. 

So he can’t stay in the cabin anymore. 

He had never even brought you here but it reeks of your absence. And that dream didn’t help in the slightest. 

There are whispers of you in every corner and crevice of his home. He’s not an idiot, he knows no matter where he goes there will always be traces of you. So there’s no sense avoiding it, he makes his way to the castle and stands guard outside your room. 

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. He stands against the wall opposite your bedroom door. He can’t go back to sleep, he can’t handle that dream again. So he stays up until the sun rises. 

He’s a bundle of nerves waiting for you to greet him, but you never do. You stay in your room the entire day, the only change in scenery is when Leo or one of the girls brings you food, he tries to catch a glimpse of you when the door is briefly open but he never does. 

His heart hurts. 

He doesn’t move. When the hallways are empty he eats his rations just for something to do. Sometimes he’ll turn up the external audio so he can hear you pacing around your room but most of the time it’s silent. He’ll stretch his legs every few hours, pacing the hall. And then he’ll sit and repeat. 

He wants to go in. 

He wants to tear the door down, kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. But he manages to resist. 

He doesn’t sleep when the sun goes down. 

When he feels his eyes starting to flutter he’ll chew on a ration. 

Sometimes if he feels sleep creeping up on him he thinks of things to say to you in the morning. 

He wants to say sorry. More accurately he wants to grovel at your feet and tell you he’s an idiot, that he was lying, that he didn’t mean a word of it and that he’s madly in love with you. 

Of course he won’t do that.

He shouldn’t say anything.

It’s better that way. It’s better for the both of you. 

Doesn’t mean he can’t fantasize about a world where he begs for forgiveness and you grant it. 

Would you want him in that world? All of him, not just moments in secret when one of you craved the other. He wants mornings, noons, and nights. Would you give them to him? 

He could take you away from here if you did. 

It wouldn’t be easy but when your job is to find people who don’t want to be found you get pretty good at hiding. You could change your names, go get the kid, he could make his dream real. 

Would you really want that though? 

Of course you wouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t ended things so cruelly, you were a princess and he was just Din. 

You wouldn’t want that cabin in the woods, you were too good for that. You deserved castles and gowns, not living in the woods with a Mandalorian. 

So he won’t talk to you. He will simply resign himself to loving you from afar. (Or more accurately he will love you from a few steps behind you.) And he will leave you alone because he’s caused enough problems. 

Well, if you came out of your room he would. But he can’t properly leave you alone if you won’t let him.

He’s exhausted as he sits against the door, willing himself to stay awake to avoid any more dreams. He turns up his audio for most of the day, listening to you mill about the room. 

He wishes you’d give him a reason to come in, the sound of a scuffle, a yelp, for Makers sake, if you stub your toe he could use that as an excuse just to check in on you. But all he hears are the sounds of your muffled footsteps. 

And he can’t keep his eyes open forever. 

The combination of the flight suit and his armor makes him heat up when he sits still, especially as the sun sets and the light through the windows hits him. He isn’t sure when exactly he falls asleep but he’s back in that big cabin when he does. 

He makes the executive decision this time to stay in bed. 

He doesn’t want to see you, and he doesn’t want to see the kid. Because neither of you are real, and eventually you’ll be ripped away from him when he wakes up. 

Of course his strategy doesn’t work because in this dream you bring Grogu to him. He tries to shield himself from his delusions, even in his dreams he knows it’s pitiful, a trained killer hiding under the blankets from a singular person and a sleeping child. 

You still don’t speak. Gods he wishes you would speak, he wishes you would scream at him, shame him for his cowardice but instead you peel back the sheets just enough to put the kid between the two of you and lay with him, Grogu snoring through that tiny nose of his as you lay down with him, giving him that smile that makes his heart melt and his brain turn to mush. You lean forward and your forehead rests on his. 

He knows he deserves this anguish but still, it’s ruthless. 

Everything he could ever possibly want, under one blanket and it isn’t even fucking real. 

He’s startled awake when the surface he’s laying on moves. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to come to his senses before he’s looking up and you’re there. The real you. The dream version could never compare to the real thing. That’s how he knows he isn’t sleeping anymore. You're clearer, confusingly you’re wearing simpler clothing. He can’t really think about that right now though because he’s hit with a wave of embarrassment. 

He was the one who had ended things with you yet here he was, sitting outside your door like a dog who got locked out overnight.

You just step over him.

Just like that you’re over him. 

Literally and apparently figuratively.

Huh.

He had assumed you had locked yourself in your room because you were trying to process everything, that you were trying to repair the parts of you that had been broken. 

He had assumed you felt as terrible as he did. 

But you seem fine, like nothing even happened. 

He should be elated. That you’re not only fine but seem to be completely over it.

Instead he feels sick. He’s worried he’s going to vomit in his helmet because he can’t stop wondering if maybe you never even cared about him in the first place. It’s wrong, it’s a terrible thing to wonder and he can’t help but think of what an awful person he must be to have such a thought.

He follows behind you, as is his natural instinct but he feels like he needs to sit down again. 

Did you ever care about him? He had only ended things with you because he couldn’t handle the idea of you loving him. If you loved him and he still couldn’t be with you he wouldn’t survive it.

Yet you seem perfectly fine. 

And he can’t help but think that he ruined everything on a bad judgment call. He hasn’t felt this stupid since he almost got himself stuck in carbonite when he first bought the Crest. 

He can’t focus on a thing you’re doing, yet he stays with you the entire time, he knows you grab books and he knows you return to your chambers and he knows that at some point he ended up back on the floor, leaning against your bedroom door again. 

Maybe you had never even liked him as a friend.

He had never considered that you might have been exactly what he had claimed to be. Bored and in need of entertainment. 

That isn’t possible, you had been so upset when he had ended things.

Of course you could have just been upset because he had been unnecessarily cruel.

He has no right to be bothered by this. This was his choice. His decision. 

Maybe he chose wrong. 

It’s a little late for thoughts like that.

He can’t just change his mind.

And he’s left to think about everything he possibly could have done differently as he fights sleep. 

He doesn’t even know how he’s still standing when the sun rises and he groans as he gets to his feet. 

Your ladies in waiting go in, and this time they actually stay in and he’s more awake then he’s been in days because he knows that you’re actually going to come out today. He braces himself to see that fire in you, tells himself that last night was a fluke, that you hadn’t been prepared to see him and now that you are you’ll want to argue and berate him and he can finally sort things out in his head.

But you don’t.

You barely even look at him and you’re already walking to the library like nothing happened. 

Like it’s any other day. 

He can’t think, he can’t form a coherent thought because you seem perfectly fine. He really hadn’t meant anything to you. 

He had hoped that this confirmation would free him. That if it was true he wouldn’t feel an attraction to you anymore and he could finally get off this kriffing planet. But his adoration doesn’t waver for a second. He still feels exactly the same way except now he feels smaller. There is nothing worse than a problem that can’t be solved with a blaster. 

He’s got big plans to spend his day trying not to give in to his mental and physical exhaustion while he does everything in his power to not think about how unbothered you look. But those plans are immediately halted when you freeze up right after you get into the library. He’s puzzled for a few seconds until he sees the nook and your voice echoes inside his helmet.

“Why is your favorite color green?”

The kid, the cabin, and you. 

He wants to fall apart. He wants to collapse right there on the floor and he’s so tired he briefly considers it until he realizes you’re still not moving. He gives you a second, he knows better than to try and talk to you right now, his helmet has been silenced since the last time he had spoken to you. 

He can’t be trusted to not beg for absolution. 

Your eyes are glued on the nook and he swears you tremble slightly.

So you did care. 

He can’t even take pleasure in that fact because his heart drops when he sees your expression. It’s like looking in a mirror.  

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? 

He’s faced enough deadly challenges throughout his bounty hunting career to know when to just go with your gut, so that’s what he does. He gently guides you away from the nook and sits you somewhere where you won’t have to look at it. 

You look as small as he feels, there’s something so intimate about your misery that he can’t look any longer, if he does he’ll give in and all of this will have been for nothing. You’re strong, even though he wasn’t sure for a moment there he knows that you still have your fire so of course you pull yourself together. And when you speak, you address him as you task him with finding Leo and he’s so happy to not only hear your voice but to hear you sound okay that he does it without a second thought. 

He desperately waits to hear you say more but you never do. He should have seen that coming. But he’s so weary at this point, he lets himself lean against the shelves and close his eyes, just for a second, the last thing he sees is you sketching something out on the papers Leo brought you. 

Of course you’re there when he closes his eyes as well. 

There’s no cabin, no kitchen, no bedroom, no kid. It’s just you this time. And he is trapped in a never ending loop of you. Every few minutes he’ll wake up, turning to make sure you’re still there, before drifting back into unconsciousness. You’re there too, waiting for him. It’s a funny sort of hell. To wake up and see you there, to fall asleep and see you there. He can’t escape for a single second.

What else is new?

The dream you isn’t real. He can’t bring himself to interact with her, because even the fantasy of you that he has conjured up doesn’t live up to the real thing. The real you is right there, everytime he slips back into consciousness he turns to see you. He’s never been a devout man but looking at you now he gets it. How people can be religious. The idea that you can adore something so much that you commit your life to it. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that, at this point it’s unhealthy, but he’s just so tired, and you’re everywhere, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the look of pride on your face as you stare at your drawing. 

The dream you is too polished and shiny, she always seems so quiet. This is the real you, pleased with yourself, fighting back a smile because you’ve accomplished something. 

The sound of your chair pushing backwards wakes him from his strange middle ground of awake and asleep as he straightens up. He shouldn’t have let that happen, he doesn’t sleep in front of people, there’s too much risk involved but as much as your presence torments him it also soothes him. 

You seem like you’re in a rush to get back to your room and curiosity gets the best of him, so he allows himself a glance at your work as you scramble to get your things together. 

The table is covered in sketches of weapons and ships, a lot of which he recognizes from his book.

That’s what you had been drawing. 

He sees an ink depiction of the Crest and he can’t stop himself as he shoves it into his pocket, careful not to crinkle it. 

Why did he do that? 

He shouldn’t have done that.

But it’s too late because you’re out the door already which means he needs to be out the door. He trails behind you like always and there is the faintest hesitation from you where he thinks you might just invite him in, he’s imagining things, he has to be. He doesn’t think further on it as you close the door. He can barely stay upright and when he’s sure you’re out of earshot he lets himself slump back down onto the floor. 

He reaches into his pocket and holds the drawing out in front of him. 

He hadn’t told you about the Crest. This was just a freak coincidence. It’s a nice drawing though, you did it justice. 

He puts it into his bag, careful not to fold or crease it. 

He stops fighting sleep, he can’t keep this up forever so he lets his eyes close with a sigh. 

His vision fading to black as he feels a tap on his shoulder, opening his eyes he’s expecting to see you and the kid but instead of the house he’s still in the hall and instead of you it’s a rather displeased looking Togruta girl. 

He recognizes her as one of your ladies in waiting, he’s never learned her name. When she speaks she doesn’t sound even the slightest bit frightened of him like any of the other servants in the castle, she sounds furious.

“What did you do to her?”

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[bluemoonscape]

Thinking about the Mizisua and Ivantill merch cards again (sedate me)

These ones.

I already have a post discussing the difference between Ivan and Till’s anguished looks and Mizi and Sua’s more… resigned ones, is the best descriptor I can think of. Attached to these cards is a message about these four characters and their attachments to one another: hate is such a simple emotion, it says, as compared to something as complex as love (paraphrasing obviously).

With the post R7 Patreon confirmation of Ivantill being a mutual love-hate relationship, this quote makes quite a lot of sense for them, and in obvious ways, too. They recognize a kindred spirit in one another, and while Ivan attaches himself to Till because of it, Till pushes him away. This is the tragedy of Ivantill and we know this.

But what about this applies to Mizisua?

Because of Sua’s short time in the series thus far, we don’t get a lot of Sua’s internal thoughts or feelings about… anything. The Sua comic with her sister was the most we’ve ever gotten, I think, and it was beautiful and very telling about her character. Mizi truly is her love, her universe, her paradise, her light in the dark. She loves Mizi with her whole heart. There’s no denying that.

But Sua is only human, and she has the capacity to be bitter. She has the capacity to feel something as base as hate.

Maybe a small part of her loathes that very same innocence that she fosters in Mizi until the very end. Maybe a part of her, like any abused child would, felt envious of her naivety throughout their childhoods, disgusted by it, because here Sua is, this girl who knew exactly what was going to happen to her from the time she was young, and here’s Mizi: Blissfully ignorant. I’d imagine that drew Sua in as much as it burned her. Mizi could never fully see or understand Sua. Sua was always trying to do the impossible, always trying to preserve that innocence.

No matter how much it haunts her, no matter how much she might wish to shake Mizi and scream and cry at her to wake up, look around, this is our reality, wake up—she never could bring herself to do it. She held onto that secret until the very end.

So Sua’s object of resentment is also the thing she longs to protect the most. And Mizi? Mizi was kept in the dark. Mizi’s god kept her in the dark and then abandoned her when she needed her the most. Wouldn’t you resent that? Wouldn’t you hate that?

In the aftermath of Sua’s death, the barrier between them finally makes itself plain to Mizi. Mizisua, just like Ivantill, is doomed to miscommunication and deceit. Mizisua, just like Ivantill, is filled with both deep love and deep hatred—for betrayal, for ignorance, for deception, for tragic circumstance within each other.

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // forty-five

| @catamano

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ELION: Not at all. I’m simply accustomed to powerful women. Indeed, hierarchal structure is one of the few things in this world I enjoy. I can respect authority spoken by someone who knows firmly what they want; A commander that isn’t afraid to give commands. EIRA: But you don’t respect mine. ELION: That’s hardly the case. I respect you a great deal. But I also enjoy you greatly in other ways, so I’m inclined not to listen. It’s quite the paradox. A part of me does feel quite poorly. I’m just being ripped apart on the inside by my own internal dilemma— EIRA: Can’t you take anything seriously?! ELION: Yes. Yes I can. And I do. I’d like to get to know you. EIRA: Why? ELION: You ask me to be serious, then I will give you a very serious answer. I once loved a woman like you. You remind me of her in the most achingly beautiful way. It’s painful. And I want to feel it more. EIRA: …So it is a kink. ELION: Only partially. EIRA: laughs Ridiculous. Did she love you back? ELION: For a while. EIRA: Shocking. Let me guess, you drove her away? ELION: Not at all. I lost her. EIRA: Oh. She… I’m… sorry. ELION: She didn’t die, if that’s what you think. At least, not in that way. No, I imagine she lives, still. But the woman she once was… Death is simple, you see. We grieve in the face of it. And grief has a name and a shape. It’s understood. There are far worse things than dying. To carry on when there’s nothing left of us… That is suffering of another sort, entirely.  EIRA: And I remind you of this? Shouldn’t you resent me? ELION: Not at all. I’m reminded of the fondest memories. You see, like you, she hailed from the mountain regions; One of the snow-touched elves of the north. I wondered if you might have had elvenblood yourself. That striking color of your hair… EIRA: I’m no elf. Just unlucky. ELION: Unlucky? EIRA: My parents were perfectly plain and human, in a village of other perfectly plain humans. I imagine that’s why they threw me out when I was barely strong enough to open my eyes. I’ve been putting people off since I was an infant. So forgive me if your advances don’t exactly stir my pot. ELION: Then, my apologies. I should not have expected you to respond the same. She was, I suppose, a particular case. EIRA: How did you… meet? ELION: Very accidentally. We met during one of my assignments long ago. She was no stranger to battle; A ranger, and better with a blade than I. They say poison is a maiden’s murder weapon, but she preferred a more direct approach, and I’d never been beaten so badly. EIRA: You were sent to kill her? ELION: No, I was sent to kill her client. And I did kill him, but she certainly didn’t make it easy for me. EIRA: Well, that’s a story if I’ve ever heard one. ELION: I have many. I expect you do, too. We could exchange them sometime. I can be quite civil when I need to. Dinner, drinks, I’ll even wear my hair up. EIRA: Tch. Do I look like the type to be wined and dined? ELION: I hoped not. EIRA: Then you weren’t wrong. But I’m no one’s replacement. ELION: I would never think to replace her. But then, seeing you, I considered maybe I ought to finally move on. EIRA: Find someone else. ELION: Ah, well. Suppose I should. I’m happy to accept when I’m defeated. But you must at least give me credit for trying. For what it’s worth, I was sincere. EIRA: … ELION: About what I said before… the trials… do be careful and look after yourself. EIRA: I— ELION: Yes, I know. You’re strong. And more formidable people than you have been ground to dust in those games. Even if you do survive… I hope that when you come out on the other side, you’ll still remember just how strong you were.

[onemustalwaysbecarefulofbooks]

Why I Dislike Rhysand, Part 1: Not a Martyr Like You Think

So. . this rant has been a long time coming. I finally came to the conclusion that it would be too much to include all in one post. There are so many different things I feel the need to touch on and include that I decided I’m going to be breaking it up. Enjoy Part 1. 

I also feel the need to start off by saying that I’ve been an SJM reader for nearly ten years now. I remember when ACOTAR first came out. I remember reading ACOMAF upon its release and nearly being blown over by my intense disgust and dislike for how a story was handled. ACOMAF was released in 2016, so I’ve been holding on to a lot of this for the better part of seven years. I don’t know how many of you were a part of the ACOTAR or SJM community here on Tumblr back in those days but let me tell you. . .it was something else. The fevered Rhysand obsession and worship was WILD. The fans were CUT THROAT and had no mercy. If you even HINTED at the fact that you felt like Rhys was not All That, they came for you and they came hard. I have never been one to engage in ridiculous arguments with strangers on the internet so I kept most of my feelings to myself. It’s giving me immense satisfaction and validation to see so many people begin to express things that are so like minded with how I feel. Keep fighting the good fight!

SO! We’re going to dive deep with this and go back to before the series chronologically even started. 

A huge part of why I so strongly dislike Rhysand is that I find it very hard to sympathize with him regarding his time UTM. 

Yes, you read that correctly.

Now, I realize that that sentence alone is enough to cause a lot of people to click away from this in disgust immediately. I challenge those people to keep reading and to hear me out. I try and make it a point to back everything I have to say with canon facts and logical sense. One of the fatal (or perhaps not so fatal) flaws I have as a reader is that 99% of the time, I am not able to just let things go and absorb them at face value for the sake of an entertaining story. You can sell me just about anything and I’ll be able to find some enjoyment in it. . .if it makes sense. If something exists in a scenario that is contradictory or just plain illogical, I tend to fixate on it and not be able to let it go (I call this the Ravenclaw in me). Sometimes I almost resent that I’m like this because I feel like it prevents me from just having a good time with literature, but for better or worse, this is the kind of reader I am. 

Unfortunately, the ACOTAR series, specifically many things that have to do with Rhys and the Inner Circle, are riddled with things like this. Now, it’s no secret to any SJM reader that Sarah J Maas is OBSESSED with Rhys and the Inner Circle. Like. . .OBSESSED. I’ve truly never seen anything like it from an author. She so plainly and clearly holds these characters on pedestals and believes them to be the best of the best. She also so plainly and clearly works very hard to try and get the readers to feel the same way. This is why I say that SJM is one of the most confusing and frustrating authors I’ve ever read about. She clearly feels this way and wants US to feel this way. So you’d think, if that was her end goal, that she would simply just write characters who really ARE the best of the best and deserve to be on pedestals. Easy, right? She has total control over the actions, thoughts, and words of these characters, every other character, the plot, the narrative, the direction of the entire story. So just. . .write them as being perfect saintly beings, as you so clearly view them as?? You have the power to do this?

But here’s where the confusing and frustrating part comes in: She doesn’t.

Instead of giving us these characters who truly ARE as virtuous and amazing and wonderful as she thinks they are, she instead gives us characters who do horrific, selfish, and highly questionable things across the span of the series and then gaslights her readers by continuing to hold these characters on pedestals and laud them as being The Best In Every Way. . .while their atrocious deeds are sitting RIGHT THERE on the page being completely ignored in every way. It’s one of the most unaware and bizarre things I’ve ever witnessed from an author and honestly, from a group of readers. The amount of people who just blindly accept anything SJM says as Gospel is wild to me. I really don’t understand how people just swallow this stuff and can’t see it for what it is. Open your mind to just an ounce of critical thinking and I really do believe you’ll begin to see things in a new way. 

So. . .my point in all that being: SJM clearly wanted us to have a ton of sympathy for Rhys from his ordeal with Amarantha and his time UTM. The scene is set perfectly! Valiant and selfless Rhysand volunteers himself to play Amarantha’s whore in order to keep her attention from the city and the people Rhys loves so much. He lives for 50 years having to “service” a psychotic evil woman who actively tries to bring destruction to his entire country. Horrible, right??? Unthinkable. What he went through!!! What he had to do!!! No one has a selfless heart like he does!!!!

The only problem is. . .this entire scenario has a million holes in it. Let’s explore some of them. 

So, when Amarantha returns to Prythian, Rhys heads to her little party without any backup from the IC. He plans to kill Amarantha himself but of course, she tricks all the High Lords and captures their power before this can happen. 

Sidenote: This is another thing I can’t stand about Rhysand’s power: We are told over and over and over that he is THE MOST powerful High Lord not just of the seven current High Lords, but in all of Prythian’s HISTORY. In the High Lord’s meeting during ACOWAR (top contender for my least favorite scene of the entire series), Feyre says: 

The others, who had been watching with disdain and amusement and boredom, now turned to my mate. Now possessed a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realized who and what, exactly, sat amongst them. 

Brethren, and yet not. Tamlin was a High Lord, as powerful as any of them.

Except for the ones at my side. Rhys was as different from them as humans were to Fae. 

Okay, first of all:

Second of all. . .once again, we are faced with SJM’s convenient Whatever-I-Need-To-Happen-Will-Happen story telling. She claims that Rhys is as different from all the other High Lords as humans are to fae. And despite this, he still gets tricked and overtaken by Amarantha, the exact same as all the rest of them. His powers were ripped away by that spell just the same as all the others. Being the so-called “Most Powerful High Lord in Prythian’s History” didn’t mean anything in that situation. He’s the mOSt POwerfUL HiGH LOrd iN HiSTORy, but was able to be totally overtaken by Amarantha just like everyone else. Looks like that title really should have gone to HER!

Anyway. . .as Rhys feels his powers being ripped away, we are told that in desperation, he “threw the shield around Velaris”, binding it to my friends so that they had to remain or risk that protection collapsing and used the last dregs to tell them mind to mind what was happening and to stay away”. 

What a noble sacrifice right??

INCONSISTENCY ALERT: There were ALREADY spells and protections hiding Velaris and there had been for years!!!!!! 

The first time I read Rhys’s explanation of this, I was super confused. SJM tells it like he was the one who created Velaris’s shield and protection right there in this moment. That this act was the only thing that kept it hidden and safe from Amarantha. But like. . .this is not the case!!!! 

Don’t believe me??

“Did you even think for one moment,” I said, my voice like gravel, “to extend that luck to anywhere else? Anyone else?”

“Other cities,” he said calmly, “are known to the world. Velaris has remained secret beyond the borders of these lands for millenia. Amarantha did not touch it because she did not know it existed. None of her beasts did. No one in the other courts knows of its existence, either.”

“How?”

“Spells and wards and my ruthless, ruthless ancestors, who were willing to do anything to preserve a piece of goodness in our wretched world.”

(ACOMAF, page 144)

The Velaris Wiki page states:

To preserve it, an ancient High Lord kept Velaris a secret, and so did his descendants. There are many spells on the city itself—laid by him, and his heirs, that make those who trade here unable to say anything about the city and possess the skill to convincingly lie in order to keep the origin of their goods and ships, hidden from the rest of the world. Rumor has it that an ancient High Lord doused his blood upon the stones and river to keep that spell eternal. 

And then in ACOMAF, we get:

“I used the remainder of my power to shield them all from sight and sound. I had only enough for one city--one place. I chose the one that had been hidden from history already. I chose, and now must live with the consequences of knowing there were more left outside who suffered. But for those here. . .anyone flying or traveling near Velaris would see nothing but barren rock, and if they tried to walk through it, they’d find themselves suddenly deciding otherwise. And because my powers were focused on shielding them all, Feyre, I had very little to use against Amarantha.”

So, which is it?? Did your ancestors shield and protect Velaris or did you?? 

Do you see the contradictory writing here? 

Again, in ACOMAF:

“You are safe here, and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in 5,000 years.”

According to what Sarah J Maas herself has written, the city of Velaris already had extensive wards and protection on it for millennia. The city had been a safe haven from the rest of the world and a complete secret for 5,000 years. So I was very confused as to why it was being made out to be that Rhys made this Grand Ultimate Sacrifice to shield the city and its inhabitants from Amarantha, when this was already the case before this. She wouldn't have touched it because she didn’t know about it. . .words from Rhys’s own mouth!!!! 

I’m sure in Sarah’s mind, she just needed to make a way for the IC to not come after Rhys and try and help him, so this is what she came up with. Regardless. . .Velaris already had protection on it that did not rely on Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren. You’re saying that with the last shreds of his power, Rhysand undid centuries old ancient blood protection of his ancestors, created an entirely NEW foolproof protection plan, and bound it to the Inner Circle?? 

I’d also like to point out that Kallias, High Lord of Winter, did essentially the same thing with Viviane and the Winter Court. 

And in those last moments, when his power was ripped from him by that spell. . .Kallias had flung out the remnants to warn her. To tell Viviane he loved her. And then he begged her to protect their people.

So she had. 

As Mor and my friends had protected Velaris, Viviane had veiled and guarded the small city under her watch, offering safe harbor to those who made it. 

(ACOWAR, pages 410-411)

These situations are exact parallels of each other. Kallias and Rhysand couldn’t protect their entire courts, but they were able to throw shields and protections around the one city where their loved ones were. The Winter Court was ravaged by Amarantha’s troops, we know this from the story. But evidently, this one city where Viviane was remained protected. And in this situation, I have infinitely more respect for Kallias than I do for Rhysand.

Rhysand claimed he became Amarantha’s whore in order to keep enemies from looking too closely at who he really was and who he loved. He serviced her in bed and committed atrocious deeds in her name for 50 years. All this, he claimed, to protect Velaris and his loved ones. 

So please explain to me how Kallias was able to do the same thing. . .WITHOUT doing Amarantha’s dirty work. 

As I said, I know fully well that the Winter Court in general was not spared by Amarantha. We all read about the children who had their minds wiped (conveniently by some OTHER daemati who we never learn about or hear about ever again). It sounds like Amarantha tried her hardest to destroy the Court in general. But remember. . .the Night Court is not exclusively Velaris. If you look at the map of Prythian, the Night Court is huge! It’s the largest of all the Courts. We have no idea what happened to the rest of the Night Court that was outside of Velaris’s protection. Since it’s such a big deal that Velaris is such a whole, untouched city, I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that it probably wasn’t spared any more than the rest of Prythian was. So it stands to reason that both the Night Court and the Winter Court had one city that remained protected while the rest of their Court was destroyed.

Even further than that. . .it is specifically stated that Viviane offered shelter and protection to anyone who made it to that protected city where she was. Kallias begged her to protect their people and she did. It was a city of safe haven for any refugees who could make it there. (Viviane was Prythian’s first High Lady and that’s the tea). 

Rhysand KNEW what was happening all throughout Prythian during this time. . .he helped partake in it!!! Did he think to offer the same protection for innocent refugees in Velaris during this time??

We all know the answer.

I’m not saying that Rhys was obligated to do this. In a horrible situation like that, I’m sure many people would enter survival mode and adapt an “every man for himself” mindset. It’s an extremely Slytherin move to make, and I don’t really mean that in a bad way. But at the end of the day, Rhysand prioritized his friend group over every innocent citizen of Prythian. 

Kallias and Viviane didn’t do that. 

Again, I don’t entirely blame Rhysand for this!! I think a lot of people would have made the same decision!! But just. . .don’t ask me to act like Rhys’s decision was some grand ultimate sacrifice that was more than any other High Lord made. It’s not. SJM, if you want Rhys to be my fave, why are you putting characters in here like K and V who do the more noble and honorable thing?? 

Kallias didn’t have mind powers where he was able to erase the knowledge of Viviane from every one UTM who knew about her as Rhys did with the Inner Circle. There weren’t already extensive, centuries-old shields and protection guarding the city that she was in. And despite this, he STILL asked her to protect their people, and she kept the city open for refugees who could make it there. AND he remained true to his cause and didn’t do Amarantha’s dirty work for her to “keep people from looking too closely”. 

And yet Feyre and everyone else tell us constantly that “no one sacrificed as much” as Rhys. Yeah, no. My respect for Kallias and Viviane is 10000000x greater than Rhysand. Sorry, not sorry. 

And this leads me to my next point. 

One of the biggest issues I have with Rhys’s time UTM in general, is that his actions are treated by the narrative and the other characters as the MOST sacrificial out of all the High Lords. 

As I’ve expressed above, I do not buy this for one second. And I actually find it pretty insulting on behalf of all the other High Lords!!

Rhysand’s choices and actions were entirely self-serving. He did nothing to fight against Amarantha or protect citizens of Prythian in general. It was entirely about his city and his friends. Again, I’m not saying I condemn him for this! It was a horrible situation and this was what he chose to do. People do crazy things for the people they love. But that’s my point. . .it was a CHOICE. He CHOSE to “service” Amarantha. He CHOSE to do her dirty work and commit atrocious deeds in her name. And every choice he made protected no one but the people who were important to HIM. So I’m just not really sure how/why I’m expected to feel the greatest amount of sympathy for HIM, over the other High Lords, many of whom stayed in open rebellion and never aided Amarantha. How easy would it have been for any of the other High Lords to attempt the same thing he did, and pretend to sympathize with Amarantha? Maybe not “servicing” her as Rhys did, but pretending to deflect to her side, doing dirty work for her, in order to attempt to spare their Courts and THEIR loved ones??? Did anyone else do this??? NO.

Rhys says he bows for no one but that isn’t true. He bowed for Amarantha. The other High Lords did not. 

The High Lords of Summer, Day, and Winter lost their lives by refusing to submit to Amarantha. (ACOTAR, page 284). 

And I’m supposed to have the greatest amount of sympathy for Rhysand??

People talk about how horrible it was for Rhys during those 50 years Under the Mountain. I’m not here to say his life was pleasant. But what I AM here to say is that in comparison to what the other High Lords’ lives were like. . .I find it hard to have MORE sympathy for him than the others. 

“If that was what she wanted, then that was what she would get. I made her beg, and scream, and used my lingering powers to make it so good for her that she wanted more. Craved more.”

“For fifty years--whenever I was inside her, I’d think about killing her. She had no idea. None. Because I was so good at my job that she thought I enjoyed it too. So she began to trust me--more than the others. Especially when I proved what I could do to her enemies.”

Rhys is “so good at his job” of killing Amarantha’s enemies (and one assumes that Amarantha’s enemies are, you know, PEOPLE FIGHTING FOR PRYTHIAN AND AGAINST HER OPPRESSION) and so thorough in their sexual acts, that Amarantha begins to trust him. He is allowed certain freedoms that no one else has. He is not trapped for 50 straight years Under the Mountain. In ACOTAR alone, we see him visit the Spring Court three different times. Do you think any of those other High Lords saw daylight even once during those 50 years?? 

He is clearly allowed to move about as he wants to Under the Mountain. He visits Feyre in her cell several times, seemingly without Amarantha knowing. She is a prisoner of Amarantha, but he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to and with her. 

Essentially. . .Rhys lived as a member of Amarantha’s court UTM. He served as her fuck buddy and one of her main attack dogs. To our knowledge he wasn’t tortured, starved, or forced to watch, powerless, as someone or something he loved was dangled over him. High Lords were losing their lives living in open rebellion against Amarantha, while Rhys lived with a level of security that no one else had. I am NOT saying that servicing Amarantha was pleasant for him, obviously it wasn’t. But at the end of the day. . .this was a choice he made. Everyone makes choices and has consequences of those choices. Rhys chose to serve Amarantha in bed and was given a position of power and security that no one else had. The other High Lords chose to openly oppose and resist her and subsequently had to suffer and live in terror with none of the freedom or choices Rhys was given. I honestly fail to see how Rhys’s decision was more valiant than all the rest. 

Again, this is NOT me trying to say that Rhys did not suffer at all UTM. I completely acknowledge that he suffered his own type of torment. I just get very sick and tired of him being treated as if he is the Greatest, Most Suffering, and Only Martyr in all of Prythian. 

I often say that Sarah writes all of these characters and this entire story in a way that elevates and favors Rhysand, even if in doing so she has people saying and doing things that make absolutely no logical sense. Everything that happens after UTM is a prime example of this. 

The fact that the other Courts and High Lords are so quick to trust Rhysand and work so closely with him after the events of UTM is downright ridiculous and makes absolutely no sense. All of them have EVERY reason to be extremely mistrustful, if not openly hostile to him, after what they witnessed for 50 years. I myself do not understand most of his actions during ACOTAR. Let’s dive into all of THAT.

I made a post separately on this, but I’ll still comment on it here. Rhys claims that he “thought” about killing Amarantha the entire time he worked for her. However, he claims:

“I couldn’t use my powers to harm her, and she had shielded herself against physical attacks”.

There’s nothing I hate more than contrived convenient story-telling. To me, this is on the same level as Feyre not being able to have a C-section in ACOSF. We need it to be true, so we’re just going to say it’s true. . .no matter how little sense it makes in this context. 

Rhys says that he, the most powerful High Lord ever born, had his power ripped away by Amarantha. On page 520 of ACOMAF he says, “Within a few seconds, my power belonged wholly to Amarantha”. 

But does it??? Let’s take a look at all the things Rhys is able to do with his power during his time under Amarantha, without her knowledge or consent:

Uses it to enhance the sexual experience between him and Amarantha, making her beg and scream, and crave him (ACOMAF, page 520)

Broke into the minds of the three fae who cornered Feyre on Calanmai, reshaped their lives, their histories, and then made them confess to Amarantha that they were rebels (ACOMAF, page 523)

“Against my violation, my body straightened, every muscle going taut, my bones straining. Magic, but deeper than that. Power that seized everything inside me and took control: even my blood flowed where he willed it.” (ACOTAR, page 239)

“I couldn’t move. An invisible, talon-tipped hand scraped against my mind. And I knew--one push, one swipe of those mental claws, and who I was would cease to exist.” (ACOTAR, page 239)

Broke into Clare Beddor’s mind when she was captured and took away her pain, told her to scream when she was expected to, then finally slipped into her mind and ended her life (ACOMAF, page 524)

Visits Feyre in her cell UTM and heals her shattered arm completely (where was this power to save her from a C-Section???)

Mentally controls and commands the guards to stay out of Feyre’s cell and not touch her. “If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?” Dazed, numb nods, then they blinked and straightened. I hid my trembling. Glamour, mind control--whatever it was he had done, it worked. They beckoned--but didn’t dare touch me. (ACOTAR, page 344)

Enters Feyre’s mind to influence and help her during her second task

Convenient storytelling at its finest. He may not have total control over the full extent of his power, but it is abundantly clear that he definitely has control of some of it! And yet we’re told that Rhys is completely unable to do anything to harm or kill Amarantha, because she holds all his power!! It belonged “wholly to her” as he said! But he’s able to do all of this stuff without her knowledge???

Forget killing her with his power!!! Lysandra killed Arobynn Hamel by slitting his throat in the middle of the night! I’m sorry, I do not find it believable that the Most Powerful High Lord in Prythian’s HISTORY was completely unable to find a way to end this bitch’s life in 50 years, ESPECIALLY when it’s explicitly stated that she allows him certain freedoms and he does things without her knowledge. I just don’t!!!! 

So if I’M thinking that. . .what do you think the rest of the people UTM were thinking??? Can you see how they might be very suspicious of him??

In addition to this. . .his actions regarding Tamlin, and eventually Feyre, make zero logical sense in the context of their situation. Let’s take a look at THAT mess.

So Rhysand is suffering in this horrible awful torment, having to play Amarantha’s whore and do evil things for her. He hates every minute of it, he grows to hate himself, he claims. 

And in this giant mess, there is only ONE road to freedom for not just him, but for everyone. And that’s Tamlin.

“Then she cursed Tamlin. And my other great enemy became the one loophole that might free us all.”

Rhys knows about the curse. He knows the stipulations and what Tamlin must accomplish. He knows that doing so will free them all.

Wouldn't you then think that he would do everything in his power to attempt to aid and assist Tamlin during the course of those 50 years?????

I know he hates Tamlin by that point anyway, due to the rivalry between their families. But, my God. . .would that really matter at this point?? If me and my entire country were stuck in the position Prythian was in, I don’t really think I’d give a shit who our freedom depended on. It could be my greatest mortal enemy and I’m pretty sure I’d still be like Okay Buddy, let’s do this. I wouldn't say I’d LIKE it. But I’d use whoever I could to get me and everyone else out of that situation. 

If Rhysand, the Inner Circle, Velaris, and every other High Fae in Prythian’s lives and futures depended on Tamlin getting a human girl to fall in love with him, I would think Rhysand would be doing whatever he possibly could to further this along and make it happen. Don’t try and say that he couldn’t do it because Amarantha would find out. Rhys WAS able to keep secrets from her and do things she didn’t know about (see my big list up there! ^^) Don’t try and say that he wouldn't risk dropping his Bad Guy Mask because it would make people look “too closely” at him and possibly target Velaris and the IC (I would have a million comebacks to that. As I’ve already said, there were ALREADY extensive shields and protections guarding Velaris and had been for years. Rhys had wiped the knowledge of the IC from the minds of everyone who knew about them. And wouldn't the safer, better option for the IC be that the curse was broken??? So if he really wanted to protect them, this was the #1 thing he should be doing!!!!)

When it became clear to us all in ACOMAF that Rhys was not in fact, really a bad guy, the very first thing I immediately wondered was, “If this were the case, why was he not trying to HELP Tamlin all those years???” If that was their one loophole and their one shot at freedom and ending the nightmare they were in, why on EARTH did Rhys spend 50 years bullying, manipulating, and tormenting the ONE PERSON who had a shot at freeing them??!?!?!? 

Rhys tells Feyre in Chapter 54 of ACOMAF:

“I didn’t know. That you were with Tamlin. That you were staying at the Spring Court. Amarantha sent me that day after the Summer Solstice because I’d been so successful on Calanmai. I was prepared to mock him, maybe pick a fight.”

Again, do not tell me that Rhys was a slave to Amarantha so there wasn’t anything he could do. That is NONSENSE. After Calanmai he crafts an entire fabricated story to tell her and brings people he’s mind manipulated into validating what he’s saying. 

Instead of offering Tamlin support, or at the very least, leaving him alone, he chooses to terrorize him and his people. He leaves severed heads on the manor house grounds, taunts Tamlin about the curse, and taunts Lucien about his mother and his dead lover. Listen to what he says to Tamlin and Lucien, before he knows Feyre is there: 

“What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin--and an even greater pity that you’re so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic.”

“Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.”

“She’s already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you’ve already been broken and will reconsider her offer.”

This is flat out disgusting behavior. This is the man you want me to have sympathy for, to view as the “better man”. Tamlin and Lucien were even greater victims at this point than Rhys was himself. They were running out of time after desperately fighting a losing battle, with the entire weight of Prythian on their shoulders. Rhys’s actions do not make sense. He is digging his own grave by behaving this way. If he wanted himself and everyone to be free so badly, I’m really not sure why he’s going out of his way to mock Tamlin, make his life difficult, and taunt him about not breaking the curse. 

But things don’t stop there! They get even MORE illogical when Feyre enters the picture!!

So once Rhys discovers Feyre’s presence, he immediately picks up on the emotional connection between her and Tamlin. In this situation, I would expect his first reaction to be glee. He didn’t know who Feyre was at that point, other than a girl he’d been dreaming about (and he later reveals that he first believed these dreams meant that she would be the one to save them all). Did anyone really expect Tamlin to break that curse?? Did anyone really expect him to find a human girl with hate in her heart for the Fae and have her fall in love with him?? I don’t think for a minute Amarantha actually believed there was even the slightest chance of this happening, just like she didn’t really believe Feyre had any chance of winning all three of her trials. It’s a mind game, nothing more. But here Tamlin is, on the very brink of meeting the very specific standards set by Amarantha. 

But what does Rhys do? Amp up the dramatics to scare Tamlin into sending Feyre back across the wall, therefore ensuring that the curse will never be broken. 

His reasoning, he tells us in ACOMAF, is:

“I made Tamlin beg--as Amarantha had made me beg, to show him how powerless he was to save you. And I prayed my performance was enough to get him to send you away. Back to the human realm, away from Amarantha. Because she was going to find you. If you broke that curse, she was going to find you and kill you.”

Um. . .if Feyre breaks the curse, that means that Tamlin gets his powers back. If Tamlin gets his powers back, Amarantha is dead. If Tamlin didn’t do it, certainly one of the other High Lords would have. If you’ll recall, Feyre DOES break the curse and when that happens, Amarantha is dead in literally seconds. Her power isn’t brute strength, it’s trickery. She is no match for Tamlin whatsoever. She literally backs away in fear and pleads for her life. It’s not even a close competition!!! She doesn’t get a single scratch on him! 

Now, I will fully admit. . .this was also something I always found kind of dumb on Tamlin’s part as well. It’s seen as this grand act of love that he sends her away and puts her safety before all of Prythian’s but I’ve always been like. . .dude. You were literally A DAY away from getting out of this thing. Tamlin, as a High Lord with his full power returned, really couldn’t shield and protect Feyre in the time it would take him to kill Amarantha? Yes, he wouldn't be able to properly protect her under their current circumstances without any of his real power, but that was the whole point of the curse. . .if Feyre told Tamlin she loved him and meant it, his power would be returned. The way in which he would be able to protect her would not be the same. You’d think at the point they were at, both Tamlin AND Rhysand would be bouncing around like the singing candlestick and clock from Beauty and the Beast trying to woo a confession out of Feyre. Kallias was able to shield Viviane for 50 years while his Court was under direct attack, I have to believe Tamlin could shield Feyre for the very short time it would take him, or any other High Lord, to end Amarantha. 

Rhys later says:

“If there was a shot of freeing us from Amarantha, you were it. I thought. . .I thought the Cauldron had been sending me these dreams to tell me that you would be the one to save us. Save my people.”

So. . .if this were the case, wouldn't it make more sense to just get a happy little “I love you” out of her before the 50 years were up? Tamlin and the High Lord’s powers would return and Amarantha would be “bloody ribbons”, as SJM likes to say, in seconds. Which is exactly what happened. All the struggle and strife of her trials UTM totally avoided!! 

What I’m essentially trying to say here is that most of Rhys’s actions during this time were in direct contradiction to what he claimed he really wanted. If Tamlin was Prythian’s only shot at freedom for all those years, you’d think he would be trying to secretly aid him in some way, or at the very least, not go out of his way to torment him. If Feyre was in Tamlin’s house, clearly in love with him, and the Curse was expiring in one day, you’d think he’d go back to Amarantha and be like “Nope, sorry, nothing to report” and pray the two of them would get it together for the sake of Prythian. 

Essentially, what I’m trying to say here is that I struggle to have a ton of sympathy for Rhys during this time because I feel as if the explanations that are given for his behavior and actions are flimsy and don’t hold up against most arguments. He felt as if he HAD to become Amarantha’s lover and lapdog in order to keep her from figuring things out about his friends and trying to hurt them. . .who were concealed in a city that hadn’t been breached for 5,000 years and the knowledge of them had been wiped from every person who knew them UTM. He “couldn’t” kill or hurt Amarantha because his power belonged “wholly” to her. . .but he was able to use his powers in ways that worked against her without her knowledge or consent about tons of other things. He was so tormented and miserable in his time UTM that he. . .mocked and tormented the one person who had a shot at freeing them all. When he saw that Tamlin was right on the brink of actually breaking the curse he. . .manipulated him into ensuring that it would never be broken. All the while being surrounded by other leaders who did not have the luxury of shielding their loved ones in an anciently protected city, who worked to help all innocent citizens of Prythian, and who were losing their lives over their refusal to submit to an evil tyrant. I have a vastly larger degree of sympathy and respect for these other High Lords than I do with Rhysand. I find Rhys to be either very self-serving, or doing things that seem to directly contradict what he claims he wants. I do not blame any of the High Lords for being wary and mistrustful of him after UTM--it makes perfect sense that they would (but that’s a topic for another section of this rant!). This is a prime example of SJM self-sacrificing through her writing. I can guarantee you I wouldn't feel as strongly about this as I do after hearing it beaten into my head over and over what a noble, selfless, honorable hero Rhys was during this time. I’m sorry, it doesn’t add up to me. Too many holes, too many contradictions. Which, unfortunately, is pretty standard fare when it comes to Rhys.

Remember, this was only Part 1!! Part 2--Why Rhys is actually a terrible High Lord--coming soon! 

[allwormdiet]

Shell 4.1

As much as I wish Taylor could ride this high forever, unfortunately looks like it's back to school

Taylor. Honey. Dearheart. You keep being really complimentary about your bullies' physical looks, and this does not in any way undermine the hurt they've done to you or your resentment thereof, but it does muddy the waters a little bit as to whether resentment is the only thing you're feeling

The back-and-forth actually feels so refreshing compared to every previous interaction with the bullies, like. My god. Did Taylor just have to rob a bank to get the confidence she needs to not worry about these fuckers? I never thought that John Dillinger therapy would take off but maybe there's a future in that

Better the devil in plain sight than the devil you can't see at all.

John Dillinger therapy! This is what I'm talking about! Let's go Taylor, show that inner strength! Shed the burden!

I mean hell, maybe, or maybe this is an upturn where she finally gets sure enough in herself to get these jerks off her back forever. We'll see how it plays out, right?

The idle speculation on Mr. Quinlan is a little wild but well in keeping with my own experiences. Sometimes teachers just passively generate rumors around them.

This one stupid bit about John Dillinger therapy keeps paying off, this is great, real joke investment opportunity

Honestly Taylor I think you can feel bad about it while also living with it, I'm not gonna pretend to be some expert on morality or philosophy or whatever but I feel like you're allowed a certain number of felonies after enough suffering in your life

Technically not a career boost for the Undersiders, at least not as far as public renown, but making your enemies look like clowns is just as good if not better. Like yeah, those tools on the other side are getting their pay docked because of that bigass hole in the roof of the bank, and you're way richer from the same event

Expanding our understanding of the city a bit more, and honestly this sounds dope as fuck. I'd love to visit every once in a while and just soak in the culture, although not if it meant living in Brockton Bay. That seems. Bad.

Ugh, these kids

Honestly I'm not quite this hardcore but damn if it isn't a mood. I've yet to see proof of Rachel being wrong

Yeah I know she had her dogs attack Taylor, Taylor's an aspiring snitch, it's okay to maul a snitch

I think I knew this part already but honestly I'm more excited to have Rachel lore than anything

I wonder how much leniency can be provided for crimes that happen in the immediate aftermath or because of a trigger event. Maybe not a ton, or maybe enough to get away with murder. I'd be curious to learn more about that, if it ever comes up.

And uhh, yeah, that'd fucking get you dead bodies alright. Wonder if that's why she's so hardcore about the training, making sure that never happens again. Entirely for the dogs' benefit, or only mostly and then there's some part of her that thrives with that kind of control?

Alec you cheeky little shit, you're endearing yourself to me

Honestly Taylor, just try and breathe easy for a little bit, I don't think you've been able to do that in over a year. Take your time, enjoy your walk on the wild side.

Maybe I'm biased but I love these two interacting on their own, so I'm fully in favor of this plan Lisa

Well I'm sure if Lisa ever killed anybody they deserved it, or if nothing else she arranged circumstances so that they ended up deserving it after some mild provocation

it's fiiiiiiiiine

Current Thoughts

This story has such good slice of life, I want more of it every time and every time I get cut off before I'm satisfied. Is that on purpose? If that's on purpose Wildbow might be a more sinister intelligence than I'd thought.

School segment was so blissfully short and Taylor managed to fight Emma to a standstill so this is a huge improvement over every other second she's spent at school

If Rachel ever kills anyone on purpose they deserved it, and if Rachel ever kills anyone on accident it's okay bc everyone makes mistakes

Honestly I'd be willing to accept any of these kids as having a good reason to render someone cadaverrific. Brian and Lisa have good heads on their shoulders and at this point I'm starting to suspect that the lazy gamer thing Alec has going on is like, at least partially a front for a deeper personality, and he's trying to be shallow on purpose, so idk what that means for him being a killer but I somehow doubt he's a fucking Hannibal Lecter type when we're not looking

...Actually come to think on it the only two members the Protectorate has info on is Grue and Bitch, right? Tattletale is an unknown and Regent has almost nothing about him. I'd suspect Grue to be the second killer but I'm not sure if that's a red herring.

Find out eventually, I guess.

...I might have another chapter in me before sacking out for the night. We'll see.

[desolationblvd]

MY GRANDMOTHER AND I WATCH THE BAD SEED

It's that awful place and that evil woman. My mother.

My sisters are beautiful and I am plain. Where did you get that one? Where did you get that one? Où as-tu trouvé celui-là? The nuns don’t like me they force things down my throat, words and flies, they strike me. Here comes the Mother Superior that’s what she thinks of herself and I hate her I hate her I hate her. You stole that-, and when she goes to strike me I throw up my hands I do not let her touch me I tell her the Pope is a criminal. She is furious she hates me but I hate her more. I have one friend we go to California I become a nurse she smokes every evening and I smoke like a chimney. I meet men I meet millionaires they want to marry me they slip through my fingers. I meet a man I get married we move across the ocean we have a daughter we move back. We have a son we have a daughter we have two more daughters we have five children and all of them are Catholic. I do not let them lift a hand I do not let them clean I do not let them cook I do not speak to them in my language they are my all-American darlings. I quit smoking. I think that I hate Catholics. My oldest daughter wants to do laundry and I cannot explain to her why she is not allowed my son is a boy just like all boys are my second daughter is quiet and shy and I cannot figure out why: I go upstairs in the night I drown her in cold water like a murder like a baptism. My third daughter is too smart for her own good and my fourth is a demon. My children are marionettes they spit on her when I say so and tears stream down their faces I know what I need to do or they won’t turn out right. Lucifer my youngest hates me wants to kill me I cannot throw her out. I watch them on the patio they skate circles around the little radio they dance they fall they scrape their knees. I wonder if I’ve done good.

I can hear my mother's voice…calling to me from the distance, and I don't answer her because I'm afraid.

I meet a man I’m wearing my glasses and my plaid skirt I ask him for a cigarette we get married. I’m late to our wedding it’s raining I’m beautiful I know I’m beautiful he’s happy I’m laughing someone takes a picture of me laughing. We have a daughter we go to my mother’s house we live in my sister’s old bedroom. We get an apartment my father lived there years ago we don’t know about that until later maybe it’s fate we have a son and we give him his father’s name his grandfather’s name his great-grandfather’s name. My daughter is shy it makes sense I was shy she doesn’t talk to people her own age she lives in her own world. She asks about death I say there’s nothing I say we don’t know I say nobody has come back to tell us about it yet I say people who kill themselves will not get into Heaven. She doesn’t like change. Mom I want to live with you for ever and ever.

Oh, I've got the prettiest mother. I've got the nicest mother. That's what I tell everybody. I say I've got the sweetest mother in the world. My son is sickly my son has stomachaches like my daughter did neither of them are athletic my daughter is shy and my son is sickly I worry it came from me. My daughter won’t sing but I hear her singing in her room I tell her it sounds nice and after that I don’t hear her sing anymore. Her friends make her hate me I ask what her problem is she thinks that I’ve wronged her resents me. She doesn’t want to be like me I ask her questions I say why don’t you shave your legs why do you dress like that I worry that she’s a dyke. She wants to die I wonder if I should let her die I think she’s secretly a cutter I make her take off her shirt she never forgives me. She’s stubborn she won’t talk to me I find pills in her room I find alcohol I wonder if I should let her die I remember people who kill themselves don’t go to heaven my husband yells at me because I’ve hurt him. My son is dyslexic he’s antisocial he’s picked up all my daughter’s bad habits there’s hope for him but I don’t know where to find it. It’s worse than I thought my daughter’s a dyke she wants to cut off her tits fuck my entire life I don’t know what I did to make her like this she’s moving too far away for me to reach her I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this.

So sleep well…and dream well, my only child and the one I love. I shall sleep too.