#and yet she seems to have no sympathy for others in such a position

[mangio-formaggio]

s4 vs s5 spuffy is a such a fun thing to analyse cause Spike is actively loosing it in real time, but for Buffy it seems pretty much a status quo since Pangs to The Crush.

and yet... s4 Buffy confused with Spike. she really doesn't know what to do with him. he's currently helpless and they share an enemies, so sometimes she treats him like a part of the gang. as someone she has to hide from her soldier boyfriend. he's a pain in her ass, but he also shouldn't be hunted down for an unethical experiments. they also made out intensely for one night and now she occasionally has troubles to look him in a eye. Jonathan unintentionally takes away her confidence, but not her sense of humor and yet that's enough for her to have a foot in her mouth around Spike and Spike only.

or look at this beauty. he's straight up scornful. he doesn't know he's in love yet. but this little comment still makes her shy for a second.

s4 Buffy doesn't want to think about Spike, to give a name to anything between them. she's in denial instinctively.

but then ofc turns out Spike is playing mind games and conspiring with Adam. the trust wasn't there, cause she's not stupid, and yet the trust is somehow broken.

in the beginning of s5 Buffy feels a bit different. more confident, more mature. two important factors here are Dawn and Riley. even being subtly written into existence and previous events Dawn leaves an inprint on Buffy's personality. she's not only a hero now, she's also responsible to be a good example in a day to day life.

Riley on the other hand arguably heals her issues with sexual intimacy left by Angel and Parker (only to add some new ones, but still). in this relationship Buffy breaks the cycle where there was always a punishment for her lust. with Riley she has a stable sexual partner, they comfortable to be physical in public, things don't have to be a secret. they do costumes apparently. the common opinion in fandom is that Riley is bad at sex, and I'm not saying that he's good but comparatively it's a positive experience for Buffy nonetheless. to understand that the regular human level of sexual intensity is not enough for her, she had to try various things even if only on vanilla side. by the end of the hiatus summer she knows herself better, even if certain desires still feel like taboos.

and with that awareness comes aggressive familiarity she treats Spike with. kicking his crypt door, shoving him to walls. casually. as a ritual. "I don't have time for bickering". she's no longer confused. she hates his guts passionately, that's for sure. after all, he stabbed her in a back with Adam. no more sympathy for his helplessness, she will beat him up without a second thought. the fact that they both enjoy it is unspoken.

s5 Buffy is still in denial about wanting Spike. and it's a very deliberate denial. by the Fool For Love. she knows that something is there. she would shove it deep deep down and put something heavy on top. but she knows that on a primal, sexual level there's something. look at her gaze, not a single doze of shyness there.

but funny thing is that right before this exchange, he tries to kiss her. she understands the situation well enough to look disgusted/terrified. and yet she so surprised by his love declaration in The Crush weeks later. cause she can brush off this almost kiss easily. can make it part of her very systematic denial. at this point she can handle the tension between them, this bazaar attempt of a kiss just Spike being a horny pig. and horny pig she can handle. it's big-dramatic-no-prelude love confession that sends her spiral.

[shiugart]

Bloody Bites | Twisted Wonderland

Vampire!Malleus Draconia x Female!Reader | Priest!Rollo Flamme x Female!Reader | VampireHunter!Leona Kingscholar x Female!Reader | Vampire AU | TW: Blood, descriptions of violence, manipulation, abuse, dead dove: do not eat.

ACT II

A C T I

It was going to be a harsh winter.

She knew it from the first snowfall when there was barely a hint of frost on the trees. Day after day, the temperature dropped alarmingly, and in a matter of hours, the entire forest had been painted white. A white so pure it was almost uncomfortable to look at.

“You should stay in the village this season.”

Yuu blinked, losing track of what Father Rollo was solemnly reciting that Sunday morning. She turned toward the voice, facing a pair of brown eyes that, to any stranger, would seem cold and indifferent. But to her, they held an almost imperceptible warmth.

“What…?”

“You can stay at my house. During the winter, there won’t be any smell of blood or anything that bothers you.”

He continued, unfazed, completely ignoring the constant "shhh" from the other villagers around them. Yuu blinked again, stunned.

“They rarely manage to hunt anything this season.”

“Are… are you crazy?” She lowered her voice behind a fist, trying to draw less attention than her companion. “Do you have any idea what they’d say about a man and a woman living under the same roof without being married…?”

“You know I don’t give a shi—”

“Adel!”

It was a fact—now everyone in the church knew about their conversation. Even Father Rollo paused his sermon and observed them for a brief, cutting moment before resuming his reading with a grunt, an act of mercy.

It was incredible how, with a face that almost resembled a woman’s, his pretty brown eyes, the deep dark blue—almost black—of his hair, and his rosy skin, Adel could curse so shamelessly inside a church.

“You know Father Rollo…”

“I don’t understand why you revere that idiot so much.”

“Adel…” she pleaded, pulling at her hair in exasperation.

“If he cared about you as much as you think, he never would’ve exiled you to live alone in the forest.”

He added with disdain, declaring his victory as Yuu fell silent.

Not long after, the service ended. Yuu wasn’t even surprised when, from a distance, Father Rollo gestured for her to come over while everyone else left the sanctuary. She quickly bid Adel farewell before hurrying in his direction.

“F-Father Rollo, we didn’t mean to…”

“That butcher… are you two close?”

Rollo Flamme cut off her murmuring mercilessly, earning a confused look from the younger woman.

Yuu swallowed dryly, staring into the pair of cold, dark eyes that always seemed to judge her.

Rollo Flamme was young, very young. But that didn’t disqualify him from his position. The deep dark circles under his eyes were the greatest proof of his devotion and commitment to the clergy. With his nearly six-foot height, severe yet attractive face, he radiated an imposing aura that drew villagers like flies to honey—or, in Yuu’s case, made her shrink into herself.

“Well, yes…”

“Has he asked for your hand in marriage?”

He cut her off again, impatient.

Yuu stared at him blankly, making the wrinkle between Rollo’s brows deepen.

“Has he?”

“No! No, no, no…” She fidgeted with her fingers, suppressing the urge to bite her nails in an attempt to escape his icy gaze. “Adel and I are just friends…”

“Oh, please.”

Rollo scoffed, a condescending smile curling his lips as he looked at Yuu with false sympathy.

“Don’t tell me you seriously believe that a man and a single woman can just be friends?”

Suddenly, the smile vanished, leaving only the tight press of his lips in distaste.

“If you keep thinking that way, you’ll only follow in the disgraceful footsteps of your mother.”

“Remember, Yuu, there isn’t a single man in the world who doesn’t see you for what you are…”

“The daughter of a prostitute…”

She murmured, eyes cast downward in shame.

Yes, that’s what she was.

Exile was the price of atoning for her late mother’s sins. Carrying that shame had long been her way of life.

“Oh, come now, don’t make that face.”

Rollo’s fingers took her chin with a gentleness that starkly contrasted with the severe, accusatory tone he had just used to reprimand her.

“I only want what’s best for you, and if I speak to you this way, it’s because I care. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes… Thank you, Father.”

“Wonderful.”

Rollo hummed in satisfaction, sliding a hand over Yuu’s hair in what could be considered a reward.

“Now, go home. Remember not to talk to strangers, especially if they’re men.”

“…Alright.”

She stepped back with a reverence, ready to begin the long journey back to her cabin in the forest.

“Oh, Yuu…”

“…Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I love you.”

• • •

By the time she reached her humble dwelling, the sky was completely dark, and the snow reached up to her knees. She took refuge by the fireplace, seeking to rid herself of the oppressive cold that seemed to cling to her very blood. She knew it was risky to go back and forth between the church and her cabin, but what else could she do? Father Rollo had always been so kind to her that missing a service felt like an unforgivable act of ingratitude.

She looked out the window, finding nothing but utter and absolute darkness. On nights as cold as this, she missed her mother’s presence... She stepped away from the window, pushing away thoughts of the past, causing the wooden frame to creak under her touch. A creeping sensation stirred within her—that something, deep in the forest, was watching her. She added more firewood to the flames and wrapped herself in a pile of furs that, despite being old and worn, did their job: keeping her warm.

The next morning, the sky was overcast, and the cold was hardly any different from the night before. Yuu began her daily chores early, stepping outside only to clear the frost that had built up on her door and roof. On days like these, wolves and other creatures lurked in the shadows, so the less time spent outside, the better.

That’s why she didn’t know how it happened.

She didn’t know at what moment, in the midst of her cold and lonely winter, she ended up like this—dragging a bloodied young man she had found on an equally gray afternoon while gathering firewood. She knew her world was inhabited by all sorts of malevolent creatures, but she simply couldn’t ignore the dying, unmistakably human figure of the boy lying in the snow, disturbing the pristine white with blood... too much blood.

She knew Father Rollo would reprimand her for not heeding his advice, but she would regret it for the rest of her life if she left him there to die.

There was something sinister about this young man. Something terribly sinister in how pale and beautiful he was. Beautiful—yes, there was no better word to describe his angelic features, which clashed with the ragged state of his bedding. His hair was black, deep, like the glossy plumage of a raven gleaming under the flickering firelight. Even someone as uneducated and illiterate as Yuu could tell that the refined attributes of his face would put many artists and poets—who prided themselves on knowing true beauty—to shame.

She was so mesmerized by his appearance that, throughout the entire process of cleaning his body, she failed to notice that there wasn’t a single wound on his pale, ice-cold skin.

The stranger remained motionless for days, making her question whether she had brought home a man or a statue.

Either way, since his arrival, her small hut no longer felt so lonely. And somehow, since she brought him in, the constant sense of danger emanating from the forest seemed to have lessened.

Yuu basked in the newfound calm, oblivious to the fact that she had invited the most dangerous predator to her doorstep.

Months passed, and winter began to fade. It seemed like any other day when she left to gather firewood, leaving her silent guest alone, as she had done in the weeks prior. Excited to see how spring was gradually making its presence known with small touches of green here and there, she lost track of time and found herself returning home as the sunset painted the sky in shades of red and orange. It was beautiful; she rarely had the opportunity to admire the sky like this.

The tranquility of the forest was soothing—the distant hum of insects and the fluttering of birds signaled that spring was just around the corner. She gazed at the faint silhouette of the moon in the sky, feeling strangely happy.

Soon, I’ll be able to return to the village and see Adel and Father Rollo!

“Good afternoon.”

Her blood turned to ice.

Slowly, she turned to face the group of hunters who, at some point along her path, had drawn uncomfortably close. She vaguely recognized their faces—they were likely from the village, though she couldn’t put names to them. It was strange. Why were they approaching her like this?

“Good afternoon,” she replied, her voice steady and composed as she clutched the firewood against her chest, an awful sense of dread swirling in the pit of her stomach.

If there was one reason Yuu had survived alone in the forest for so long, it was her instinctive fear of strangers. Even she was surprised that she had invited one into her home.

“It’s been a harsh winter, hasn’t it?”

He kept talking. Why was he still talking? It was odd—normally, everyone, except for Adel, avoided her like the plague.

“Yes, it has.”

She slowly stepped backward, uneasy at how they all seemed to notice her growing desperation to end the conversation. The dogs growled in response, making her even more anxious.

“We had a good hunt,” the eldest of the hunters mused, gesturing toward the large stag they were dragging back to the village. “If you want, we can give you something... in exchange for your services.”

“My... services?”

The men exchanged glances.

“Come on, we all know you’re following in your mother’s footsteps—that’s why that priest cast you out of the village,” another man interjected, far less patient. “So spare us the false modesty.”

She didn’t even get the chance to scream.

Yuu fought with all her might, but they were too many—too strong and too fast. Within seconds, her face was pressed against the snow, sharp stones and twigs scraping her skin.

“N-no...!”

She kicked wildly, screaming in terror as she felt a hand slipping beneath her skirt. Somehow, she managed to snatch a small hunting knife and swung it blindly, forcing them to back away. She took advantage of their surprise and ran, abandoning the firewood in her frantic escape. But she didn’t get far.

One of the dogs sank its teeth into her leg and dragged her back. Her screams echoed through the endless forest. It hurt. It felt like massive needles were tearing through her flesh. Someone struck her across the face, and suddenly, everything went dark.

Yet she refused to stop fighting.

Then came the worst of it.

“Shit! Which one of you idiots stabbed her?!”

“W-what was I supposed to do?! She wouldn’t stop struggling!”

“What do we do now...? Her guts are about to spill out any second now...”

She held her stomach, feeling a great, damp warmth spreading through her arms. Cold, it was so cold. Her eyes could only make out blurry shapes, and her lips trembled with unintelligible mutterings.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

Yuu wanted to scream, but her body was becoming less and less hers; there was a disconnect that manifested as a tingling, numbing her extremities.

So… I’m really going to die like this.

On her deathbed, she thought of Adel, of how she should have listened to him and thanked him for being one of the few who genuinely cared about her. She also thought of Father Rollo and how sad he would feel to know she had died in such a miserable way, all because she hadn’t followed his advice.

And she also thought of him, her nameless guest. Her greatest regret in that moment was that she would never be able to find out what his voice would have sounded like. It was foolish. Why was she thinking about something so trivial? Had her life really been so insignificant from beginning to end?

«Crunch, crunch, crunch»

In the middle of the small battle she was fighting with her eyelids to keep them from closing, she thought she heard unfamiliar screams and growls. Something splattered against her face, just as hot as the blood seeping through her fingers.

«Slurp, slurp, slupr»

What was that sound?

"Ah~, it's been a while since I last had a bite… This time, he really almost killed me."

A single voice echoes in the now silent forest. Yuu weakly lifts her eyes toward the direction where, just moments ago, her tormentors had been looking at her. She almost doesn't recognize the angelic, pale face covered in blood. The vital liquid dripped excessively from his lips, covering everything with the horrible metallic scent that it was known for.

"A bit bitter for my taste, but it'll be enough for now."

It was him.

No, impossible. She had to be hallucinating—a cruel and bleak trick her mind was playing on her before her permanent dismissal from life. It was unthinkable, especially because her guest didn’t have those strikingly prominent horns atop his head, nor did he have the physique to tear apart five seasoned hunters. And he certainly didn’t look like a vampire.

For starters, since when were those demonic entities so beautiful? Father Rollo had always described them as horrendous creatures—monstrous beings you’d recognize at first glance! Yes… ugly, dangerous, and… red-eyed.

But him… he was none of that. His eyes weren’t even red; they gleamed with the intensity of an emerald fully bathed in the midday sun.

"Look at you… And here I was, thinking I’d return your kindness by killing you painlessly."

He spoke, and Yuu’s ears caught his tone like a gentle caress, even in the midst of his condescension. There was no expression on his face, or at least none Yuu could make out when more than half of her bodily fluids had already painted the ground crimson. Besides, the sun had long since vanished, and the moonlight barely allowed her to make out faint shapes.

"I have lived through countless eras, and yet, not once have I fully understood humans. Weak, pathetic, selfish… I have never met one without these three traits. But you, foolish little human… you are, without a doubt, the stupidest one I have ever encountered."

Silence.

That seemed to be the conclusion he had reached as he wandered around her slowly cooling body, splattered with the remains of several people.

"H-Help… me…"

She didn’t even know if he was still there, much less if he would offer her anything after so openly insulting both her and her entire species in her final moments. But what else could she do? In the end, he was right. She was nothing more than a selfish creature who, no matter how miserable her life had been, refused to leave without clinging on and fighting just a little.

There was no response, but that didn’t surprise her either. She hadn’t taken him into her cabin expecting anything in return. Just having someone there for all those months—someone she used to warm herself during the nights when the ice nearly froze her bones, someone to talk to when the silence became unbearable… someone who, in his taciturn way, reminded her of what another person’s face looked like.

How pathetic. She had even shared her most personal thoughts with him when the solitude threatened to shatter what little sanity she had left. She expected nothing from him because, even in all that silence, she felt like she had already received too much.

Yes… in the end… she would die settling for scraps.

Just like her mother.

"Aren’t you just a pathetic little thing~?"

He cooed, his voice light, laughing shamelessly at her plea. But Yuu was already too weak to hear him.

She had the faint sensation of something sinking into her neck, but by then, her nerves had already stopped being of any use.

Her last memory as a human was how beautiful the moon looked at the turn of the season.

Tag list: @ghostlysyntaxed @nico707 @strayharmony943

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[ephemeralinstance]

Harding on Solas

I found it really interesting to hear Harding's comments about her memories of Solas in the Inquisition. She expresses more sympathy toward Solas than almost everyone in the game, apart from the Inquisitor themself; she's surprisingly generous, given what happened to Varric. 

And yet - what she says is wrong.

She comments that Solas always seemed lonely. And of course he certainly is a lonely person; and yet at the same time, I don't think he was as isolated in the Inquisition as Harding seems to think. We know he was very close to Cole, and he developed meaningful friendships with Varric and the Iron Bull. He talked a lot with Cassandra and Sera and seemed to have a lot of respect for them; at times he connected with Dorian and Blackwall as well. And of course, depending on the circumstances, he may have had a very deep friendship or even a romantic connection with the Inquisitor. 

Harding also comments that his loneliness was because he held himself above others. Which is fascinating because that wasn't my impression of Solas in Inquisition at all! He was sometimes quite awkward and formal, it's true, but he was very much willing to pitch in and help with things like healing the refugees; he was perfectly happy to let Sera tease him or to become the butt of the joke; he was very curious and interested in the lives of his companions; he read Varric's books, played chess with Iron Bull, etc, etc. We know of course that when he arrived in the Inquisition he viewed the people of modern Thedas as incomplete due to their lack of connection to the Fade, but it's very obvious that he is incapable of sustaining this position and very quickly starts relating fully with those around him as he is drawn into the life of the community.  

It makes me wonder where Harding got this idea from? Of course, in part it's a reading she's imposed on her memories in hindsight - he's a 'god,' so of course he must have held himself above others. But I also think this is a common problem for people who are quiet, or a little bit weird, or have a tendency toward self-isolation - those things are easily read as being 'stuck up' or 'proud' when often they're really the exact opposite. And similar issues also often apply to people who are grieving or who struggle with trust issues, which is very much the case with Solas. 

Indeed, this reaction does seem to me quite realistic for Harding as a character. We know from her conversations with Lucanis that she herself learned at a young age to be extra friendly, as a defence mechanism; that has become her natural, default mode of interaction. Connecting quickly with others is easy for Harding, so she assumes it's easy for everyone.  And so for her, Solas' sense of distance must be attributed to him arrogantly holding himself above others because she just isn't able to understand that it's the result of introversion, grief, and the ongoing trauma of being betrayed by people he trusted

[thewritingfairy]

I'm back and God that chapter you just posted!

Lovely. *Chef kiss*

I was thinking of some things. One of them is how the Batfam sees the reader and her pain so unseriously Because of "oh she doesn't know real danger". but she does.

They are used to danger. Numb to it and trained to face it. Reader is not.

They have their safe spaces. Reader does not anymore.

They have each for support if they are in danger. Reader doesn't have that.

They can choose to go out to face the danger. She lives with the danger and the other comes and goes as he please, completely out of control.

If i was in reader situation with all these facts I'd be scared for my life. I'll probably have a woupen with me at all times because I can never know where the danger may come from. (Especially if Jason is close).

If I was in her place and found out that they are vigilants I'll be too disappointed and probably be more likely to keep woupens close. Outside or inside. I mean Gotham is not safe to begin with but I'll probably feel that if they saw me in danger in their vigilant suits they will not care.

I remember a TikTok that said that Bruce is the Villein and the biggest winner in Gotham. That person said that Bruce owns Arkema yet didn't upgrade it enough to keep the criminals in or even protect the workers more.

He build and by hospitals. He buys a lot of small businesses after they almost fall because of the crime rate and keeps the workers in them. These things seem like just good stuff but remember that they get more money to his pockets and boost his reputation.

All so he keeps going out at night to beat villains. He sees what they do.

This person also said that there's a comic where Bruce use his money and social power to help more then Batman and it make better and more positive changes.

If I was in Reader's place and found out his batman. Just a little surch on the internet and I'll connect these dots and start to see him as the worst man alive. Especially with how he treats me.

Also. Sorry for anything wrong. English is not my first language and I'm typing fast right now.

😶‍🌫️

Mention chapter: 05 - Tim doesn't understand you

Right??? They are so apathatic to their own trauma that they see (Name)'s trauma as something small. But I've read the comments on that chapter en responded to some, and I was genuinely like; wow people find this enraging, wow people feel sympathy for the Reader and wow people think this is angst. It has been making me re-think some family dynamics (I've not been neglected or anything, we just don't communicate that well in my family) and also my ability to recognize angst. I do hope its a bit lighter than chapter 04.1, because it was supposed to be a light-hearted chapter--

But that Tiktok, they are kinda right.

But I think that Bruce's privilege makes him unable to see how much harm his public persona does. If his public persona was someone that was up to changing Gotham, up to changing Gotham's legacy besides being a playboy or a smug prick.

(Name) has that same privilege but they are desperate to not be like Bruce, so they make sure to be socially aware.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

Shifty is such an interesting character to me.

Cause like. When you first officially meet her in her full form she is acting like. Well. A god. She has this certain divine arrogance to her. She had watched everything that had happened within the construct through the eyes of the vessels you had collected for her. The things that had happened to the vessels had technically happened to her as well, although for Shifty she is lacking that emotional attachment that her vessels have due to her having infinite perspectives. To me it feels like she is denying her own humanity in order to help herself cope with whatever had happened with the two of them. She is burying her own pain by using her Godhood as a coping mechanism.

Her mindset is also very interesting to me. Cause like. Her mindset is basically “since I have infinite perspectives in my many many multitudes, surely I must be objectively correct in my own views because I had already seen everything”, which leads to this superiority complex that she is always correct. Another Narry parallel. Except that while Narry has a narrow perspective(dead men can’t change), Shifty has infinite perspectives. But ultimately that had led to the both of them becoming narrow-minded. Quiet, on the other hand, has only five. Aka the ones we had been through with him together. That is the perfect amount of perspectives that neither Narry nor Shifty had.

Much like Quiet, Shifty has humanity in her. She really isn’t as perfect as she thought she is. Tower/Apotheosis parallel.

Also. When people talk about how Shifty is the embody of change, they need to remember that there is a piece of her in Quiet. So technically speaking, she doesn’t have every single piece of change within her. It’s like what Narry had said, that he had ripped a part of what was supposed to be her and placed it into Quiet, and vice versa. I am still wondering what those pieces of change Narry had placed within him……. I suppose the best point of reference would be in the New and Unending Dawn ending. From what I had gathered, Narry seemed to have kept the pieces of change that he deems as positive in Quiet. So healing from heartbreak, no more starvation and fear with Quiet’s stagnation, etc etc. They’re actually Ying and Yang.

(Now I wonder if the piece of stagnation Narry had placed within Shifty is the stagnation of pain and grief….. well, considering Nightmare as a whole. Considering Narry’s fear of death and grief, I think it would be in character for him to want to rip that part of Quiet and place it into the one Quiet was made to kill)

Where was I. Oh yes. Shifty and her buried humanity.

Which is why I consider Quiet being given the opportunity to talk to the heart to be him attempting to reach out towards Shifty’s humanity. A heart to heart. The story started with a Hero and a Princess, and it will end with them simply leaving together simply as a Hero and a Princess. Shifty’s Heart is like, also a very interesting character, cause she is a clear parallel to Hero, who was implied to be Quiet’s own heart. The core of their beings. While Hero continues to be Quiet’s heart no matter what happens, Shifty has three of them, and each of them give very different perspectives on their situation. Soft shows sympathy towards Shifty, noting how lonely it must be to feel like you’re the only one that matters. Sharp bluntly tells you that you simply cannot out-argue her. Stranger is unsure, but earnestly tells you that they love your courage to choose a different path that was given to you. Soft and Sharp wants to be their own person separate from Shifty, while Stranger wants to simply embrace what they are. Humanity vs Godhood. Even her heart variations are in conflict with each other, and yet they all describe the same person.

(Messages from Discord vvvvvvvv)

[mrsshabana]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

ꔫ‧₊ Summary You find yourself at the company banquet, an annual event where everyone within the company gets together to celebrate the company's success. But to your dismay, you see Gyutaro accompanied by someone no other than his wife. You get a glimpse of the cold and hollow relationship they share. And it makes your heart ache with sympathy for your beloved boss. ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, Modern au, Boss & secretary relationship, Gyutaro is married, age gap, angst ꔫ‧₊ Note 2.6k words.

✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 1 ✧:･ﾟ→ AO3

Things have been going well, almost too well that it made Gyutaro feel out of place. You’ve only been here for a few weeks yet your presence has brought a brightness to his workday that it had previously lacked. 

Gyutaro did his job immaculately before you were around. Others within the office never would have thought that he needed help. But Tengen always saw through the tough exterior Gyutaro put up. He knew that he was struggling. 

And now that you’re here he may seem like the same calculated and intimidating man as before, but behind those cold eyes his head aches less often and if you’re lucky you might catch his lips curling into a smile. 

However, tonight’s setting was quite different than the usual fancy office building. You find yourself in a lavish banquet hall. Far past when your shift would usually have ended, and in clothes much fancier than what you would normally wear to work. 

You’re wearing a long sparkling dress in your favorite color. It hugs your curves nicely, elegant and classy. Along with a pair of matching heels, something that you’ve gotten used to wearing since working at high-end companies such as this. 

You went through the trouble of dressing so nicely because tonight is the annual company banquet. Gyutaro had informed you last week of it, saying that you are welcome to come even though you haven’t been with the company for very long. When he spoke of the event though, you noticed something off in his tone. He sounded colder than usual, like a part of him was afraid of attending this event. Why, you don’t know. 

The grand ballroom is alive with laughter and the soft clink of champagne glasses. All around you are co-workers and people from other branches of the company. Even some big shots within the business world, making small talk amongst each other as they enjoy the lavish food and drink. 

A few friendly faces greet you here and there, but you find yourself only able to think about Gyutaro, your beloved and hardworking boss. Every day he looked sharp in his suit and tie, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to seeing him in a tuxedo tonight. 

Constantly scanning the crowd as you sip your champagne. 

And that’s when you saw him. Gyutaro stood by the entrance, his tall frame paired with a perfectly tailored dark green tuxedo, his presence demanding attention. Though not necessarily the kind he wanted, the man looked like he wanted to disappear. 

People stepped aside as he passed, offering courteous nods and polite smiles. Showing respect to the man with the highest position in the room. The kind of respect that was reserved for someone who commanded authority and intimidated with ease. 

And that’s when you saw her. 

The woman glued to his side. Too close to be an acquaintance or co-worker. She was tall, blond, and impeccably dressed in a silver dress that must’ve cost thousands of dollars. And on her finger is a big sparkling ring. The kind of ring that a woman wears only when she’s married to a man who makes the kind of money that Gyutaro does. 

How did you never realize that he was married? 

You feel your throat tighten and your heart sink in your chest. The world seems to go in slow motion as you watch the couple walk through the crowd together. 

“Oh…,” you mutter to yourself. Trying to shake off the initial shock of finding out your boss has a wife. I mean, of course he has a wife. He’s rich, kind, and handsome. Or at least, you think he is. 

Your gaze lingered on them — on the way her smile seemed so forced, and the way Gyutaro’s expression remained unreadable and void of emotion. His gaze distant, never really meeting hers. He stood beside his wife, his hand resting at his side but they never actually touched. The distance between them was palpable and more than physical; there was a coldness that seemed to emanate from their every interaction. 

You swallow hard. Not sure why, but seeing them together — seeing the clear emotional disconnection between them — it made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. 

It wasn’t just Gyutaro’s obvious discomfort. It was the way his wife’s smile never met her eyes, the way she kept looking around distracted, as if the man at her side wasn’t the one who brought her to this event in the first place. Her attention kept flickering to guests, acquaintances, anyone but her husband. Meanwhile, Gyutaro stood rigid, offering polite nods and greetings when necessary. 

There was no spark in their interactions — no warmth or understanding. It was like they were strangers only connected by the formality of the rings on their fingers. 

Little do you know that it wasn’t just their marriage that had lost its spark — it was that it had never truly been there to begin with. 

You look down at the champagne glass, trying to tell yourself that it isn’t any of your business. You shouldn't be so unsettled by the sight of Gyutaro beside his wife. But the loneliness in Gyutaro’s eyes, despite being surrounded by so many people, was impossible for you to ignore. Because over these past weeks, you’ve grown to care about your boss very much. 

But a familiar voice forces you to snap out of it. 

“They don’t look like they’re having a good time, huh?” Tengen chuckles as he nudges your shoulder. 

“Oh um,” you stutter as he surprised you, “I just didn’t know he was married. His wife is so pretty…” 

Tengen shrugs, “Eh, I guess on the outside maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

Tengen scoffs, “I remember she threw a fit when Gyutaro bought her a brand new Porsche because it wasn’t in the exact shade of red that she wanted.”

“Are you serious?!” You gasp as you almost choke when hearing his statement.

“Tsk, yeah. But don’t worry too much. They’ve been like that for years,” he laughs nonchalantly, “Anyway, you look stunning tonight. Don’t waste it just standing around, you should go have fun.”

You nod, watching as Tengen smiles and disappears into the crowd. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

And honestly, his words seem to have made you feel even worse. If what he said about Gyutaro’s wife is true, it makes your stomach churn with anger. Gyutaro deserves better than that. 

You tried to distract yourself by conversing with your office friends, and it worked for a while. But eventually, you found yourself looking for Gyutaro again. He wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd, sticking out like a sore thumb. 

His wife had been affixed to his side for most of the night, but you were happy to see that he was finally alone. Standing by himself near the corner of the ballroom, looking as though he wished he could disappear. The loneliness seeping into him. Most people in the room being too intimidated to go up to him and strike a conversation. 

A strange sense of empathy surged through you. Concern, pity, or maybe something else. But whatever it was, all you know is that you can’t stand seeing him like this. Not when he had always been so kind to you. Always believing in your abilities and encouraging you when you worked hard. 

Against your better judgment, you make your way through the crowd towards Gyutaro. You clear your throat as you step closer to him, “Mr. Shabana,” you say softly.

He looks down at you, “Y/N,” his voice low, “Is everything alright?”

“Of course!” you say with a warm smile, “I just wanted to come over and say hello. I thought you might want some company.”

He exhales, his expression softening as his tense shoulders finally relax. 

“I’m fine,” he says, though something in his tone doesn’t quite match his words, “Just… not the biggest fan of these events.”

“I can tell,” you chuckle playfully, “You look nice though. Green really suits you well.”

His lips quirked, the slightest trace of a smile appearing on his face, “Thank you. Your attire is quite lovely as well.” He looks down at your figure, but quickly looks back up. Not wanting his gaze to linger for too long. 

“Thank you,” you say shyly, looking down as you try to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. “If you ever need a break, you can always talk to me… er- if you need a moment to breathe or anything! I know these events can be overwhelming. I-I’ll be right here.” You stutter as you try to offer some companionship to him without making it sound weird. You’re definitely overthinking it, though. 

Gyutaro looks down at you with a flicker of surprise. But the tightness that was in his demeanor seems to loosen, for a moment he almost looked vulnerable — not the powerful and distant figure from the office, but a man who didn't quite belong in the role that was forced upon him. 

“You’re very kind to say that,” he murmured.

“I mean it,” you say shyly, just loud enough for him to hear. 

Just as Gyutaro opened his mouth to say something to you, he spots his wife emerging from the crowd. He straightened, his expression shifting back to something distant and unreadable, “Excuse me,” he mutters, his tone suddenly colder than before, “I should go.”

“O-Of course. I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You nod and take a small step back, allowing him to slip past you.

That familiar twist forming in your chest again as you watch him reunite with his wife. A faint surge of jealousy ignites inside of you. Seeing how he pushed you aside to go to his wife.

But that’s what a married man should do for his wife, right? You feel stupid and guilty for feeling this way. He’s a married man, and on top of that, he’s your boss. The faster you squash these budding feelings for him, the better. 

You know that’s what you should do. It’s logical. But the tears forming in your eyes signal just how hard it will be. It’s obvious Mr.Shabana is off limits. 

So with that thought invading your mind, you leave the banquet early and go home. 

~

The night air was cool as Gyutaro parked his car in the driveway of his home. A massive and elaborate building that seemed more like a grand showpiece than a home. 

Gyutaro shut the engine off and sat there for a moment. A wave of relief washing over him — finally out of that damned banquet. 

He didn’t say anything as he watched his wife get out of the car and walk towards their front door. By the time Gyutaro stepped out of the car she was already inside. Leaving him behind with no word said. But this was the norm for them. 

With a heavy sigh, he walked into the multi-million-dollar home. Placing his keys on the kitchen counter and slipping off his shoes. From the corner of his eye he could see the faint glow of Dahlia’s bedroom, the door barely ajar. 

Normally, a man would want to follow his wife into the room. But not him, no Gyutaro never entered her room, and she never entered his. 

Instead, Gyutaro walks to a closed door connected to the same hallway. But before he can open it, a voice calls out behind him. 

“Are you coming?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Just standing there, the weight of their separation heavy in the air.

“Are you?” she repeats, though her voice still devoid of emotion. 

“No,” he said quietly, “Not tonight.”

“Fine,” she says, almost like she really never cared about his answer to begin with. Her footsteps grow faint as she walks back to her bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. 

Gyutaro stood there alone in the dark hallway, feeling the weight of his own loneliness settle over him. The emptiness of this house, this marriage, it swallowed him whole. 

He never understood why she ever bothered to ask him that question. Maybe to make herself feel better about neglecting her husband for so long. To make it seem like she was trying, to make Gyutaro feel like it was his fault and not hers. But he never made his way to her room. Ever since she told him how she really felt about him. He had given her everything, but it was never enough. 

With an emotionless sigh, Gyutaro opens the door to his personal bedroom. And he’s greeted by a small bundle of fluff with a stubby wagging tail. 

Immediately, his demeanor shifts as he kneels down, allowing the small dog to jump on him and lick his face. A rare genuine smile tugs at his lips as he pets her. 

“You’re the only one in this house that actually loves me,” he whispers sadly to the excited pup. If only she could comprehend the gravity of his words. But that’s ok, her unconditional love is more than enough. 

The dog is a cocker spaniel with wavy fur, having white and light brown spots. “Such a good girl, Luna!” he smiles and kisses her little forehead. Resulting in her whimpering and excitedly licking the tip of his nose. 

This room was different than the rest of the house. A small sanctuary tucked away in the grand mansion, a place where there was a different Gyutaro. A version of himself that he rarely allowed anyone to see. 

The room wasn’t much to look at, no grand furniture or expensive paintings. Just a comfortable, worn bed and shelves lined with comic books, action figures, and things he has collected over the years. Inconsequential things that Dahlia often made fun of, calling them childish, silly, and a waste of money. She never understood Gyutaro, and to her, the things that brought him joy were just distractions. But to Gyutaro they were sparks of life, reminders that he didn’t have to always be consumed by business and obligation. 

Gyutaro wastes no time changing into his pajamas and making himself comfortable on his bed. Luna quickly jumped onto the bed to join him, cuddling up to his side. Craving his attention after being alone all evening. 

A sad smile crosses Gyutaro’s face as he pets her, “Maybe I’m stupid,” he whispers to Luna, “But I don’t think I can keep doing this, not forever.”

Luna responds with a soft bark, as if reassuring him. Gyutaro let out a shaky breath, his heart ached in a way that he was unfortunately used to. It wasn’t just the loneliness, it was the yearning too. A need for something more than money could buy. He longed for intimacy, for warmth, for someone to look at him and see him for who he was, not just a rich businessman with an ugly face. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he mutters more to himself than his dog, “I thought I had it all figured out. But now… I’m just tired. So goddamn tired of being alone.”

Luna pressed her nose against his hand, giving his fingers a soft lick. Maybe to other people it wouldn’t be much, but to Gyutaro it was all he needed. In this moment, he could almost forget that he was trapped in a marriage that was dead before it even started, a marriage that became nothing more than a contract. 

But here with Luna, he allowed himself to feel something real. Something pure and warm. He didn’t feel invisible when he was around his beloved dog. 

It was a rare feeling. But it felt strangely familiar now… because you also made him feel this way. Warm and seen.

[justpoliteconversations]

About the apple merchant story (it lives rent free in my mind always): Please let me hug Link please. One hug. Just one. Please he makes me so sad dhshsjsj

For the little shadowling that came to say hello.

---

Embrace [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Apple Merchant Extra)

What if Link had teleported home immediately after defeating Vah Ruta? (An alternative route for after Part 6.)

(Far too tired to edit tonight. I'll do it later.)

Part: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Blue had come to you in the dead of night (just as you were finally getting ready to sleep after a long day's travel), dressed in full sheikah armor and eyes as dispassionate as they've ever been. And maybe you'd have believed that too, had Red not confided in you all those weeks ago. And if not for the words that left her in a low, monotones whisper.

"Courageous One's beloved. I request your presence." She'd intoned, but you could hear the command in her voice even as she remained in a subservient position kneeled at your bedside. "Master Link is in need of your comfort. Lest he falter in his duties as Hyrule's Hero."

You wanted to question her as to this sudden and unexpected change of heart regarding the sheikah's intentions, but you restrained yourself. Taking that prickling curiosity at the forefront of your mind and pushing it away in favor of the unease that permeated within your heart instead.

"The zora." You mumbled quietly, letting your gaze fixate on the blankets laid warmly on your legs. Displeasure trying to crawl up your throat and take home in your thoughts. But you shook away those spiteful whispers before they could poison your heart.

You disapproved of the hatred the elder zora held towards Link (and by extension, hyrulians). It was cruel of them to lay blame for Ganon's crimes upon his victims without regard to how the story had unfolded. To use them as scapegoats when the true focus of their ire was out of reach and far beyond their power to defeat.

It was an addicting kind of self-soothing that had been left to fester throughout their long lives, fueled by their guilt and fear. Guilt for their powerlessness, and fear not just for the world's future, but for that of their beloved royal family.

As told by the grape vine that weaves thickly through the Stable System, King Dorephan had lost his beloved mate too soon (the cause was kept quiet, but rumor has it it had been to birthing complications). Shortly after the birth of their son, Prince Sidon, in fact (thier second child and their only spare).

And after her passing the King choose to never take another (a controversial decision), instead spending the rest of his breeding years grieving his dearly departed and raising their heirs instead of producing more spares to ensure the royal bloodline in those turbulent times.

(Yet, the King received only whispered sympathy from his people, and the young Prince adored all the more for his status as final heir to a beloved, departed Queen.

It's always been easiest to demonize an unfamiliar face, after all. Easier to spit upon another race than to fault the heart of a grief stricken man and an innocent child.)

With the death of their Princess, Mipha, the zoras had lost not just a beloved healer and gracious future ruler. They lost half of their royal bloodline, their future. They who's ears reach the Goddesses' songs, or some such saying (in other words, gigantism, an inheritable trait found only in the zora's royal family line. by magic or genetic mutation, you didn't know).

And so, the zora of the time had taken their fear and guilt and unspoken grievances and shaped it into a hatred that only future generations seem to have been able to delude from their racial conscience. Sidon, the Prince himself, being a shining example of this. And honestly, may well have been the spark for this (positive) change in the zora's newest generation as well.

There was a reason you never bothered trying to enter Zora's Domain. And it wasn't even the lizalfors. Though maybe in a few decades, you might give it a try.

Blue nodded at your quiet utterance, eyes cold and sharp under the veil of feigned disinterest. And you wondered, silently, what she was feeling right now. If she was truly so angered on Link's behalf, or if she was frustrated at her superiors for making this level of secrecy necessary (it had not escaped your notice that everyone in the stable was far too quiet for simple sleep. even the desk attendant was slumped over, quiet. chest barely moving. drugged).

Maybe even both. Even as removed from the sheikah's plotting as you were, you still understood that the girls were making independent moves outside of their given assignments. Perhaps even going against orders (their direct superior's orders, not yours. surprisingly. or perhaps not so surprising given Red's apparent fondness for your rupees, the opportunistic jerk).

None of that mattered right now though. Not even the yiga and the very real threat they still posed to your life.

All that mattered was Link, and that he was distraught enough to force the twins' hands to such an extent. That the situation was bad enough to ask permission to temporarily disregard the established agreement (bound by contract and enough rupees to tempt a saint).

"Take me to him." You said quietly, hands clutching the bedspread. Fingers twisted into silky cloth tight enough to hurt. Letting the soft, plush weight of it sooth your agitated nerves. Grounding yourself from the whirlwind of emotions that wanted to overwhelm you even as you kept your tone smooth and even. "Please."

She nodded, moving closer with eeriely silent strides and plucking you from the bed with frightening ease (you hadn't even realized what was happening until you were in her armor clad arms). The suddenness of the action nearly pulled a gasp from your lips. But it caught in your throat at the sudden speed as which she was all but flying through the moonlit fields.

She was such a a small woman. Seemingly delicate as a butterfly's flutter and soft as blossom petals. Yet you could feel the way her muscles pushed at your weight with unyielding strength.

In that moment, she felt as tall and imposing as a mountain. As solid as stone and as powerful as a hurricane ripping along the coastline.

In that moment, you were reminded that this woman (these women, beautiful and graceful and spirited both) were warriors. Born and raised. Trained until their hands bled and their bones twisted into the steel of a tempered blade.

And you had never felt more protected than in Blue's arms.

(Spit in the eye of the elders, Red had said. You were certain this woman would sooner stab them in the face.)

You just hoped that strength would be enough to protect Link until he was strong enough to protect himself. And enough to protect her as well. From whatever it was that had stolen the light from her eyes.

---

You weren't sure whether to be impressed by Blue's speed, or irritated that she managed to undo a day's worth of travel in just a couple hours (how in the world were you going to explain this to Skims and Adino? Red most certainly won't be any help. you can already tell). But one thing was for sure, you were never going to piss this woman off. That was for damned sure.

That wasn't what had your attention at the moment though. That was the sight of Link tied by the wrists to his bed, blindfolded.

And why was Red here, sitting at the table as though this was a perfectly normal thing to walk into (how had she even gotten here before you and Blue? why hadn't she been the one to take you back to Hateno if she was going to be here anyway)?

Link was awake and alert, pinched brows and down turned mouth looking just as befuddled (and maybe even a bit scared) as yourself at the current happenings. His delicate ears tracking your footsteps (Blue's were quiet, even on hardwood floors. what a scary realization) as you moved up the stairs and closer to his bed (your blanket dragging slightly across the floor, too heavy and thick to comfortably carry in your arms).

He was handsome for sure, all long blonde hair, elegantly sharp features and lithe muscle. But not quite as flawless as he had been portrayed as in the games (which was to be expected, but was still jarring. even after having come to terms with the reality of this world's imperfections).

The scars were by far the most prominent detail about him, even accounting for his noble features and toned physic. Hard, knotted patches of discolored skin sprawled across the left side of his face, shoulders and chest. Pink and raw looking, for all it was plain to see these horrendous burn marks had long since healed.

His skin too, was another thing that set him apart from his game presentation. Where as the game had shown Link to possess a pretty peach complexion with rosy cheeks, the man before you was off-puttingly pale (almost grey in the cheeks). So much so it was concerning. With the beginnings of a tan just beginning to take form on his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

Sick. You realized link was sick. No. That wasn't quite right. It wasn't sickness that seemed to be clinging to him like a veil.

Had Link ever fully recovered from his time trapped in the shrine?

Your memories of the game were foggy and unclear after so much time spent in this world. But there was one thing you did remember clearly when you pulled at the strings of your memories.

It was Zelda's voice, urging Link up from his slumber (tired and pleading, after 100 years of fighting a battle of wills). And Link, hitting the ground running. Without thought for his own wellbeing. Without consideration for his still recovering body. Just bullheaded determination and an unbreakable spirit driving him forward.

Your stomach clenched at the realization. Something that hadn't truly hit you with its entirety until you had finally cast your gaze upon the very man who had lived through it all (was still living through it).

Not a game character. Not the concept of heroism given humanoid form. But a man, small and confused and fighting to right the wrongs of a hundred years ago. Having to accept that everything he once had was gone now. And that he must now fight a battle he doesn't even remember having a stake in.

You cast a questioning (concerned) look over at Blue. But she ignored you, instead saying softly (and far less tensely than when you were at the stables) to Link. "Courageous one. Your beloved is here to offer you comfort."

Link tilted his head. Uncomprehending.

Blue cast a glance towards Red, who nodded quietly. Not even looking up from whatever she was doing at the table.

At the gesture, Blue continued. "They may not speak to you." She cast a cool glance your way, the hard glint of her eyes telling you more than a thousand words ever could. "And you are forbidden from touching them. This is to ensure you will not be tempted to- memorize their voice or distinctive features."

A moment of silence. Then confusion. And then (finally) the dawning light of comprehension seemed to line every inch of his diminutive form.

The change in him was immediate. Link's entire body tensed, the bonds at his wrists creaking under the pressure he was exerting on them in his stiffened state (as did the headboard. and you had a feeling only Blue's presence was keeping him from breaking free with brute force). His chest nearly shaking with the intensity of whatever emotions held him in their sway.

His face had twisted into a complicated expression. Lips taunt, scars pulled tight at the skin of his face (what was visible through the blindfold) and fair brows pulled into an almost grimace.

One breath. Two. And then, he spoke. "AM." He breathed, quiet and shaking. Raspy, dry and unpleasant (and beloved. so much so your heart ached with the feeling). "AM. I-" And just like that, his voice broke. Fractured. Shattered.

His hands tensed into fists, his teeth grit against the pull of his lips. His shoulders shook.

And you just. Moved.

Dropping the blankets, nearly tripping over the bulk of them in your haste, you fell hands first onto the bed. Barely taking the time to regain your balance before slotting yourself into Link's side (warm and solid and so very alive) and pressing yourself into his space.

You ignored his tensed form. His shudder as your night chilled clothes pressed against his own skin warmed ones. And spooned into his side as best you could with his arms bound above his head. Your upper body laid against his own, arms wrapped around his chest and head tucked under his chin. Trying to cover as much of him as possible (trying to hide him from the world and everything it demanded of him. trying to absorb all that pained his heart into your own body).

You squeezed him with all your might (pitiful though it may have been to someone physically blessed as the goddess' chosen champion), words sitting at the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. Unsaid and burning at the base of your throat. Held back only by the strength of your resolve, and the silent promise to do better.

To fight with everything in your power to do right by this man.

A man who had been demanded to give everything for the greater good. Even if it meant making a deal with the devil itself. Even if it meant losing himself. All. Over. Again.

You would make sure this man succeeded.

You would make sure he thrived.

His chest heaved under you, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps (quiet though, as though afraid to rise above a faint whisper). His throat bobbing under your cheek in thick, painful sounding swallows. His entire body was shaking, and you could feel the warmth of something wet soaking into the crown of your hair.

You squeezed harder, pushing every once of your care and devotion into the action. Gritting your teeth against the torrent of warmth that flooded behind your eyes, burning, demanding to be released. Demanding that you do more than just cling to him in a bid at comfort.

The tension in his body released all at once, and a ragged sob forced its way out of his throat. Long and raw and achingly vulnerable. Like nothing you've ever heard before.

And you sobbed right along with him, bitting back all the words you wished to tell him more than anything. Cursing the circumstances that had led to this moment.

And so thankful too. Thankful that you could be here in his time of need. Even if all you could do was hold him as he cried. As he broke apart beneath you.

And so, you sobbed all the harder. For the Link that had had to cry alone once upon a time.

---

Back to the shadows.

Tagging: @littlepanda7 @2000babies @danyzta

[aishangotome]

[Azel] The Mean Unicorn's Greedy Desire (Bday Story) - Let Me Tell You a Secret About God - His POV

Part 3

Gods are supposed to know everything.

That's what people tend to think, but it's not true.

Silvio: Huh? You don't even know how to celebrate a normal birthday?

A few years ago, Prince Silvio, who had come all the way to Tanzanite for a business discussion, was astonished.

He was so different from the person who had been engaged in a heated debate about new shipping routes just a few minutes ago.

Azel: Unfortunately not. For me, a birthday is a matter of state.

Azel: As a god, I don't celebrate others either. My blessings are a bit heavy for ordinary people.

Silvio: Certainly, considerin' your position, it's not strange...

Silvio: You have expertise in all sorts of fields, enough for me to come all the way here, yet you're ignorant of common sense.

Azel: I have to admit, I'm not interested in it either.

Silvio: Then why did you ask 'bout "how ordinary people celebrate birthdays"?

Azel: No particular reason.

Silvio: You don't wannna say?

Azel: Well, I heard that it's your birthday, Prince Silvio.

Azel: I'm not one to celebrate others, but I should try to win your favor, shouldn't I?

Azel: If I miss a big money opportunity, the name of god will be ruined.

There was no profound reason why he was interested.

He had just "seen" a birthday in a dream the other day.

The way they celebrated and their attitude towards birthdays were completely different from what he knew, and it was just a trivial matter that he brought up in casual conversation to correct the discrepancy in his knowledge.

Silvio: ...Well, whatever. Generally, people celebrate with a birthday cake and presents, don't they?

Silvio: In Benitoite, we add alcohol to that.

Azel: A birthday cake... such a thing exists.

Silvio: They have them in Tanzanite too, right?

Azel: They might, but I've never peeked into an ordinary household's celebration.

Azel: The birthday I know is about listening to people's prayers, giving them blessings, and receiving fine wine and food in return.

Azel: It's just a ritual.

Silvio: ...Somehow...

Silvio: For the first time ever, I feel sorry for ya.

Azel: If you feel sorry for me, please donate money.

Silvio: I'll give ya as much as you want dependin' on your "divination."

(Birthday cake...)

(...I wonder what it's like.)

-

The Apostle: Living God, on this momentous day, I offer my heartfelt gratitude on behalf of the people of Tanzanite.

The Apostle: Blessings to you, who were sent from the moon. May our country's path be blessed with prosperity.

---Several years later, the annual ritual celebrating the god's birth was held as usual.

(...This is so tedious.)

It was a monotonous job, simply looking down at the old man kneeling before the god sitting on the throne.

The king and officials in important positions were standing around, offering prayers to the god with almost comical earnestness and sincerity.

I stifled a yawn behind my pasted-on smile and glanced at the tightly closed screen.

(Is she not here yet?)

-

---A few hours earlier.

Emma: ...What kind of ritual is it that you have after this?

Azel: It's nothing much. It's a simple job where I just have to receive congratulatory words in the throne room.

Emma: ...You have work to do on your birthday?

Azel: That's right. Isn't it pitiful?

The girl from Rhodolite, who had come from a foreign land, furrowed her brows as she measured the ingredients she would probably use for the birthday cake, either unconsciously or intentionally.

Her face, which seemed to say "working on your birthday is unthinkable," probably showed sympathy, just like Prince Silvio.

It was only recently that I learned this was a normal reaction.

(She's a typical do-gooder. I almost feel sorry for her.)

When I ran into her in the city, while I thought I had been found by a troublesome woman, what came to mind was the conversation I had with Prince Silvio a few years ago.

I thought that if it was her, with her ability to judge things with an unbiased perspective, she might be able to let me experience an "ordinary birthday," something I had been curious about...

That thought, and stopping her, was the beginning of it all.

(Good people are good targets in every sense of the word. Poor thing.)

Azel: By the way, the pitiful story continues. There's a party to worship me after the ritual.

Azel: People try to praise me with good intentions and entertain me with fine wine and food, but it's troublesome—no, it's too much for me.

Azel: I'd love to refuse, but it's my birthday, so unless there's a very good reason, people won't let me off the hook.

Azel: Oh, I wish there was a kind-hearted soul somewhere.

Azel: If there was a woman with the most beautiful heart in the small country, she would surely extend a merciful hand to this poor god––

Emma: ...If I get you out of there, will it repay all of today's unreasonable debts?

Azel: Yes, thank you very much.

(See? This is how you get used again.)

The girl from the foreign land makes no attempt to hide her reluctant expression.

In front of the god, even tourists from other countries tend to show reverence and fear the mystery, but she doesn't.

What is reflected in her clear eyes, seemingly untouched by any impurity, is not the god sitting on the ceiling, but a wicked "person."

(There are others like her who are disrespectful, but I still like it. I like that I can act as I please around her.)

Azel: But you agreed more readily than I expected?

Emma: ...Because it's strange, isn't it?

Emma: Why does the birthday person have to do things they don't want to do on their birthday?

Azel: ...........

(I see, that's also "common sense," huh?)

(Birthdays are a day when selfish behavior is allowed, not devotion.)

(It's quite different from my common sense.)

The girl bows her head as if she has come to her senses.

Perhaps she's dutifully thinking that she "denied Tanzanite's culture."

(I don't care about that.)

Emma: I apologize––

Azel: You... do you enjoy it when your own birthday comes around?

I ask to correct the distortion in my perception.

Emma: ...Yes, I enjoy it. My friends celebrate with me every year.

(...Ah, I can picture it.)

Azel: So that's how it is.

Emma: Yes, that's how it is.

(I envy her.)

The conversation comes to a pause, and the girl continues making the birthday cake.

I can't help but follow her movements with my eyes, probably because I'm looking forward to it, unlike my usual self.

(...This year's birthday will be––)

-

Emma: Excuse me, Living God.

Just as I finished the congratulatory address and was about to be escorted to the banquet, the screen opened.

It seemed the girl with the most beautiful heart in the small country couldn't abandon the poor god after all.

I raise a hand to stop the attending soldier who tries to intervene.

Azel: It seems there has been a development with the matter I asked you to look into?

I beckon her to come closer to the throne.

The path surrounded by the country's dignitaries, such as the king and the apostle, must be quite intimidating for a commoner.

But the girl never lowered her gaze.

With a strong gaze and a dignified expression, she walks forward with confidence, so as not to arouse suspicion from those around her.

(What an impressive woman.)

I signal with my finger for the woman in front of me to lean closer to my ear.

She seems to be quick-witted, as she immediately moves close enough that no one else can hear us.

Azel: ...I haven't thought about what happens after this.

Emma: You mean you couldn't come up with anything?

Azel: Your face is known throughout the castle, so you can't disguise yourself as a maid.

Azel: Then what excuse could a mere traveling merchant have to summon the god? That's right, there is none.

Emma: ...You asked me to do this knowing all that?

Azel: Exactly.

(She's not stupid either... Well, I guess the woman who was appointed as Belle couldn't be incompetent.)

With the smile I reluctantly learned in my childhood, I look around again.

Azel: I apologize. I saw a sign of disaster and had her investigate it, but it seems I was right.

Azel: I want to return to the temple quickly and perform a divination, so I'll have to decline the banquet.

Enis: Disaster? Then, should we send soldiers...?

Azel: Her assistance alone is enough.

I rise from the throne and place a hand on the woman's shoulder.

What I felt was a tremor from her nervousness.

(...She really is something.)

Azel: It's rare for me to keep a woman by my side, isn't it? Are you sure you want to interfere with such a rare opportunity?

Enis: ...Well...

The Apostle: Enis, follow the Living God's wishes.

Enis: ...Understood. I pray for your safety.

The sight of all the dignitaries kneeling on the floor at once is comical no matter how many times I see it, and I quickly leave the throne room before a genuine laugh escapes me.

-

Emma: As expected, Prince Azel is silver-tongued. Just like a swindler.

Azel: You're quite the smooth talker yourself, aren't you? It's fine to hold a grudge, but don't forget there's such a thing as slander.

Having finally reached a place where there were no people, the woman seemed to be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Azel: ...To be honest, I thought you would run away again.

Emma: If you're talking about this afternoon, I did come back properly after running away.

Azel: There's no guarantee that will happen next time, is there?

Emma: I keep my promises. Besides...

Emma: I've decided to celebrate Prince Azel properly today.

(...Even though she had no intention of celebrating when we met by chance.)

(I don't know what kind of change of heart she had...)

(But, thanks to your spirit, the birthday cake I ate for the first time was delicious.)

*flashback to earlier*

Emma: It's done! Birthday Special: Rose-patterned Fruit Tart!

Emma: I got a little carried away and made two cakes instead of one...

Emma: But it's surely just right for a hungry Prince Azel, right?

Emma: Once again, happy birthday!

*back to present*

(...That was the first time I've ever been celebrated like that.)

I learn another ordinary thing, and my divinity is chipped away.

That's more comfortable than anything.

(I'm satisfied. It would be fine to part now, but...)

Seeing the fatigue seeping into the woman's smile, I sigh.

(...I can't just give her nothing in return.)

-

There aren't many things that come to mind as a reward.

I don't know and am not interested in the preferences of a woman from a foreign country... especially one I've just met.

But I do know one thing, the best reward a god can give to a mortal.

Azel: This is far enough.

Emma: What...?

I brought her to this deserted oasis because if anyone saw us, it would cause a huge commotion.

What I'm about to give her is something that is extremely valuable to the people of Tanzanite.

(...Though I've never given it to anyone before.)

I turn to face the woman who bumped into my back when I suddenly stopped.

I brush aside her bangs and, recalling a document I read long ago, lightly kiss her forehead.

(...)

(...I'm starting to regret this now.)

The woman is dumbfounded, moving her mouth open and closed with a silly expression.

But I feel like I've done something just as foolish and stupid, and I forcibly push down the intense shame rising within me behind a smile.

Azel: The god of Tanzanite is a being who protects and guides all people equally.

Azel: Protecting the country in this wasteland is the very meaning of my existence...

Azel: It's normally unthinkable for me to favor an individual, especially a girl from a foreign land.

Azel: But, yes, just for today...

Azel: It wouldn't be bad to lavish blessings as a special service only to those who have offered their congratulations.

According to one theory, those who receive a god's blessing are guaranteed a life free from illness and disaster.

I think it's a ridiculous story, but as far as I can tell from reading all sorts of documents, it seems to be true. I think it's a matter of probability, but there's no evidence to deny the blessing.

(Though I don't understand why this is how the blessing is given...)

It's not that I believe in unrealistic things.

I just thought that the woman who gave me a human celebration deserved such a mystical blessing.

(But this is awkward.)

(Incredibly awkward.)

Because of the bright moon, I can see the woman's flushed cheeks.

It's unbearably embarrassing.

Azel: Well, it doesn't come cheap.

Emma: There's a fee!?

Azel: Of course.

Emma: That's a scam...

Azel: A complaint? You've got guts. It's amusing to criticize a god's blessing.

Emma: .......

As I rattle off a series of words, the woman suddenly bursts into laughter.

Her idiotic expression from a moment ago completely changes, and she starts making an infuriatingly smug face.

Azel: ...What is it?

Emma: Nothing, it's nothing.

(...Damn it...)

(Oh, I know, I know. If I can see your expression...)

(That means you can see mine too, right?)

My shame finally reaches its limit, and I force a smile, though I'm irritated––

Azel: Stop that face.

Emma: Ow, that hurts...!

Even though I pull on her soft cheeks, the smugness doesn't disappear from the woman's face.

That only fuels the heat that won't go away.

Azel: The god will never protect you again. Goodbye.

When I turn my back and try to escape, she immediately grabs my sleeve.

Emma: Please don't say goodbye! I was happy!

Emma: It means that my cake was worthy of a blessing, that it was that much of a celebration for you.

Emma: That blessing just now, was it a thank you for the birthday cake?

(It is... it is, but...)

I put strength into the fingers I place on her cheek again.

Azel: ...That's kind of annoying.

Emma: Ow, that hurts!?

Azel: You're seriously misunderstanding. It's not like I want to thank you.

Azel: I just thought I'd add to your debt since I had the chance.

(No...)

(...Making excuses like an idiot will only make me feel more pathetic.)

I can't even look the woman in the eye anymore.

Emma: ...I-I understand.

Emma: I'll... I'll pretend that's what it is.

Azel: You don't understand at all.

Perhaps I've tormented her cheeks too much, as the woman shows a sign of resistance.

I loosen my grip, but I'm still not satisfied.

Azel: You disrespectful person.

Emma: ...S-Sorry?

Azel: Don't make it a question.

(...Calm down.)

(I'm a grown man. I don't want to be any more pathetic than this.)

(Just be honest. It's a simple task.)

Azel: It's not a thank you, but... it wasn't bad.

Azel: You're the only one who would dare celebrate a god's birthday as a human.

Azel: ...You're the only one, unique to me.

(...)

(...I can't thank her with words after all. Let's part ways.)

I let go of her cheek and turn my back on her for real this time.

Emma: I was also happy to make an important discovery today.

Azel: Doesn't sound worth hearing. Goodbye.

Emma: Prince Azel is actually shy--

(Damn it!)

Emma: Ow! Ow, ow, ow!

Hearing such an outrageous insult, I couldn't help but pull on her cheek.

Azel: Say that again. I'll sue you for insult and throw in a divine punishment as a bonus.

Emma: That's not fair...!

(It can't be helped.)

*flashback to earlier*

Emma: I wasn't trying to feed it to you!

Azel: Well, don't do anything confusing.

Emma: ...Eh?

Azel: ...?

Emma: Did you really misunderstand that?

Azel: I didn't misunderstand. You looked like you wanted to feed me, so I reluctantly played along. For a fee.

Emma: A fee!?

Azel: I need more apples. Offer more. Then I'll waive the feeding fee.

Emma: Please hold the fork properly this time.

Azel: ...Shut up. This is my first time doing this.

*back to present*

Azel: Let me tell you a secret about god.

I raise the corners of my mouth as I pinch her cheek.

Azel: I'm petty.

Emma: That's not a secret!

(It is a secret.)

(...It's only with you that I become this petty.)

.

.

.

FIN

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[batbeato]

Thinking about how emotional Battler is and what that means for him and his relationship to toxic masculinity.

Men are taught to not show emotion, to disconnect from emotions, to only express anger and not to connect through love, through tenderness. By all rights, the Battler Sayo knew as a child should have long since been crushed under the weight of those patriarchal ideals. And, to an extent, he is - he makes crude sexist jokes towards the women around him, in a fumbled, clumsy attempt at claiming traditional masculinity. But in the end, Battler can't follow through on those ideals: when he gets the chance to grope Shannon, for example, he rejects it. He doesn't understand the harmful impact of his remarks, but he also doesn't actively want to claim patriarchal dominion.

The emotion Beatrice most often seems to seek from Battler is anger: it is anger that she responds to with gleeful cackling, and which she seems to try to spur on in him, especially by positioning herself as an opponent he must hate, rage against, and defeat in order to display/prove masculinity. In doing this, Beatrice herself is reinforcing the patriarchal ideal , in which her male partner, Battler, must express his anger towards, and dominate, women. Beatrice forcefully makes their relationship one in which Battler is constantly enraged at her. When he does not rage, but instead fully rejects her, as he does in Episode 3, she can't handle it. When he has emotions other than anger towards her in Episode 3, from his terror to his cold rejection, or expressing sympathy and love, Beatrice rejects him. When Battler shares his personal struggles in Episode 4 during the 'remember your sin' scene, rather than engaging with Battler's past and the complex relationship and emotions he has with/towards his family, she once again rejects him, this time to the point of denying that he even is Battler.

Beatrice expresses emotions that women aren't allowed to display: she is angry, she is mocking, she is powerful, she is violent, and she is dominating. In fact, Beatrice expresses traits that, if expressed by a man, such as Battler, would be praised as a display of 'traditional' (patriarchal) masculinity. And, much like many men, she is stymied by the fact that, instead of her violence acting to help her loved one understand her, it only pushes him away and drives him further from understanding. Beatrice wants Battler to come to understand her, but isn't willing to put in the taxing and important emotional work of meeting him as an equal, seeking to understand him in turn, or openly expressing her emotions with him.

The end of Episode 4 is the culmination of this one-sided dynamic between the two of them. Battler is torn between his anger at Beatrice and his desire to ease her pain - to show her kindness and compassion. However, Beatrice continuously spurns his kindness, and instead incites his anger at every turn. She rejects Battler when he is sensitive and emotional - the very thing she is seeking from him - and instead seeks a Battler who will enact wrathful patriarchal violence upon her.

Beatrice, due to her own self-hatred and inability to accept emotional connection, believing herself to be unlovable, creates barriers between herself and others. She wants Battler to understand her, to love her, to listen to her - but she is unable to directly express these desires to him, and does so indirectly through her game boards instead. And yet, she also wishes for him to re-enact patriarchal violence upon her, as Kinzo did to her mother and grandmother, but this time "justified" due to her status as a witch, her incestual desires, and her role in the massacre of Battler's family. By giving Battler the role of patriarch, and pushing him towards it by encouraging his anger and denying his other emotions, she ultimately fulfills this desire, and he kills her at the end of Episode 4 in 'justified' and 'masculine' rage.

However, it is at this point that Beatrice is finally able to communicate with Battler - she openly asks him to kill her, and she gives him her final riddle, and her true desire all along: for him to unmask her.

In Episode 5, without Beatrice to urge him on at every turn, much of Battler's rage has evaporated. Though Beatrice is no longer able to act or to express herself, Battler does not take advantage of this to dominate her or her narrative, or to press his own desires upon her. Instead, he seeks to understand her and fulfill her wishes, relinquishing his anger as he instead chooses kindness.

In Episode 5, Battler speaks kindly to Beatrice, wipes her sweat, and assists her in drinking tea. He engages in nurturing, emotional acts that the past Beatrice would have scorned and rejected, and that do not fit the patriarchal model.

Battler, at the end of Episode 5, comes to understand Beatrice - an act that takes a reckoning of his part to play in the patriarchal, oppressive systems that resulted in her suffering, and his personal relationship with her and how it harmed her. It also takes Battler doing important emotional work. It is only by engaging with love - without love it cannot be seen - that Battler is able to win, to revive, and to be rewarded.

In doing so, Battler becomes a witch, a 'feminine' role. He becomes a believer in miracles, a hopeful man, a grieving man. He places himself under another's power (Erika) in the hopes that Beatrice will rescue him, giving himself the role of the 'damsel in distress'. He rejects the role of macho hero, of the masculine physical, and instead works to empower the women around him (Beatrice, Ange). He gives Erika tape because he sees how she is being dominated and coerced by Bernkastel and wants to empower her to fight as she pleases, not as someone else wants her to. He attempts to give others fairness rather than play unfairly and unjustly - perhaps a metaphor for a divestment from male privilege.

Battler faces pressure to conform to patriarchy through his family, from his sexist father to his sister insisting that he close himself off and cease to trust others, as well as from Beatrice, who scorns his kindness and sensitivity. However, it is only by rejecting rage, and choosing to love, that Battler is able to understand Beatrice, to keep his promises, and to help those he loves. It is only by embodying a masculinity that rejects patriarchy that Battler is able to have an equal, loving, and fulfilling relationship with Beatrice.

It's not a message/aspect of Umineko I see talked about often enough: how amazing it is that Battler is a man who is allowed to cry, to be weak, and to openly, wholeheartedly, love.

[thewoollyviking]

Wanted to take a point I made in a reblog chain and make it its own post because I feel it put to words something that’s been bothering me about SU and the Diamonds in particular.

The Diamonds did not actually mourn Rose for those thousands of years after the war. And trying to get us to sympathize with their grief while turning around to denounce Rose felt so incredibly tone deaf.

Let me explain a bit why I feel this way…

So, according to the art books, all four Diamonds are rough around 20,000 years old. To give you an idea how old that is compared to irl history…

There are figures early humans carved from mammoth ivory and spear tips carved from flint that were made when the bottom of the North Sea was still a mammoth steppe in Doggerland.

Subtract the time Rose spent on Earth after the war (give or take a few centuries) and assuming the craptastic treatment she endured under the Diamonds has pretty much been the norm for all that time, and she had been abused for roughly 10-12,000 years.

Rose’s abuse predates agriculture and written language.

I. Do not. Give. A single. Chicken. Fried. Fuck. How sad or sorry the Diamonds think they were after losing Rose.

Oooooh booo fucking hooo Blue sulked in the middle of a human zoo Rose never even wanted in the first place.

Yellow knew Rose wanted to spare Earth and apparently thought the best way to honor her memory was to blow it the fuck up.

And White’s first action seeing “Pink” return was to send a mind controlled version of her original Pearl to greet her as a power move. To remind her what happens when she doesn’t control her power.

They didn’t mourn Rose. They mourned the person they wanted her to be.

I struggle to think of any other example of behavior both in the show or just in fiction altogether that’s this self destructive, self righteous, and self entitled.

This wasn’t morning, this was a 5,750 year long temper tantrum from the three of them.

And that’s made all the more clear once they realized Steven isn’t Rose.

Barely a few years after the end of season five and they seem completely unphased by the revelation that Rose really, truly is gone. And that her passing was not the act of some rogue gem, but their own abusive behavior chasing her away and being haunted by personal demons they inflicted on her.

Nope, their only goal now is getting Steven to take her place and live with them.

“Aww Pink’s gone? Gee that sucks. Welp, time to find a new pink!”

Suddenly now that they don’t have some villain to blame for their misfortune, they’re all too happy to sweep it under the rug.

Fuck dude, some people mourn Healthcare CEOs more than the Diamonds actually mourned Rose.

And yet the Diamonds get that nice fairy tale happy ending where they can be quirky space grandmas who think what they’re doing will ever hope to make up for the suffering they caused.

Meanwhile, Rose’s own loved ones feel like they have to apologize for daring to mention her in a positive light and worry they’re making excuses for her.

The Diamonds have been the instigators who made everything worse without fail. They’re the reason Rose came out as such a broken fucking person and yet we’re asked to pass more judgement on her for not being enough of a perfect fucking princess to solve things Steven’s way?

Rose spent her entire goddamn life clawing her way out of that pit of misery but we’re supposed to scoff at her for getting mud on her dress along the way?

What the fuck was the point in showing that Rose spent that lifetime trying to be better to just end it with “maybe her family would be better off if they just stopped thinking about her altogether.”

I still love this show. But I cannot and will not ever be able to rewatch Future.

The Diamonds are a gaggle of entitled, selfish, miserable, wretched hags. All of the grief they endured was entirely their own damn fault and they only have themselves to blame. They do not deserve a single fucking shred of sympathy. Especially not if the show wanted to end with leaving their most notable victim on such a bitter, hateful note.

[hkthatgffan]

Hey! You seem like a huge *Gravity Falls* fan, so I was hoping you could answer some of my biggest questions about morality in the show. Since the release of *The Book of Bill* (which I’ve read), do you think Bill could ever be redeemed or seen sympathetically? Is there a possibility for him to get better and maybe even have a happy ending?

I ask this because I see a lot of fans saying, "He's awful," or "He deserves everything coming to him a thousandfold," and "Don't sympathize with him!" But then I watch the show, and I see characters like Gideon Gleeful and Robbie who were also problematic—they did terrible things but still got happy endings.

I know Gideon went to jail, but he broke out and ultimately had a positive resolution. Robbie, for example, tried to brainwash Wendy into a romantic relationship (which is super messed up!). Even though it didn’t work, and Wendy only dated him because she thought he wrote her that song, Robbie knew what the CD was supposed to do. But instead of facing real consequences, he just went through a breakup and still ended up with a happy ending, with friends and a new girlfriend.

As for Gideon, he tried to kill Dipper, manipulate Mabel, and invade the entire town’s privacy—basically doing some of the same things Bill did. Yet, after going to jail and making a last-minute turn toward good, he still got a happy ending.

So I’m super confused. What should I be feeling? Is there a correct way to view these characters? What do you think?

Bill at his core is the personification of denial. We see in the book that the harbours some regret and hatred for what he's done to the people around him but he refuses to try and take it to heart and use it as a point to grow from. I mean, look at what he did.

He killed his entire dimension and family and yet tries to deny it was anything bad and that in fact he liberated them. He manipulated and almost destroyed Ford and yet denies ruining the friendship they had. He tried to kill Dipper and Mabel and yet acts like it was nothing. Bill is unsympathetic. He's a narcissistic sociopath who doesn't wanna admit it.

The difference with Robbie and Gideon is that they changed and grew past their issues. Robbie tbh was more so being a literal teen drama story while Gideon was made that way through his exposure to Journal 2 and how that corrupted him. Once both found a new lease on life, they were able to grow and become better.

Bill is not that. He cannot accept that he's not fine and that he's the sole survivor of his kind and has pushed everyone he knew out of his life through his own actions. We've all probably dealt with people like Bill Cipher. Be it a person, co-worker, significant other, friend, family member, etc. We've all had that person who acts full of themselves and manipulatively but in reality is suffering. But because of how they act and their refusal to do anything, you start to lose any sympathy or interest in helping or being there and just let them go. Congrats...you just escaped a toxic relationship.

As someone who has dealt with Bill Ciphers in my life like many of us probably have, it's easy to feel sympathy for him. Bill make his case out as such that you wanna feel like he deserves better. But he's a trillion year old being that has been doing the same thing over and over again and refuses to make an effort to move on and let himself accept what he did to his dimension and to people around him like Ford.

Ford on the other hand realized that and cut Bill out of his life. He's doing better now because of that and has his family by his side. Ford is an example of how to move on from such toxic situations and people and find happiness in your life again after that. Bill is the example of what happens if you can't.

Life is short. We all will die one day. We all deserve to lead a life free of people like Bill Cipher in it. The best thing we can do is follow Ford and find the people in life that make us happy and let go of Bill.

So, to answer your question, NO!

I don't think Bill Cipher can be redeemed or seen in a sympathetic way. He tried to. But he's shown even in the Theraprism that he can't. He's doomed to live forever with the shit he's done. And it's his own fault.

Bill can say he's fine but in the end...he's not. And he never will be. There is no redemption for Bill Cipher.

[verecunda]

I personally see that "torture" conversation again as gaslighting from Annatars side, to be honest. Because (I double checked again to make sure i am not mistaken) "Never in Tolkien's lore does Morgoth torture Sauron. Some moments could imply such an act, such as in The Silmarillion where it is mentioned that Morgoth would have, if victorious, destroyed even the beings that followed him" - So to me it has that even ... Crueler twist of Annatar just trying to gaslight Celebrimbor again. Maybe that is just me though! And maybe in the series Morgoth really did unimaginable to Mairon. WHO KNOWS

Hi, Anon! This got long-winded, so bear with me here. XD

That is certainly a viable reading of the scene, and I definitely think we should never take Sauron at his word because, well, he’s Sauron. But honestly, I think it’s much more interesting, much more horrifying, if he is being honest here.

First, to get the lore stuff out of the way: agreed, nowhere in the books are we told Morgoth ever tortured him. But at the same time, we’re never told he didn’t. Sauron was obviously his most valuable and trusted servant, but he still was that - a servant, an underling, subject to his master’s caprices. And we don’t have any scenes of them interacting directly that allow us to gauge their relationship; we just have a handful of references that can be extrapolated in multiple ways. (For full disclosure: I’m an enthusiastic Angbang shipper, and I tend to view their relationship as more or less positive, one of the only good things they have going for them, but I try to keep an open mind on what canon does/doesn’t tell me.)

Most notably, take the scene where Sauron is defeated by Lúthien and Huan. She tells him she’ll send his spirit back to Angband : “There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes.” Whereupon Sauron flees, and we hear nothing more of him till after the War of Wrath. We don’t know anything that he does in the meantime; we don’t even know if he returns to Morgoth’s service (the Lay of Leithian does suggest it, but the published Silmarillion gives us nothing either way). Whether or not Morgoth would actually punish him for his failure is probably beside the point: the point is that Sauron clearly believes punishment is a likely outcome. There are other ways you could parse this bit (and I do have Feelings about it!!) but the most obvious reading is that it’s terror of his master’s likely response that sends Sauron into hiding. So overall, it’s an ambiguous scenario, but there is certainly room to interpret a darker take on their relationship, and even allowing for deliberate ambiguity, it does seem to me that the show creators have chosen to explore that darker take.

To return to this particular scene, I don’t think he’s trying to deceive Celebrimbor any more - now that his true identity is revealed, outright deception is no longer going to work, because why would Celebrimbor believe anything else he says? Better to reel him back in with the truth. In that scene, I think Sauron is actually trying to make him understand his grand vision for the “healing” of Middle-earth. We already know he believes that's what he's doing. I don’t think he views Celebrimbor as an equal, no way, but I think he does consider that Celebrimbor’s ambitions chime with his own.

But crucially, his failure here is that in baring his soul and talking about the genuine suffering he’s gone through, he inadvertently reveals just how warped and ultimately irredeemable his own mindset has become. We actually saw this first with Galadriel at the end of s1: Sauron reveals his relief at Morgoth’s defeat, his feeling that a “great, clenched fist” had been released from about his neck - yet just a couple of minutes after that, he repels her because he admits that he sees saving Middle-earth and ruling it as the same thing.

It’s the same in the tower scene. Revealing his torture by Morgoth does engage Celebrimbor’s sympathy, but he loses it almost at once when he starts talking about his pain being a triumph of his own willpower, then especially when he breaks out all the textbook abuser lines about how Celebrimbor has “forced” him to hurt and deceive him. I don't think he would have said all that if he was just lying. All that self-justification strikes me as the response of someone who has suffered, but has never found a healthy way to process any of it, and who has ultimately gone on to continue the cycle of abuse. And when Celebrimbor demolishes all these self-justifications - “You can deceive even yourself” - I think Sauron's expression there speaks volumes. That’s the look of a Maia who has just been hit where it hurts, because rather than being taken in, Celebrimbor has just confronted him with exactly how damaged and fucked up he really is.

[taragreenfield]

Alina Starkov, the self-absorbed "saint"

Alina is not a bombastic , overt narcissist, obviously. However, she seems to exhibit certain traits of a covert narcissist.

She's hypersensitive to criticism: she immediately deflates when Baghra as much as looks at her disapprovingly or Mal sounds displeased, even to something that she perceives as criticism (like when two Grisha girls were whispering about something, and she immediately assumed they were judging her).

Her self-esteem is incredibly unstable and requires constant validation ("ah, I cannot possibly be a Grisha! I'm too ugly!") and attention - like when she's fuming that Aleksander, the man she barely knows, doesn't approach her every time he is in the Little Palace. She immediately questions whether it is because he is disappointed in her lack of results.

Her misguided self-righteousness, together with her conviction that she's entitled to the trust, sympathy, and loyalty from others for nothing in return, also point to certain delusions of grandeur and inadequate self-esteem: Aleksander, her commander, should have disclosed his strategy to her, a newbie soldier with an ingrained bias against him; Genya should have risked her position (and maybe her well-being and life) to send her letters to Mal, the Grisha in the Little Palace should have immediately accepted her leadership, even though she is an inexperienced deserter. Even her inner monologue, where she pretends to be knowledgeable about Aleksander's "true nature" seems quite delusional and out of touch with reality.

She may lament how difficult it is to be a leader, but she definitely enjoys the privileges of her status when she gets to order the Apparat around or flash her status as the Sun Summoner in any difficult situation. She just doesn't like the responsibility that comes with that status. Narcissists love to feel mighty and successful, but in their immature mindset it should come easily; they don't want to actually do the legwork that comes with such a position.

When faced with consequences of her actions or counterarguments, Alina immediately pulls out a victim card: when Aleksander points out that her desertion put a lot of people at risk, she immediately goes "That's unfair! You didn't give me a choice!" Or when Genya reminds her about the skiff she destroyed, Alina's thoughts sound more like a pity party - oh no, all those people died for nothing because my useless bestie and I didn't escape after all!

Narcissists lack empathy because they are completely self-centered and too busy thinking about how the others perceive them, and Alina shows it perfectly. She doesn't care that Genya was abused by the King and suggests she go to ask him for help. When Ivan shares his story about his entire family being killed, she can only muster a performative "sorry" before launching into her "the Darkling must be stopped" sermon. When Harshaw talks about the horrific fate of his brother, she is only able to wonder if he entrusted the task of liberating Grisha to her.

Her inability to understand Aleksander and Grisha, who sided with him, also might stem from it; she sees a man creating a safe place for his kind, fighting for them for centuries, and she automatically assumes he does that out of purely selfish reasons, because she can't fathom any other explanation - her own mindset is thoroughly self-serving. She doesn't bother to stay and help her people in the end, so why would he stay for centuries? Because he's power-hungry and wants to enslave the whole population, obviously! She complains that the Darkling rules with fear, yet it's she who almost kills Sergei for questioning her and threatens Grisha to "have them in chains" if they fail to comply. Projecting much? In the wacky narrative of a self-absorbed narcissist, there is no place for anything else but selfishness and their own unearned moral superiority.

[insert-random-account-name]

Analyze the Princess- The Spectre

The Spectre is one of the most fascinating routes in the entire game. It’s the only one where you do not interact with the base Princess. The Spectre was quite underrated before the Pristine Cut, simply because there was more interesting content in the other nine Chapter 2s. Since the Pristine Cut, a lot more interest has been drawn in the form of the Princess and the Dragon. The new chapter has since garnered more appreciation for the Spectre, and how interesting her chapter is by itself. Her chapter mirrors the base Princess, having a gentle form and a harsh form. I will do my best to give both of these versions justice.

You get the Spectre by entering the basement armed in Chapter 1, not talking or interacting with the Princess at all, and then slaying her at the first opportunity. After she’s dead, you have to attempt to leave, and then kill yourself. This results in a dead Princess. You watched her body decay into dust and bone, heck, you pulled the knife out of her skeletal ribcage. There is simply no way that she can be alive. And yet, she’s still there. Not what she was before, but certainly moving, and certainly conscious. She doesn’t know what to think about you. Yes, you ran a blade through her heart, but you didn’t say a word to her beforehand. Maybe you’re just that cold, but maybe if she got the chance to talk with you, it would’ve ended differently. The Spectre is willing to hold off all judgements until the two of you can have a good talk. However, she still remembers what you’ve done, and isn’t hesitant to return the favor. She decides to let you make the first move, and that decides how she acts towards you. 

If you let the Spectre drift around you without attempting to kill or grab at her, she realizes that you might be more willing to talk. She doesn’t know what happened after she died, but maybe you had a change of heart. Since all the Spectre really wants is to leave, she’s ready to be more open and conversational. Her voice is lighter, she sounds more teasing than malicious, and only uses her “scary” face when you really push her. In this form, the Spectre seems more willing to forgive and forget, and while she is still quite upset about her untimely demise, she is more understanding of your position. If you decide to let her possess you in this form, once she’s in your mind, the Spectre takes a surprisingly sympathetic tone towards the voices and the Narrator, even suggesting that the Narrator might even like her. If you betray the Spectre and stab yourself, she sounds upset and bewildered.

If you lash out at the Spectre on your first meeting, she knows that you haven’t changed one bit. The only reason you’re talking is because stabbing is out of the question. Her tone is far more aggressive, and she acts meaner towards you. Her “scary” face appears more often in this form, and her voice is less wispy, taking on sharper tones instead. The Spectre’s sympathy died with her, and she is holding no judgments on her murderer. If you let her possess you in this form, she is surprised, but makes it clear that she’s in charge now. Her tone is a lot harsher with the voices, and she tells the Narrator to shut up. If you betray the harsh Spectre, she reacts with anger at your audacity to kill her twice.

If you leave with the Spectre, regardless of the form, she thanks you for freeing her, and leaves your body. If you have the gentle form, she thanks you repeatedly, and says that you’re forgiven. If you have the harsh form, she is far more reserved, but notes that you do seem to be trying to make it up to her. She then escapes your body so she doesn’t have to be stuck with you for eternity.

However, if you attempt to leave her in the basement, smash her bones, or repeatedly attempt to slay her, the Spectre will run out of patience. She tried to be nice, to show you that maybe slaying her isn’t the best option, but you aren’t listening. Even after seeing with your own eyes that death doesn’t apply to her, you kept trying to find a way to rid yourself of her. There is clearly no way to get through to someone so set on destruction, so the Spectre decides she’ll send you a message in the only language you understand. Violence. She takes all of her hatred, all of her fear, all of her languishing alone with no hope or help, and drives it into your chest, ripping out your heart with what can only be described as raw fury. The Spectre lets her revenge twist her into something that can match your evil, but that goes more into the Wraith, so I’ll stop there.

What does the Spectre represent? Second chances, and forgiveness. Despite everything that happens, the Spectre is willing to put aside your murderous past for a chance at a better future for herself. The best ending with the Spectre is the one where you both put aside your differences and leave together. But she’s not the only one who gives second chances. You have to put aside everything you’ve been told about the Princess, the potential fate of the world, and your own fear of any vengeful feelings she may have. Only when you are willing to actually talk to the Princess, and ask her about what she really wants, can you make it out alive. If you aren’t willing to give her a second chance, the Spectre will match your energy, and ghosts can’t die twice, unlike you.

In the end, the Spectre is simply someone who was wronged in the past, but trying to move on from her loss in search of true freedom. Her nature and body is vaporous, just like her heart.

Other parts:

The Razor The Stranger The Damsel The Prisoner The Tower The Witch The Spectre

(If you like my yapping, check out my other analyses. There's ones for all the voices here and my one for the narrator here)

[fan-goddess]

The decay of marital flesh

Authors Note: This has taken months to complete, and I am so happy that people have taken time to ask me about this and have wanted to have a part two of my original oneshot that I didn’t know would get so popular. So here’s the depressive thing that took me months to compete cause I needed to be in an angsty mood to write. Here’s my blood and angst

Summary: A part two of this piece here. This is the depressing version of it and the other happy part will be linked to this part here.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of f oral, self harm, blood, kinslaying, cheating on partner (I’ve probably no doubt missed warnings so if you see any you think I should add then let me know!)

Taglist: @ietss, @papichulo120627, @rorawinters, @introverbatim, @alicentswife, @brie-annwyl, @victoriagaunt, @kyla44, @pax-2735, @omgbcat @bellameshipper, @coolsiaisaqueenstuff, @snh96, @devils-blackrose, @blue-serendipity, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @glame, @jennifer0305, @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @aemondwhoresworld @leiakim99

Whenever you slept, somehow the weight of the letter always found a way to haunt you. Whenever your hand managed to sweep under and made direct contact with the paper, it practically burned to the touch with no explanation how.

Klarissa had soon became one of your trusted, friends? She would come into your chambers to place your food in the morn and look at you intently and with questions she herself knew would remain unanswered. You never spoke to her again of the contents of the original letter, nor did she ever thankfully attempt to ever bring it up. It was thing about her you found yourself grateful for.

Though it seemed Klarissas silence on the topic may soon be broken. As recently, more letters, similar to the original, were beginning to make themselves known to you.

Though this time, you cannot bring yourself to read them. You can only stare at them while they burn into nothing in your fireplace. You can only watch as whatever words and meaning they once possessed become ash and soot. Maybe they were letters asking for forgiveness? Or asking for a conference where he begged for you to not spill his blood just as you instructed him that you would? Either way, you held firm belief that nothing of that sort would be happening.

Not while Aemond continued to breathe, and to live.

Aemond does not believe that you are reading any of his letters any more. The maid who had given to you his first letter, whose eyes once held fear of his position, now hold only sympathy and sadness. She doesn’t need to say what he had been fearing. It’s written plain and clearly all over her face.

Still, he can’t help but wish to cry at the realisation, even though he knew it would happen some time or later. An act he does not even think he’s done since he was robbed of his eye. Yet his sudden loss of you, the one person who he should have protected and been with, brings to him more emotion throughout his entire body than he’s felt in his entire life. Even when his sorrow begins to spread through out him, throughout his soul, the tears do not fall. He cannot dare let them. He cannot appear weak in front of the court. He cannot dare appear to be weak in front of you.

His chambers seem all too empty when he enters them. The bed appears stiff and uninviting. The books appear meaningless and empty. Even the fire seems too cold. Even when he begins edging closer and closer to the flames until he’s practically face to face with them.

“Aemond, what are you doing?!” His mothers frantic voice breaks him from his trance before he could fully put his arm in the fire. Only hearing the sudden frantic sound of his mother’s voice does he begin feeling the heat of the flames against his skin. It’s an addictive feeling, as for the first time in months he feels alive. It feels like your fiery touch is caressing him again.

“It does not matter mother… why are you here?” Aemond curtly says, begrudgingly stepping away from the flames to look at her with a soulless eye.

“Aemond, my son, I’m afraid that the court are beginning to talk. They question your marriage, they question your-“

“I do not care about what the people question mother!” Aemond shouts. Raw emotion and anger overflowing from his skin in waves as he stalks to his mother and grips her arms roughly in emphasis of his frustration. He can feel his unkempt nails digging into her arms, and he can even see the slight fear that slowly envelopes her. Yet still, he does not relent on his hold of her, even when she tries to escape from him. “The people do not know how it is I have suffered! How much my wife has suffered! I will not have those insufferable cunts dictating things about my own marriage!”

His nails unknowingly leave small dents in his mother’s arms. His nails which have grown long from neglect begin to draw into her skin so deeply that even with the clothing between the two, he nearly manages draws blood. It’s not even until she begins to wince and voice her pain does Aemond notice what he’s doing to her. What he’s doing to his own mother.

“M-mother I-“

“Save it Aemond. I know you are mourning in your own way. I know that your wife is mourning. She is mourning my son because it was you who betrayed the scared vows the two of you spoke together, and insisted that you drew blood for. It is well within her right to burst down these doors and draw that same blood from you with her own blade. I will not let you drag that girl down with you my son, just because you wish to cling to a long rotted away life that you yourself threw away, all for a fucking bastard wet nurse belonging to house strong!”

Aemond does not move when his mother shouts as him. He does not even blink when his mother’s passionate anger leaves small spit trails on his face. For everything she just said is true. It was him who broke the scared marital bond between him and you. For that, he should suffer no less than a thousand cuts.

Aemonds single eye goes back to the fire where he had sat earlier, and goes to sit there once more. Once again, he does not truly feel the heat it should be providing him. He adds a couple loose logs in the fire, prodding them around slightly with an iron poker.

Aemond drops it though when a log jolts suddenly and startles him, and hisses when the red hot poker makes contact with his upper thigh, burning him. Though he cannot deny the slight satisfaction it brings him to feel the pain flare through his clothes. So he strips himself till he is only in his underclothes, and he does it again, and again. Hissing under his breath each time it makes contact with the pale skin. Maybe this is how he will get closer to you? How he will successfully manage to feel the pain that you felt when you had to push the physical manifestation of his betrayal curse you? He knows it is unlike anything he could ever truly experience, but he has to try. For you, and for the baby he will never meet.

When you begin burning the next letter in the fire, adjusting it slightly with the poker hanging on the side of the fireplace, you can hear an unknown person entering the room with an audible creak coming from the direction of the door. Klarissa had slyly mentioned a few days previous how it was like that due to your infrequent comings and goings. If you didn’t know her name and respect her slightly, you probably would’ve had her relocated immediately for such cheek.

“I think my brother takes great time and thought into writing those letters princess.” A distinctive voice and nickname causes a rare smile to form, still looking at the fire before you.

“Good. Then maybe he’ll learn to be sorry and he’ll learn what my pain was like.” Your voice is surprisingly cold, even with such a warm smile on your lips. It even surprises yourself slightly.

“Well, as much as I do appreciate your determination for damning my brother, I don’t think he’ll share that same sentiment. Do you even read them? Or do you just immediately condemn them to ash? Because I’d hate to think some poor soul like my mother writes a letter to you only to have it thrown to the flames…”

“I’m not that overcome with anger, my prince. I do look at the handwriting of the letters before I, as you so plainly put it, condemn them to ash.” It’s almost annoying how easy it is for Aegon to make you smile. He’s become the light to shine you through your dark ages. A friend amongst the snakes and the thorns that weave and poison the court, looking only in ways to further their power.

“How many times have I told you sweet princess to call me Aegon? I think after everything we’ve done and been through together, we’d have been properly acquainted with each others company. As much as my little brother utterly detests the very idea of it.” Aegon now sits beside you at the fire, his everything already making your tensed frame ease into a more calm and relaxed one. He does not make any move to stop you from making sure the letter is properly burned into nothingness. An act you appreciate immensely.

“My brother, was a fool to believe he needed someone else to comfort him...”

The quick comment is also quickly followed by a deathly sort of silence in the room. The only thing being able to penetrate it being the comforting sound of the crackling flames.

Though not a few minutes after, from the corner of your eye, you can spot Aegons hand slowly and cautiously placing itself on your arm, drawing your attention to him as you cautiously drop the poker and turn to him. His face looks like the one of a deer when it’s caught in a trap, fear and panic. Though by the way he had approached you, it was as if he was trying to approach an unpredictable creature from the forest. A beast.

“Can I be so bold princess, as to say something to you?” His voice is practically one of a whisper. So meek that you didn’t know if you had heard him correctly the first time.

“Of course Aegon? You are my closest confidant.” Your words though, supposed to be ones of comfort, makes Aegons lips turn in a slight grimace. Yet still, he wets his lips before speaking.

“You… are everything any man I think could ever need in a wide. Which is why i am so disappointed in him. Why take that bastard into his bed, when he could have had you…” Aegon then cautiously leads his head forward and captures your open mouth with his own.

You cannot move. You cannot think. You cannot say anything to stop what is going on in that moment. There is only one thing that races specifically through your head however. One question that stands out from the rest.

Do you even want Aegon, your husbands brother, to stop?

In your confusion, you find yourself unable to move a muscle. Only it seems Aegon mistakes your lack of action and your confusion as a direct answer. Since his once shy hands move with a surprising confidence from your arm, to delicately cupping at your cheek and your head.

You cannot deny that the kiss did not leave a warm feeling erupting in your chest, and a fluttering sensation to churn in your heart. Yet there is one other thing you can think off while this is happening. You can only ponder on how strange it truly feels to kiss another man other than your husband. How strange it is to betray your marriage like he had done.

When Aegon finally breaks away from you, you can see that his eyes have grown dark with presumably desire. Yet unlike other men, he makes no move to direct you to the nearest bed like you would expect him to do. Instead, it looks as if his eyes have softened as they look into your own. A strange kind of peace drifting over him that you’d never really seen on him, nor even on another person before.

“Why did you do that…” You mutter, watching the way the flames make his skin look almost golden in the light.

His eyes though still hold that same strange look of softness, and his hand begin to stroke at your cheek with a strange type of fondness.

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for quite some time now.”

It’s so simple. Spoken so calmly with a careless shrug, that it’s almost as if it was the easiest thing Aegons ever said in his life, and yet it causes an immediate feeling of panic and terror to erupt deep within your chest.

Your head moves your body in such a hurry that you had almost toppled over, if Aegon had not clutched at you so quickly to keep you steady. Yet at the feeling of his practically burning hands on your bare skin you push away from him.

Your head races with the discovery of Aegons… desires? Feelings even? Whatever they are, they’re something you never would’ve known about if not for Aemonds betrayal to his vows.

You know you should be angry at Aegon for what he has done. Angry at yourself even for not immediately pushing him off of you, a still married woman. And yet, when he kissed you, you felt more alive and happy then you’ve felt since Aemonds betrayal.

Even as you pace the room, Aegons keen eyes watch you with concern and slight anticipation at your next move. Like a dog always waiting for it’s masters command. He doesn’t move from the spot he originally sat in, only turning on his and trailing after your pacing with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I could ever love you-“

“You do not have to love me!” At the confession, Aegon is suddenly standing before you, your hands clasped tightly in his. Almost too tightly. As if he was grasping a delicate object he was too afraid would collapse and smash into a thousand pieces. The issue with that concern though, is that you’ve already been broken into thousands of tiny pieces and put back together again. In the end, there’s nothing left for him to break that’s not already been broken before. “All you need to do, my sweet princess, is let me in…”

This time, you do not break away so suddenly from Aegon when he kisses you again. Instead, you tightly grip at his warm fire like flesh in your fingers, and allow for his body to envelope you in senses you thought would never be awoken again.

That night, you felt the crash of everything you have ever been feeling, and everyone that’s made you feel that pain hit you all at once. That night, the hurting finally stopped for a time, and was replaced with only pleasure.

Aemond feels tired, exhausted, and drained, all in one. The words that he attempts to write to you blur all into one as his head swims with an ache that he has no idea whether is due to his deformity or due to his lack of sleep and self care. Either way, it’s in the way, and if Aemond could, he would rip it from his head so he could be done with it all.

He’s seen glimpses and heard plenty of tales of Aegon coming and going from your chambers. Seemingly, a strange bond has formed between the two of you, as before his time at Harrenhal, you’d never spoken to him. Yet now, he hears whispers of his brother leaving your presence and your chambers nearly every day.

Now he not only is jealous of his brothers soon to be crown. Now, he must bear witness and be forced to sit and wallow in his jealousy of Aegons access to your touch and your voice. Of Aegons access to his wife.

The letter in front of him, his unknown number attempt at reconciliation, is half written. The quill in his hand half poised to write as it drips dark raven ink onto the page and bleeds onto the dark oak desk.

Maybe he should write it with his own blood? Slice his palm and let it drip into a cup, before dipping his quill into it and writing his heartbreak with it. If he shows you how much he’s willing to bleed for you, maybe you’ll finally be willing to read his words and allow him to see you again…

There’s now a cramp in his hand from where he’s paused himself, and yet he strangely relishes in the onslaught of dull pain being given to him by his hand and head.

Maybe it’s a sign from the gods that he should stop himself? For he betrayed both the maiden and the mother when he laid with that fucking witch from Harrenhal, and it feels as if he should be praying nightly to the father for him to be brought to justice for you.

However now, with the considerable amount of time that he is being forced to spend away from you and your arms, he feels as though he should pray to the Stranger, late at night, when the moon is high and full. He should pray to him to slice his head from his shoulders and place him away from his misery forever more.

Though with his Targaryen heritage, there is no doubt that they have been waiting for an opportunity like this to pluck him and his family from their very roots for their many sins…

It has been a few months since you, ‘let Aegon in’, as he’d so put it. Though if you were to be honest with yourself, you’ve never felt as calm of character, as you were when you were with Aegon.

Still, you must admit, that whenever his head of short and unkempt silver hair is laid in your lap, facing away from you, your mind begins to wander of other things. You end up always thinking of his hair being twice as long, and his body being twice as lean.

You concluded that the gods must be punishing you for your sins. For practically abandoning your husband for a man of his own blood and partaking in pleasures of the flesh with him. But if this was how the gods had decided to punish you, how were they punishing Aemond…

“It is alright my love, we do not need to do it again until you are willing.” Aegon had said whilst stroking the bare skin of your arm with a distinguishable fondness.

You hadn’t the strength to tell him that the reason why you could not bring yourself to lay with him again is because the memory of Aemond still lives on in you forever. The ones that used to make you smile in fondness, but now make you wish to tear out his other eye with your bare hands and have his blood drip from your fingernails.

Aemonds memory that constantly lies within you is now a plague. A plague of constant mourning and sadness. A plague that is never ending and never relenting.

The memory of him still lives on months later, where for the first time ever, you leave your room dressed properly and looking like a true lady of the court. Aegon stands by your side in what you believe in his eyes is for your protection. But why would you need protection when your heart has been broken and stitched back together carelessly two times already?

Though as Aegons tries to murmur what your sure is meant to be encouraging murmurs of affection in your ear, your ears prick up to the sound of a familiar sound of footsteps, and you look up and connect eyes with your husband.

Your feet stop where they stand, and Aegons hands clench firmly against your own as he continues murmuring some kind of unknown gibberish in your ear. But you ignore him and look only at your husband. Who in turn, stares only at Aegons hands that are intwined in your own. You can see even from where you are standing, the way his brows furrow in annoyance at the sight, and somehow, you can feel your heart break for the third time in your lifetime as Aemond swiftly walks away without sparing you another glance.

You’re here. You’re walking close as can be with his brother and you’re standing in front of him looking at him with shocked doe like eyes.

The anger that blooms in his chest is nothing like the anger he felt when he killed Luke. It’s nothing similar to the anger he felt when he faced the injustice of his father when he was robbed of his eye. This is a new type of anger. It’s an obsession. A new type of injustice that only the feeling of blood on his skin could possibly have the power to diminish. But not your blood. Never your blood. No. Aemond craves Aegons blood on his blade.

He doesn’t even realise that he walked away from you until he looks around and realises he’s in his chambers, and his eye stares at the half written letter that still pathetically lays on his desk. An old pot of ink and a ruffled quill still waiting for him to pick up again.

His rage that still boils like a dragons fire within him feels no bounds as he tempts himself into ripping the letter. Into grabbing his dagger tucked away in his belt and stalking his way through the passages to Aegons chambers, where he’d wait till the sun goes down to strike him when he least expects it, and grin as Aegons chokes on his blood with fear and betrayal in his eyes. Watching with glee as Aegon dies for his crime. Trying to take what rightfully belongs to him.

But then, Aemond properly begins to think. You seemed to be close to be brother, if the closeness Aegon held you and the way he so closely whispered into your ears meant anything. If he killed his brother, it would only mean that he killed another one of the people you cared about. And Aemond refused to give you another reason for you to be scornful of him.

Aemond gives in though and rips the letter on the desk, and with a huff begins a new one. His anger and his frustration clear in his writing and with how many times the quill almost goes through the page with how fiercely and carelessly he uses it. He imagines your happiness though as he writes. The way you used to smile at him with such unique brightness. The way your cheeks would flush a beautiful light pink when he teased you. He even dared to think and reminisce on the way your face would shift into one of pure pleasure when he’d sit before the heaven that lay between your thighs, and lick and suck till he felt you spill no less than three times on his tongue.

The last thought soured though as he imaged Aegon seeing you like that. Seeing your smile, your happiness, your pleasure. The grip on his quill so strong he felt it snap between his fingers. A sharp shard of it bringing a small drop of blood to drop and pool on the page bellow. Yet Aemond didn’t choose to begin a new letter clear of his blood. He allowed it to stay there and continue with the same paper, so he could show his devotion to you. So he could show his willingness to bleed for you. Show how much he values his vow to shed as much blood as he needed to in order to achieve your forgiveness. It was truly an addictive thought, seeing you again. And one he could never stop running through his head when he thought of the future.

Aemond finished the letter, writing on the paper front and back with no less than three separate pages before he deemed his rant to be over. Blood pooling on various areas on all of them. His fingers now cramping around the new quill that he’d grabbed with each flex of his hand, and the ache that has sadly dulled around the cut to Aemonds relief remains pungent. If he could, he would pray to all Seven Gods for the wound to never heal. So you could see his devotion to you. To witness the death of his sanity in front of your very eyes.

There are no guards outside the front of your chambers. A fact Aemond cannot help but be disgusted by when he sees it as he walks to the familiar doors. Later that night he’ll find those two men tasked with the purpose of keeping you safe, and he’ll make sure to strip them of whatever dignity and honour they believed to possess. Perhaps the comfort of the wall would suit them nicely? Or the kiss of his blade?

Aemond raises his fist to knock at the door, but voices keep him from doing so. Specific voices. Yours and Aegons voices…

Before he knows it, Aemond is pushing himself against the wood as much as he can so he can hear every beautiful syllable of your voice. He does not care at first for the meanings behind them, but he certainly begins to when he realises what he is listening too are some very familiar high pitched sounds. Breathless sounds that Aemond had told you on yours and his wedding night that only he would hear.

While Aemond waits outside your door, he can hear your voices of pleasure radiating from the other side.

His fists are clenched no more to knock, but instead in anger. And the dulled throb of the small cut earlier on his hand flares up again as it reopened from his carelessness. Yet instead of moving to stem the blood, Aemond grows an idea deep from within him. Aemond snatches his dagger from his belt, and with no hesitation, quickly slices a deep mark on his inner palm.

His posture and frame is deathly still while the blood begins to heavily pool and drip onto the ground, only moving to place his hand firmly against the wooden door, watching it drip down the dark wood and trail to the stone flooring.

He can see the large puddle flow under your door, and Aemond wishes nothing more at that moment for you to see it. To see him. To see his devotion. His love. His sacrifice for you. If he hadn’t already lost it, Aemond would’ve torn out his eye and shoved it under the door too as a gift for you to make you stop your torturing of his soul.

Aemond only steps away when the blood pool reaches his shoes, and even then it’s with great resistance from himself as he stuffs the still bleeding wound against his dark coat that already begins to rapidly absorb the blood. He can even feel it soak his undershirt and his skin.

He goes straight to his chambers that night instead of paying a visit to the maesters. He does the same the next night, and the one after that.

Instead, Aemond relishes in the look he receives from Aegon the next morning. The look of utter horror and fear that speaks at least over a thousand words. The look that tells him you now finally know of his gift and his devotion to you. The look that tells him he is one step closer to you again.

Aemond Targaryen refuses to rest until he is drained entirely of his blood and it is pooled directly at your feet. He refuses to rest until his heart is laid bare in his hands and is presented to you like a septa presents the gods with their offerings. Until his name can be uttered from your precious lips without your own heart breaking from sorrow.

Aemond Targaryens heart could break a thousand times over, each time bloodier than the next, but he refuses to allow yours to break again. Not by his hand at least…

[writing-whump]

A Sick Man’s Patience

Have Arnie visiting a still recovering Isaiah while in a not-so-quiet argument with Hector. Angst ensues.

"How could we not notice you were sick?" Arnie asked for the umpteenth time.

Arnie had come to Isaiah cause he wanted a change of scenery under the pretense of getting help with an exam question.

Isaiah did the exams of the first law school year as a side thing next to his psychology master degree. What Arnie was struggling with was something Isaiah did with a shrug and nearby, like it wasn't difficult as hell.

Arnie knew he wasn't stupid, but moments like these made him feel like Isaiah was on another level of genius.

Really, the youngest Wolfson thought it would be easy. He would surprise Isaiah home, get some questions answered and inconspicuously asked about his opinion about the dorms. Easy.

Except Isaiah had been sick, the apartment was a mess and Arnie's surprise turned out to be more of a bother. Like he came demanding study sessions from sick people.

How was he supposed to know?

Isaiah changed out of pyjamas at the sight of him, but he wasn't feeling well enough to forgo a bathrobe on top of the sweater he was wearing. To be fair, the bathrobe was nice, huge and super formal looking, but it was still a glaring reminder Isaiah wasn't 100% yet.

Isaiah was also leaning heavily with both elbows on the table supporting his cheek on one palm— which was something unspeakable under normal circumstances. "We were handling it."

"Oh, we were handling it," Matthew repeated sarcastically behind them. He was putting dishes out of the dishwasher with excessive strength. "Shame I didn't notice that sooner."

Isaiah just sighed.

Arnie turned around to face the red wolf. "Then why didn't you let us know? We would have...done something."

Matthew scoffed in Isaiah's direction and continued washing the sink like it personally offended him.

And Seline was an entirely different problem. She actually yelled when he came, only in her PJs on the extended sofa, unwashed hair in a loose ponytail and had been throwing lighting bolts at Arnie since.

"You could have at least called if we are in a shape for a visit." She was clumsily trying to fold the blankets and return the sofa to its normal stare. Arnie was tempted to go help her, cause it still seemed to have been a straining tast for her, but also didn't dare to get closer.

"Or asked if we didn't need anything to buy," she continued. "This isn't a train station you can just barge into whenever you want. People have their privacy."

Arnie chewed on his lip, feeling stupider by the second. So he did the usual thing, when he was feeling guilty. "Jesus, aren't you overdoing it a little? It's not such a big deal. So your hair is greasy and you have a bathrobe. Get over it. No one cares about it anyway."

Seline's cheeks heated up and she threw the pillow against the sofa. "You are so rude-"

"Alright," Matthew interjected, positioning himself between the two. "Arnie didn't know. He will be more careful next time. You can crash in our room...?"

Seline rolled her eyes. "I can get up the stairs again, thank you."

Arnie turned away from her stomping her way upwards. "Was she always this bitchy? It sure got worse after the break up-"

There was painful wet impact against the back of his head. Matthew smacked him with a wet kitchen towel.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

Matthew gave him a nasty glare. "Don't talk like that about her or I'll give you an actual problem to worry about." He threw a look over Arnie's head towards Isaiah, scoffed and stomped off as well.

Arnie looked towards Isaiah who was strangely quiet through it all. Was he supposed to feel guilty or look for sympathy?

Isaiah sat in the same position, leaning against his hand, though now his other was massaging the left side of his chest and frowning.

"You okay?"

Isaiah opened his eyes at him with slow, deliberate effort. "I'm not really in shape for conflict right now. I'm happy to help you out with this and all, but be a little gentle with me today?"

"O-okay." Arnie was stunned by the request as much as the admittance. Was this a win for them that Isaiah was finally admitting when he wasn't feeling well or a cause for worry it was that bad for him to do it? "Was the...the fever that bad?"

Isaiah gave a tiny shrug, still rubbing at the sore spot at his chest. "Puts extra strain on the heart. I guess it's the most exhausting to me." His lips were pressed together in a thin line.

Arnie nodded, swallowing down. He had wanted to discreetly ask Isaiah about his dorm moving idea and get support from him against Hector's fussing...but it seemed today just wasn't going to be his day. "We can also forget about the studying thing too, if you are still feeling tired."

"Nah, it's alright. I can do these just fine." Isaiah leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. "Read the example out loud and then find the corresponding section in the crime law that fits it the best."

Arnie looked back at the textbook he brought with him, simultaneously opening the law book as well, squinting at the tiny letters. "Yeah, but there are so many of them to choose from..."

"It doesn't matter as much what you choose but how you can argue about it."

Arnie rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "But shouldn't you look for like...objective reality?"

Isaiah chuckled, eyes still closed. "There is no such thing as that. But read the example again. Every word in that report matters. It gives you hints on the most likely law to apply."

Before Arnie could question that further, the front door suddenly slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

"So this is where you snuck off to," Hector said, amber brown eyes glistening yellow with anger as he stormed in.

Isaiah opened his eyes, straightening in the chair. "Was it a secret?"

"Of course not!" Arnie hunched his shoulders. "Not like I didn't message him where I was."

Hector stopped halfway through the living room, raising a blond eyebrow at the mess. "What the fuck?"

Arnie cringed, but this really wasn't on him was it?

Hector went white with realization but then took a deep breath and bit down the anger, going almost red from the effort. "I'm not gonna ask why you didn't call us when you were sick, cause you keep doing the same mistake and expecting an idiot to change is mine."

Arnie felt Isaiah freezing next to him, but Hector didn't wait for his answer. He shrugged off his jacket and shoes and started to wrestle with the blankets and pillows to clear the sofa, before attacking the mess on the table.

Isaiah tiled hsi head to the side at that, looking more curious than offended. "What is he doing?"

Arnie leaned closer conspiratively. "I think he is proving the necessity of his presence by cleaning."

Hector's head jerked up at that, like a wolf's ear turning towards a sound. "Where exactly are your manners, huh? Why are you giving him tasks instead of helping out? Honestly out of the three of us, only I was given common sense..."

Isaiah actually laughed at that. "When did he become so mature?"

Arnie had to join in on the laughter. "Oh, it's all the mysterious girlfriend's fault. Half a year later and Hector is getting the hang of his temperament."

Isaiah's eyebrows shot up. "Girlfriend? Since when? What?"

Arnie was immensely enjoying himself being the most informed. "I'm not exactly sure, because he keeps hiding her like she will turn into sand if you look at her, but she is definitely an influence. Quite the soft power." Arnie smiled in Hector's direction with a dreamy sight. "I'm so happy for him! For real, the best I can do for the lovebirds is to clear the space and move out, isn't it?"

He meant it as a joke. Maybe a subtle hint. Wasn't Hector supposed to be glad their life circumstances aligned so much? Arnie wanted to try out college life at the dorms, and Hector wanted to have his girl over. Ideal.

Except Hector didn't find it amusing. He dropped the dirty mugs into the kitchen sink, almost breaking them to pieces, before whirling around. "What did you say?!"

Isaiah looked perplexed like an owl. "You want to move out?"

Arnie focused on the undecided party like a good politician. "I have been thinking about it? Like the semester is going well, but because I live so far away I have to commute a lot to campus and I can't really take part in the social life if I'm constantly locked up at the pack building, right?" He was aware he was speeding up, but he couldn't stop. "So I wanted to move into the student dorms on the way. That should be possible, right? It'll still be in Hector's region, but it will be closer and I'll get to meet actual students of my age and-"

"Not a chance," Hector cut in. "Too dangerous. Forget about it."

Arnie looked at Isaiah. "What do you think? Would it be possible?"

There was a long pause heavy with tension as the blond and dark-haired wolf stared at the human between them.

Isaiah looked up as he thought, rubbing at his chin. "I mean...I wasn't expecting that, but it should be possible. It's not like they will know who you are and those that will should be too scared of both Hector and me to actually try anything." He met Hector's burning eyes. "With some safety measures in place, I think it's doable."

Hector’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He returned his attention to Arnie with a death glare he used to remind wolves under him of how small and insignificant they were. It was very much an authority move in wolf terms.

Arnie returned it without hesitation.

"How could you say it's because of Olive? You can't possibly-" Hector deflated a little at the words, hurt flashing in his eyes. "You think I would ever choose a girl over you? That I would kick you out just to give her room? How could you think that?"

Arnie swallowed, surprised by the change of tactics. Instead of getting angry, Hector was getting emotional. "Hex. Geez. You are not a divorced father who has to convince his kid to forgive him interests in other people. We are adults. You like that girl and I'm happy for you. It doesn't have anything to do with me wanting to move out."

Hector's brows furrowed. "Then why? Why are you insisting on this nonsense?!" He hit his closed fist against the counter.

Isaiah looked very unimpressed. "I don't quite understand the problem here. Socializing and trying out new environments is a good idea for him. I like it."

A muscle twitched in Hector’s jaw. "You. Stay out of it."

"Why should he?" Arnie said. "He can judge the risks well-"

"Oh yeah, Isaiah is so great, does everything right all the fucking time." Hector's voice was rougher now. "Very easy for him to be perfect when he was never there long enough to mess anything up."

Arnie's eyes went wide. "Hex, that’s just unfair—"

"Don’t you think you’re overreacting?" Isaiah’s said, voice low and controlled. But there was something new in his eyes. A warning.

Hector bared his teeth. "I don’t want to hear the opinion of someone who left us the first chance he got. What would you know?"

The chair scraped against the floor as Isaiah pushed to his feet, towering slightly over Hector.

"Say that again."

Hector stepped closer. "I said-"

"Sorry, I was busy taking the physical abuse of our father at the time so that neither of you would get hurt." Isaiah's voice was very calm and quiet compared to Hector's. Didn't stop the room from turning to ice.

Arnie’s breath hitched, caught in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

Hector seemed to have snapped out of his red fog, taking a few steps back. His fingers twitched at his sides like they weren’t sure whether to ball into fists or reach for something unseen.

"And that I left so you could grow up in a safe pack instead of running away while it was tearing itself in half," Isaiah continued. "Truly, I have done nothing but enjoyed getting beat up, cast out, and fucking up my health for good in the process. What would I know about caring about someone, huh?"

Hector was backing away until he bumped against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His lips parted in a silent exhale, but no words came.

"For your information," Isaiah continued, his voice colder than Arnie had ever heard it, "it's way harder to hide the pain than to take it out on others."

A ringing silence followed, the air thick with something unspoken, but Isaiah didn’t fill it.

A blue vein pulsed on his forehead. His breathing was steady, but just barely.

Then, finally, he rubbed a hand over his face, as if wiping away the last remnants of the fight. "I told you to take it easy on me today," he said towards Arnie.

He turned, moving past Hector like he wasn’t worth another glace.

The black-haired wolf stopped just before disappearing into his room. This time, his voice was soft. Almost too soft.

"You know why I never call you?"

He didn’t look back, didn’t wait for Hector to answer.

"You always kick me when I'm down."

And the door shut behind him.