#and truly just!! making an effort with her be it in the form of letters or bringing her the snacks she likes or remembering an important da

[tvrningout-a]

DASH GAMES | how do you best like to be loved?

write me your words of wonder

you want to be thought of with intent, for someone to sit down and want to share their thoughts with you specifically. and their thoughts about you, even more. for someone to know you, or at least desire the knowledge. for them to write it out in a way that you can read as quickly or slowly as you desire. that you can reread again and again, or lock in a box and never read after that first quick consumption. you crave that tangibility, and the small moments that lead up to the letter being in your hand. to be told, " it's in the mail, " and then to have the simple joy of checking the mailbox to see if it has come today. to hold the envelope and feel the love within. there is a purpose of intent within physically written words, and it patches the parts of you that feel like you aren't worth thinking about. my darling, know that you are. you are worth intentional thought and cursive letters and an envelope sealed with a kiss.

tagged by: it's been a while asdf but i'm pretty sure it was either @vonerde or @foxborn! tagging: @sozokami @barrenstars @mythcaels @shealfa @solivcgant @killedarlings @resolutepath @yasashiiku @xenjoyedthat @avaere @fanaticist @viciousbite @petalbound @fem1ninity @hehosts @thrupaint @trattcria @coiins @never-surrender, and literally anybody else who wants to do this!!

[dailyrothko]

No, the Popularity of Abstract Art is Not the Result of a CIA PsyOp

If you are unlucky enough to move around the internet these days and talk about art, you’ll find that many “First commenters” will hit you with what they see as some hard truth about your taste in art. Comments usually start with how modern art is “money laundering” always comically misunderstanding what that means. What they are saying is that, of course, rich people use investments as tax shelters and things like expensive antiques and art appraised at high prices to increase their net worth. Oh my god, I’ve been red-pilled. The rich getting richer? I have never heard of such a thing.

What is conveniently left out of this type of comment is that the same valuation and financial shenanigans occur with baseball cards, wine, vacation homes, guitars, and dozens of other things. It does indeed happen with art, but even the kind that the most conservative internet curator can appreciate. After all, Rembrandts are worth money too, you just don’t see many because he’s not making any more of them. The only appropriate response to these people who are, almost inevitably themselves, the worst artists you have ever seen, is silence. It would cruel to ask about their own art because there’s a danger they might actually enjoy such a truly novel experience.

When you are done shaking your head that you just subjected yourself to an argument about the venality of poor artists plotting to make their work valuable after they died, you can certainly then enjoy the accompanying felicity of the revelation they have saved to knock you off your feet: “Abstract art is a CIA PsyOp”

Here one must get ready either to type a lot or to simply say “Except factually” and go along your merry, abstract-art-loving way. But what are the facts? Unsurprisingly with things involving US government covert operations, the facts are not so clear.

Like everything on the internet, you are unlikely to find factual roots to the arguments about government conspiracies and modern art. The mere idea of it is enough to bring blossom for the “I’m not a sheep” crowd, some of whom believe that a gold toilet owning former president is a morally good, honest hard-working man of the people.

The roots of this contention come from a 1973 article in Artforum magazine, where art critic Max Kozloff wrote about post-war American painting in the context of the Cold War, centering around Irving Sandler’s book, The Triumph of American Painting (1970). Kozloff takes on more than just abstract expressionism in his article but condemns the “Self-congratulatory mood”of Sandler’s book and goes on to suggest the rise of abstract expressionism was a “Benevolent form of propaganda”. Kozoloff treads a difficult line here, asserting that abstraction was genuinely important to American art but that its luminaries, “have acquired their present blue-chip status partly through elements in their work that affirm our most recognizable norms and mores.”

While there were rumblings of agreements around Kozloff’s article of broad concerns, it did not give birth to an actual conspiracy theory at the time. The real public apprehension of this idea seems to mostly come from articles written by historian Frances Stonor Saunders in support of her book, “The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters” (New York, New Press, 2000). (I have not read this 525 page book, only excerpts).

The gist of Ms. Saunders argument is a tantalizing, but mostly unsupported, labyrinthine maze of back door funding and novelistic cloak and dagger deals. According to Saunders, the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), an anti-communist cultural organization founded in 1950, was behind the promotion of Abstract art as part of their effort to be opinion makers in the war against communism. In 1966 it was revealed that the CCF was funded by the CIA. Saunders says that the CCF financed a litany of art exhibitions including “The New American Painting” which toured Europe in the late 1950s. Some of this is true, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to know the specifics.

Noted expert in abstract-expressionism, David Anfam said CIA presence was real. It was “a well-documented fact” that the CIA co-opted Abstract Expressionism in their propaganda war against Russia. “Even The New American Painting [exhibition] had some CIA funding behind it,” he says. But the reasons for this are not quite what the abstract art detractors might be looking for. After all, the CCF also funded the travel expenses for the Boston Symphony Orchestra and promoted Fodor’s travel guides. More than trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, it was meant to showcase the freedom artists in the US. enjoyed. Or as Anfam goes on to say, “It’s a very shrewd and cynical strategy, because it showed that you could do whatever you liked in America.”

For what it’s worth, Saunders’s book was eviscerated in the Summer 2000 issue of Art Forum at the time of its publication. Robert Simon wrote:

“Saunders draws extensively on primary and secondary sources, focusing on the convoluted money trail as it twists through dummy corporations, front men, anonymous donors, and phony fund-raising events aimed at filling the CCF’s coffers. She makes lengthy forays into such topics as McCarthyism, the formation and operation of the CIA, the propaganda work of the Hollywood film industry, and New York cultural politics—from Partisan Review to MoMA to Abstract Expressionism. Yet what seems strangely absent from Saunders’s panoramic history, as if it were a minor detail or something too obvious to require discussion, is the cultural object itself: The complex specifics of the texts, exhibitions, intellectual gatherings, paintings, and performances of the culture war are largely left out of the story.”

Another problem with the book seems to be that Saunders is an historian but not an art historian. For me, I sensed an overtone of superiority in the tale she’s spinning and most assuredly from those that repeat its conclusion. The thinly veiled message of some is that if it were “Real art” it would not have had be part of this government subterfuge. The reality is very different. For one thing, most of us know it is simply not true that you can make people devoted to a type of art for 100 years that they would sensibly hate otherwise. Another issue is that it’s quite obvious none of the artists actually knew about any government interference if there was any. Pollock, Rothko, Gottlieb and Newmann were all either communists or anarchists. Hardly the group one would recruit the help the US government free the world of communism. Additionally, this narrow cold war timeline ignores a huge amount of abstract art that Jackson Pollock haters also revile and consider part of the same hijacking of high (Frankly, Greek, Roman, or Renaissance) culture. If you look at the highly abstract signature work of Piet Mondrian and observe the dates they were painted, you’ll see 1908, 1914, 1916. This is some of the art denigrated as a CIA PsyOP, 35 years before the CIA even thought about it. Modern art didn’t come from nowhere as many would have you believe to discredit its rise. There was Surrealism, Dada, Bauhaus, Russian futurism and a host of other movements that fueled it.

Generally, people like to argue. On the internet, “I don’t like this” is a weak statement that always must be replaced by “This is garbage” or my favorite, “This is fake.”

It’s hardly surprising that the more conservative factions of our society look for any government involvement in our lives to explain why things are not exactly as they wish them to be, given the (highly ironic) conservative government-blaming that blew up after Reagan. In addition, modern fascists have always had a love affair with the classical fantasy of Greece and Rome. Both Mussolini and Hitler used Greece and Rome as “Distant models” to address their uncertain national identity. The Nazis confiscated more than 5,000 works in German museums, presenting 650 of them in the Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art, 1937) show to demonstrate the perverted nature of modern art. It featured artists including Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee, among others. The fear of art was real. It was the fear of ideas.

To a lot of people on the internet just the mentioning a “CIA program” is enough to get the cogs turning, but as with many things, the reality of CIA programs and government plots is often less than evidence of well planned coup.

The CIA reportedly spent 20 millions dollars on Operation Acoustic Kitty which intended to use cats to spy on the Kremlin and Soviet embassies. Microphones were planted on cats and plans were set in motion to get the cats to surreptitiously record important conversations. However, the CIA soon discovered that they were cats and not agreeable to any kind of regulation of their behavior.

As part of Operation Mongoose the CIA planned to undermine Castro's public image by putting thallium salts in his shoes, which would cause his beard to fall out, while he was on a trip outside Cuba. He was expected to leave his shoes outside his hotel room to be polished, at which point the salts would be administered. The plan was abandoned because Castro canceled the trip.

Regardless of your feelings on this subject or how much you believe abstract art benefited from government dollars, Saunders herself quotes in her book a CIA officer apparently involved in these “Long leash” influence operations. He says, “We wanted to unite all the people who were writers, who were musicians, who were artists, to demonstrate that the West and the United States was devoted to freedom of expression and to intellectual achievement, without any rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you must say, and what you must do.” Hardly the Illuminati plot we were promised.

In 2016, Irving Sandler, author of the book that started Kozloff tirading in 1973, told Alastair Sooke of The Daily Telegraph, “There was absolutely no involvement of any government agency. I haven’t seen a single fact that indicates there was this kind of collusion. Surely, by now, something – anything – would have emerged. And isn’t it interesting that the federal government at the time considered Abstract Expressionism a Communist plot to undermine American society?”

This blog post contains information and quotes sourced from The Piper Played to Us All: Orchestrating the Cultural Cold War in the USA, Europe, and Latin America, Russell H. Bartley International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Spring, 2001), pp. 571-619 (49 pages) https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20161004-was-modern-art-a-weapon-of-the-cia https://brill.com/view/journals/fasc/8/2/article-p127_127.xml?language=en https://www.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/learn/schools/teachers-guides/the-dark-side-of-classicism https://www.artforum.com/features/american-painting-during-the-cold-war-212902/ https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html https://www.artforum.com/columns/frances-stonor-saunders-162391/ https://www.artforum.com/features/abstract-expressionism-weapon-of-the-cold-war-214234/ Mark Rothko and the Development of American Modernism 1938-1948 Jonathan Harris, Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1988), pp. 40-50 (11 pages)

[nikachansstuff]

Interception

Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sex, Soft Azriel, Azriel Needs a Hug, Simp Azriel, Azriel in Love.

Summary: The wrong note turned prophecy.

Link for AO3

Or read it bellow. All my love and thanks to the lovely @violetasteracademic for revising this one for me and giving me so much insight. You're the best, girl.

My dear Elain, I am truly sorry for my words-

Azriel scanned the freshly typed text. For the third time in the last hour, he removed the paper from the typewriter and crumpled it in his tight fists. He closed his eyes, resting his lips in his hands that still held the paper, savoring for a brief moment the scent of parchment. 

Eight months.

Eight months since, those words had left his mouth during Solstice, ending whatever sparked between them and making him the only witness to Elain Archeron's heartbreak. Eight months following his High Lord's command.

Eight fucking months thinking about her during the day and dreaming about her during the nights. Imagining possible scenarios if he only had had the courage to leave that damned office straight to her bedroom and beg for her forgiveness. 

Azriel opened his eyes, and his fingers found the keys again. Impulsively, he couldn't stop the words from forming.

Dear Elain, In my dreams, I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. In my thoughts, I make love to you all day long. Azriel 

His eyes scanned the words again, and as he finished typing, a half smile slowly curved his lips. He ripped the paper from the machine and let out a heavy sigh, reclining in the old chair. 

Shaking his head, he couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips at the absurdity of the words. He would never be so bold as to say those words out loud or to

deliver the letter, now double-folded next to his cup of hot tea.

But somehow, Azriel could picture it perfectly: Elain opening the letter, her milky skin turning a soft blush while reading the words. She would lose a breath; her lips would part as they did that night. And then, she would bite her bottom lip, her shyness giving way to the desire she would feel. Or would she be horrified? Slapping him on the cheek him just like that play he once watched at Velaris Grand Theater.  

Eight months.

A lot could change in eight months. They hadn't spoken since that damned night, and Azriel refused to give in to his need to track her with his shadows. He wanted it; only the Mother knew the effort it took to not throw away his morals and just give in to have some news from her. But he stood against it and kept away from her as Rhysand had ordered him to do. As he was foolish enough to obey.

But he couldn’t anymore. 

Dearest Elain, My headaches increased alarmingly since we last saw each other. And I don’t think I can blame our loud friends anymore. Your gift remains untouched by my nightstand. I like to keep it there as a reminder of you and your gentleness. Please forgive me for my words in our last encounter. The truth is my absence is the only way to keep me from acting on my longing thoughts. The only mistake was stopping before I could finally fulfill my dreams Sincerely, Azriel

He finished typing and signed his name in neat handwriting. Losing a soft breath, Azriel folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope. In a quick movement, he wrote Elain Archeron on the blank front of it and placed it on his desk. Finally lifting from the old armchair, he could start getting ready for tonight’s dinner, hosted by his High Lord and Lady, at the River House. 

Azriel took three long steps in the direction of his in-suite bathroom and called a single shadow that wrapped itself in his forearm. Please take the note to Elain, at the Townhouse, he commanded silently, while undressing and entering in the enormous clawfoot bathtub. 

It took him longer than usual to bathe. He allowed himself a moment to just relax in the hot water, letting his thoughts travel far while he washed. He left the bathroom, his body shivering from the different temperatures between rooms. 

Azriel was finishing adjusting the siphon on his right hand, when he allowed his eyes to travel to his desk. Where the envelope with Elain’s name still rested in the dark wood. He hesitated for a second, his shadows slowly closing in on his ankles.

Suppressing the terror that threatened to take over his body, Azriel searched for the folded note close to his teacup. His tea now cold, the note containing his deepest secret now absent. 

Well…

Fuck.

An uncharacteristic high-pitched laugh rumbled in his chest at the realization of what had just happened. Azriel ran his hands through his hair, biting his bottom lip hard enough to hurt. Fuck. So much for resorting to poetry, to relying on paper to deliver what he had felt for the past two years. He shook his head, still not quite believing how careless and miscalculating the whole series of events was. 

However… the idea of Elain reading such words sent a chill down his spine, both petrifying and, to his disbelief, exciting. He could feel the light shiver that went through him, the curiosity of seeing her reaction getting the worst of him. He was a sick bastard. From complete absence to a filthy declaration. 

“Fuck,” he shook his head again while bracing the hard desk, the steady wood giving him a sense of reality in the foggy situation. 

There was no way around it, so he needed to talk to Elain before dinner. Part of him even dared to hope that maybe Elain was not at the Townhouse, that maybe his shadow had left the note by her nightstand in her bedroom. If so, he could simply enter the room and take that damn piece of paper without any repercussion to his foolish (and lustful) words.

Taking a deep breath, Azriel left his bedroom at the House of Wind. He crossed the long corridors and exited the house, opening his wings and taking the skies. The flying did little to clear his head and calm the fire burning in his lungs, both from embarrassment and, again, to his horror, excitement. His reaction was surprising himself, the dose of recklessness in all of it acting as fuel to the desire he so carefully tried to suppress for so long. 

His shoes made contact with the hard asphalt in front of the Townhouse, in a loud thud. Azriel took the next steps, hesitating at the front door of Elain’s house for the last couple of months. 

Rhysand and Feyre made it clear to Elain that the Townhouse could be her haven whenever she needed. Azriel had thought about the decision and couldn’t help wondering if this was a way for Rhysand to give privacy to both Elain and Lucien to explore their mating bond, whenever he was in town. 

Azriel bit his inner cheek at the thought. Clearly, it was not the right place for his mind to wander because all Azriel could feel was an icy rage, notes and letters, and words forgotten. Feeling his turmoil, his shadows wrapped around his calves wildly, and for a moment, he just stood there, glaring at the front door as if it had personally offended him. 

Azriel was so distracted by murderous thoughts that he faltered a step when the door opened, his heart skipping a beat.

And there she was. 

Elain kept her hand on the doorknob, her warm doe eyes wide while greeting him. Azriel swallowed thickly, his eyes taking in the female in front of him. 

The dress made him pause, the style so different from the ordinary choice Elain would prefer. The green satin dress had fine straps, baring her lightly freckled shoulders. Azriel noticed at that moment that he had never once seen Elain's shoulders, and that was a sin in itself. 

The soft fabric was lightly loose in her torso, hugging her curvy hips, to then cascade over her legs in different panels of luxurious satin, a faint suggestion of a slit in her right thigh. He saw the style once in the Continent, the fashion considered scandalous for women in the human lands. 

His eyes traveled up to her thick hair tied at her nape. A few strands were loosely pinned on her scalp, framing her lovely face. Gods, she was devastating.  Their eyes met, the awareness of his long stare hitting him. Azriel cleaned his throat, suddenly feeling like a youngling caught in a mischief.  

“Lady,” Azriel murmured, dropping his head in a light bow, and when he lifted his chin, their eyes met again. 

Azriel couldn’t tell if Elain knew about the note, her expression null and not giving him anything. He almost winced at the sting in his chest at the realization that he couldn’t read her so easily anymore. 

A lot could change in eight months.

Slowly, Elain did a polite curtsy, taking a step away from the door. “Do you want to come in?” her voice was soft as always, but with a stiffness he was not accustomed to. He nodded, while running his hands in the lapel of his black jacket. 

Elain turned, displaying the naked skin of her back, making him inhale sharply, the air suddenly too hot. She crossed the hall all the way to the corridor leading to Rhysand’s old office. Azriel followed her steps, allowing himself the pleasure of seeing Elain’s hips undulate under the flowy skirt. She opened the heavy door and continued her way to the wooden desk at the back of the office. She flickered the desk lamp on, giving the room a warm and intimate lighting. Azriel entered the room next, closing the door behind him.

He turned, and his eyes traveled to the numerous bookshelves, stopping at a title behind Elain’s left shoulder. Suddenly, all his training experience, all the wars, battles, and enemies did nothing to help him gather the courage to face Elain Archeron. The jasmine and honey he so desperately craved filled the room.

Azriel inhaled generously, savoring her scent like a starved male, the sweetness heavy on his tongue. Only then, hazel met brown. 

“You’ve never called me lady before,” she broke the silence, proving she was the bravest of the two. 

“Elain,” Azriel shook his head, feeling stupid for the over-politeness he assumed was the best choice. He looked at the carpeted floor, and then, her. “It was a mistake,” her eyes narrowed slightly, and he cursed himself for the terrible choice of words. 

“Yes,” she said coldly. 

“I’m sorry-That’s not right…” He exhaled heavily. “What I meant is it was a stupidity,” he continued, brushing his thumb with his index finger nervously. “It was never meant to be read.”

“No,” she agreed.

“It was the wrong note,” his heartbeat wildly; Azriel felt completely exposed under her gaze. “The right letter was more appropriate and less- “

“Anatomical?” she completed, resting her hands on the surface of the desk behind her. 

Azriel allowed himself to chuckle at the absurdity. Shaking his head, his eyes traveled to the ceiling, exposing the skin of his blushing neck. “Yes.” He murmured then and searched her eyes again. 

But Elain was not looking at him. Her focus was on the white lilies beautifully displayed in a ceramic vase on the dark wood desk. He watched her fingertips as she lightly caressed the petals, the gesture so intimate. Then, Elain took a short step away from the desk. “I was surprised to hear from you…” She contoured the desk, again giving him a glance of her back, miles and miles of naked skin. “I thought it was odd, you never sent me a note before,” she continued in a low voice, and Azriel followed her slowly, his steps a muffled sound meeting the carpet.

Elain then turned, her eyes taking in the smaller distance between their bodies. She took a step back, her elbows lightly brushing the bookshelves behind her as if she could disappear behind the titles. Azriel heard a wet, soft sound as she unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth to speak, her voice so low that only amplified the intimacy shared: “What said the letter I was supposed to read?”

Azriel took another step, getting closer to her. “It was an apology for my words that night.” He couldn’t say that he was only following Rhysand’s orders. How could Elain understand the authority of his High Lord’s command? How that order alone spoke deeply to the most primal part of him. The part that was more beast than Fae. It took Azriel months alone to slowly release himself from the need to obey, to bend the knee. He always was the wildest one, the one Rhysand couldn't easily control, and being there, with the female he wanted so fiercely, was just another proof of that. “It said the only mistake was to stop…” Elain turned her head, seeking shelter in the dark space not illuminated by the soft light from the desk lamp. She covered her mouth and nose with a trembling hand as if she was trying to physically stop herself from speaking. Her eyes glimmered as she touched their corner with her fingertips. 

“Eight months,” she murmured, still avoiding his gaze.

“I know…”

“You called it a mistake,” she then looked at him, and her eyes showed so much pain that Azriel felt sick. 

“I know, and I am sorry, Elain - I am so sorry,” his jaw locked purposefully tight. He had to forced himself to respect the distance Elain placed between their bodies. “You didn’t read it wrong, I wanted you – Gods, I still want you,” he almost choked in the last words. “Tell me how to fix it, Elain, and I will do it – I - why are you crying?”

“Don’t you know?” she said between a sob, finally letting her hand drop from her face, a single tear running a path down her cheek. 

It took him a second, a brief, finite second, but there it was: their language. The bizarre familiarity that had blossomed the day he had first met Elain Archeron. Once that intimacy hit him, her eyes, her beautiful face, and soft gestures were easy to read, like his favorite book. And he knew, then. Azriel just understood what that single tear was telling him. 

“Yes, I know exactly," he said breaking the silence, and then, Azriel just moved towards her, closing the distance in a purposeful stride. 

Their bodies crashed, and he pressed her against the bookshelves, placing his hands against them, caging her. A soft gasp left Elain’s lips at the impact, and then, their mouths collided. Only a hard pressure of lips, passion and hunger motivating more than care. Azriel felt more than heard Elain’s whimper, so he forced himself to place a distance between them again. 

Her eyes were hooded as she lifted her head to look at him. Azriel inhaled sharply to calm the burning that could spoil it all. So, he slowly, tenderly cradled her face with his scarred hands. His thumb lightly traced her wet bottom lip, and then, he was blessed by the vision of Elain parting her mouth, welcoming the touch. Azriel lowered his face, still looking at her, and brushed his lips against hers. One, two, three soft times. They were beyond present, past, and future as Azriel finally claimed Elain’s mouth. 

Her lips were soft against him as she tentatively kissed him, the clumsiness of it all fueling something primal inside him. They drew away for a second, and she placed her hands on his chest as they met again with more confidence. His hand drifted from her face to her neck, pressing her pulse point in a featherlight touch, earning him the lowest and most beautiful sound that he knew would mark the shift between them forever. When their tongues finally met, Azriel felt Elain’s knees faltering, so he pressed her harder against the bookshelves. His groan was loud enough for their ears only, and he couldn’t stop. The hunger was too strong, the desire weighing heavy on his limbs. He increased the pressure in her neck, craving the feeling of her high beating pulse, and Elain just lightly turned, offering him more. Giving him permission to take it. So, he did. 

When Azriel broke the kiss, he could’ve sworn he heard a whimper of complaint. Responsive. Elain was utterly, beautifully responsive, that wild part of her speaking to his hidden beast in a way that not even his most savage dreams could have him prepared for. He pressed his forehead against hers, his hand still on her neck, his thumb brushing the velvety skin. He slowly lowered his mouth to her jaw, tracing a wet path, inhaling greedily. Elain shivered under his arms, her hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. His other hand gently caressed her left arm up to her shoulder, and when his fingers reached the thin strap, he noticed he was trembling.

Elain must have felt it too, because she opened her eyes, and looked at his scarred hand. Slowly, her gaze drifted to his. “You’re shaking…” she said in a voice that was not her own. Raspy, lower. 

He nodded, inhaling deeply, his forehead brushing the side of her neck at the motion. And then, he answered in a throaty murmur: “I was miserable without you,” his fingers played with the fine strap again.

She gently brought his hand from her neck to her mouth. She kissed his knuckles, her eyes burning bright. “I missed you too," she said and got on her toes, kissing him again. The kiss different, ravenous.

She hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her, demanding more contact. Azriel moaned loudly when Elain carved her nails in his nape. His response was to move his fingers at the strap, letting it drop to her arm, exposing her shoulder. He ran his tongue through the freckles, savoring both her scent and her shiver. Elain let out a sigh that sounded both pained and breathless. She pulled on his hair, bringing his lips to hers, her mouth greedily kissing, her tongue lapping, her teeth nipping. So different from the female he knew. So different from the female that has haunted him for years. And he didn’t recognize himself as he pressed his thigh between hers, finally allowing the painful hardness of his length to seek relief in her fabric-covered flesh. Elain moaned at the intimate contact, and the sound seemed to pierce him, becoming a new and essential part of him. 

She looked at him, all blushed skin and ragged breath, seeming so, so lost. At last, they were free to take, give, demand, and explore between those four walls that sheltered them from all the outside noises, the reminders of the impossibilities.

Azriel searched her eyes, finding the same hunger, so he slowly thrusted against her. He was rewarded with another broken sob. He again lowered his face, her breath hot on his damp lips. He held her right hand, interlocking their fingers, and pressed them above her head against the bookshelves. Elain's other hand grabbed his shoulder, seeking his steadiness as to anchor herself. He pushed his hips again, fabric against fabric, more forcefully, and she closed her eyes, brows furrowing.

“Look at me,” he whispered in a low rasp against her mouth, and so she did. Elain seemed as drunk as he was. So, so lost. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” her answer was immediate, and her nails dug into his shoulder. “Please - oh, please, don’t,” and he couldn’t not bite her bottom lip, savoring the needy whimper. 

His tongue searched for hers again, more demanding. Coaxing her in a dance, her inexperience giving place to that newly found instinct. He then sucked on her tongue, and Elain turned pliable in his hands, her head hitting the shelves behind her in a muffled sound. Azriel let go of her soft hand, slowly reaching for the expensive fabric barely covering her small breast. His thumb traced the exposed skin of her bust, a tentative ask of consent to which Elain’s answer was the hard pulling of his hair towards her. Azriel didn’t hesitate then, baring her breast and capturing the rosy nipple in his mouth. Her moan was lower than his, the sensation piercing his lower stomach, and his hips pushed harder against her supple body.

Azriel felt something shift inside Elain. And her hands were everywhere, pulling and pushing, the contradiction as a result of desperation. She tried to unbutton his shirt, biting his jaw. He sucked harder then, working his way to expose her other breast. Elain inhaled deeply against his neck, mumbling nonsense he couldn’t hear, too drunk in her scent mixed with his own to stop. Then, she finally, finally exposed his chest, dragging her short nails through the inky swirls with enough bite to sting. He hissed at the pain and rose through it at his full height, looking at her from above. Their eyes met, and Elain slowly moved towards his naked chest. Azriel only watched, in a trance, as she dug her teeth into his nipple, hard and not playful.

His hands were in her hair, then he pulled her from him and lifted her chin to capture her lips again. She opened her mouth below him, and they both moaned when their tongues met again with little finesse. Azriel grabbed her waist and pushed her higher against the furniture, her weight half supported by a lower shelf. Desperation guided him hard towards her legs, grabbing the satin fabric and pulling it to expose her. Elain opened wider, giving him more space between her milky thighs and she whimpered when his hips thrusted, pressing hard against her heated core. His breath was hot and heavy, and for a second, the need enveloped every part of his body, and Azriel froze, lost in what to do next, what to taste, to give, and to take. 

Elain laced one leg at his waist, encouraging the pressure. They looked at each other, and Azriel ran his calloused fingers on the velvety skin of her thighs. Sweat covered Elain’s neck, tempting him, so he lowered his mouth, lapping at the exposed flash, tasting salt and honey. His hand moved on its own accord, higher and higher, up to her heated groin. His thumb traced the lace of her underwear, and Elain’s gasp was both surprised and pained. Their eyes met, and Azriel slowly separated their bodies, both breathing raggedly. 

Azriel took one infinite minute to take her in, all of her. The thin straps were hanging loose on her arms by the elbows, breasts fully exposed. A thigh was still hocked in his waist, and the other leg hung, lightly trembling both from need and exhaustion. Her hair was now loose from her nape, strands everywhere, and he realized he couldn’t point when that had happened. The complete utter mess of her only fueled his arousal, encouraging him to dig deeper, to ravish her entirely. So, Azriel slowly removed her leg from his waist and did what he had dreamed about for the past eight months: he kneeled in front of Elain. 

Gently, he ran his hands through her calves, bringing her foot to his bended knee. Elain just watched from above, all wooded eyes, the brown burning fiercely. Azriel then unclipped the thin strap of her golden sandal, removing the shoe. Still holding her gaze, he kissed the inside of her heel, guiding her leg to the round wood step of the bookshelve ladder. He reached for the satin skirt, moving the fabric around her bent leg. He turned his face to the inside of her thigh, brushing his nose on the milky skin. Elain sucked a ragged breath, their eyes still locked in a heated gaze. His mouth moved upwards and covered the path with hot, wet, open mouth kisses. Suddenly realizing his intentions, Elain’s lips parted.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a weak voice, grabbing the shelves by her waist, knuckles whitening. 

Azriel grabbed her heel, both to part her legs wider and to anchor himself. Wetting his lips, looking at her beautiful brown eyes, he finally uttered the words that haunted his dreams: “Let me taste you,” her eyes widened at the request. “Please,” he begged in a broken, desperate whisper, brows furrowing. “Oh, Gods, please, Elain,” he blinked his too-heavy lids, slowly reaching for her sex to run his lips against the lace underwear. Elain let out a sob as she nodded, a broken yes leaving her lips as that lovely blush painted her skin in the most beautiful way. 

Azriel closed his eyes, brushed his nose against the lacy fabric, and inhaled deeply. The scent of her arousal weighted sweetly on his tongue, and his mouth watered. He turned his head and ran his lips through her inner thigh up, up, up her hip bone, where he nipped the skin through the fabric just for good measure. She whimpered above him, lacing her fingers through his hair. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t suppress the low chuckle that left his lips at the disbelief, at the enormity of fulfilling what once was a long-lost dream. Something snapped inside him, and he hocked his fingers in the fragile lace, pushing it aside and baring her. The wet pink cunt glistened under the intimate half-lighting. “Beautiful,” his voice was a throaty rasp. He searched her eyes, and when he found them closed, his groan was both annoyed and aroused.

"Elain," he called her and Gods, he sounded desperate. She opened her eyes, gazing at him from above, in a trance. “Look at me,” he commanded, but his voice was equally deep and broken. “Actually look at me, or I will stop,” he said, and she nodded again, her eyes watering. 

So, finally, Azriel kissed Elain’s sweet, wet cunt, the note now both prophecy and only witness. His loud moan drowned the sound of her own at that first taste. His tongue greedily lapped her entrance, sliding between her pink lips, wanting all of it, and when her hands weighted heavily on his scalp, for a moment, he thought she had fainted. Elain let out a long moan, the vowel stretching for infinite seconds. And despite his threat, he was the one with closed eyes, savoring her in the darkness. When his lips closed around that sweet spot and sucked, she startled, and the motion woke him up to the present. It suddenly hit him exactly where he was and what he was doing. “Fuck,” he groaned against her sex. “Gods, fuck – Elain,” he was a mumbling mess at the realization.

In a feral impulse, he grabbed her thighs, opening her wider, and his tongue was sliding, lapping, sucking, and fucking worshiping her. The loud, filthy, wet sounds filled the room along with their mixed scents. One hand in his head, her other searched for support on the shelf above her hand. Elain was trembling under his touch, a broken whimper leaving her lips every time he sucked hard on the apex of her thighs. Their eyes met as he slowly glided a finger inside her, his mouth parting, mimicking her expression. He trusted carefully, painfully aware of her every reaction. Elain brought the palm of her hand to her mouth, biting the soft flesh, her moan muffled. Azriel reached for her wrist, shaking his head. “No, I want to hear it, sweetheart,” he rasped. “All of it, I need it,” and he pushed his finger harder, twisting it on the way out. 

He felt it, then. The beginning of her fall. And it was his driving force and only need as he ravished her, tongue, fingers, nose and chin. He couldn’t stop his own moans when Elain grinded against him, searching for her release. The obscene sounds filled the small space, bouncing back from the four walls, and he knew then that this was his undoing. He would never recover, neither did he want to. He wanted to commit to memory every sound, every note of that scent, every drop of that sweet fucking honey on his tongue.

Her mouth was a perfect O when she came undone on his tongue. He felt the sweet contractions in his hand, the fresh rush of wetness, the trembling limbs. “Yes, sweetheart, that’s it,” he praised her, still sliding his fingers, working her through her climax. Elain was a shaking mess above him, eyes closed, back arched. When she was finally coming down from her high, she let out a final satiated moan, a small smile curving her lips, and she turned her blushed face to the ladder, her forehead rolling into the dark wood in a lazy motion. She was a vision. Devastating. 

Azriel slowly rose from the floor back to his full height, and Elain opened her eyes, taking him in. Her eyes were glazed, but with a slow blink of the heavy eyelids, when she looked at him, it was there. The hunger was still there. And Azriel thanked all the Gods above for it. He positioned himself between her thighs and slowly raised his right scarred hand closer to their faces. Elain only watched as he brought his still-soaked fingers to her swollen bottom lip, brushing it in a light touch, painting it with her release. Her eyes were wide at the realization, and Azriel's own lips curved in a devilish half-smile. "Sweet like fucking honey,” and before she could have a taste, he captured her glistening lip with his teeth and sucked, growling ravenously. 

Elain whimpered as she caressed his exposed chest with trembling hands. Her nails had no bite left and traced a path downwards the button of his pants. Azriel still lapped at her bottom lip greedily, aware of her hands working their way to free him from the layers that separated them. When she finally unbuttoned his clothes, she let out a sigh of relief, the fabric now pooling at his ankles. All that was left was his undershorts, his arousal evidently displayed. She scanned both his eyes before hers descended, and then, Azriel only watched as Elain looked at his erection, a maddening male pride felling his senses when her eyes widened. 

“Oh,” her trembling voice was both surprised and curious. 

“We don’t need to- “

“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted him in a heated whisper, her eyes back on his. 

Elain placed one hand at the waistband of his last piece of clothing and pulled gently, grating space for her other hand to free his cock. Her lovely, sweat damp palm fisted him, and Azriel held his breath, both at the perfect sensation of Elain’s touch and at the vision of her small hand barely able to close around him. He bit his lip, bringing his forehead to hers, both breathing raggedly. She moved her palm up, a fingertip curiously brushing the slickness at the head. Azriel inhaled deeply, surrendering to her pace and will, letting her fulfill her curiosity and take her fill in uneven, inexperienced strokes. The clumsiness of it all aroused him even further. 

He cradled her face with his calloused palms, but Elain kept her gaze fixed on his cock, jerking it with both small hands. He held her jaw then, and Elain's eyes were on his. Basking in her full attention, Azriel pressed one thumb in her mouth, seeking entrance, and Elain parted her lips showing true eagerness. She sucked his finger into her mouth, and Azriel pressed the pad of his thumb on her velvety tongue, pinching it from inside while holding her jaw and locking it as he wanted. Azriel then lowered his free hand, swiping one bead of precum on his thumb, bringing it close to their faces again, the action followed by burning brown eyes. Elain opened her mouth wider under his pinch, and he removed his thumb from her jaw, cradling her chin. Their gaze still locked, he brought his slick thumb to his own mouth, tasting himself while still feeling Elain’s release in his tongue. Elain whimpered, her breath rapid and hot, her lips still widely parted. Azriel then lowered his face to hers, tilting her head, and spit inside her mouth, feeding her both their essence. He watched her throat work as she swallowed what he gave her, her eyes closing as she moaned. Elain then opened her eyes, parting her mouth again, asking silently for more.

“Fuck,” he rasped, pulling her towards him and kissing her savagely.

Suddenly, she placed one hand on his chest, breaking the kiss and willing him backward, creating space between their bodies. His brow furrowed in confusion, but then, Elain’s feet touched the carpeted floor, and she hooked her fingers on her underwear. She held his gaze, all blush and conviction, as she pushed it downwards her lovely thighs, bending one leg at each time, removing the lacy fabric. She then swallowed thickly, anchoring herself to the same previous position, one leg seeking support in the lower ladders’ step. She opened her legs wide, pushing the fabric and baring herself to Azriel. 

“I want you,” she said in a shaking voice. “Make love to me.” It was a feverish request in her tongue, but to Azriel's ears, it was a yielding command.

He was back at his rightful place the next second, touching her thighs with utter devotion. Azriel looked at Elain as he lowered his face towards her, giving her a gentle kiss, nothing but a brush of lips; both still with open eyes, scared to surrender to the heavy eyelids and had the moment stolen from them, vanished like sand between their fingertips. He fisted his cock twice, in a slow motion, all while holding her gaze hostage. He slid his length through her wetness, biting his lip to suppress the loud moan at the perfect sensation. His forehead met hers from above, and they both looked as he notched at her entrance. Elain was all supple limbs bellow him, the frenzy of the enormity of what they were about to make hitting them both. 

Elain sucked a breath, her nails digging into his forearms as he pushed gently, entering her slowly, savoring the feeling greedily, inch by fucking inch. He stopped halfway through, breathing heavily, their foreheads still rolling lazily against each other, their gaze still locked on their connection, and Elain dug her nails deeper, silently urging him to continue the feverish torture. He pushed again, more forcefully, and when he was settled to the hilt, Elain sucked a ragged breath, turning her face in a rapid motion. Azriel froze, giving her time to adjust to the fullness of him. Her lovely, blushing face was only partly illuminated by the weak lighting, but Azriel saw her tearful eyes as she blinked rapidly, breathing deep, silently. She then looked at him, and there was passion but also pride in those beautiful brown eyes. She dragged her hand to his waist, pulling him to her, goading him, and he denied her no more. 

His thrusts were slow and deep; his hands settled at her thighs, forcing her open with every motion of his hips. Elain’s head rested against the titles behind her, and her nails traced the inky swirls in his chest. Condensation rebounded from her skin back to him, making their skin gleaming with sweat. And when he hit the right spot inside her, Elain’s back arched as a broken gasp left her perfect lips. That sound was his lighthouse, guiding him towards her pleasure, so he angled his hips, hitting the same spot over and over again. Elain's shaking arms embraced his neck, and she dug her face into his shoulder as if she could hide from him. 

“Look at me,” he said for the third time, desperately. She inclined her head, her nose brushing against his jaw. Their eyes locked, and Azriel thrusted harder, faster. 

“Oh, Gods,” she sobbed, all supple, shaking body.

“Call me by my name, Elain,” he pleaded, his voice a growly mess. “Please,” he moaned. 

 “Azriel,” and it was the siren’s call, leading him to the edge. 

“Again,” he rasped, hitting his forehead against the bookshelves, his hips increasing the rhythm on their own accord. He was purely instinct now, barely rational. 

“A-Azriel, oh, Azriel,” and she stretched the first syllable of his name in the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

Craving more of that lovely sound, Azriel slid his arm under the one knee that was around his hips, his hand circling her wrist, and pulled her closer. Another plea with his name left her mouth, vibrating her entire body, her head falling behind her. Delighted with the silent offer, his mouth descended to her exposed neck, biting the salty skin. It was too much; the hill they were climbing together was too high, and he knew deep inside his immortal soul that once they reached the peak, he would be forever at her mercy.

Her walls tightened against him, and his groans were feral. Needing more, he hooked her other leg around his arm, holding both her wrists at her back. His free hand went to her perfect bottom, and he used her to slide up and down his length in a fierce motion. The wet, filthy noises of skin-to-skin ricocheted from the walls back to their ears, and when Azriel thought he couldn't take it anymore, Elain screamed against his neck. “Yes, sweetheart, fuck, fuck, Elain!” His hips lost rhythm, the pace uneven and uncoordinated when he felt the contractions of her climax, pushing him to the edge. He spilled inside her, long and hard, her name a plea in his tongue.

His breathing ragged, his legs faltered, and Azriel fell to his knees a second time that night. Carefully cradling her to him, he unhooked his arms from underneath her, and Elain embraced his waist with her legs, her arms circling his neck. He looked at her from below, his arms embracing her waist. Luminous. She was light itself. Azriel knew now that she was his new religion, his only Goddess, and that he would forever worship at her altar. Their mouths brushed in a devoting caress, sharing the same air, her breath hot on his damp lips.

“I love you,” she murmured above him, running her fingers through the hair at his nape. “I love you, Azriel,” she repeated. 

Azriel had read the words in his books while studying the mortal’s culture and traditions. He knew the expression weighted heavily for humans, but he couldn’t fully understand the importance of the foreign words. So, he answered the only way he knew how.

“I am yours,” he placed her hand on his chest, on top of his heart. “And you are mine,” his hand was on her chest, then his thumb lightly brushed the damped skin. “Forever,” he vowed. 

“Forever,” she prophesied, her eyes turning a murky white a brief second, but she blinked and then, it was gone.

Azriel felt it then, the heat underneath his palm pulsing at the same time the skin in his chest burned. He removed his hand to see the newly fresh ink marking Elain’s sternum. A rose covered with tendons of shadows. He didn’t need to look at his chest to know an equal pair was now displayed there. Elain’s fingertip brushed away a tear running down his cheek. 

“Forever.”

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

An Analysis of SPY × Family Chapter 99

Manga spoilers, and a very long post ahead!

I'd like to preface this with saying that all of this is my own analysis, and I'm not very smart at these things, so take this with a grain of salt!

This chapter was extremely heavy: with Henry realising his feelings for Martha, and how it echoed the main theme of this story: how war destroys relationships and how innocent civilians are forced to enlist out of fear for their families' safety.

The chapter starts off, continuing off the cliffhanger of the last chapter— it turns out to be a false alarm, but Martha leaves her feelings for Henry unsaid.

She begins writing letters to Henry, and they keep a regular correspondence to substitute for their tea parties--

The war continues to grow dire, and Martha's squad hasn't been given any combat training, yet, they're forced to go to the front lines, under the pretext of "serving your country" and "keeping your family safe".

Henry is obviously shocked and scared for Martha when he finds out she's on the front lines, but we never get to hear his thoughts with the introduction of this fucking bitch-

🤓☝️ lookin ass--

In this chapter, we get to see Donovan's own ideals, which are shown through his argument in the debate. Interestingly, Donovan is almost the same age as Demetrius is in the present-day. (At least, that's what I'm assuming-- Henry mentions being in charge of the middle schoolers, and Demetrius is a middle-schooler.)

He claims,

I have a couple of thoughts about this. First,

"I know that solving differences with dialogue and weapons is ideal". The phrasing of this is interesting, because it kind of sounds like he doesn't believe in that-- he just knows that solving differences with diplomacy instead of war is 'ideal', but does he really believe in that? I don't think he does-- and, his own definition of 'peace' is definitely... ambiguous. What does he think 'peace' is? Subjugating other countries with his own power?

He already has a strange concept of humanity and other humans' own ideals-- he believes that, at our core natures, human beings are liars. That the only thing we're capable of is war and destruction.

This is also very similar to his own ideals that we see in modern-day. He doesn't care about either of his sons, as he says, they are essentially strangers to him. And, you might have raised them (though with Donovan, "raised" is a stretch), you might be their own father, according to him, he will never truly know his sons. Which is why he doesn't even attempt to understand them. His own ignorance for human nature and for others around him is really what makes him a failure of a father-- we are never truly born "knowing" others. Yet, every day, we make an attempt to learn the people we care about-- and isn't that a little of what love is? Take the Forgers-- they are three strangers to each other, each concealing their own natures from the others. They're all liars, and yet, they're making an effort to heal; they're learning to love and they're learning to learn about the people around them, the people they care about.

This is his flawed ideology. In his world, humans are strangers-- humans are nothing to each other, they're always hiding their true intentions from each other. Humans can't be trusted-- humans don't trust each other, which is why war and destruction and pain is all humanity is capable of.

But it's really not. SxF's message is of how three strangers--- three orphans of a war they were forced to partake in--- come together and form a home. Yes, they are liars, yes, they're hiding their true intentions, but they're making a home for themselves, a home where one can be safe, where a young girl, who's experienced horrors no child should, can feel safe and in her mother's arms.

Which is why I think Donovan's ideology is so flawed--- and how beats of it echo in the modern-day SxF story, especially when Twilight meets him.

Yes, by mere dialogue, reaching a mutual understanding is idealistic, but the most important thing is to not stop seeking to understand each other.

Humans are flawed, humans are selfish, humans are kind--- there's a debate on whether, intrinsically, humans are good or bad. We're all given different cards to play with, but really, it's up to us to decide on our faith in humanity.

It seems like Donovan has a wholly negative view on humans--- we can never know each other's true intentions, and it's with this doubt that humans wage wars--- it's with this doubt that humans lie and kill and cause destruction.

It's because of this doubt that Desmond is planning a war himself.

Martha writes Henry a letter, and she talks about a dream where all the students are holding hands, circling Henry. She can't join them because her hands are filthy--- maybe it's guilt? Maybe she's feeling guilty, maybe she feels like she can't join the others because her hands are stained with blood.

She's scared. She's regretting joining the front lines. Her only solace is the letters from him. The only way he knows she's alive is the letters from her.

I feel like another story would have taken a turn, making Henry regret his own feelings for Martha because the war had torn them apart. Instead, Henry realises his own feelings and his own wants too late-- and it becomes the last letter he gets from her.

It feels like an extra gut punch, as in the beginning Martha was embarrassed to call him "beloved", but now, he's calling her beloved, and he misses her so much. He cares for her so much, and doesn't know how she is.

All he can think is---

His hands are stained with ink. The nib of his pen is almost breaking. Ink is bleeding onto the page. In Martha's dream, her hands are stained with blood due to her desire to protect Henry and her country. In Henry's reality, his hands are stained with ink due to his desire for Martha to come back, be with him again. The Soldier and the Scholar, each trapped in their own Hell.

Henry finds out that Martha's squad has been killed. Their lives were a "sacrifice" for their country. This is blatant propaganda, and, he feels they're sullying her memory by mythologizing her; by using her life, using her death as a way to snare more students into a violent and hopeless and painful battle.

He speaks out. He's punished.

He's been brutalised so much, that he needs to wear a monocle.

We learn more about Donovan's and Henry's own ideals. Donovan gives up on people who've disappointed him-- people who he deems as fools. Henry doesn't believe in that. He believes that everybody deserves to not be given up on--- every body deserves a person in their own corner.

Towards the end of the chapter, Henry's forced into a marriage by his father, believing it's "for the best", because the soldier he was waiting for never came back to him.

We cut to "Somewhere near the East-West border", to a home with a fireplace. Martha is just opening her eyes, and is severely injured.

This definitely isn't a safehouse or military barracks or a military hospital.

A home with a family, or at least a person, with a fireplace and a chopping block for firewood.

This place is also near the sea,

which makes me think it's somewhere near the south. (If I'm remembering the map correctly).

Edit: The map is faithful to irl Germany, which means the sea is to the north, not the south. Sorry for the discrepancy before!

I'm thinking someone rescued Martha while she was injured, and brought her to their place to rest and recuperate--- which is why she's presumed dead, and why Henry wasn't ever given closure.

The next chapter is no doubt going to be explosive--- the 100th chapter. I feel like this arc will segue into something bigger, something more heart-wrenching and painful (I don't know how that's possible, but I trust Endo-sensei.)

---

Thank you for making this far and reading this whole thing! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope I wasn't annoying with my hatred for Donovan lol.

Also, on a more light-hearted note, I explained the plot of SxF to my dad, and he's intrigued and wants to read the manga. I'm planning on showing him the first ep of the anime, to see if he likes it. I feel like he will.

[mylahrins]

forget-me-nots, 03.

dear y/n,

i feel like i’ve told you this a million times already, but thank you so much for the flowers. kiyoko truly loves them, i haven’t seen her smile so brightly in a while! it was nice spending time with you after school. i can see all the effort and care you put into your club, it is truly admirable. when inter-high is over i’ll make sure to visit you more often.

you asked me the other day what it was like to be part of the volleyball club. at the time i couldn’t come up with an answer. to tell you the truth, i’m not too sure anymore. lately, i haven’t really felt like a member at all. with the new first years, i feel like i’m miles behind them when it comes to skill and talent. i want to be of use to the team, but right now i’m not much more than a cheerleader. despite all the faith i have in them, i cannot stop the feeling of envy i get when i see everyone play. i want to play volleyball with them too. perhaps that is selfish. please don’t tell anyone about this, it’s a bit embarrassing.

i don’t think i asked you enough questions about yourself. i’m sure i did more answering than asking. you probably get this question a lot, but do you have a favorite flower? i don’t know too much about flowers, but i’d be happy to learn. i only really know about peonies, the bright pink ones. we have a few peony shrubs in our backyard, my mom has been taking good care of them since i was young. do you like peonies? i’ll bring you some if you don’t grow them already. even if you do grow them, i’d be happy to lend you some just for having.

i should have asked you when we met the other day, but do you mind if we keep exchanging letters? i know that it’s kind of “old school” but i find it quite relaxing, also i had fun reading your response. you’re a very fun person to talk to, and i’d like to talk to you more (in person and letter form). though, it might be weird if we keep having tanaka deliver our letters. i’ll try to come up with a better solution , i promise!

have a lovely day, sugawara

about the flowers!

➤ pink peonies: pink peonies are very diverse when it comes to symbolism, from prosperity to passion to even love! when researching about peonies, i found it interesting in how the shade of pink can change the meaning of the flower. light pink peonies are associated with romance and good fortune, while deeper/hot pink peonies convey passion as well as radiance and joy. a bouquet of pink peonies doesn't have to be romantic, but if it is, it can symbolize things like young love, first love, and/or love at first sight!

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a/n: ahhhh!!! im so happy to see ppl liking forget-me-nots already :)) tbh i made myself a bit sad when writing for sugawara here LOL much more sad stuff to come.. but trust me when i say i have lots of sweet things planned as well!! also, this is the official start of their friendship!! woohoo! mwuahaha i'm so excited to share more of their story.

taglist: @yenonnoff @softpia @ryeyeyer @shoyosh @wqnsho @wyrcan @hisfuture @guitarstringed-scars @froyaoya

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[hanafubukki]

The song "Seasons" from Rival and Cadmium came into my playlist some day ago. I like a lot the melody so I listen it for time to time. But it's just now I truly put some attention to the lyrics.

Now this is Lilia theme song for this OT3 ship in my brain. Totally the song that would be play during a timeskip where we see him wait for years, decades and centuries until Y/N return. Seeing seasons pass, Malleus grew up and Draconia family happy, Lilia waiting alone, a few silenced flashback with their time together and all the adventure they lived, Silver awakening, his grow, the NRC start...

And the song ending, the day Y/N return from the past, when Lilia found her, and when she offers him a big bight smile. Even he can't hide his teary eyes under his relieved smile. And then a big hug ! 🥹

- 🦋 Anon

(Fanfic References: Part 1, Part 2 )

[Ask References: Ask 1, Ask 2, Ask 3, Ask 4, Ask 5, Ask 6, Ask7, Ask 8, Ask 9]

Hello 🦋 Anonie,

🦋 Anonie, I am shaking you. I haven't heard this song before and I am so, so in love??? It fits so well that I am internally screaming and crying.

Here's a little drabble/scenario I thought up of 🦋 Anonie:

I can just imagine him waiting as time passes and seasons changes. Thinking back on all the fond memories he has of YN. Thinking of all the precious memories he has made with his family. The spars he would have with Dawny (I need to figure out a name for him lolol, or we could keep calling him that too). He remembers blessing Silver and the time his son came to rescue him from the evil Meleanor.

Then years later, Silver wakes up and time continues to pass. Malleus, Silver, and Sebek is growing and becoming fine young men. He thinks about how you would have loved to see them. How you would have adored seeing Malleus teach the boys magic and helped them with their penmanship.

He thinks about how Dawny would have loved to see Silver turn into such a fine young man. How Silver would have made him a bracelet too. Lilia hopes that he raised Silver into someone you both would be proud of because he especially is.

Soon after, the NRC letters arrive and he remembers what you told him. How you attended NRC and he goes with the boys with the hope in his heart that he would be reunited with you again.

Time continues to pass like all seasons do, and Lilia watches his boys make friends and enjoy life at NRC. He meets you but it's a version of you that doesn't recognize him, Malleus, or Silver.

He remembers what you had told him in the past and knows that this you will soon be his YN in time. That the inquisitive looks you give him will soon be those of the fond and loving ones he remembers.

(I am still thinking about this scenario still and how it would go so it might change later on, since we want to keep canon events in the story if we go the "YN came back in time when she was her original age when she was transported to the past")

He sees you and remembers when he first met you, so so long ago. The connections you made with him and the Knight of Dawn. He remembers the family dinners with the Draconia Family. He remembers when Silver was first born. How painful and yet how sweet these memories are, how loving.

He protects you secretly.

Then one day, you go missing and he can't help but hope. He waits and waits with a racing heart.

And then he sees you, at the cottage you and yours had called home. YN smiles, understanding now what all his looks meant, the love he has secretly tried to hide but always shone through despite his efforts.

Lilia felt tears form and fall, feels the smile he can't hold back anymore. YN rushes to him,

He catches her in a hug, twirls her around and kisses her. Oh love, how he has missed you so.

Both of your laughter echoes in the gentle wind.

Welcome Back, Precious One.

[ponett]

I have now finally seen the Mario movie. It was Pretty Good. Here are my wordy thoughts on it. (I am going to spoil the entire movie. Duh.)

In many ways, the Mario movie does what I wish the first Sonic movie had done. They just took the characters and the premise and the world from the games, and made it a straightforward animated adventure movie. It's bright and colorful and remixes things JUST enough to include fun elements from multiple games, and it doesn't make Mario get adopted by James Marsden or whatever. It even has the music!

That's all you really need, right? Right...?

I'll get this out of the way up front. Chris Pratt was fine. He's fine

If anything, it really feels like they did the movie a disservice by letting us hear so little of the Mario voice in the previews. It took one scene for Pratt to disappear into the role for me. It was totally fine. If anything, I found Charlie Day's normal voice coming out of Luigi WAY more distracting, even if I did like him in the role.

Everyone else was pretty good, for the most part. Jack Black was obviously very good as Bowser, but I'm biased. Seth Rogen does the Seth Rogen laughs as Donkey Kong, but I thought DK was fun, too. (I liked his little rivalry with Mario where he was just constantly giving him shit.) The only casting choice I truly hated was Fred Armisen as Cranky Kong. I hated every line that came out of his mouth. He sounds atrocious. Just the worst. I swear to fucking god if they do a DKC movie and we have to hear him for 90 minutes

I did think Peach was lacking, but that was on the script, not Anya Taylor-Joy's performance. It's cool to see Peach fight, but it's one of those all too common instances where the writers put so much effort into making the main girl kick ass and be an effortlessly confident girlboss that they forgot to give her an actual personality. Not that I'd point to Super Princess Peach and its mood swing superpowers as positive representation or anything, but there's a happy middle ground, surely. Shrek was 22 years ago, just having the princess do flying kung fu kicks isn't enough.

Okay. With the voices out of the way, let's talk about the big picture:

It's way better than the words "Illumination Mario movie" implied, and I mostly enjoyed my time with it. The spirit of Mario is there 100%. But I'd also describe it as "ruthlessly efficient."

This was perhaps the main complaint critics had, and they were absolutely right. People have responded to these totally average reviews with "Well, what did you expect? Shakespeare?! It's MARIO!!" Like, yes, I would prefer it if the movie I paid to see had writing that was good instead of bad. What a shocker. My issue isn't that it's not "high-brow" enough. The problem is that it feels mercenary. It feels like an editor went through and deleted almost every line of dialogue that isn't some form of exposition, at the expense of the pacing. Any scene that's not a montage or some sort of action is kept as short as they could make it, with barely any room for embellishment, character interaction, or anything other than the bare minimum word count to hit all the typical Save the Cat Hollywood screenwriting 101 story beats to the letter. There aren't even as many jokes as you might think (and the ones that are there are extremely hit or miss, including a lot of the slapstick with Mario himself).

Mario and Peach's little arc together in the front half of the film is probably the worst example of this pacing. Even having read reviews that complained about how fast Peach goes from meeting Mario (by her admission the first other human she's ever met) to deciding to train him as the new savior of the Mushroom Kingdom, I was SHOCKED at how fast it was. They don't even lampshade it.

Peach takes Mario straight into the big training sequence where he learns how to use mushrooms and jump over platforming obstacles. Peach is apparently already a hypercompetent platforming pro and a great fighter, so there's no clear reason why she's taking the time to train this random guy to be half as good as her when the world is in danger. Then they set off on their adventure, Toad joins them, and we get a VERY brief travel montage. It's about thirty seconds total - just long enough to give Peach a line about how she wants to protect this beautiful world of hers to try and give her some stakes. We get the genre-mandated nighttime campfire heart to heart, which is exactly long enough to have Mario say he misses Luigi and to have Peach give the two sentence summary of her origin story and not a second longer. Then they reach the Kongs, and their big journey is complete. (They barely interact for the rest of the movie.) So much of the movie is like this - always ready to get on to the next scene as soon as a new one starts.

I'm not criticizing the script because I expect The Super Mario Bros. Movie to be a prestige drama - although there are certainly halfhearted attempts at a dramatic arc. The stuff with Mario's family was a fun enough idea, but again, ruthless efficiency. We get one quick scene with them at the start to give Mario some pathos, because I guess Save the Cat said he's gotta have some pathos. And then Mario gets his dad's approval amidst the action of the final battle in Brooklyn to resolve his arc, just so the movie can end as quickly as possible once Bowser is defeated. (Despite now having the approval of their family and their community back in Brooklyn, Mario and Luigi move to the Mushroom Kingdom off-screen without a single word dedicated to this decision, because that's where they live in the games.)

Look. I am not comparing it to The Godfather. Don't give me that shit. I am not asking for an extra half hour to explore Mario and Luigi's childhood trauma. I am not asking for the complex inner workings of the Mushroom Kingdom monarchy. I know this is gonna be a basic Hero's Journey adventure for kids. It just feels like it's turning down so many opportunities to have a little fun with the characters, to let them interact and play off of each other, to let there be some adventure on this adventure. This is the first time we've gotten to see these characters interact with fully voiced dialogue in a very, very long time! "Yeah, it's not High Art, but it's FUN!" Stories are fun! Character interactions are fun! The script could be having so much more fun!! It is adamantly against making the Story parts of this story-driven movie any more Fun than they functionally need to be!!!

Mario, Peach, and Toad's journey to find the Kongs is shorter than the training montage that precedes it. After the opening, Bowser mostly just sits in his castle and waits for the third act to start. Luigi's there, too, but he only gets one scene with Bowser and then the movie mostly forgets he exists until the climax. He doesn't even get to try and sneak out of Bowser's castle and get up to hijinx. He's just there to be a motivation for Mario, so he sits in a cage for half the movie. It's the bare outline of a script with action scenes added in.

Aside from the fact that it's Jack Black singing as Bowser, I feel like this overly-efficient script might be part of the reason why the "Peaches" scene stands out so much. It's a moment that didn't strictly need to be there to keep the plot moving or to provide an action setpiece. It's not even a reference to another Mario thing. It's just a fun and memorable little character moment that's there for its own sake. That's what the movie needed more of. To stop and smell the roses more often. To play in the space.

To be clear, this isn't a unique problem with this movie. Critics have been noting for years that second acts are disappearing from big Hollywood movies in favor of the Act I plot setup and the Act III action, even though Act II is supposed to be where you get to explore your actual premise. And lots of animated movies give me this exact same vibe of being too "screenwriterly," or feeling like they had an executive breathing down their necks and demanding changes based on focus testing. But these common issues are why I come away mostly feeling like the movie is on the better end of "average," rather than totally blowing my mind. You have seen this movie many times before, just not with Mario in it.

And, of course, there's the music. The score by Brian Tyler based on various classic Mario and Donkey Kong tunes (frustratingly all attributed to Koji Kondo) is absolutely beautiful, but it's unfortunately frequently overshadowed by the licensed music. Everyone already complained about things like the use of Take On Me in place of a lovingly arranged DKC medley, but it feels illustrative of the tug of war the movie is caught in the middle of, between wanting to be a lavishly faithful Mario movie and wanting to be a generic tentpole animated adventure movie. Every single licensed song used is the most obvious, overused song they could have picked for the scene. It reeks of cynical executive meddling and it took me out of the movie every time.

But there really was a lot of care and love put into this movie - more than probably any other video game movie ever made, not that that's a high bar. I don't want to underplay that too much amidst all my complaints spurred by the absolutely insane response to the reviews.

Aside from the countless background references that people will be picking apart for years, touches like the Captain Toad tune playing in the background of Toad's introduction or the Mario Kart 8 menu music playing in the kart garage really help bring it to another level of authenticity. I also enjoyed seeing some more obscure Mario enemies that felt like they were picked more for being fun to animate than for being nostalgic and marketable. No matter how many times I sarcastically pointed to the screen and deadpanned "reference. reference." I am not immune to noticing these things and smiling. I am not immune to the DK Rap. These alone don't make the movie good, but it's nice to have a video game movie that feels like it was made by people who like video games.

Most importantly, the animation is great throughout. It's leaps and bounds ahead of other Illumination work, and it's the best the Mario cast has ever looked. They even made Donkey Kong handsome, somehow. They're all so squishy and expressive, and they move so fluidly - especially in the action scenes. I particularly liked the more kinetic ones like the aerial Banzai Bill chase and the Mario Kart sequence. Truly, the Mad Max-inspired car battle on Rainbow Road where Mario literally does the speedrun shortcut is this movie firing on all cylinders.

Other, more hand-to-hand fights nail the Popeye-esque vibe Mario should be going for. He's an underdog who gets the shit kicked out of him by bigger, stronger opponents until he gets his signature powerup and turns the tables on them. My favorite animation of all probably came from the use of Cat Mario to turn the tide in the DK fight. They had so much fun making Mario move like a cat. Again, it feels like a choice made because it'd be fun to animate rather than just a nostalgia move.

It's that animation and that attention to detail that carry the film, really. They elevate it from mediocrity into being a fun watch for a fan like me, albeit one I couldn't help but pick apart with Anthony as we watched it at home. I'm glad I saw it, but there's a lot of room to improve with the inevitable sequel. I hope they do. I can't deny that I had fun with the movie, but I hope next time that fun is partially because of the script instead of in spite of it.

Stray thoughts:

Overall, I would say I enjoyed the movie a lot more than Sonic 1, but probably not as much as Sonic 2. Not that these movies need to be pitted against each other.

I hated the Luma. I hated how hilarious they clearly thought the Luma was. They have the fucking Luma break the fourth wall to end the movie and start the credits. This is going to be a deep cut for fans of bad animated films, but the whole time I was just thinking of the little fish from Romeo & Juliet: Sealed With A Kiss who's just the director's kid saying random nonsense. You know I'm right

I rolled my eyes at the "our princess is in another castle" joke and several other jokes that would have been dated in a gamer webcomic 20 years ago but I guess they had to be there

How much of Brooklyn did Bowser's giant floating castle take out? We know 9/11 happened in this universe because the Freedom Tower is there, hasn't New York been through enough

I can't believe there's a Diskun easter egg

The dog is the most Illumination character design in the movie. It felt like it wandered on set from The Secret Life of Pets

Mario being a gamer and playing Kid Icarus of all things just made me remember this tweet:

Yes Anthony did get mad at me for being thirsty for Bowser

[bookish-whore]

'Til Death

Rhysand x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: arranged marriage, mostly fluff, themes of emotional/psychological abuse

A/N: Welcome to Day Three!!! Today we have the first part of what I think will become a cute little slow burn/strangers to lovers/forced proximity fic. this is based on a request one of you lovely anons sent in and I hope you like it!

My Masterlist -> Here

Join my Taglist -> Here

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I never imagined myself getting married.

As a child I detested the idea. In fact, I remember a conversation with my parents about how I would rather renounce my titles and claims to my fortune than be forced to be a bride.

It all happened so quickly I didn’t even have time to truly process that today was the day. As I stared in the mirror at myself in this ridiculous white dress, I couldn’t help but feel as though my freedom was slipping away with each passing minute. I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye when the door opened without warning and a blonde female entered the room, she was stunning, one of the most beautiful females I had seen. She wore a form fitting red dress, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose curls.

“Hello, its y/n right? You look absolutely beautiful” the female remarked

“Umm…yes” I said tentatively “who are you?”

“Oh! My apologies I didn’t think about how strange this would be for you. My name is Morrigan, Mor for short and I am Rhysands cousin. I know this isn’t the best circumstance for us to meet under, but I have something for you…from Rhys.”

“For me?” I asked, she extended her hand and there was a letter with my name on the front and a black seal with the night court emblem on the back. I turned it over in my hands analyzing the elegant script that I deduced belonged to my future husband.

“This is all just so…overwhelming” I admitted

“Trust me, I get it probably on a level many others don’t. I just came because Rhys thought it might help your nerves to get to know him a little before the ceremony. He managed to delay a few more hours on account of some fake emergency.”

“I’ll be just outside the door waiting for your answer.” She said quickly turning and leaving the room, closing the heavy door as softly as she could manage.

I made my way to the couch in the dressing room and sat carefully, trying not to wrinkle my dress. I broke the seal, removing the letter. I was surprised to find he had such elegant handwriting

Y/n, I’m sure an arranged marriage to a complete stranger was not what you had envisioned for your wedding day (on that we can both agree) My cousin has no doubt used her eccentric flare to get you to read this and I hope that you will join me for a drink before we do this, while not what we planned I hope that we can make the best of this situation. -Rhysand

I appreciated the effort, and I had to admit I was curious about my soon-to-be-husband. Before I could lose my nerve and overthink his gesture I stood, opening the door to find Mor exactly where she said.

“Let’s go for a drink” I said

“Seems like the rational thing to do” she replied with a smile, extending her arm for me to take and she led me through the halls of this manor to what I presumed was the roof.

As Mor opened the door I was struck with this feeling, I was nervous to meet him, I mean I knew him by his reputation but had never met the High Lord of the Night Court. If the stories were to be believed he was menacing, cruel, and evil but the man who wrote that note didn’t seem like any of those things.

“Good luck” Mor whispered as she closed the door leaving me alone with him up here

His back was turned as I approached him, but I took in his height, he was easily one of the taller males I had met. His hair was an interesting shade of black, almost like a raven’s feathers and he wore a well-fitted black suit.

I halted behind him and smoothed out my dress. I should try and make a good impression after all, and I cleared my throat to garner his attention. He turned and I was immediately struck by his eyes. They were such a unique shade of violet; it was unlike anything I had ever seen before and as his eyes met mine all thoughts exited my head as I looked into his eyes, I mean really looked, I noticed that from a distance they looked violet but up close it was like a galaxy like the night sky itself, there were flecks of silver, blue, and violet within his irises and I couldn’t help but wonder what he made of me.

“Hi” I said, giving him an awkward wave “I’m y/n, I’m sure the long white dress is a dead giveaway”

“It’s a pleasure” he said “I’m Rhysand, but my family calls me Rhys and I would like you to do so as well if you feel comfortable with that”

I nodded my answer

“So, what’s your drink of choice?” he asked

“I’ll take whatever you’re having” I said eying the glass of amber liquid he held in his hand

“A woman of refined tastes” he teased “I think we’ll get along fine”

He poured me a glass and motioned for me to sit, I didn’t enjoy being ordered around but I was intrigued by what he would say, what he would do given the situation.

“I can tell you’re nervous” he said taking a sip from his glass “Why?” he asked

“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean I am about to get married to a man who I hardly know”

“What exactly would you like to know?” he asked

“Well, for starters where will we be living?”

“In my townhouse, in Velaris” he answered simply

“What will my duties entail?”

“You aren’t my property y/n, you’ll be free to do whatever you wish. If you want to be a part of official court conversations, you will be as my equal worthy of the respect my court gives me or if you want to shop and live a life of leisure you are free do so as well. The choice is yours”

I took a sip of my drink, relishing in the slight burn as the liquid slid down my throat. Freedom. I would be free.

“And what about my wifely…duties” I asked, “what about children, your heirs?”

“I would never take someone into my bed unwillingly. Yes, you will be my wife but you aren’t some brood mare meant only for childbearing. Should you wish for a child, I’m sure we can work it out and should you never want children then so be it. We are going to be equals y/n, on that I swear.”

I felt much more at ease with that, he was offering me a life, he was offering me freedom, freedom to make myself something and to decide what I wanted for my life. It was something I hadn’t had.

For most of my life my parents had spent their time priming me to become the perfect wife. I learned to perform house duties like cooking, baking, sewing. I was taught history, and arithmetic and once I turned 16 my lessons transitioned to the ways to pleasure and please a man. Once they felt I was suitable for a match, they began making connections. I’m not entirely sure how they landed on Rhysand, or how they got him to agree to a marriage, but I assumed it had something to do with their control on spices and mining resources.

But now.

Now I had the opportunity to be more than a wife. He said I would be his equal. I felt the faint fluttering of butterflies in my stomach at the thought. I would outrank my parents; I would no longer be under their control and the thought had me practically running to the altar to say ‘I do’

“y/n?” Rhysand pressed “are you alright”

“Absolutely, I’m just thinking”

“Can I ask about what?”

“About my future”

“It’s a lot to think about” he agreed, finishing his glass

I downed the rest of the liquid in my glass “What time is it?” I asked

“Half-past seven” he said checking his watch “I should probably go back downstairs, make sure everything is in order”

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you…for all of this” I said

“Well, for starters you can follow through with your end of this deal and promise not to leave me up at the altar alone” he joked

I smiled, he really had a great sense of humor and I think we could even become friends.

“I wouldn’t dare embarrass a high lord like that” I teased back

“I’ll see you down there.” He said standing as he made his way to the door “I’ll be the one standing in the aisle”

“And I’ll be the one in the white dress” he nodded as the door closed leaving me alone on the roof.

I took some deep breaths before going back to my dressing room.

-----

I had to admit that it was beautiful. It was simple.

While being an arrangement, I still wanted my close friends and family present, it was a big day after all and I would only be doing this once. The setting was small and intimate, two rows on either side of the aisle and a simple arch where Rhys stood with the High Priestess.

When I made it down the aisle, Rhys took my hands in his, and the high priestess began the ceremony, I focused on the words being spoken in the old language. The priestess asked me to repeat after her:

“I take you, Rhysand, as my husband; to stand strong and equal by my side. by destiny we are aligned. W-We will face challenges together and find st-strength in our union. By the Sun, Moon, & Stars.”

The priestess nodded as she continued, and I repeated after her.

“May we always be as happy as we are today. May the mother give us knowledge on our way to come. May she bless us with strength and courage, and may she grant us safety, family, and prosperity.”

As if sensing my anxiety, Rhys squeezed my hand, the small gesture grounded me as Rhysand repeated the same vows. We then moved to the hand-cord portion. The priestess projected her voice to us and our guests.

“You were asked to choose ribbons in 3 colors to be woven together as a tangible symbol of the values and virtues that you hold dear in your lives and in your union. You chose red, symbolic of fire and passion, so that your love may always be bright, warm, and passionate. Green, representative of delicate leaves, symbolic of growth, so your love may be fruitful and vibrant, and your happiness abundant. And black, to represent wisdom, success, and strength.”

As she spoke, she wrapped the ribbons around out joined hands, tucking the ends into each other and placing her hands on top to offer the final blessing.

“These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will comfort you in illness and hold you when fear or grief racks your mind. These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times. These are the hands that will give you support and encourage you to chase your dreams. Together, everything you wish for can be realized.”

She looked between us and our joined hands as she spoke the next part

“This cord of three braided ribbons symbolizes so much. It is your life, your love, and the eternal connection that the two of you have found with one another. The true bonds of this handfasting are not formed by these ribbons, or even by the knot connecting them. They are formed instead by your vows, by your pledge, your souls, and your two hearts, now bound together as one. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, and your hearts joined forever in love… by the power vested in me by the cauldron and the mother, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Before I had time to panic about kissing him his mouth was on mine. It was a quick but firm kiss purely out of necessity.

And just like that we were married.

We decided to make our rounds and say hello to all of our guests before leaving. Rhysand walked us to his group of friends, I hadn’t officially met them yet, but I’m sure that would come once he whisked me away to the night court. They clapped him on the back and gave him wide smiles, even though our situation was unusual they seemed to support him. They had such an easy familiarity. They just seemed to understand each other.

I stood there pondering my circumstances, in truth, I was excited to be on my own, even if that meant being attached to Rhysand. I would be in a new home, a new place, and away from my parents. I had never even been away on my own and now I would be saying goodbye to them for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I would find my own friends, my own family and that thought electrified me.

The last people to talk to before we departed were my parents.

It was a brief meeting of polite conversation, I didn’t dare show my excitement to be free of them. I spoke only when absolutely necessary but with each passing minute I became more anxious to leave. As if sensing my rising nerves, Rhys pulled me to his side and spoke excusing us.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both” Rhysand said shaking my father’s hand and giving my mother a nod “but it’s getting late and we should be going we have quite a ways to travel tonight”

They both nodded in understanding and my mother, always one for the optics, pulled me into a final embrace and held me tight, taking the opportunity to whisper in my ear “Remember your lessons, don’t disappoint us”

I pulled away taking one last look at them before Rhysand grabbed me around the waist, winnowing us away.

-----

We arrived at the townhouse.

It was much cozier than I had imagined. Rhys gave me a tour starting in the foyer which was decorated with a red carpet, with wood-paneled walls and art on each wall. There were two rooms: on the left a sitting room with a black marble fireplace, lots of comfortable, but worn furniture, and bookshelves built into every wall. On the right was a dining room with a long, cherrywood table big enough for ten people. Down the hallway ahead there are a few more doors, which led to the kitchen.

Rhys led me up the wide oak staircase to a hall punctuated with chandeliers of swirled, colored glass that illuminated the bedroom doors and led me down the hall stopping outside a green door.

“This will be your room” he said as he opened the door motioning me to enter.

It was quite beautiful. It was dark out but I could tell that the room faced the back of the townhouse, the large windows peered over the stone fountain in the center of the garden. I took in the décor, everything in the room was a dark, rich, wood and soft white, with touches of subtle sage. The bed was in the center of the far wall and was a massive cloud like thing, adorned in quilts and duvets of cream and ivory with accent pillows in various shades of green.

There was also an attached bathing room made of white marble, with a toilet, a claw-foot tub, and more windows that overlooked the garden wall and a thick line of cypress trees that bordered the property.

“This is incredible” I said as we made our way back to the entrance of my bedroom.

“I want this to feel like your home, this is your space so feel free to make whatever changes you like.” He said

“Rhys- I really don’t know what to say…thank you”

“No thanks necessary. I think we can help each other here.” Before I could ask him to elaborate, he continued “You should get some rest, it’s been a taxing day for the both of us.”

With that he stepped out of the room “Goodnight y/n” he said as he closed the door behind him.

As I looked around the room. my room I suppose. I couldn’t help but think that this morning I thought my circumstances would be much different.

But now?

I think I’m going to like it here.

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Tune back in tomorrow for Day Four ❤️

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Taglist (all fics) ->

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[onwriting-hrarby]

Thank you letter: The End

Image commissioned to @andengeu <3 Thank you so much for this amazing Eren and Mikasa from Rotten Judgement!

If you’re reading this, it means you have wrapped up your reading on Rotten Judgement. First of all, thank you so much. Whether you have liked your reading or not (although I hope you have), thank you for making it up here: to know that you’ve considered my story worth it of finishing, among so other many stories that there are (so other distractions in our daily life) makes my heart flutter and gives me a sense of plenitude.

When I started writing this story, I wanted it to be an amiable rom-com, that kind of fanfiction that people read to disappear from real life. I think I was pulled by the attraction of gaining a readership. However, as the story began forming in my head (in December, 2021!), I realized that these characters and their stories and their problems were much bigger than my not-so-down-to-earth ambitions. Why was I writing, firstly? Did I want to write just for exposure, or did I want to tell something that worried me in my writing? The second won, as you have all seen: I believe that we do not live in a kind world, that we have to fight endlessly, and that everything is politics. Excerpts from Fritz’s speeches were taken from Donald Trump and Santiago Abascal (the chief of the ultra-right party in Spain), although I could have cited many others. The demonstration of the last chapter was inspired by the massive demonstrations we’ve had in Spain in the last few years, too. As I wrote, I realized how important it was to me to show all the love, the friendships and the families in a political context. I won’t pretend I have discovered something new in this fanfiction, of course. If anything, I hope that it was mildly enjoyable, despite being the complete opposite of what I envisioned from the first time. It has surprised me to know the number of people who have read this: mainly because my chapters were long, and dense, and chapter by chapter you were here, commenting. I truly have no words.

This story wouldn’t have been the same without the world of Isayama, of course, but also Disney, and most particularly, Hercules. Without reading, either, since I read all the time, professionally and also in my spare time: I believe that reading takes us places, whatever we read. It makes us more empathetic and sets us up for healthy debate. So, despite the bans in libraries, in books, censorship all over, and morality police, do not stop thriving for books, and do not stop reading.

Some people have been very important throughout this year. In real life, my boyfriend and friends. In the virtual world: Sam, Ris (@liquorisce), KB (@irememberthedark), Jo, Kami, Anna, Hannah, Heart (@heartvu), Rotten (@rottenlover), Rae (@staraesea), Lys (@sunlightandsuffering), Ashley (@r-brauns) Shon (@wlshond), Onigiri (@onigiri-dorkk), Chaos (@chaosisbeauty23), Nuri (@nuri148), Bry (@bryhaven), Sam (@shenanigansam) (I hope I don't forget anyone)—thank you for the beautiful conversations, for giving me a place when I felt disheartened, for commenting on other fanfictions and readings with me. Special thanks to Ro (@dead-dolphins), for being her genius and creating self, full of empathy and altruism and making such beautiful banners for Rotten Judgement. All the covers for the different parts are her doing. And special thanks to Nina (@sinigangsta-ao3): for lending her ears whenever I was wrong, for her interactions with series and books and politics, for her effort in beta-ing some of the parts in this fic and giving me the vocabulary to talk about things I didn’t know how to express, but most of all, for being an extraordinary friend.

I am thankful for a lot of other people, too: especially some of you, commenters, who have been following my stories since I did not live until today, or even those who have discovered me with Rotten Judgement but have, without fail, left a comment someday. I know some of your usernames by heart, but I trust that you all know already who you are. Without your engagement, I would have felt discouraged to write some days. Coming here was a safe haven, and so I thank you deeply. For the ones that read, left kudos I thank you all, truly, for the motivation and encouragement you left along this 500 pages of story.

Some images of this past year and the making of Rotten Judgement. Thank you again.

[princessrazzledazzle]

If the planets in our solar system were people, this is how I imagine them to be…

Mercury- He’s obviously the shortest of the bunch both in his human form and celestial form, which he’s pretty embarrassed about. He’s also quiet and shy, not really daring to speak up about something when he’s all by himself, in fact he doesn’t like being by himself either, it makes him feel inferior and unwanted. Whenever he’s not with the other 7 planets doing planet things, he spends most of the time with Sun, as he’s his closest friend. He likes going on runs around the solar system, mostly delivering letters and messages from and to other celestials, so he basically knows everything that’s going on drama wise. Sun and the other planets try to encourage him to have more confidence, but he hates doing things outside his comfort zone, he does appreciate their efforts though.

Venus- She’s hotheaded and temperamental, always taking offense to the most mundane comments, but besides that, she’s actually pretty friendly once you get past that, despite her resting bitch face. But by friendly, she’s be like that one friend who’s always angry and starts arguments and fights for no reason, but never truly means any harm. She also thinks of herself as a princess, constantly dressing and acting like one, meaning she tries to boss everyone around, though no one takes her seriously, and thinks she’s the prettiest thing in the solar system (which is debatable). She a hopeless romantic too and gives great relationship advice (sometimes reluctantly), though she can’t manage to apply that advice to herself. She gets easily frustrated and impatient and as a result, it causes volcanos to erupt on her surface.

Earth- She’s chill, but it’s clear to all the other planets that she’s slowly losing her cool due to all the activity animals cause on her surface, mostly humans. Sometimes she wishes she didn’t have the ability to host any sort of life, but at the same time, she’s very proud of that fact, thinking of herself as unique. She’s also twin sisters with Venus, whom she sometimes finds irritating, but loves her anyway. In her celestial form, she always makes sure to keep herself calm, not getting too angry or overexcited, as it causes natural disasters to happen and she don’t want to harm any of her creatures, this happens to all the planets, but since they don’t have any life, they don’t worry about it too much. She’s a curious person and won’t hesitate to ask questions, whether it’s just to learn something new or to uncover the truth.

Mars- He’s a loud and playfully aggressive guy, but also a little temperamental too, but he tries not to show it. He’s super friendly to pretty much everyone he meets, always greeting others with high fives and fist bumps, and if he’s close enough with someone, he’ll greet them with a tight bone crushing hug. He’s naturally strong, though he rarely uses his strength for anything useful or productive. He loves play wrestling and sneak attacking his friends, especially Venus, much to her dismay. He sometimes likes to pretend to be a knight or a war general, protecting others from danger, but in reality, he’s more of a human shield, not because of him being the second smallest of the planets, but because he’s kinda immature and just takes things head on instead of actually thinking.

Jupiter- The tough guy of the group, or would be if wasn’t so soft on the inside. As the biggest and strongest celestial in the solar system not counting Sun, he feels as if it’s his duty to protect everyone and always tries his hardest to achieve that, especially with the rocky planets. He also has a resting bitch face, but he does actively try to shoot dirty looks at others sometimes, mostly rude aliens (humans included) and rouge comets, asteroids, and meteors that pose a threat. Just like Mars, he gives bone crushing bear hugs to those he’s close with, but unlike Mars, he does it more out of protectiveness than out of playfulness. Despite him always trying to appear stern and serious, he always unknowingly says the funniest, out of pocket things. He also unknowingly does a lot of silly and childish things like biting his nails and collecting plushies, and he gets angry whenever someone points it out.

Saturn- The most dramatic of all the celestials, always overreacting over the simplest things, but instead of being loud about it, she’ll make up some fake sob story. She loves to dress like a Victorian era queen, though she doesn’t really try to act like a queen, she’s too excitable to be all “fancy and sophisticated”. She’s also a little airheaded and sassy, which causes her to insult people on accident. Her ring collection is very precious to her, so precious to wear she literally cries if one of them is missing and only gives Jupiter (and occasionally Uranus and Neptune) permission to touch them, not just because he has a few rings too and knows how important they are, but because they’re husband and wife. She’s very proud and cocky of the fact that she has the most and the brightest rings in the solar system.

Uranus- The awkward and weird one of the bunch, she’s always rambling on about something random, telling unfunny jokes, or just being downright creepy (NOT IN A GROSS WAY). Despite people from the outside thinking that she’s only those things and the other celestials just tolerate her, she’s loved and accepted as much everyone else in the group, no matter how much she annoys them. She can never walk in a straight line and always goes in zigzags, sometimes tripping over her own feet. She’s also the nerdiest of the group and has a bunch of collections ranging from normal things like rocks, to strange things like alien eyes. Has zero filter and is too honest and straightforward about everything to the point where it’s actually hard to tell if she’s telling the truth sometimes. Whenever she’s being too weird or annoying, her brother, Neptune is usually the one to tell her to shut up.

Neptune- The cold and stoic one of the celestials (what Jupiter wishes he could be), until you get past his stormy exterior, he’s pretty warm on the inside. He’s temperamental and gets frustrated a lot too, but he mostly just keeps it to himself and never really yells unless he’s provoked. But he never really has to speak out about those things anyways on account of his mean, scary looking resting face making people not even wanting to interact with him at all, which secretly embarrasses and upsets him. He’s also slightly embarrassed about being the smallest of the gas giants and always tries to appear bigger than he is. He’s not very talkative like the other planets, besides Mercury, though unlike Mercury he prefers to be on his own half of the time, needing more time to process his thoughts than the others. Despite that, he barely gets alone time anyway thanks to Uranus being so clingy towards him (which he doesn’t mind as much as he act like he does).

[kathrynalicemc]

HP WW1 Era Profile

IDENTITY

Name: Anthony Vallen

Nicknames: Andy

Pronouns: He/They

Birth Date: 1892

Species: Human

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Sexuality: Gay

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British

Residence: The Vallen Estate (location tbd) and Oxford, England (university)

Languages: English, Latin, French, some German during the war

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Michael Sheen

Height: 5’10”

Physique: Thin

Eye Color: Blue/green

Hair Color: Brown

Hair style: Short and curly a bit

Scars: Maybe some misc ones from magic curses/hexes from weapons

Clothing: Academia style with a hint of feminine tones. Sometimes wears makeup for parties.

Tattoos: None

HOGWARTS

House: Ravenclaw

Wand: Vine wood, Phoenix Feather

“I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best. Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, and I have found them more sensitive than any other when it comes to instantly detecting a prospective match.”

Best Classes: Almost every other class

Worst Classes: Care of magical creatures, Divination, Herbology

Boggart Form: Losing his intellect (Before the war), Seeing visions of his sister dying and his team being killed by horrible magical weapons and their faces burning and melting (During and after the war)

Amortentia: Parchment, blackboard chalk, wine, cosmetic powder, fancy perfume, ink, cigarette smoke

Patronus: Victoria Crowned Pigeon

Animagus: None

Patronus Memory: Getting his hogwarts letter and discovering he was a wizard

Dementor worst memory: Same as boggart about seeing his team dying (after the war)

Mirror of Erised: Nothing (before the war), after the war tbd

CAREER

11-18: Hogwarts Student

18-20: Bachelor's degree at Oxford (muggle & magical studies) His intellect makes him finish it in half the time it takes

20-22: Masters degree

22-26: Civilian Magical Scientist for WW1 (Experimenting with and disarming magical weapons of war)

26-30: Doctorate/PhD degree

30-47: Muggle teacher for kids/teens in small English town

47-52: Muggle teacher & smuggler of refugees (helps people get out of war areas (WW2) and makes sure kids still get education safely)

53+: Retired? Might still work for a few more years tbd

RELATIONSHIPS

Lettie & Ellis Vallen - Rich muggle parents of Andy and Jo who often throw big social parties. They hold their children to high standards and are proud of themselves for having two children gifted in both academic and magical pursuits. FCs: Frances Fisher & father is coming soon.

Joanna Vallen - Andy’s older sister who is just as gifted as him. They are very close and are separated for the first time during the First War. She is also hired for the war efforts as a spy. She goes undercover as a German civilian who is a rising star as a singer. Her profile is coming soon! FC: Kate Winslet

Love Interest - WIP coming soon!

Best Friends - Besides his sister he doesn’t really have any truly close best friends. Either he doesn’t let people in because he can be a bit egotistical and think they aren’t good enough or that other people meet him and don’t like how he comes across. This changes after the war and when he grows up more.

Friends - Alexej Kavinsky @potionboy3, Lunas Avery @cursed-herbalist, Ares Gaunt @gaygryffindorgal, and Kit Enfield (potionboy3), and more coming soon!

WW1 Oxford Team

*More Team members coming soon! It is also OPEN for anyone who wants to make one!*

Professor Alecai Kainen - He is Andy’s favorite professor at Oxford who teaches the secret wizard students. He is hired when the war starts to lead a team to experiment with magical weapons created by TOWER (@savetheundoneyears) so they can learn to disarm them and make cures for any curses or hexes or effects. He refuses the suggestions of some of the most brilliant minds of the wizard world and instead insists on hiring his students for his team. He does it so they can gain experience, however he starts to regret it later when the dangerous work starts to take his students lives. He always tries to put himself first and protect the students. He does eventually die doing so. FC: Martin Short

Audry Kainen - She is the daughter of Alecai and is one of the first women students to attend Oxford lectures without chaperones when the rule is lifted in 1914. She strives to be more than just Professor Kainen’s daughter and tries to prove that she belongs and that she didn’t get there simply by being his daughter. She does love him though and he is very proud of everything she does. He knows she is capable on her own without him. Audry and Andy have a friendship that starts out rocky (as you do when two powerful intelligent people think they are both right) but they end up great friends. She reminds Andy of his sister and she also likes that he isn’t one of the many guys who wants to sleep with her or doubts her because she’s a woman. FC: Jessica Biel

PERSONALITY

Child: Growing up he was afforded a lot of luxury as the Vallens had a lot of money. He also would follow his sister around everywhere and loved when they would play. He was also curious about everything and was given the best tutors and he quickly displayed natural intellect and was gifted like his sister. Once his sister discovered her magic and got her letter, he also wanted to explore magic and soon after he got his own letter. This catapulted his confidence as he knew it was rare for two magical children to come from muggles.

Teenage: During Hogwarts, his success in his studies built his ego even further. He was proud of himself, his intelligence, his family, and magic. He also started to experiment with his appearance as he started adopting a more feminine look. Wherever his sister would go, he wouldn’t be far behind. They became really close as their parents expected them to attend all the fancy rich parties they threw at their estate. They would stick together and gossip and whisper about all the guests as they giggled and joked about people.

Early Adulthood: Andy followed his sister to Oxford University after they graduated Hogwarts. They both were hungry to learn more and soon discovered Oxford University home to both a muggle and secret wizard population. They had the best of both worlds to study. Andy started to feel lonely and sad as he was naive and egotistical and did not talk to anyone. He thought they weren’t like him enough to be worth getting to know them. He did not really mean for it to be rude, but he just didn’t think about it. Once the First World War breaks out, he starts to grow up a bit more and learns to separate himself from his rich and gifted upbringing and he gains friendships in the team founded by his wizard Professor that experiments with magical weapons and whose goal is to disarm and find cures for them. He ends up watching half of his team die horrible deaths in accidents with the weapons.

Late Adulthood: After the first war, Andy finishes his studies. Instead of becoming a professor at Oxford or Hogwarts (he’s offered many jobs from both), he decides to try to help the less fortunate receive education. He moves to a small country town and teaches classic literature to muggles. He tries to escape the wizard world a bit because of his experience with dangerous magic and may have PTSD. When the Second World War starts, he is offered a job again from the wizard world which he immediately turns down. He no longer has the ego and ambition to be a hero. Instead, he keeps teaching and also protects his students. He would also shelter and help refugees escape while making sure children still receive safe education and not be forced to fight.

ATTITUDE

Most at Ease When: Reading classic literature, hanging out with his sister at parties, using his brain

Stressed When: Having to have small talk with people he doesn’t like, being apart from his sister, being lonely

Priorities: Proving his worth and intellect, his friendship with his sister, achieving high academic degrees, keeping his students safe and educating them (later in life)

Strengths: Intellectual, loyal, innocent, secret kind heart, unapologetic for who he is, who he loves, or how he dresses

Weaknesses: Naive, egotistical, too proud to ask for help, drives people away and becomes lonely, sheltered, spoiled

FAVORITES

Color: Red lipstick, gold, neutral browns

Food: Roasted pig and a fancy feast

Drink: The most expensive fine bottle of wine or champagne

Weather: Rainy overcast day at the library

Book: He literally can’t pick but he does love classic literature and poetry

Hobbies: Reading, chess, spell invention, alchemy, horse riding

[nikachansstuff]

(So I rewatched Atonement yesterday and couldn’t help the idea from forming.)

My dear Elain,

I am truly sorry for my words-

Azriel scanned the words freshly tipped, and for the third time in the last hour, he removed the paper from the tipping machine and crumpled it in his tight fists. He closed his eyes, resting his lips in his hands that still hold the paper, savoring for a brief moment the scent of parchment.

Eight months.

Eight months since those words had left his mouth during Solstice, ending whatever sparked between them, and making him the only witness to Elain Archeron’s heartbreak. Eight months following his High Lord’s command.

Eight fucking months thinking about her during the day and dreaming about her during the nights. Imagining possible scenarios if he only had had the courage to leave that damned office straight to her bedroom and beg for her forgiveness.

Azriel opened his eyes, and his fingers found the keys again. Impulsively, he couldn’t help the words from forming.

Dear Elain,

In my dreams, I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. In my thoughts, I make love to you all day long.

Azriel

His eyes scanned the words again, as he finished tipping, a half smile slowly curving his lips. He ripped the paper from the machine, and let out a heavy sigh, reclining in the old chair.

Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips, at the absurdity of the words. He would never be so bold to say that words out loud, or to deliver the note, now double folded next to his cup of hot tea.

But somehow, Azriel could picture it perfectly: Elain opening the paper, her milky skin turning a soft blush while reading the words. She would lose a breath, her lips would part as it did that night. Then she would bit her bottom lip, her shyness giving away for the desire she would feel. Or wouldn’t…?

Eight months.

A lot could change in eight months. They haven’t spoke since that damned night, and Azriel refused to give in to his need to track her with his shadows. He wanted it, only the Mother knew the effort it took to not throw away his morals, and just give in to have some news from her. But he stood against it and kept away from her. As Rhysand had ordered him to do. As he was foolish enough to obey.

But he couldn’t anymore.

Dearest Elain,

My headaches increased alarmingly since we last saw each other. And I don’t think I can blame our loud friends anymore.

Your gift remains untouched by my nightstand. I like to keep it there, as a reminder of you and your gentleness.

Please forgive me for my words in our last encounter. The truth is my absence is the only way to keep me from acting my longing thoughts.

The truth is the only mistake was stopping before I could finally fulfill my dreams.

Sincerely,

Azriel

He finished tipping and signed his name in a neat handwriting. Losing a soft breath, Azriel folded the letter, and place it inside an envelope. In a quick movement, he wrote Elain Archeron at the blank front of it, letting it at desk. Finally lifting from the old armchair, he could start getting ready for the tonight’s dinner, hosted by his High Lord and Lady, at the River House.

Azriel took three long steps in direction of his in-suite bathroom and called a single shadow that wrapped itself in his forearm. Please take the note to Elain, at the Townhouse, he commanded silently, while undressing and entering in the enormous clawfoot bathtub.

It took him longer than usual to bathe. He allowed himself a moment to just relax in the hot water, letting his thoughts travel far while he washed. He left the bathroom, his body shivering from the different temperatures between rooms.

Azriel was finishing adjusting the syphon on his right hand, when he allowed his eyes to travel to his desk. Where the envelope with Elain’s name still rested in the dark wood. He hesitated for a second, his shadows slowly closing in on his ankles.

Suppressing the terror that threatened to take over his body, Azriel searched for the folded note close to his teacup. His tea now cold, the note now absent.

Well…

Fuck.

—————————————

Should I continue it?

[fleurknows]

♡﹒ ׄ ೀ introduction to 𝗟𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗨𝗦 𝗥𝗛𝗘𝗘 .ᐟ ɞ

⠀⠀⠀( PARK SUNGHOON . TWENTY - ONE. DEMI BOY . HE / THEY . ) we’ve got the spirits , how ‘about you ?! it looks like ( LAZARUS RHEE ) just got their acceptance letter to monster university . i hope the ( FRANKENMONSTER ) has their bags packed so they can move into ( HOWL HALL ) ! i’ve heard they can be ( - VINDICTIVE ) and ( - ARROGANT ) but also ( + NURTURING ) and ( + ELOQUENT ) . monster university is the perfect time to explore who they want to be . did you hear they’ve got a job as a ( BOOKKEEPER ) at ( BLOODMOON BOOK STORE ) . good luck and remember to be yourself , be unique , be monster !

♡﹒ ׄ ೀ 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗦 .

— ♡ 𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 !

FULL NAME : lazarus rhee . NICKNAME(S) : laz . AGE : twenty - one . SPECIES : frankenmonster . DATE OF BIRTH : january 3rd . GENDER : demi boy . PRONOUNS : he / they . OCCUPATION : bookkeeper at bloodmoon bookstore . LIVING SITUATION : howl hall . FACECLAIM : park sunghoon .

— ♡ 𝗣𝗛𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 !

HEIGHT : 165 cm . EYE COLOUR : violet , with wide circle pupils . HAIR COLOUR : obsidian , with one strand of violet at the back of his head . NOTABLE DETAILS : skin seemingly made out of porcelain , with ball - joints at each joint in his limbs ; he has the likeness of a marionette puppet with no strings attached . his eyes are always glassy and cheeks perpetually flushed . there is a dull crack in his left cheek from an injury long - since healed over , but once it's broken , porcelain never truly is as flawless as it was before the fall .

— ♡ 𝗜𝗡 𝗗𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗛 !

lazarus' creation was fully accidental , and he has been plagued by such knowledge since that same day . his creator had no intention of creating sentience when his physical form was pieced together , using pieces of porcelain and cotton and silk — no . her intent had been to create an empty vessel with which she would use to summon her sibling back from the dead and allow them a corporeal form once more . it was a thoughtful gesture , but no good deed goes unpunished . motherhood was not her ideal , as a young witch with much of her life ahead of her yet , so much like the story of frankenstein and his monster , she abandoned him . both thinking that this would give him his best chance and freeing herself of the responsibility she accidentally burdened herself with , she left him at a small shrine and believed someone would find him , leaving his fate to whatever god bestowed him his life and cursed her own . he was lucky enough that , eventually , someone did . he lived on his own for a few weeks to months . his anatomy didn't require him to eat , so it wasn't difficult . after some time , though , he was taken in by a kind man who gave him both a home and also a name . he claims not to remember this name that was gifted to him , or else he pretends as such , but the stranger treated him as if he was his own . he took it upon himself to teach him , to guide him , and when he was ready , to enroll him in school and make an effort to help him build an identity outside of his abandonment and a life beyond the one he thought he wasn't enough to have . a couple of years ago , a tragedy occurred and the man who he came to know as a father was killed ━ some say it was by accident , other's say it was with intent ; he chose to believe the latter . the man who took care of him was killed because of that simple fact ━ because he chose to take in a monster and someone , for some reason , took issue with that . this caused the young monster to resent humans in their entirety as a species . a hatred festered inside of him even for the man who treated him with kindness and as if he was his own ; again , he'd been abandoned and , again , he was alone . he swore to himself that he would never allow himself to grow attached to anyone again ━ human or monster , alike , for at the end of the day he is nothing but porcelain , and cotton , and silk ; there is no heart in his chest , nothing but a vacant cavity to house the anger he feels . now , while at monster university , he works at bloodmoon book store as a bookkeeper , keeping shelves neat and stocked and organised . he enjoys it because , for the most part , he gets to keep to himself and seldom has to talk to people . he usually comes off as standoffish and cold , sometimes borderline mean , but beneath all of the hatred and resentment , the borderline vengeful nature he has towards humans , he can be very caring and nurturing , especially toward young children and small animals ; those he , in a way , sees an old version of himself in .

[khalixvitae]

i usually give gifts like origami bouquets and other origami pieces, letters, and drawings to my loved ones. rook is naturally, artistically inclined and has a deep love for it so he'd absolutely adore it. what if your letters were all romantically comparing him to the weak quarry you've caught in your fist. entailing deeply strange expressions of affection that most fortunately (or unfortunately?) grasp rook's attention the most. wow..... you just wrote 2 pages dreamily touching on how you'd love to rip his throat out because cannibalism being a metaphor for deep, obsessive, and devoted love is the most apt way to express what you're feeling.... for him, him, ever elusive rook hunt to trust you and bare his throat to you! of course in any case should death come rapping at the door with her decrepit knuckles he'll die by your loving hand instead because is possession in death not the deepest form of connection to you little weirdos. he'll giggle and twirl his hair while rambling about you to vil and vil can't decide if he should flip between deadpan, concerned, or disgruntled or all at once! leaving little notes inside the origami flowers you make entailing your darkest desires for him ever pure because how can they be taboo when they are what you truly feel for him out of trust and loyalty!! he opens a gift box from you and there's a VERY realistic, human pottery heart inside because he's captured your own!!! drawings of you and rook in strange, baroque/renaissance esque compositions where your love is both dreadful and holy. you would consume him on the silver alter as if he were your salvation and the closest thing to god. rook would reciprocate your effort even more!!!! i love being gay... not so much, rook... /silly

See now I know we’re all on the same page!

Rook would be on a whole other level of vaguely (highly) concerning devotion, and he strikes me as the type to really push the limits of a dynamic. He wants to see just how deep it goes, and so long as he feels like it’s safe(ish) and reciprocal, he’s going to be greedy for more.

On the note of comparing him to your quarry, ABSOLUTELY. Rook regularly fantasizes about death- like, the number of canon tangents he’s gone on about the prospect of being maimed is pretty outlandish on its own. Not to mention when ((BOOK 5 MINOR SPOILER)) he wanted to drink something cursed by Vil supposedly because he wanted to know what it would taste like (though I personally think there was a mix of things going on there, but I digress!). he wants to go all the way to that edge and come back purely for the experience. He’s nearly hedonistic; the only thing that keeps him in check are his responsibilities. I also firmly believe he wants to be chased after- there’s something exhilarating to him about being wanted so deeply that his partner infinitely pursues him. He may have claimed the title of Chaser of Love, but to be coveted? To be loved that intensely? That’s when he’s willing to bare his throat and any sense of self preservation goes out the window. There has to be something there that is deeply personal and trusting for him to toss his typical guard aside.

[quietduna]

Escaflowne 'Letters to another world': Analysis of chapter 4

Hello! Following my post about sharing content from my Patreon, here I have my collection of notes about my (now on hiatus) doujinshi ‘Letters to another world’ that you can read here.

Chapter 4: ‘The eye of the seeress’ comments

Page 3

The royal family has their own private matters to attend to, and Merle is well aware of it. This is something that is obvious not only in this fantasy setting, but in any context where power and politics are involved. However, I want to make it clear that this doesn’t mean the royal court in Fanelia is corrupt. They hold honor in high regard. I just want to emphasize that there’s more to their ruling system beyond the public palace audiences. In the comic, I won’t focus too much on this aspect, but it adds background to Merle and Van’s efforts in rebuilding Fanelia and their relationships with other countries and guilds.

Hitomi, on the other hand, sees politics and politicians in a similar way to how we perceive them in our society: there’s corruption and disappointment involved. She disagrees with Merle because she doesn’t fully understand the system yet. Although Hitomi has a general idea after her experiences in Gaea and the information Van has shared with her, she still needs to deepen her understanding before she can become a ruler.

Page 4

In the first scene of the following page, Merle suggests that Hitomi should marry Van and live a royal life. “Just say the word” she says. However, Hitomi is not interested in being a queen and prefers a quiet life. Hitomi needs time to adjust to her new surroundings since she has only recently woken up from a long sleep. She was crying over Van just a few hours ago, so it’s quite a leap to expect her to marry him already. This is a scene I wanted to add since the beginning! I always intend to show that Hitomi is not a reckless young girl following love. She has very clear priorities, and first of all is her well-being.

As you will see in the video of the progress of creation of this page, I was struggling with the backgrounds. I was learning how to improve backgrounds using Clip Studio Paint.

Page 5

We all realize the immense happiness that Merle derives from being alongside Van and aiding the people of Fanelia. This aspect holds great significance in her persona and personal history. In my perspective, I envision adult Merle as possessing remarkable social and diplomatic skills, while Van embodies charisma and leadership. Together, they form an outstanding team in terms of governance and administration (you could already see more of this Merle in my previous comic “Second Chance“). Consequently, Merle’s unwavering dedication to Fanelia is understandable, even though she has been blushing more frequently as of late, specially around Hitomi. In my headcanon, Merle and Van seldom engage with individuals their own age and instead interact mostly with older individuals. However, Hitomi is an exception to this, being a close companion of similar age. Despite their dissimilar backgrounds, they both make sincere efforts to comprehend one another. (Initially, I employed the term “cultural gap” instead of “backgrounds,” but considering Fanelia’s culturally blended nature with Japanese-Western influences, Hitomi finds many familiar aspects within it.)

Page 6

The transformation of Hitomi is truly remarkable. She has grown wiser, more experienced, but it seems as though her bright spirit has dimmed a little. The passing of three years can undoubtedly change a person’s perspective on life. She had a broken heart, believing that Van had forsaken her. Such an experience must have deeply affected her.

However, deep within, Hitomi possesses unwavering convictions, which, in my own interpretation, may have been the catalyst for the pendant’s mysterious energy. Though she claims to have lost her powers, it is possible that her connection to the pendant is necessary for her inner eye to awaken.

The final panel of the story shows a sorrowful and angry Yukari, standing beside a smiling Amano. We are left wondering about the nature of their relationship and what has transpired between them. Hitomi briefly mentioned that Yukari had moved away, leading to a loss of contact. It seems that Hitomi was enduring a difficult time on Earth, and her sudden arrival in Fanelia offers her a chance to start afresh. It is truly admirable how she possesses the strength and determination to leave behind any burden of guilt or despondency, embracing this new beginning with open arms.

Page 7

In this page, and going back to my headcanon about Fanelia’s governance, I imagine that Fanelia’s monarchy maintains a system where the king possesses the authority to make managerial decisions. The king would typically have one or two trusted advisors who provide guidance on matters of governance. Additionally, there exists a Council consisting of representatives from the citizens and various guilds, which the king oversees and listens to. The Council is empowered to operate independently, but for certain decisions, they require the approval of the king. This setup is akin to the internal governance structure of an association, where there is an executive authority overseen by a board of directors led by a president.

Regarding my headcanon (aligned with the canonical storyline), Van has no aspirations of becoming a warrior. Following the War, Van continues his training but as time goes on and the prospect of peace emerges, he begins to explore new areas of interest. The specific topics he pursues remain unknown. It seems as though Van is gradually becoming more akin to his brother

Page 8

I really enjoyed portraying them as two young adults having a playful moment. It was fascinating to explore their relationship as they’ve grown into confident individuals who are deeply in love with each other.

They have spent a lot of time together in Gaea and on Earth, building a strong bond and sharing intimate moments. They’ve likely had not just kisses, but also deeper emotional experiences. Their level of comfort with each other shows that they’ve reached a point where flirting feels natural and right.

Despite their deep love, they often struggle with miscommunication. It’s something they need to work on to truly understand and connect with each other. Van’s reserved nature adds complexity, requiring both of them to be patient and understanding.

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In regards to this particular page, I tried different designs. I used my own photographs instead of relying on stock imagery.

This is a milestone for this story: there's a book in Gaea written by none other than Hitomi…on Earth. The recurring theme of letters has always resonated with me when contemplating Hitomi Kanzaki. I firmly believe that she would find solace expressing herself through written words. This concept was first explored in my story “Second Chance” back in 2013, and I have reimagined it here. In “Second Chance,” Hitomi writes heartfelt letters to Millerna, detailing her experiences and emotions concerning Van and her stay in Fanelia. In this instance, Hitomi delves into her own emotional journey and transforms it into a bestseller. It is worth noting that there are more letters yet to be unveiled.

[makesometime]

My darling @wordsandstrangeways tagged me to do this and I love talking about my fic so much for an introvert so I am delighted.

I’ll tag @sky-kiss, because I know she’s looking for something to give her a break from her big wonderful Raphael fic, and @hesalleyes because have you SEEN their work come on now.

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

First fic published on Ao3: Whiskey Memories, a Terra Nova fic from way back in 2011. It was the first thing I published after making the jump from FF.net and even now I’m quite proud of everything I did in that fandom even though it was a very small one and a spectacularly shitty TV show.

Last fic published: More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real, my latest Baldur’s Gate fanfiction in which I hurt Astarion some more because why not. Have you seen him?

Fandom/ship I only wrote once: There are a few, but I’ll highlight Hope from Man of Steel, a Kal/Faora fic that I’m still quite fond of.

Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: I suspect it’s probably Stranger Things at this point, and my favourite is You had me at come over boy, my second most popular Steddie fic (the most popular is the one I wrote when I was discontented with the available Steddie vampire fic). I like this one a lot, it was fun to write, and it also got a comment that there was too much Nancy in it for a Steddie fic which was absolutely hilarious to me given that she was mentioned roughly 3 times. (don’t go looking for it, I deleted it)

Fic I wish more people read: I just went through all my fics from least to most hits and that was a bit depressing, don’t do that. But my answer is probably Loves in your life live ever on which was a Christmas gift fic for @hesalleyes combining RQG and Hades (the game). I don’t think it really did well in either fandom, but I think my Zag and Than voices are pretty good and I’m sad that so few people read it.

Fic I agonized over: There have been so many. So many. But actually figuring out one to answer this question was not so easy. And then I remembered my bastard of a fic Take heart, fair days will shine; take any heart, take mine which was a love letter to Oscar Wilde (RQG). It was not easy. I found it such a challenge. But I am so proud of it now.

Fic that popped out fully-formed: God, basically any RQG fic. I have never been as inspired as I was during that time. Week after week I’d write thousands of words. I think Nothing unfixable was really the epitome of this though. I had a single thought about Oscar losing all his scars post-resurrection and suddenly 2,341 words existed.

Fic I'm proud of: Truly, one of my favourites is You kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry, a Stede/Ed fic for Our Flag Means Death. It’s a very very soft first time but I just love it so much.

Honourable mention to Pieces of me are pieces of you, my most popular RQG fic and one I truly adore even though it’s now not canonical. Oscar and Zolf in Svalbard accidentally proposing to each other just makes me so soft.