#but i will find the woman i used to be and become her and more

[lightseoul]

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. please let me know what you think and/or would want to see! maybe that'll give me an idea lol. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

[sunnirayss]

Pretty much, shifting is not something that has been proven or pushed as acceptable by mainstream society so by definition, shifting is "weird". Not a bad or harmful weird, just something that deviates from what is considered normal. But of course, the definition of normalcy itself changes and evolves over time.

It used to be weird for a woman to wear pants or be good at math, in extreme cases it could even result in her being accused of witchcraft and publicly executed. And if you stood up for that woman, people would decide you were under her "spell" and execute you too! But now, no sane person would find that odd and anyone who did would be (rightfully) dragged for it.

And I'm not surprised that people who were interested in shifting as a "trend" are now backtracking and claiming that it's "obviously fake". Because there was a good amount of "normies" who branched out into weirdness during the quarantine, while we were all stuck in our houses and all the regular, socially acceptable activities got cancelled. Normalcy was disrupted by the pandemic, everything was weird because some virus had flipped the world upside down...so everyone could be weird without fear of judgment.

Some got into alt culture and fashion, others joined fandoms for the first time, a lot of people even took the time to experiment with their gender expression and identities, and of course, the possibility of shifting to new realities had never been more intriguing! People had some kind of outlet online to explore new things and sides of themselves, they thrived...then the quarantine ended and normalcy returned.

I noticed that after 2022 or so, people really started scrambling to explain away their "quarantine phase" as they called it. Cringe culture returned and people started to punch down upon the very communities that had welcomed them with open arms not that long ago. Like many trans and nonbinary people said they were cis again, that they had always been cis and only thought otherwise because it was "trendy".

And now with shifting, it's not uncommon to see tiktoks like this with hundreds of people confessing that they lied, confirming that it's definitely fake and just lucid dreaming/daydreaming/psychosis. Meanwhile they're the people who tried the raven method for a week and gave up, or were always judging and feel validated that the mainstream agrees with them.

A lot of these people only view things as trends, they go along with everyone else when they think about who they are and what they can be interested in. Even if they truly are interested in something and it makes them happy, their fear of being "othered" outweighs it and they'll suppress their true selves if it means remaining in everyone else's good graces.

And the kicker is that if societal standards change and something fringe and crazy suddenly becomes mainstream, they see that as permission to resume their interest like something was stopping them before. If and when shifting is somehow proven as 100% real according to whoever they seek approval from, people will be scrambling to shift and dig up their "cringey" shifting scripts that they made back in 2020.

That's why shifting even as a concept is so liberating, because it shows that we are not bound to the rules or circumstances of a single reality. This reality isn't special when infinite other realities (often much better than this one) exist. We can forge our own path because we're the ones who make the damn path, everything else is just noise.

Shifting was never just a trend. If you get that, and I know you do since you're still shifting in 2025, then you will shift I guarantee it.

Yes because we're 5 and can't differentiate between imagining something, dreaming or literally living it.

Everytime I start liking tiktok it proves me wrong.

Don't let this discourage you people, shifting is very much real and everyone can do it!!

(edit: dreaming is a part of shifting! Go check my masterlist to read that post.)

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thanks for all your hard work, I’ve found so many good fics through here.

Do you have any recommendations for human au fics where Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other for a long time before becoming romantically involved. Could be acquaintances or co-workers or even friends, but looking for a good rec without a real meet cute/strangers-to-lover situation! Thanks so much :)

Hi! We have #friends to lovers and #childhood friends tags which you can check for lots of fics like this. Here are some more to add...

be mine tonight (be mine forever) by artenon (T)

Aziraphale knows he’s a solitary person. He knows Crowley may very well be his only true friend. He doesn’t mind this. He does, however, very much mind learning that his coworkers have a betting pool on whether he’ll be coming alone to the department holiday party next week. He especially minds when he learns that the reason there is a betting pool in the first place is because their intern, young Newton Pulsifer, is the only one naïve enough to believe Aziraphale might have a date. ----- In retaliation to a bet made against him, Aziraphale asks Crowley to be his date to the office holiday party. Certainly there are no flaws to be found in this plan. Certainly the secret love Aziraphale has been harboring for Crowley for the past several years won't be an issue. Certainly not.

Slipping by AppleSeeds (T)

When Aziraphale's friend and colleague Crowley asks him out at their work Christmas party, Aziraphale turns him down, having only ever thought of Crowley as a friend. Months later, Aziraphale's feelings for Crowley have changed, but due to a series of increasingly ridiculous misunderstandings, they both become convinced that the other isn't interested in a romantic relationship. (They're just adorable, oblivious, and pining, that's the whole fic.)

Wanna Bet? by Mimsynims (E)

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t find my name’?” “I’m sorry, sir. We have bookings for all of your colleagues, but your name is missing. Unfortunately that means there’s no room set aside for you.” “Right…” Crowley could guess who had made the ‘mistake’. “But surely there’s another room available? It doesn’t have to be on the same floor as the others’.�� He would actually prefer it if it wasn’t.  “I’m afraid not, sir. Due to the conference all of our rooms are booked already.” The young woman on the other side of the counter looked genuinely distressed. “Most hotels within the vicinity are.” Crowley sighed and furrowed his brows. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place, and now he didn’t have a place to sleep? Knowing Gabriel, it would be no use asking to be allowed to go back home.  “Let me check something…” The woman brightened again, a small smile growing on her face. “Yes. It’s not ideal, but it seems that two of your colleagues have been placed in double rooms. Perhaps you or someone else can consider sharing?” Anyone want to guess who he ends up sharing a room with? ;)

On The Side by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale is far too pure of heart to be anybody’s bit on the side. Or so Crowley thinks. But when his friend starts seeing walking red flag Jim, with his dodgy smiles and mysterious past, Crowley does everything he can to protect Aziraphale from disaster. His own heart might just end up being collateral damage.

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T)

Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones.   AU based on The Office.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

- Mod D

[scotianostra]

Robert Burns was born on January 25th 1759 at Alloway,Ayrshire.

Let's start the day off with the biggie!

Scotland's national poet is renowned around the world, other than Queen Victoria and religious figures there are more statues around the world to oor Rabbie than anyone else.

With people celebrating today at Burns Suppers today's post will look back at this celebration, it's history and traditions.

Remember every Burns Supper is individual and may not follow the same order or include them all.

This first supper was organised on July 21st 1801, the fifth anniversary of his passing, by the Reverend Hamilton Paul for a gathering of nine ‘honest men of Ayr’. For some years there was a question over whether a woman had been in attendance, as one of those noted had the Christian name Primrose, an uncommon name for a man. The venue was his cottage in Alloway.

The first "formal" Burns supper away from home I recall was on a weekend school trip to Innerwick in 1979, at Innerwick,it was the first timeI was called a chauvinist, and probably not the last!

It introduced all the key ingredients of the Burns Suppers we see today, namely good food, plenty of drink and friends who toasted the Immortal Memory of Robert Burns as well as reciting some of his works.

Guests at this first supper were served sheep’s head; this rarely features on modern menus! While it used to be the case that a Burns Supper was a male-only affair, this is definitely not still true.

Large Burns Suppers may have a top table for the Chairman, speakers and their partners, any special guests and the organising committee (if there is one), but you can also run a smaller and less formal affair.

The menu or Bill o’ Fare will detail what the party will be eating and usually includes a list of the speeches, speakers and entertainers. You may also find the words to ‘Auld Lang Syne’, which will be sung at the end of the evening before guests depart.

Most suppers start with a grace, most commonly ‘The Selkirk Grace’ attributed to Burns.

Some hae meat and canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it,

But we hae meat and we can eat,

Sae let the Lord be Thankit!

As a celebration night, dress can be quite formal. There’s no rule obliging a kilt to be worn but this has become common evening dress for many Scots. A dinner suit or trews (tartan dress trousers) are equally acceptable.

It should be noted that it’s very unlikely that Burns himself would have worn a kilt. He was a Lowlander and the kilt is traditionally Highland dress. It was also illegal to wear a kilt between 1747–82, in the aftermath of the Jacobite Risings.

At a more traditional Burns Night, ladies might wear a black or white dress with a hint of tartan, perhaps a tartan sash pinned to the right shoulder (only a Clan Chief’s wife should wear her sash pinned to the left).

Many suppers are ‘come as you are’. If you’re the organiser, just let your guests know how formal you intend the evening to be.

The first course is traditionally soup, either Scotch broth, cock-a-leekie or Cullen skink – all good Scottish recipes using fine Scottish ingredients.

Haggis is then served either as the main course or an intermediate course, depending on how posh your do is!

The haggis is accompanied by champit tatties (mashed potato) and neeps (mashed turnip).Sometimes carrot is mixed with the neeps, although this is not traditional. Many suppers now include a whisky sauce to accompany the haggis.

If it's a big "do" yer at the Haggis will of course be delivered on a silver platter by a procession comprising the chef, the piper and the person who will address the Haggis. A whisky-bearer should also arrive to ensure the toasts are well lubricated during "The Address to the Haggis "

There is no set tune for the piper to play, I have heard of many over the years, even the Star Wars theme during a supper with the films theme! A particular favourite of mine is A Man's A Man for A' That.

Address to a Haggis.

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!

Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy of a grace

As lang ‘s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o’ need,

While thro’ your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,

An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:

Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,

Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,

Bethankit hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi’ perfect sconner,

Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view

On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a wither’d rash,

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit;

Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He’ll make it whissle;

An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,

Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o’ fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware

That jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,

Gie her a Haggis!

Once the Address is complete, the Addresser gives a glass of whisky to the chef and the piper, and invites the whole company to ‘toast the haggis’.

The chef will then recover the haggis and leave the room to plate this part of the meal. Sometimes the haggis is passed around the table for guests to help themselves, adding tatties and neeps from large bowls placed on the table.

After the meal, the speeches and entertainment begin in earnest, starting with a toast to the monarch, known as The Loyal Toast.

This is followed by the main toast of the night, to The Immortal Memory of Robert Burns.

The Immortal Memory should be a heartfelt toast to the genius, life and works of our National Bard. At more formal dinners this speech focuses on a theme of Burns’s works, ending with a formal toast where all guests are invited to raise their glass.

The next speech will be The Toast to the Lassies, a reflection of Burns’s ‘appreciation’ of women. Traditionally, this takes the form of a witty reflection on the relationships between men and women, ending with the men rising to toast ‘the Lassies’.

This is followed by the Reply to the Toast to the Lassies. This should also be witty and seek to correct the previous speaker’s assumptions about women. The speech often ends with rousing applause from the women present, who then rise and raise their glasses to the men, toasting ‘the Laddies’.

At larger or more formal Burns Suppers, there may be further speeches that reflect on the guests and absent friends, Scotland and a formal vote of thanks.

The speeches are followed by entertainment – often including recitations and music. The night should end with a rousing rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and three cheers, marking the end of a successful Burns Night.

Among the pics are stamps from around the world, perhaps the most interesting are from Russia, (the two together) from 1956 and Romania, from 1959. The pic with the couple is Sharleen Spiteri and Ewan Mcgregor attending a Burns Night.

[crimsonstonetranslations]

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo Another Files - Prophecy of Silence

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Another Files - Prophecy of Silence

The final day on the month of July— A black body of water surrounded by trees. Underneath the red triangle, sins of the past shall be shed to light. Without repentance, three souls will fall into hell.

-

“Beautiful—”

Misuzu muttered in awe watching the moon’s reflection on the water surface.

The shining white circle floated across the dark surface of the water. It would be wonderful if she could scoop that moon with her hands and take it home with her.

Plink—

Waves rippled across the surface alongside the sound of something hitting the water, causing the rounded moon to become distorted and ruined. As it turned out, the man standing next to her, Takashi, had thrown a pebble.

“You’re much more beautiful than that sort of moon,” he said whilst turning his head.

Gross.

Misuzu’s hairs stood on end.

Her heart had been captivated by the beauty of that moon, yet now she lost all interest, after something she thought of as beautiful was ridiculed as ‘that sort of moon’. Furthermore, she wasn’t keen on being addressed so familiarly[1] just because they were in the same circle.

Misuzu had purposely sneaked out alone from the party held at the dining hall to enjoy a stroll in the cold night breeze. Why did Takashi have to follow her?

Thinking about it only annoyed her more.

Takashi seemed to be anticipating Misuzu’s response. Even so, the woman had no intention to open her mouth.

That was probably meant to be a pick-up line, but if there existed a woman who would be moved by such disgusting words, Misuzu would like to meet her.

She finally decided to play deaf and turned her heels, intending to make her way back to the inn with the red triangular roof.

Before she had the chance to take a step, Takashi had already reached for her wrist to stop her.

“You know my feelings, right?” said Takashi.

This man must’ve watched too many dramas. That pretentious way of speaking really irritated her.

“I don’t know. Let go,”

Misuzu shook off Takashi’s hand and walked towards the inn.

Takashi seemed to have gotten the hint that Misuzu harboured no such feelings and didn’t go after her, to her relief.

In the next second however, a scream could be heard.

It stopped Misuzu on her tracks.

“H-h-help me—”

Her ears caught Takashi’s terrified voice.

Misuzu sighed in response.

Takashi must’ve wanted to make her turn around by faking being in danger. How pathetic.

“Whatever.”

“Uwaah! S-stop! Don’t come closer!”

“Shut up!”

“Stooop!”

“Cut it out already,” Misuzu turned around in anger.

Eh?

Takashi, who had been standing on the edge of the lake, was nowhere to be seen. Was he hiding behind the trees? Even so, there weren’t any trees large enough to conceal a human body around here.

Just where did he go?

Despite looking all over her surroundings in search of Takashi, she still couldn’t find the man. Not only was his figure out of sight, his presence had seemingly vanished.

Surely Takashi was merely hiding to attract her attention, nothing to be concerned about. Misuzu convinced herself with the fact, and was about to continue walking.

And yet—

Her wrist was caught by someone and she immediately froze on the spot.

A hand much smaller than Takashi’s, with a temperature too cold for the human body.

I shouldn’t look.

She understood the fact, yet somehow, her body went against her will. Her face turned as if pulled by something.

Over there—

Stood a small child. Drenched from head to toe, water dripping all over.

With a ghastly pale face and lips that had turned blue, the child’s mouth curled into a thin smile.

“Hey. Let’s play,”

The child pulled on Misuzu’s arm.

“Nooo!”

Letting out her scream, Misuzu’s consciousness came to a halt—

-

Translation Notes

[1] Takashi was using the second-person pronoun 「お前」 (omae) to address Misuzu in his previous line. Generally in Japanese conversations, people will refer to the person they’re directly speaking with in third person (such as by name and/or honorifics) instead of second-person pronouns that would sound more direct and potentially come across as rude, especially if you aren’t familiar with the person. お前 is also a masculine pronoun, so it’s more commonly used to address men instead of women. As an offhand comparison, Yakumo uses the second-person pronoun 「君」 (kimi) when speaking to Haruka. For more information, here is one article discussing the nuances of second person pronouns in Japanese. 

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) VI

Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter VI: What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me (please, don't look at me)

. 𓆰♕𓆪

Court could be a ludicrous affair. If there was one thing you had become good at during those times Rhaenyra called for the throne room to be filled with her courtiers and petitioners alike, it was to stay hidden away unless you required anything, which was too often than you’d liked.

You had become good at stalling around, under the canopy of the floor beside the hall, blending in with other overlookers, and watching over the ordeal silently.

The walls of the throne room were abundantly draped in exotic tapestries and ornaments, a reminder of the ancient strength of your house. The looming statues of Kings of old, whose eyes were ever watchful, silently judged those who came after them. The latest addition? Your father, whose head gleamed high with the crown of the Conciliator - which now rested upon your sister’s brows.

A possession she never parted from, not when in public nor in private as far as you were aware of. One time when she called you to her room, once the Kings’ apartment, you had caught her studying the golden band of steel and colourful rubies like she held the entire world in her hands. The reflections of the memories of the deeds done, the blood shed, swords unsheathed, and dragons killed glistened in the stones forged for a monarch to wear on their heads.

At the steps of the throne, the most loyal of her Queensguard stood vigil, two sets of eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger, as Rhaenyra sat high upon the throne. Lord Corlys, her hand, and Jacaerys, her heir, ever ready to advise her, stood beside her as good counsellors would. Today, you would watch. There was no use in begging or making a public spectacle of yourself about your more-than-known wishes. You were done with begging; you would get no use of it whatsoever. What you needed to do now was find a discreet way to get what you wanted most, freedom, no matter how the idea sent wrecks of panic through your body.

Under the gallery, a cluster of lords, great and small, old and young, milled restlessly on one side of the room, while in the other, eager and awaiting smallfolk and commoners stood high on attention for the right opportunity to speak and make their case to present to them.

A hundred or so, you could count. Your father’s court had been one that showed the height of the power that House Targaryen had come under his reign. Of course, not because of him, but everyone would rather have him believe so than object to the King. Your father did not like conflicts, but he neither liked to be slighted nor offended by those he felt had no right to do so. Those who had lost their tongues for daring to speak of his grandsons’ less than-faring looks were more than alive to prove such an assertion…since they could not speak of it.

Many travelled far just to be able to attend them, and while he liked his feasts and wine, his small council made sure the city never ran without them to not insight less than…feelings of unjust to take root in the heart of its people. The side of the room in which the nobility stood was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock. A great contrast to the rather shaggy and less than impressive common clothes of the smallfolks. You could see that many of them had made great many efforts to put a good hand in their presentation. Hair slicked and combed, many wearing their best clothes, which most of the nobles might regard as kitchen scrabs were they to be presented to them, and jewels, if they possessed any.

But there was one thing the two factions held in common — they all were trying to out best the other, the nobles most of all. It was a matter of pride, and perhaps greed, to show their riches to the extremes, as if their names, titles and family relations could not do so. Strip that away and all that remains is but a man and the greatness of a man cannot compare to what is given to illustre himself with.

Just that, you thought, should satisfy them enough, it was something that, after all, the common folks could not boast about. When they were asked in the streets how they would recognise themselves, they would profess their profession or whose son or daughter they were. But that was a trick they could only use in the streets of King’s Landing, where everyone knew the other, not in front of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

What could Rhaenyra know of the mastery of blacksmithing, that passed from father to son in an effort to make a family name for themselves? Whose hands shaped the blades her sworn men wilded? Or the bread makers whose stalls had stood by time, opening and selling bread to the famished mouths of families and people alike? that fed the city more than the food those ships that entered the city's port did? Food that was reserved only for the people of the Keep.

Everything these poor people did was to live, unlike those who thought they did so for recognition. The smallfolk had no time to think about becoming high lords, even though they dreamt of such a thing, when the matter of survival was an everyday occurrence for them.

And who could dare to think they could outshine Rhaenyra, for the vain thing she was.

She shimmered in a cloth of burgundy red, slashed in gold brocade and adorned by trims of black,  while beside her, Lord Corly fussed and simpered in a brocade of sea green, the same colour of his house’s banner. Jacaerys wore a new motley suit that was as clean as a spring morning. In crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head, a slim, golden band sat upon his brow, framing his dark mane of curly hair. No one had ever looked as princely as he did now, in his elaborate clothing, hand on the pommel of his sword, a show of dominance you were not familiar with, but no less unpleased by.

He looked handsome, you thought, the most comely man at court. He held a woman’s beauty within a man’s face, a kind not seen since the days of your grandsire and his brother, The Brave and The Pale Prince.

Everyone seemed to have dressed for the occasion, even Baela and Rhaena, who stood not far from the three. They matched in style with each other and Rhaenyra, their mother-by-law, but both dressed in different colours — Baela in a bold red and black, a true show of lineage, and Rhaena in pastry cream and shimmering pink silk.

How pretty they looked, with their jewelled hair and flaring gowns. Oh, how you wished to one day be allowed the same….

By comparison, your gown must have made you look like you belonged with the common folks. No embroidery or intricately woven design ornated the fabric of your simple black gown, one that belonged to your mother in her youth. You had been told by an old maid, that had once been in your mother’s services, that your mother had worn the gown during the mourning period that had ensued over the court when Queen Aemma had first passed. You wondered, was it also the one she used to wear when she would visit your father to comfort him in his grief? The one her own father, your grandsire, asked her to wear to make her look more comfortable and easy to open up to? For your father to find a companion in his grief?

There was no use in inquiring over such matters, they were passed beyond you and your comprehension to understand. These were matters, schemes and plots you couldn’t wrap your mind around. Your grandsire, was he so desperate in his wants that he would use your mother in such ways? To further improve his standing and that of his line by…extorting your mother?

In the depths of the nights when you could not find sleep, you wondered, 'Would you end up like her?'

 When the courtiers hungry for scandal whispered behind your back as you walked down the halls of the Keep, you asked yourself ' Would you meet the same fate?'

Were you bound to suffer under the hands of the same men that sealed your mother, your sisters, and your niece’s bounded futures? In the pains, in the torments that prickle their soft skins, scarring them with the signs of the sufferings of senseless acts of violence committed in the name of glory? Promised and bound to them by men who could only feel hatred and contempt towards them unless they were of use to them?

Your thoughts drove you to a madness you were sure every woman thought they possessed, in the anguish that wrecked your body as you sobbed and pulled at your hair in the hope that as you pulled at your tresses you would rip at the skin of your skull you would free your mind from the confines that tortured it. From the walls of the prison, it had been born into.

Men will call you a whore for doing the deeds of others but praise you for being their whore if it meant you were doing theirs.

Your scalp throbbed still from how raw your scarred fingers had tugged at them the previous night. You neither flinched nor hissed this morning when your maid had braided your hair, but your teeth had clenched together enough to leave the shape of your canine on the inside of your cheek. She asked no question, for there was none to ask, the cause of your pain in plain sight for her to see, professing in the angry, pulsing, redness that adorned the paleness of your skin. There was no need to pretend - everyone was to a degree aware of your plight, what use would you make of hiding what you wanted everyone to know or rather what everyone wanted to know? You’ll let them have it all, were it up for you. Give them everything they sought in you;  the entertainment, the gossip, the pain. They seemed so desperate for it. Like rabid dogs betting money and throwing rotten food at some unfortunate soul in a ring built to secure them in place.

The pins used to secure your twisted and braided hair pushed and propelled into stray strands of hair they had not caught and chafed at your irritated skin, tugging your temple into a deep and tight ache around your head.

You pulled your shawls closer around you as you felt a loose chill pass by you when the door of the throne room was opened for another set of petitioners to enter, while the one from before walked out, some pleased by the arrangements given to them by the crown, while others grumbled under their breath about the unfairness of their end of the deal.

You watched as petitioners came and went like flies, one by one being replaced by the next, more awaiting hands and demands presented to Jacaerys. How he handled matters which might be difficult for others to sort, in fairness and equality.

With cool efficiency and a mind as sharp as the firm decisions, he had to make. He listened intently to each petitioner, asking the appropriate questions and weighing all sides of the issue before coming to a fair and just conclusion. He’d council his mother through whispered words, which she would listen to, and consider, before making her mind up through what he had counsoled.

He could feel your gaze on him as he handled the matters before him, making it all the harder for him to concentrate. He was acutely aware of your presence and would often sneak glances at the balustrade you stood before, sharing hidden and fleeting smiles before he returned to more pressing matters.

"Quite the sight" an older, deeper voice commented from beside you, pulling your attention away from the spectacle before you "So young and yet so well-meaning, not many men boast about such quality”

You settled back, returning to watch as the next petitioner stepped forward, his voice shaky as he explained his dire situation. “Lord Reynford” you greeted lowly.

Reynford nodded in response, returning the greeting, his expression courteous and respectful, even as he inched too close for your comfort. He turned his gaze back to the scene unfolding before the two of you. You noticed, that he too had seemed to join the nobles in their childish contest of playing dress up — somehow more flaring than the last you’d seen of him, his greying hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Young Prince Jacaerys seems to be handling things quite well” he observed, his voice low, almost in your ear, which made you wonder just how long he had simmered around before deciding to approach you “Not every man his age would have the maturity and patience to hear out so many cases without getting exhausted or annoyed.”

“It’s what’s demanded of him,” you remarked, the obvious truth you both knew “Any man with a just sense of duty would understand that”

Reynford chuckled slightly at your response, his expression amused. “Spoken like a true Princess,” he said, his tone monotonous, bordering on mocking as you had come to know it. “You were raised in high society, taught the ways of court since birth. It makes sense you would understand duty and responsibility better than most.” He added “Sometimes, your gowns begets me to forget”

"I make no use of such knowledge now" you retorted "Not much to do when I spend my days like a prisoner, wouldn’t you agree?”

He tightened his lips, his eyes following a man being manhandled out of the room for thinking he could step forth in line, his protests ringing among the chattering of the crowd, and the faint sound of music coming from somewhere, surely to entertain those most in need of it. “You still retain your noble composure and wit, despite being kept prisoner here.” He said “That’s more than I could bargain for, were I you”

“We scraps of war must always find other ways to keep our wits sharp”

“Indeed, it is those who can adapt and improvise that survive the harshest of environments,” he said, his tone almost philosophical. “And you, Princess, have proven yourself quite resourceful despite being a traitor’s sister, no?”

Your face did not turn, but your eyes did, as they clashed and pierced with his. In turn, he held himself high, a smile that bordered on a smirk that threatened itself on his face as he remained unflinching in the face of your penetrating glare.

“I did not mean to offend”

“No offence taken” you assured, bitterly.

Reynford chuckled again, a hollow sound, the corners of his lips now fully curled into a smirk, but no amusement whatsoever danced along it. “You still have that sharp tongue of yours, I see,” he teased. “I’ve always appreciated your… spirited nature.”

"I don't see you appreciate others in such a way" you mused "Any nobles, not even my sister, the Queen, which you’ve no attempted of warming to”

“That’s different” he argued, voice gruff. “The Queen is… not someone I have any fondness for. And I do not appreciate the way she is treating you, being a prisoner in your own home.”

"One can only wonder why that is," inching closer to him, you hoped that perhaps the air closing in on him would make him feel the same way he did with you. Claustrophobic.

"You've shown genuine concern before, but I don't suppose this is a matter of emotions”

“Concern is for those who matter to me,” he said, his tone bordering on sharp, but not for you. “Your sister does not fall into that category, I assure you.”

"You avoid her" you sighed after the revelation had unfolded "I suppose I cannot blame you, I'd rather not think of it but," you said "I try to steer away from Rhaenyra's gaze before I fall victim to it”

Reynford’s eyes narrowed at your comment, both pleased with your cautiousness and on the choice you had made, which he thought smart of you.

“Wise of you,” he praised, his tone approving, which you almost found yourself melting for, having forgotten the feeling of being seen as good by someone else that wasn’t….Jacaerys.

“The new queen has a temper that can rival our fair waters in its tempestuousness. It’s best to keep your distance if you value your health.”

Despite the truth of his words, you found yourself defending Rhaenyra the only way you could "She's no less cruel than the kings that came before her" you rebuked "She knows what she must do and what requires that, it is not temper, rather...indulgences in the role she now fits”

He shook his head as if in disagreement but rather exasperated with all this talk of Rhaenyra. Despite this, his eyes remained thoughtful as he considered your view of Rhaenyra, one very different from his own, out of respect for you and your voice, so little heard and opinionated. He knew you spoke the truth, that Rhaenyra ruled with a firm hand and was willing to do whatever needed to be done to secure her position because it came from the need for it, whose circumstances required it be so.

“She is indeed her father’s daughter” he commented, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “A Targaryen through and through.”

"Our father? No, no, no," you said. "He was weak." The admissions startled both of you, you of all, speaking in such ways of your own father.

He didn’t look surprised by the admission as much as you did. Sure, it was quite sudden, but he appreciated your honesty and the fact that you were not shy of admitting just how much of a mediocre ruler your father was, given how rare it was for people to acknowledge it openly. Viserys ‘The Peaceful”, what a joke.

He gave a slight cough, that bordered on a scoff, to regain the composure he had never lost, but rather to allow you to gather yours, his voice gruff as he spoke. “That he was” he agreed. “The late king was not suited for the throne, that is true.”

You gather your breath "He was a good man, a kind man, that, no one can disagree with" you rasped lowly, just between you and him, almost annoyed that whenever there was talk of your father, he had to be predisposed as a good man before being critiqued. His being a good man would not change the fact that he had been little use to no one "but he was a wavering ruler riddled with indecision. His legacy inspires no one”

He lets a satisfied hum escape his lips “On that much, we agree”

“I know her well, Rhaenyra….despite everything. I know her better than most, perhaps more than I like to think. We, sisters, bound by blood, our paths converged by the shadows of our shared pain”

Your eyes racked over Rhaenyra’s form, seated where your father had sat before her, and the Old King before him, and Maegor and Aenys and Aegon the Dragon in days of old. She sat on high upon every man and woman in the Red Keep, like the day the city had fallen to her, stern-faced and with a grip of iron on the mental armrests of the throne. You knew she still bore the scars of the night she had first sat upon it, having gripped it so hard she had bled her way out of the room come dawn.

“War changes people”

Reynford nodded, his expression thoughtful. The bitterness and pain in your voice were as clear for him to see as the moon on a clear sky, as well as the toll that the war had taken on you and your family. Despite it all, you still spoke of Rhaenyra with a hint of affection, perhaps out of the memories of the sister she had been before everything that had happened, a reminder of the bond that still existed between you two despite the conflict.

“Aye, war has a way of changing people,” he agreed. “I, myself, have been a witness to that. It has a way of shattering the most steadfast of souls. It chips away at their innocence and their humanity, turning them into people they might never have envisioned themselves as before. The horrors and losses endured, the betrayals and alliances... they all take their toll on the soul.”

"Rhaenyra always knew she would be challenged, I just don't think she thought she would have been usurped, and not in such a way” you observed as your sister raised her hand to dismiss a man who had clearly overstepped his bounds "that must have stung and made her realize that if she wants to change hundreds of years of tradition, she must first change to closely fit it"

"You speak with a wisdom that belies your years, Princess," he said, his voice laced with a hint of respect. "Change is never easy, and often comes with sacrifice and pain. Rhaenyra is discovering that the hard way.”

You studied him for a moment, unsure of how your next assessment would go with him  “I seem to recall, you were amongst my brother's most ardent supporters" you murmured "and yet you seem to understand Rhaenyra's cause quite well"

His expression remained cool and neutral as he held your gaze, his eyes never leaving your face. Despite the confrontational nature of your statement, he did not falter with intimidation.

"I am a pragmatist, my Princess," his words were blunt. "I support the side that I believe holds the most promise and has the greatest chance of securing the future of my lands and family.” He turned to face you “Nothing in this is personal, you should learn to know that”

He could see the scepticism in your eyes, the doubt that lingered in your mind. But he didn't blame you.

"Believe me when I say there is no loyalty to be found in politics, only self-survival." he spoke carefully "No one here is bound by honour or allegiance, only by their own interests.”

“I share this secret with you because I have my reasons to, but” There was a pause as to let his words sink in, his eyes never leaving your face. “Sometimes, it is wiser to bend the knee to those in power, rather than remain staunchly standing on the losing side.”

He gave you a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And sometimes, it pays to keep close to one's enemies. Everyone here is out for themselves, Princess. Everyone. Even your dear Jacaerys. He is no different."

“You misunderstand” you rushed to deny, the lines on your face hardening “There’s nothing but a fair friendship between me and my nephew”

“Do I now?” He asked, a hint of mock disbelief in his tone “One only need to look, and I have been looking” he warned you and your breath shuddered “I know he spends his evenings with you, supping with you, and one can only wonder what else. Were anyone to catch word of this, the scandal might ensue. People would wonder….”

Please no, you thought, Mother have mercy on me. He wants something, he’s asking for something, he thinks he deserves something, and the seven-pointed star dangling your neck will not ward off this kind of evil, after all, as you’d been thought, even the seven cannot reach where their light does not shine upon. Your hand gripped the stone balustrade, cold and searing under your son, marred, skin. You now wished you had not dismissed Ser Rickard.

“But fret not, I will keep your secret” he reassured, his hand coming to rest on top of yours with the same prudence one might with a wounded animal “because this….this is very personal to me, my princess” something in the way he had looked at you then filled you with dread. “As if reassured you, I only wish the best of you”

He leaned in to murmur the next words in your ear, his hot breath on your skin making you shiver. “But I believe I am at liberty to demand something in return for looking out for your interests……”

“Be brave,” he whispered, squeezing your hand “Ask me what I want”

“What do you want?” You rasped. As if on cue, he glanced at where Jacaerys still stood, the Prince completely unaware of the situation you were put in. He had his back towards you, completely absorbed in the matters presented before him, brought by his page who had entered the room when you were most distracted. “You said you had my best interests at heart, this-“

"Of course, they are in your best interests, my sweet," his tone patronized you. "Why, I only want you to thrive and survive this...political maze that you find yourself in, with as little harm done to yourself as possible.” He said “And for that, you’ll need me”

Reynford leaned back slightly, his expression calculating. His eyes shone with a dangerous mixture of desire and greed. "I want your favour, Princess," he said simply. "Your trust and loyalty, in exchange for my silence. I cannot have you running to our prince the first chance you get to share what I know. No, I want you to owe me. To come to me when you are in need.”

“You want me to depend on you" you spoke the true intent of his demand "so that my every trouble becomes your shining, bloody, coin to flip on me whenever you want”

“Seems like we understand each other better than I thought”

"I assure you I will do everything in my power to give you what you want" he leaned in again, his voice dropping lower "and I'm certain, in time, you will reward me for it. You're a sharp girl, and fair, I know you will do the right thing, and when the time comes, I will call upon that debt, for a favour, a secret....or something more.”

He studied you closely, his eyes searching your face for any hint of doubt or resistance. He knows he must have frightened you, coming off so forward, when he had been nothing but destitute in your last meeting, so good and willing, and so false. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your body tensed ever so slightly. But he also noticed the resignation, such a familiar sight on your face, as if it came normal for you to feel. His eyes crinkled with the fact that you were beginning to understand, the game he was playing, and the power he now held over you.

"You are a smart girl," his voice was as smooth as silk, praising you once more. "I'm sure you will make the right decision." you watched as he retracted his hand, reaching for the pouch dangling by his belt "And as a sign of my goodwill towards you" he said, showing you what he had taken out of it.

A flower, one grown from your own garden, a snapdragon. Deception.

Your eyes widened in alert, and your senses filled with the danger in the air. "From your own gardens" he said, voice reverent as he twirled the flower in his hand "I had a member of my household gather it, to give to you. A token of my…goodwill" He stretched his hand to you, offering the flower, but instead of giving it to you, he held it to pin it in your soft ringlets. Before you could protest, he had already pinned the flower in the curls of your hair. The look of satisfaction he gave you sent shivers down your spine, as he took a small step back to admire his handiwork, his eyes swept over your face.

Then, he moved before you, as if to shield you from the crowd, hiding you behind his form. He took your chin in his large hand, turning your face to face his, which you had turned defiantly to face off the shame reeling inside you. He tilted his head as if to admire the flower in your hair more closely. His touch was gentle, but there was something almost predatory in the way he held you, his grip firm and possessive. "much better, no?" he mused "Better than those jewels your cousins abound themselves with, which I know you lust for”

You grumbled, trying to wrestle yourself out of his hold. He shushed you gently, his thumb caressing your face, and his eyes roamed over your features with an intensity that made you uneasy.

"Such a beautiful face should be adorned with flowers, not fake jewels. You are a dragon, they say, a blood of Old Valyria, and you should be celebrated as such" he sighed, as if displeased by your want of such trivial things. You should yearn for far grander things than jewels "but if it's those that you want, I will make sure to give them to you. In time”

He removed his hand from your face, returning it to his side, and you wretched yourself away. "But we shall speak of them another time, for it is getting late" his eyes turned as if he wanted to look behind him as if his eyes could turn around his head to look at whoever was glaring daggers in the back of his head “I've taken up enough of your time with my blathering, and it seems as if my own presence is not welcomed any longer”

He turned first, casting a meaningful look behind him, you followed his gaze up to the throne, where Jacaerys stood facing you once more, his eyes fixed on the both of you, while Rhaenyra conversed with Corlys. The look he gave was cold and stoney, and you could swear his face darkened once your eyes met with his. He was watching you two closely, his hands clenching around the pommel of his sword.

He regarded Jacaerys’ displeasure with chill distaste, sending him an amusing smile with a nod of his head "Ah, there he is" he mocked "your beloved nephew. Ever the guardian of your honour" he paused for effect "and your soul"

He took your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a chaste kiss on your skin, and you held yourself back from snatching it away.  “I hope to hear from you soon, Princess”

You watch as Reynford leaves you, his smile still on his old and lined face. The kiss he planted upon your hand lingers as if it left a mark on your skin, and your hand reaches to scrub away any memories of it with your thumb.

You let out a shuddering breath, his words still ringing in your head. As if drawn by an invisible force you looked down at the throne, where you find Jacaerys staring unblinking. He stands there, his gaze fixed on you, his expression unreadable. His body emanates tension, his muscles taut yet coiled tight, as if he were ready to pounce forward at any moment. He watches you silently, his eyes flickering away for a second only to check on the direction of Reynford’s movements.

You lean forward, letting your hand rest on the cold stone. You want to reach out to smooth the deep frown off his face, to soothe the anger and tension that gripped him. You mouth his name silently, concern writhing through you—for him, for you, for his anger, and for who it was directed.

Please don’t be angry, don’t be mad at me, please.

Jacaerys’ expression flickers for a moment, his eyes slightly softening a fraction at your mouthed plea. The tension in his body eased if only slightly, replaced by a sense of uncertainty that seemed to fill him.

His eyes don’t linger on the soft flesh of your face for long, his eyes dropping for a moment to the sight of your fingers clinging onto the stone, still raw and bloody from the last time you had your indulgence of them. He swallowed, his throat bobbing, and when he looked up at you again there was guilt written all over his face.

His eyes watch you, and yours follow suit, and for a moment it seems that nothing else exists behind the world you two created when around one another. His foot itches to move, to walk towards you, to make sure you are safe and fine. His shoulders sag as if carrying a heavy weight, his mind troubled. You stumble as you fidget in place, the helms of the many layers of your skirt move along you, ruffling against the floor, and your breath gets caught in your lugs.

He smiles strainly, wanting to give you the comfort of the assurance that he wasn’t mad at you. How could he?….he could never. But the smile doesn’t last long, before he turns to face the crowd before him once more, making the brief interaction seem casual, friendly… and not what it was. A tense interaction.

A tense moment.

AN: Heyyyy, so it's been a while. A month, huh? I do feel the need to apologize for the prolonged absence I had not planned nor had in store for you all. Between the holidays, going back to uni, preparing myself for my upcoming exams, and a writing block I got stuck with, I just didn't have any sort of motivation to write. Anyways, on more jolly thoughts, happy late holidays and happy new year, everyone. To more chapters and fanfics to come from me, hopefully. Also, Reynford is now part of our main cast, I know he can be unsettling and downright seem like a Larys 2.0, which he kind of is, but he means well guysss.... for now. I've always been an avid enjoyer of period dramas and historical recounting, books, movies and series, so I've been watching Wolf Hall over the holidays, and I do feel the need to say that Reynford is heavily inspired by Mark Rylance's performance of Thomas Cromwell in the series. Do with that what you'd like.

Taglist: @esposadomd @aleemendoza2425-blog @nen-nyy

[zackxsnyder]

The casual ways in which Misogyny is always being enforced

I find it so casually hot when cunts become instinctively submissive and demure in front of casual signals of Male assertiveness and Misogyny.

Here are some examples. Some feminists try to push back, but here's the thing: they don't leave, they just make a fuss. Never care about a dumb cunt. They can't do a thing, anyway. Keep being cocky and playful until they feel their own powerlessness. Their "frustration/anger" often translates to a strange fixation on misogynistic Men........ All of this to say, that cunts are simple:

Correct her when she's wrong, mid-conversation. Take control and calmly explain to her how obvious that mistake is and how dumb she is, but have an understanding smile because it's to be expected. No matter how much they deny it, they get all hot and bothered from being made to feel stupid and inferior. Keep an amused smile, she will bravely try to salvage whatever she was trying to say before progressively crumbling. Of course you were looking elsewhere all along or staring at her tits. If you're more familiar with each other, openly make fun of her and refute the entirety of her point. After all, if she didn't get a simple thing right, how could she explain something more complex?

Stop her when she makes a mistake in her reasoning: "no that's not an example, that's an analogy, and it is wrong anyways". "No, sweetheart, just because this is true, it doesn't mean that there's correlation/equivalence. Here's an example of each. You were just bullshitting all along, huh? Don't get worked up. I'm just saying that you've showed Me that I shouldn't trust how that dummy brain works, you're not very good at reasoning aren't you? There there I was joking...I just don't want you to overwork that pretty little head...what?! I said it was pretty!" Girls are used to not be taken seriously and being made fun of for being dumb, and if they try to act feminist, just tell her that she's stuck up. And that's actually true: if she wants to be one of the boys, she can't be too sensitive. Men push back against each other with sarcasm all the time. (I've personally noticed that these two examples are among the most potent. A couple of times each make them fold quickly. They become extra careful and hesitant when trying to give an info or an opinion, because cunts can't handle intellectual scrutiny and push back that well)

Call her pet names. Keep at it. Her opinion about it is irrelevant, just like her consent. Easy workaround: call her fussiness or refusal cute, and tell her you're calling her that precisely to tease her now, not as an endearing or patronizing way. There, see? No misogyny, just workplace banter. I call Paul "tits" to harass him into working out, you're "Pet/darling" because you're insufferable, welcome to the gang! .... I told you, cunts are simple.

Condition her for objectification. Compliment her clothes, never her ideas. Compliment her body, never her accomplishments. Keep at it, she'll like the compliments (after all, you're sincere) and look forward to them.

Keep dismissing her opinions on politics, news, etc. Interrupt her when she talks, hijack her argument, dominate her verbally: she's just a woman. Even when it comes to her field (no matter her "expertise" she won't get it as rigorously as a Man anyways), always seek the extra input of a Man whom you know specializes in it, after all it's good to double-check. Reinforce the fact that women are less competent than Men through her.

Always lead (that's the barest of basics, Gentlemen. You're not allowed to not lead). The most staunch feminist will gladly let you decide everything, after all they're overwhelmed with their "constant fight" and "anxiety": where to go, what to do, where to sit, what to eat, when to leave, which road to take, no let Me be closer to the road it's dangerous, wear something comfortable/classy/sexy for this place that I'm picking, etc. And the more you do it, the less they question you and the more they lean on you. It's the simplest and oldest form of submissiveness and follower-behavior that's imprinted in their DNA. We have a modern "gender neutral" word for it: leadership. (By the way, what do you instinctively imagine when you read the word? Right, a Man.)

If you do this for a while, soon enough you'll be giving her "advice" that she'll strangely follow more and more readily, about what places to pick, what professionals to call (Men of course), what clothes suit her best, etc. Soon enough she'll be coming to you for "advice" and "opinion" about the most mundane things. She craves giving up control and being told what to do, no matter her initial stubbornness. No wonder they need gaslighting and manipulation to make them do what's good for them. Reinforce the fact that women need Men to make decisions for them and think for them.

Touch her. Lead her by the small of her back, touch her arm and look her intently and calmly in the eyes while talking. Gaze down at her upturned eyes, and notice how slowly but surely she shows you more respect in spite of her. The reptilian part of her brain, the one which can't learn how to read and only knows how to breed, reacts to it. Assertiveness and confidence are the basic Male traits. When office cunts try to copy it, you'll notice they copy a parody of Manhood, that's why it's neither natural nor suave, only off-putting and amusing.

As you have noticed, these are pretty basic. They're a given, and that's the point.

They're among the subtle permanent ways in which everyone is reminded of the natural order of the world, even in the corporate workplace, or friend groups.

[paramorerocker18]

An Ace from Beyond the Grave - Part 3

Dove had become a vigilante by force, using stealth and cunning to try and help those in the worst area of Gotham.

Or Reader doesn't know that Jason is the Red Hood. Red Hood doesn't realise that Reader is his first love from before his death. Jason doesn't know the extent of damage that his death caused.

CW: swearing, angst, reference to past abuse

Part 1

Part 2

Jason

Melanie was safe and so were the other kids. Between himself and Dove they had managed to get the kids to the nearest GCPD station. He had Lucia, a small girl of South Asian decent sat on his shoulders with Thomas carried on his left hip and Melanie attached to his right hand.

He cast a look at Dove who had tied a bandana she had stolen from one of the hench men tied around the wound on her calf and Sienna cradled in her arms. The woman was whispering words of comfort to the small girl who was clinging to her. Sienna was in a state of complete shell shock not being able to say anything other than the small admission of her name after some gentle coaxing from the female vigilante.

It was a slow trip to get to the station, Jason was starting to struggle towards the end of the journey but Dove's face had drained of all colour and she was almost dragging her wounded leg rather than walking but she did not stop.

Jason found it hard not to focus on the female vigilante that he had ended up fighting alongside. Even in what had to be serious pain, she did not stop once. At no point did she ever put Sienna down or show how injuried she was.

He had heard rumbling of a vigilante in his territory that targeted traffickers and pedophile rings bringing them down through stealth operations but the Red Hood had more pressing matters to deal with then paying attention to some small time do-gooder that wasn't threatening his business.

The two vigilantes did not speak to each other the entire journey and Jason was caught off guard when Dove did speak again.

"I am guessing you and the police don't have a great working relationship so this may be the best time for you to leave unless you feel like handing yourself over tonight," she remarked in an icy tone or at least as cold as she could pull off with the pain that was evident in her voice.

She was right of course, Jason couldn't afford to stick around. Carefully crouching down so that Thomas and Lucia could get off him. He said goodbye to the kids and then made his way to the adjacent roof top watching as Dove handed over the four kids to her police contact.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Dove

She had called Sargent Blackstone as Red Hood said goodbye to the kids.

"Jessica, it's Dove. I need your help."

"Dove, you know I'm not your personal inside man at GCPD right? You can't be calling in favours. I don't have time, I've got a trafficking ring to find and missing children to recover. I don't have time to risk my job for your whims."

"Thanks Blackstone, ever a pleasure. I have the kids you're looking for. I'm outside if you have time to help with this current whim." On that last note she cut the call.

After giving all the details and detaching Sienna from her neck Dove managed to slip away as phone calls to the children's guardians were being made. Better to cut and run as soon as she could, she knew better than to let herself become too entrenched into a case once she had involved the GCPD. Although she had tried to avoid it the Red Hood had killed the traffickers and scum of the earth were still victims in the eyes of the law.

Red Hood had disappeared sharpish at the GCPD which she was thankful for. He may have saved her but the resentment she haboured deep for the masked vigilante had not quelled by any means.

Dove didn't have a holier than thou outlook on killing, if she needed to she wouldn't hesitate. To cull the tree of the rot you have to burn the infection, she would put a bullet between the eyes of those who wouldn't reform and not lose sleep over it. What she had learnt was that people can reform and grow and some deserved that chance.

There was also the issue of staying below Batman's radar as butchered as their relationship is, she didn't care to invoke his own morals on her business. Better to only kill when necessary than have the Bat notice.

Keeping her nose clean kept him out of her life and her resentment and anger in check. It helped that Bruce wanted to ignore her existence, she only reminded of his two biggest failures.

The fact she was here in the vast hole that Jason Todd's death had ripped into their universe. The repercussions of the damage his death left behind an ugly tapestry across her skin.

She was a reminder, left behind like an infection in the wound of Jason's loss.

In the same breath Bruce was the embodiment of the absence of Jason Todd. The dull ache that shattered her. Bruce made her homesick for a life she was no longer living. The reminder of mourning for all she had lost and what had been taken from her. Not only Jason but so much more.

The thoughts of Jason raced through her like venom in her brain as she shook them away, trying to turn her thoughts away from Bats, Bruce and beatings that belonged locked away.

She realised that she had reached the roof of Leslie's clinic with a start. Not realising she was consciously going to the roof top, irritated by the irrationality of her brain's dissociative fugue at the thought of Bruce who always brought her back to him.

Now back in reality her thoughts went back to the injury sustained to her right calf. Locating the hidden medical kit that Leslie stashed for the vigilantes of Gotham to use she got to work cleaning and gluing the gash.

Her hands worked quickly, numbly with practice over years of patching herself and others up. As she began wrapping the bandage around her leg that's when she heard the modulator cut through the quiet of the roof.

Rage hit like ice through her body. The Red Hood had followed her.

"You make it a habit to pick battles you're going to lose? Three against one? Hope you don't gamble with those odds."

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Jason

What Jason wasn't expecting was the venom in which the vigilante bit back with.

"What business is it of yours Hood," she snapped the disstain in her voice piercing and she threw his name like it was a poison caught him off guard.

They had never met before, that he was sure of. He would have remembered. The Dove was intriguing to him. She wasn't a Bat, had no clear affiliation to any other Gotham teams and operated in his territory.

Most vigilantes did not bother with the Narrows or Bowery and certainly not the Hills where crime alley ran through like a scar. Dove used guns so it was not a morality issue.

He was the Red Hood he should be commanding the conversation not the other way round.

Jason didn't answer the question, she was right after all. "I want the information from the flash drive you took from the trafficking ring." He stated, it was why he had followed her and maybe curiosity to unpick the mystery of the Dove.

Jason was irritated that she had thought to still get the information and he hadn't. He was going to raze the trafficking ring that thought it could operate within his territory.

"Yeah, well too bad." This was not how Jason had expected this meeting to go, he was supposed to have the flash drive in hand on the way back to his base deciphering which low intelligence vermin dared mess with his city's children.

"We busted them together, that information was secured together. I deserve it as much as you do," Jason snapped. He sounded pathetic, this woman was making him feel off balance. The Red Hood was never off balance, he threw others stability off. "I saved you from getting yourself killed with your poor planning you owe me."

Only then did Dove's head turn to face him. No longer focusing on bandaging her wound.

"Listen to me very fucking carefully Red Hood. I owe you nothing. I never asked for your help, that was your mistake," her mouth twisted into a hard line. She stood and stormed up to him. Rage flashed across the features that were not obscured by her mask.

"Let me make myself abundantly clear so my words get through that dense Red helmet you wear," thrusting a pointed finger into his heavily armour chest.

"You are vile, I don't work with Joker wannabes who run around playing crime lord as some pitiful villain worship. He may have cursed me with my name but you taking that death worshipping piece of garbage's moniker like some kind of badge of honour disgusts me and I would rather die than be associated with the likes of you." With each sentence Dove lobbied at him she jabbed her finger into her chest to accentuate her point. She then stormed away to the ledge of the clinics roof.

"This is your only warning. You want to be the Joker so bad, I will give you a taste of the torture he hands out. Maybe that will get your rocks off. Stay away from me and I will stay out of your way," casting one last look his way before dropping down the attached fire escape.

Jason stood there frozen in shock at the verbal lashing he had just received. At least he had managed to attach the tracking bug to her utility belt whilst she beat her words into him.

Questions raced through his mind like whiplash. What did she mean Joker had cursed her with the name Dove.

She thought he had taken the name Red Hood as an homage to the Joker and had a rage that rivalled his own towards the twisted clown of Gotham.

Why was Jason still getting cut by the shards of damage that Joker had left in his wake?

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

A/N love me some angst sorry about that

[witchthewriter]

Can you write about what would’ve happened if aegon (third son of baelon and alyssa) survived?

𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧!

In this scenario, Daemon wouldn't have been too much older. Mere months apart, so I think they would bond really closely as brothers. And yes, there would be a hint of jealousy from Viserys when he was younger.

Personality-wise Viserys is a lot like Baelon & Daemon is a lot like Alyssa. Therefore, I think Aegon would be straight bang in the middle. Not overly sensitive, but has emotional intelligence and will-power. He also would love a bit of danger and risky behaviour - but there'd always be a limit.

With Aegon surviving, I think he would have a cradle-egg. As Alyssa was one of Alysanne & Jaehaerys only fertile daughters; the clutch that would be found - would reflect that.

And the clutch would be from Meleys herself.

The egg chosen (by Viserys) would be a golden red with swirls and flecks of silver and burgundy. Viserys too would be given an egg, and Daemon - but neither would come to live.

As time went by and the three brothers aged, Aegon would be known by the smallfolk as Aegon the True King. This would be when Viserys 'claims' Balerion (flies him once around the city) and 'shows everyone he is the true heir.'

Aegon doesn't want the throne. But the 'signs of him being 'The Real Aegon, Come Again,' are shown in his birth and throughout his childhood. For example, surviving childbirth, having a cradle-egg that hatched, not being a push over/not being arrogant. Is what the smallfolk talk about.

Because Viserys really doesn't have a backbone.

And Daemon is constantly pushing boundaries.

However, I think that Aegon would be the mediator between the two brothers and balance them out really well. He's able to see both sides of the argument and calm them both down.

𝑵𝒐𝒘, 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏…

The cradle-egg, born from Meleys (Alyssa, his mothers dragon) is his whole world. Everywhere Aegon went, so did Vhalorys (VAHL-or-iss). Simplified, the name means 'shadow of fire.'

While Meleys' has a crimson colouring, her offspring is more of a golden red, verging on copper, with accents of silver, gold and burgundy. Signifying the duality of his nature.

His eyes are a deep silver with hints of purple. While his dragon-fire is pure silver; a burning heat that can melt even stone if he tried long enough.

Vhalorys has a similar shaped head as Meleys, but he has sharp horns running down his neck as well as four on his head; two on either side. They will grown to be large and one day may curve into rounded horns.

𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆: (artist unknown)

Aegon, being the youngest, could very well be sent off to become a maester - but as he has a dragon, that wouldn't work.

So, he would be used as a way to strengthen alliances. His marriage options would be a high born woman from:

House Baratheon

House Hightower

House Stark

House Arryn

One option could have been to marry Rhaenys, but as she is older than him - she would have already been arranged to marry Corlys. And he would be too old to marry Laena (he would find it weird).

I think he might fall in love with someone low-born, and when it was time to marry, he would be heartbroken. Or maybe he's asexual and doesn't have much sexual desire. However, I think he would have had a secret crush on Aemma, and he would have 100% treated her better. The way Viserys pushed for a son was unethical...

I have a feeling that Otto would invite Aegon to stay at Oldtown, keeping him away from court so that he could bring Alicent to woo Viserys after Aemma's passing.

He would love Rhaenyra, but in the proper family way. He'd constantly make her laugh, and would often take her up flying with him. He'd be someone she could rely on. Steadfast and always there for her and the people he cares about. Loyalty would mean a lot to him.

art credit: jota.saraiva

image credit: @molinerova.

[kittenfangirl20]

Charlie adjusted the black and green dress she was wearing. She mainly looked the same except her eyes were green her hair was in space buns where half of it was black and half of it was green.

Lucifer: We need to find Adam.

He held up the wanted poster bearing the image of Adam wearing the helmet.

Charlie: Wait, are you talking about Adam the leader of the Exorcists. He has been leading a group of angels to overthrow my dad. Turns out they killed his mom and sister causing Heaven to fall into chaos. I felt bad for that happening.

Lucifer: Yes, he is my true love. If I kiss him things will go back to the way they were.

Up in the royal palace of Hell Mammon and Lilith were watching them.

Lilith: Who is that with our daughter darling?

Mammon: Don’t worry darling, soon he won’t be a problem anymore.

The day that Mammon took from Lucifer’s life was the day he was created. Now he came to Eden to seduce Lilith as she tormented Adam. They still tricked Adam into eating the Forbidden Fruit leaving him cursed. Maybe they could use Lucifer to help them find Adam so they could bring down the Exorcists.

Charlie: Rumor has it that Satan has given the Exorcists shelter in the Wrath Ring.

Lucifer: That sounds like him, Satan has a bit of soft spot for Adam.

Lucifer opened a portal to the Wrath Ring to find themselves surrounded by angels in black and silver. The crowd parted to let Adam through, he was wearing his dark blue robes and his helmet covered his head, but Lucifer knew it was his Adam. On one side was Lute and on the other side was Vaggie. Charlie couldn’t help but blush when she saw Vaggie. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Adam: Who the fuck are you and why are you with Mammon’s brat?

Lucifer: I know this is hard to believe, but I am your husband. More than just your husband, I am your true love.

Adam: If you are my true love, where the fuck were you when I was locked in that tower in Purgatory?

Lucifer: That was one thing I was wondering about. Who saved you from that tower?

Adam: I fucking saved myself because no one else was coming for me. If you truly loved me you would have come a long time ago.

Adam stormed off and went into the building he was staying in. He threw aside the helmet he was wearing as tears filled his eyes. Since it was still day he was in his angel form as tears fell from his eyes. But he knew at night he would become a demonic fallen angel. He looked up in anger when he saw Lucifer come in.

Lucifer: Please let me make it up to you. If I kiss you, we can go back to the life we had and our children.

Adam felt unbearable pain. All he ever wanted was to find true love and have a family. What if this was his chance.

Adam: What do I do?

Lucifer: Let me kiss you, I know of your curse. You look like this by day and by night you take on the form of a fallen angel that is a lamb demon.

Adam: How did you know that?

Lucifer: Because we are meant to be together.

Adam closed his eyes hoping that Lucifer was right. Lucifer kissed Adam and while it was everything Adam dreamed of in a kiss, nothing changed. Adam shoved Lucifer away from him.

Adam: Fuck you. I knew this was too good to be true.

Lucifer sadly left, it made him feel worse when he heard Adam sobbing again.

Lute: You really fucked up, at least try to woo Adam before kissing him.

Lucifer: You’re right, I will get all the presents that I know Adam will love. I will do everything in my power to get Adam to love me again.

Lute: Good luck, you’ll need it.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(Shrek AU)

A long time ago there was a beautiful garden called Eden. In the garden, Adam and Lilith the first man and first woman were created. He was so beautiful that the angels came from Heaven to marvel at the beauty of the first humans. Adam fell in love with the most beautiful of all of God’s angels, Lucifer. But Lucifer was swayed by the words of Lilith and ran away with her. Lilith convinced Lucifer to convince Adam to eat the Forbidden Fruit. Because of this Adam was cursed when he died. By day he was a beautiful angel, by night he was a fallen and demonic angel. Only the kiss of true love could break that curse and then he would take on the form of his lover. Adam was put in a tower in Purgatory guarded by a brave angel named Vaggie.

Charlie: I got all the papers dad, I hope that Michael will listen to us.

Lucifer: I doubt it, he may be your uncle, but he never cared for me.

Charlie had a plan to open a hotel to redeem Sinners, but she needed the backing of Heaven to make this dream come true. She had the hotel set up, she just needed the blessing.

Alastor: Don’t worry dear, I will protect the hotel while you are gone.

Lucifer gave Alastor a death glare while he gripped his staff. It had been seven years since Lilith left them and Lucifer was doing everything in his power to prove he was a good father. But it felt like Alastor was trying to steal Charlie from him as the manager of the hotel. The only guest of the hotel Angel hugged Charlie and wished her luck as they made their way to the Embassy of Heaven. They were greeted by Michael who looked exactly like Lucifer except for one thing. He only went up to Lucifer’s shoulders.

Charlie: I didn’t know that that the great warrior angel was shorter than you.

Lucifer couldn’t help, but laugh, Lucifer knew he was short, but Michael made him look tall. It was a sore subject for the warrior angel.

Michael: I should deny your request for that.

Lucifer: I guess that is why I have always been the bigger man.

He should have kept his mouth shut, but he was angry for how his brother was acting towards Charlie.

Michael: But I am merciful today, I am to be married and I need you to get my blushing bride from Purgatory.

Lucifer: Who is the poor soul that is going to be bound to you for an eternity?

Michael: Adam, the first man who is now an angel.

Lucifer gulped, he thought of Adam and how he wished that he could have chosen him over Lilith. He thought of the beautiful man in the garden who begged to be held by Lucifer as he flew up in the sky. It might be for the best that he make it up to Adam by bringing him to Heaven and be married to Michael.

Lucifer: So if I bring you Adam to marry you, you will get Heaven’s blessing for the hotel.

Michael: Yes.

Lucifer: Then we have a deal.

Michael went back to heaven leaving the two alone.

Charlie: Where is purgatory dad?

Lucifer: It's like an in-between land, it's neither holy or hellish. There is only one entry and exit. It's filled with all of God's rejected creations that weren't pure enough for heaven and too dangerous for Hell.

Charlie: So, Adam is a reject?

Lucifer winced: I wouldn't say that. He was God's favorite creation, I have no idea why he's there in the first place.

They went to the edge of Hell where it met with the path to Heaven, there was a grey archway with a portal in the middle of it.

Walking through, the whole world of Purgatory was shades of grey, all the plants looked narly and twisted.

Charlie: Oh my.....

They had no idea how long it would take to find Adam, but they didn't have all day.

-

Adam looked out his tower window sadly, another day stuck in his own personal Hell. He was so sick of the color grey.

Even the lava around the castle was a bright shade of grey.

When Vaggie would make her rounds to ensure that no monsters showed up and that Adam was safe, that was the only time he got to talk to someone.

He wished he could leave this place.

[peaches-and-honey-and-the-moon]

A plan is in motion and I need to speak it into existence. But the anxiety of jinxing it is horrific as I am so close to it becoming a reality. If things go as planned I will soon be single, living with my best friend and our cats. I will struggle for a while for sure. But we have contingency plans. Simultaneously I am repeating a loop and starting a new one. It feels like I'm going a little fucking nuts, but it has to work out one way or another

[langernameohnebedeutung]

.

[dukeofthomas]

Do you see my vision

[isolatednights]

"ahh, so you're telling me i should get my own little bachelor pad ready in here? pretty sure one of the houses near by would suit just fine," unless alara specifically asked for her own living space, roman would be hard pressed to be anywhere but right down the hall - near her. "you've got nothing to worry about. you know i'll always come back for you." at first, it had almost felt like an obligation. when they'd first begun to travel together, the man had wanted to keep her safe - a civilian who'd never had to deal with the sort of hardship and violence he'd seen on his multiple tours. but over time, it had stopped becoming an obligation and instead a pure desire. roman cared about the woman - probably for longer than he'd realized until recently.

sitting still was likely to drive him mad, but perhaps he'd find something that allowed him to tinker. carving wood - maybe a chess set? or trying his hand at fixing some electronic or another - assuming they could get solar up and running. "if it makes you happy, i'm sure i can find something to keep me still for a while. i'll try and get out to a library or bookstore before i stay put for the season. see if i can't find some DIY or informational books on useful topics. things we can use to improve this place come spring."

dark hues roamed over her features - ignoring the suggestion of inviting john by regularly in favor of lingering on her proximity and words. settling an arm around her shoulders, the man drew alara closer - dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "this is nice," the moment the words slipped from his lips, roman wanted to smack himself. "i mean - fuck. what i meant was, lets do this more sweetheart, yeah? we deserve the normalcy. i wanna be able to give that to you."

The idea that she could want to get rid of him was ridiculous but Alara decided to play his game instead of denying any of it. "You're right, one dinner and already, I can't stand you," she teased. The idea that Roman would not do as many supply runs once winter came eased into her. "I always worry when you're gone," she added softly. It would feel good to have him around, to not spent so much time fearing something might have happened to him. Not knowing if he would come back or not. This place was as close to old life they could have, she was certain of it and she knew she was getting too comfortable but she couldn't fight it, even less now, full and warm, the wine getting to her head. Her cheeks were rosé from it all and her eyes sparkling. It was just too easy, in that moment, to forget the way the world was now and it was exactly what she wanted, to stop worrying for a night, to just enjoy the fact that they were here.

Alara's heart fluttered when Roman sat close to her. It wasn't the first time they were near but it was one of the first one when there was nothing but contentment in her, nothing to worry about, no fear present in her mind and body. "I think I might actually love the sight of you being still, at least as long as it isn't driving you mad," she said with a laugh. Days and nights like this one were in the cards for the winter and judging by the success it had been, she had no doubts it would be interesting. Of course, today Roman had things to do but Alara knew she would find things for him to fix if needed, even if she had to break some of them herself, not that she'd tell him that. "I don't see a problem with that. This couch is suddenly very comfortable, don't you think?" It had been musty when they got here but it mostly needed a good cleaning and to be aired out. "We should invite him weekly, or something like that. Keep good relationships between neighbours."

As if things could be that simple, good meals and laughters that stretched long into the night. Her cheeks burned as he called her sweetheart, even if it wasn't the first time Roman did such a thing. To her slightly drunken mind and heart, it sounded like there was something more behind the words. Alara leaned into the couch, her head titling, mirroring Roman. Her legs curled beneath her and she released a deep sigh of happiness. "This feels good," she finally said as she looked deep into Roman's eyes. If she wasn't careful, she would let the wine get even more to her head and might do something she'll regret, like leaning in to kiss the man. Instead she closed her eyes and let her head rest on his shoulder, her heart beating frantically.

[fumifooms]

Okay okay new flekille angle... Fleki joking about being a "dark elf" and Marcille being uncomfortable about it... Fleki saying it and teasing with it BECAUSE it makes Marcille unsure and uncomfortable.

No because okay okay rundown : 'dark elf' is a catch-all term for elves who show unsavory behavior or commit wrong actions, wether violence, theft, scamming or lying... It being a shorthand for criminals in general is a safe assumption to make, especially since they're classically demonized already.

"Okay but Fleki? Run me through the situation what does it have to do with flekille." Short sociology lesson, because of urgent needs being unable to be met through honest means & with the system favoring others instead, people from poorer more neglected social classes tend to fall into crime & bad crowds more easily. Having less ressources means the 'solutions' you do have are more extreme, wether it be for regulating your mental health or stabilizing your income or living situation. Here's a study link if interested.

Why I think Fleki may have been lower class, before becoming a prisoner? Okay stay with me here, elves are very hierarchal and xenophobic, even while being colonizers. Referring to the area guide blurbs, the northern central continent (NCC) is managed with more restrictions but also more valued in general than the southern central continent (SCC), which also has a widespread elven population. It's said life is "safe and easy" in the NCC, so alongside all the noble elves we have info for come from the NCC, we can see a dynamic form where NCC continent elves are from a higher safer social class than SCC elves.

Another hint of this is the characters' names. If you compare their name origins, a pattern starts appearing where... Well @room-surprise did the work and has more knowledge than me so, the way they put it: "It seems like every elf that has a clearly Germanic or Slavic name is either a criminal or a lower-class person and everyone who is higher class seems to have names that are Latin, Greek, or West/South Asian."

And this seems like a lot of large vague groups options that don't mean much, but this tidbit of info becomes more telling when knowing which races are more associated with what languages and cultures. For a full look into it I recommend this essay, but to get to the point here concisely: 'Fleki' is old norse. 'Otta' and 'Helki' are other elves with old norse names, but for what it's worth Otta is from the NCC, and who knows about Helki's origins. They're the only elves with old norse names at all, but three's a crowd. Who else do we know are scandinavian coded? That's right, Laios and his home region. Tallmen.

Prisoner/non-noble elves tend to have old norse names while none of the noble ones do. And wouldn't that be interesting if tied with tallmen being nordic, wouldn't it be a result of the cultural mixing happening in the less rich regions and the lower social classes, since noble elves are especially xenophobic and uppity about social classes?

Ironically, our protagonist Laios has a greek name, something associated with elves in Dungeon Meshi, but just like Anoutolid and Nussa (two of Laios' father's dogs) could have been picked as names because Laios' father likes names from myths, with the dogs this is canon but in case of Laios it's probably more of a meta joke. ANYWAYS! Go in the essay for more info, all I'm saying is, tallmen = nordic, elves having nordic names = possible cultural mixing, on the continent that canonically has more immigration and less restrictions but is also less safe and 'easy' to live in.

Elves concentrating all their efforts and wealth into the 1% is too real and it checks out. It's also hinted at and mentioned many times through canon and extra info (Misyl's Complete Adventurer's Bible blurb for one) that the canaries overpolice and charge criminals too heavily because they lack manpower, so they want people arrested and want them arrested for longer to have more canaries. Fleki was arrested because of possession and sale of ancient magic artifacts, and only got into ancient magic for the money. Look I'm just saying, it lines up that Fleki would turn to crime because her material conditions weren't great! And as a criminal, she's automatically fit to either having been treated as a dark elf or joke and taunt about it. Especially since the lore info extra on dark elves is set somewhere where tallmen approached unfriendly elves, while this could be a tallman unused to elves outside of rumors thus approaching them with a reckless idealized view, the casualness of it makes me think this is the sort of contact that was likely to happen in an area with a lot of elves and a lot of tallmen living nearby each other, ie the SCC.

Mentioning the Mithrun-Hareus parallels AGAIN but Mithrun and the canaries directly contrast Daltian Clan, it' holds up and makes sense a result especially of Mithrun being hareus' exact lookalike. It's fantasy vs reality of Marcille idealizing Daltian Clan and elven military through General Hareus and novels growing up, then realizing that the real elven military is miserable and very much not glamorous and general Mithrun is dehydrated, rude and after her life. So this plotline about idolizing vs demonizing elves as a race, stances that are very split within the dunmeshi cast, is very Marcille-centric within canon's story. She herself goes from associating with them a lot and being prideful about it & elven customs, to condemning their superiority complex and narrow-mindedness and being on the run from the elven military, before becoming an advisor for a short-lived tallman court, which is seen as dishonorable for elves, as Marcille the half-elf. There's a bit of an arc here, regardless of how much change she actually went through or if it was always just performance on her part that she wasn't really attached to.

So obviously this is all to say that Marcille having a romance with a very underprivileged elf, a "dark elf", would be not only compelling but relevant. FLEKILLE SUPREMACY!!!!!

Half-elf woman who drank the koolaid a bit growing up and idolized elves and tried her best to fit the image of one x woman who knows personally the shortcomings of that same idolized society and embodies that a bit, who breaks that elegant image by being crass and unapologetic and a criminal prisoner, who would have no problem breaking Marcille's fantasies about it, a full elf who still grew up disadvantaged and demonized. Marcille has been emulating elves all her life, perhaps in the hopes of being accepted more or feeling a bigger sense of cultural belonging, but Fleki is there, showing her hey, it isn't that great anyways, hey it doesn't matter squat if you're an elf or not people will always find excuses to mistreat you anyways. It's Fleki taunting and saying come be dark elves with me and Marcille coming to understand and replying no, we're both just elves.

[anastacialy]

y'know, i keep making a habit of swinging my bat at hornets nests, but i have to say i'm getting so, so tired of people complaining about shows not making perfect sense when they aren't even close to done. we're four episodes into this season of doctor who. we're four episodes into this season of bridgerton. and yet in both fandoms i keep seeing people whine that such and such didn't make sense or it wasn't explained all the way and by god you guys i think maybe explanations might come later in the season. this is something most viewers will recognize as being called a 'plot.'