#but the fact that the betrayal even exists at all is enough to cause her agony

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

All Masterlists

[altcvnningham]

waning moon

helen park x madam shell

summary: helen park sees the cracks in her lover's façade. (inspired by @mickstart and their amazing post on perhaps the most underrated ship of all time??) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, wlw, angst, pre-cw, betrayal (but vaguely unspecified), light choking, younger woman/older woman, age gap, references to coercion, vague references to abuse of authority, so much bird imagery, doomed sapphics wc: 1.1k

a/n: i literally read @mickstart's park x shell (shellen???) post and got possessed, blacked out for an hour and wrote this. i have 0 memory of how i got here or what this means and though it isn't like 100% what the post was talking about it DID inspire me to spill out this ramble ab a character who has 0 canon appearances outside of dialogue. sorry for pretentious purple prose and rough editing!! it's 12am forgive me

She doesn’t know when she sees the change, but it slips in slow and sweet, like a paling knife glinting in the moonlight. How sand sifts to the bottom of an hourglass, she too feels just as suffocated under the weight of borrowed time.

Yet Shell’s eyes are paler still even in the dark, the waning moon of this interminable night, one that feels to Helen Park like the bookend of something. An answer, unspoken, but as implicit as though it had been there all along, a truth she’d known deep down but refused to acknowledge. And why would she? How could she? It had been three long years since Shell took her under her wing, her pretty little bird, three years that had changed everything. Irreparably. Even now as Park finds the pieces of it all scattered and frayed with Shell’s silent betrayal, she sees the beauty in each and every one, too besotted with the finer details to bear looking at the bigger picture.

Shell is lying.

She knows, more certain than she has ever been of anything in her life. As the older woman climbs languid atop her narrow hips, smothered in perfume bergamot and liquorice, plum coloured lips close over her own in a lazy mimicry of a kiss. Helen parts open her mouth, as she had her legs countless times, like a good little protégé, showing her madam just what she’s learned. All for her. Tongue hot as she kisses back with hooded, half-open eyes, curling around Shell’s like a proclamation. I know what you are. I know what you’re doing.

(And do you know, how powerless I am to stop you? As if I’d even try?)

And Shell knows it too. In the dark of this Parisian hotel room, blinds drawn to cast away the world’s prying eyes, she can see it on the girl’s face plain as day. Sweet Helen is a pretty thing, much too clever for her own good, but wears her heart on her sleeve, with eyes as big and shiny as a doe’s- and now hunting season had come for her sweet girl, and how wide they had looked at Shell upon her return, hands smothered in blood. Blood that she hadn’t bothered to scrub, knowing Helen had likely smelled it coppery on the air when she’d walked in. Her fingers are still tinged pink with it, even as she traipses them up the girl’s waist, cupping the plush undersides of her breasts.

That is to say, Helen isn’t the best at hiding her expressions. It’s what Shell had loved about her. The shrill gasps when Shell would come up behind her, grasping her waist in lieu of a polite excuse me; the way she’d avert her eyes shyly when she’d caught hers across a room, crowded, empty; how she’d been so young when Shell had met her, blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere whisper of praise; and how when Shell had asked her but a month later if she’d ever been touched before- properly, darling girl, like a lover might- Helen had flushed red and bright as a virgin. Perhaps she had been, too proud to admit it. For a girl who is as sharp as a knife and twice as lethal, Shell had held in her hands a mourning dove, cooing softly in her palm, willing to piece together its nest there. Right there. With her.

Now, not so much. Her songbird doesn’t sing as she used to, her eyes parsing through the fog she’d been happy to let Shell pull over them. Helen sees her for what she is now, and they both know it.

It isn’t a strange thing, what she’s doing. Not at all irregular. It’s a gesture Shell had exercised over her innumerable times before, a kind of sordid foreplay, staking her claim over her. Shell’s hands lay flat upon Helen’s sternum, her heart thrumming steady but beating violent as a war drum; the older woman smiles- how well she’s taught her. Calm, girl, slow breaths. Don’t let them see you falter. Don’t let them feel you shiver. Don’t let them hear you breathe. In the face of fear, Helen had grown around herself flesh of stone, unyielding. That doesn’t change, not even around Shell.

But this isn’t a test. This isn’t one of her many lectures, her teachings. Very rarely does Madam Shell separate work from pleasure, seeing the two overlap rather conveniently; but for Helen she had all the time in the world. Perhaps not after tonight, given what they both know now. But pleasure is a special thing she keeps locked in a drawer for Helen to pry open and play in, rifle curious fingers through until they snag on something that piques her interest.

And yet it always ends the same way. Like this. The older woman atop her, faraway look in her eye, warbled smile on her lips. Hands around neck.

Her fingers slide slow, deft, thumb parted to curl her hand around the pale column of Helen’s throat. And she can do nothing but be still for her mentor, her lover, holding her breath in wide-eyed submission, a devotion that spoke beyond words, beyond meaning. A kind of reverence she knows only Shell would understand, a stillness like prey clutched within a lioness’ maw. Playing dead, prettily.

Shell’s eyes fix upon her, steel grey boring into vivid green, alight with something akin to amusement; in the daytime, Helen mistakes the glint for adoration, something like love, when she’s drunk enough on Shell’s affections to believe it.

Now, in the waning moon of their last night together- as they are, as they could have been, if only she didn’t know what she knows at the very pit of her being is true- she recognises the errant flicker for what it is. Kindling. A struck match, willing to burn it all down, even if it means taking sweet Helen with her. Her mourning dove. Cast to the fire like everything else. For a terrifying moment, Park isn’t even sure she’d much mind it at all. Ashes to ashes, as they say.

And as Shell squeezes her hand soft and gentle around her favourite girl’s neck, Helen surrenders her head against the pillow, spilling back with a moan shrill like a song. It’s the last time she knows she’ll ever sing for her again, so she makes sure it’s a good one.

[cursedtransby]

Ryoshu and Grief

Ryoshu as a sinner is defined by her lust for blood, art, and the beauty that comes with both. However I think a large chunk of people realize that this is not her only trait, and this is something that has slowly been fed out across the Cantos and Egos we’ve gotten for her.

Spoilers for basically all of Limbus.

Since her reveal, we’ve had some plenty of reads that PMoon is not taking her inspiration, Hell Screen, as mere setup for an insane artist. Her constant connection with Spider-Bud and family shows that she is at the bare minimum connected to the lore of the family torn apart by lust for a perfect painting of Hell itself.

Ryoshu’s identity in relation to Hell Screen and a traditional family setup is something that honestly deserves more attention in a separate post, but it’s clear something massive happened between her family and it’s caused her a massive trauma response that triggers grief quite often...even if it doesn't seem like that.

Most of Ryoshu’s behavior is opposite to how people usually think of grieving, but it’s still a form of grieving nonetheless. She tries to repress her emotions through increasing forms of ecstasy. As someone who has depression and has gone through losses of my own, one of the possible responses you can have is to try to chase some emotion, regardless of what it is and how unhealthy it is for yourself and those around you. You’ll do anything for that warm feeling of positivity about yourself.

Regardless of this though, that sadness still exists in Ryoshu. We know this thanks to her mood during Canto 7 being rather quiet aside from the betrayal of Hugo, where she immediately decides to cut off his arms due to it being “unoriginal and played out”. Otherwise she’s being bristly towards the concept of family, but not actively aggressive or particularly violent. In fact, the one time I'd say she has a strong reaction in this Canto is to Sinclair's interpretation of her usual acronym stuff.

Ryoshu and Sinclair honestly ALSO deserve their own post because there is a lot to go into, but to put a cap on it I'll simply state that Ryoshu has a lot of emotions regarding Sinclair. It's the only thing that can rouse her aside from the art of betrayal she sees from Hugo, because the concept of family triggers her that much. There's a reason that the ONLY Ryoshu ID to have Gloom in their kit is Spider Eyes, because she's having to directly confront the very concept of family and protecting others, and it's reflected in her giving out more support than most of her other kits and in story by helping calm Yi Sang.

This sadness and desire to care exists across the Mirror Worlds as well, she just does a far better job of hiding it under her usual veneer of "insane artist only pursuing ecstasy". Edgar Family Butler is all about taking the role of caretaker of things, and she normally helps take care of her fellow butlers, only changing her attitude when they are about to be raided by the Wild Hunt and die. Even in something like her W Corp or 7 Association identities, she still has her kit showing off some support by giving out fragility for the team or even giving out barrier in W Corp.

No matter what she does, it's inescapable for her, and something she is desperately hiding away in order to keep things moving. The very same way Yosihide continued his painting, Ryoshu keeps spreading violence to hide away her grief. But it will always be there, underneath the surface, if you look closely enough.

Overall, it's a fascinating take on grief and how one can cope with it, and PMoon has always done a wonderful job on not taking the typical route with things. They did it before with Roland's grief, and it's clear that they're doing similar things with Hell Screen's adaptation. Also thanks to @lu-is-not-ok for inspiring me to write up more about one of my favorite sinners, since their posts analyzing The Red Chamber and Hong Lu fascinate me to no end. Additionally thanks to @ryoshudoodles for making beautiful art themselves and showing off the duality of Ryoshu's lust and gloom beautifully.

[fruitcakebro]

I really hate how Garroth's betrayal is treated, but more specifically what caused it. An illusion of Laurance and Aphmau kissing? Really? That was enough to make you betray both of them?

Y'know what would have been more thematically interesting, less shitty-trope-focused, and have the potential for interesting parallels with other characters?

If he saw something indicating that Aphmau was going to hand him and/or Laurance over to Garte for the siege to be called off.

And Garroth being Garroth, he immediately starts catastrophising. There's no way his father would stop at getting just him and Laurance. It would be them, then Kaitlyn, then Lucinda, then Dante and Nicole, until the town was left defenseless, and then they'd attack. And Aphmau would have to marry Zane and it's only a matter of time before that gets her killed or worse. He knows how his father thinks, and it's not a stretch to say that Garte was behind the invasion, and Zane was only to put an intimidating face on it without technically being directly involved.

It's especially easy to believe that if you're an older brother who's desperately trying to grasp at straws for reasons your only remaining little brother is still a good person.

And then there's also that gut-wrenching terror of going back to his marriage with Scaleswind. Of giving up his friends, his calling, and -let's face it- his own bodily autonomy. If he goes back, he is nothing. He exists to keep quiet, produce an heir, and smile for portraits. With the things he did to get away, there's no chance he could be lord now. It's that or execution.

And Laurance doesn't even have that option. And he's a Shadowknight. Even if he DIDN'T have the extensive record of openly opposing O'kasis he would be on death row.

But then Zane gives him a counter-offer.

Garroth comes quietly, hands over an amulate that hadn't done Phoenixdrop any good anyway -Zane insists he only wants it for an unrelated project, and even so isn't that a nessecery risk?- and the rest of the town -including Aphmau, Laurance, and Kaitlyn- go free.

And he doesn't even have to go back to the marriage. In fact, he can even still be a guard, just for O'kasis.

If he only agrees to follow Zane.

Look me in the eye and tell me Garroth wouldn't accept that offer.

And of course, Zane betrays this deal immediately when all the people he wants to get rid of convieniently land in front of him. And Garroth trys to say this wasn't the deal, and Zane does not care.

"Aww, Big brother. The only lie I told you was that you were an important enough piece to change the rules. You were never even a player."

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, minor alcohol consumption, mentions of drug dealing, insecurities, trouble with feelings, and explicit sexual content: mentions of virginity loss and suggestive comments (not totally explicit, but still there so…).

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Yeah, no, it was totally the party.

It was the party that littered your house with blurred faces, swaying bodies, and their drink of choice that consisted of the pungent concoction of fruit punch and booze that caused the icky feeling in your stomach to churn.

It was the strangers, who—when given the opportunity, wouldn’t think twice about ignoring your existence—tainted your once cozy furniture with dirty shoes and outside clothes that now soiled in sweat that made you fall sick with nausea.

It was the betrayal of Carmen Paiz, as the sudden regret of disclosing your parent-less weekend to her unwarrantedly prompted your friend to spread the word of a Saturday night party at ours that made you feel ridden with queasiness.

Christ, you were just alluding to a girls night.

All you knew for certain, though, was that it totally wasn’t Eddie Munson.

No, it couldn’t be how close he was leaning into her that forced a lump in your throat. Or her manicured hand roaming the expanse of his arm. Or her giggles that filtered between them, as she stretched upon her tippy toes—because, of course, she was effortlessly cute—to whisper into his ear.

Yeah, no, it couldn’t be that. Because if it was that, it would only confirm the utter pathetic-ness of your existence; falling in love with a guy you slept with once. Who does that?! Granted, it was also your first time sleeping with anyone ever, but, of course, in the grand scheme of fearing rejection, you just had to brush off his concerns, and brand yourself the “cool” virgin, who wouldn’t get emotionally attached to the drug dealer that took said virginity.

God, what a liar you were.

Unbeknownst to you, a piteous frown had permanently etched itself onto your face. Should you have seen yourself, you wouldn’t coiled up and shriveled away from embarrassment. Like the freak masochist you had suddenly become, your eyes couldn’t tear away from the pair; torturing yourself as punishment for being so unbelievably stupid.

And to really just hammer the nail into the coffin, the round eyes that once bore into yours just a few days ago in the back space of his van had suddenly caught sight of you over the breadth of her shoulder.

Whiplash had never hit you so hard before, as you succumbed the bitterness that filled your red solo cup. But no forceful amount of chugging could deny the fact that you had painfully been caught red handed.

Staring like a perverted psycho?!

Your feet found themselves trailing up the steps to your bedroom before you could even think. With a heaving chest and a will no longer there to live, your bedroom door slammed behind you, as the bass of whatever Top 100 Hottest Hits vibrated against you.

Humiliation slumped your shoulders low, as bated breaths trapped themselves in your enclosing throat. Left with just yourself in your ill-lit room, your eyes scoured the moutain of clothes that cluttered your bedroom, because Eddie Munson was coming over.

Only, whatever attempts you made to appear “drug-dealer’s-hot-girlfriend” worthy fell short, as you stood in a poorly picked ensemble, catered directly for his attention.

Mission failed beyond miserably.

Disgusted by the feelings that infested in your belly, the sudden impulse to purge your room clean became inevitable. Ransacked became an understatement, as you rummaged through laid out garments, letting shirts and skirts take your belittling critiques to suppress those burning tears from falling.

Christ, weren’t you too old to be wearing a pattern like that?! And that shirt?! No one of this generation would ever humiliate themselves by wearing something like that! God, and enough with the blue! When were you going to learn that the color doesn’t look good on y-

“Sweetheart?” His knuckles rattled against your door.

In a panic, your unshed tears were sniffled away, as you set yourself straight against the mess of your bedroom. “Uh… y-yeah, come in!” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

You hadn’t dared to face the courage to see him, merely being content with listening to the brief exposure of music coming in and out with the door finally closing behind him.

And with the jangle of his wallet chain, his stature consumed the area beside you. “Are you okay?” He whispered.

You felt the burn of his scrutinizing eyes against you. “I…” Silence ate at you. “I think I have too much clothes.”

“Oh.” For once, Eddie had actually gotten a good look at the state of your bedroom.

“But I hate them all.”

“Oh.”

There was guilt that resided in his voice; a hurt in his chest for causing the congestion of your voice. But you couldn’t fault. And Eddie knew you never would. He, too, was confused.

“Yeah, l-like this dress, y’know.” You croaked, huffing out an awkward laugh. “Like, I don’t even wear dresses, look too stupid in them to ever do so.” You wished for nothing more than for him to give up those pitying looks, and just laugh along to your damage control. “Don’t even know why I bought it.”

“I don’t think you look stupid.” He softly corrected your narrative.

You had to give him props. Here he was comforting you for something you assured him would never happen. But feelings have a way of working against you. You chuckled. “Eddie, you’ve never even seen me in a dress.”

“So, show me.” Sigh, you walked right into that one.

The corners of his lips upturned to the loveliness of that image; you, in a dress. If only you could see it as such.

With his hands bunching at the material, he took his rightful place before you, letting the springs of your bed accommodate to his weight, before he presented you the dress. There was an urgency to his eyes that made the situation unavoidable. That Eddie Munson, himself, was cemented onto your bed until you showed him yourself in a way he knew you deserved.

To feel beautifully you.

With hesitation, your fingertips played with the hem of your shirt. “Um, close your eyes?” You, yourself, didn’t know why it came out as a suggestion. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if he had said no, virginity-taker or not.

But instead, he smiled, trying to tease one out of you. “Y’know I’ve seen you naked before, right?” Yeah, that was the issue in the first place! “Or am I really that forgettable?”

Though, Eddie hadn’t expected you to take it so seriously. “No!” You rushed out. “I-I didn’t forget. It’s just, um, y’know, different now.”

A breathy chuckle of disbelief left his mouth. “Only because I want it to be a surprise.” He smirked, letting his childish antics dramatically flare his hands over his eyes.

In the bedroom of your house, Eddie Munson sat on your bed, listening carefully to the sway of your body, wondering how he could properly prepare himself for the sight of you.

Just you. Not Lacey O’Connell. Because, spare him, a little flirt with clientele wasn’t the end of the world. Just a matter of business.

The shifting of your clothes embedded a smile onto a face. Perhaps, you’d been sporting another mismatched underwear set. A grin like no other consumed him, as he relished in the memory of the one you wore the night he got to have you.

The same night where he legitimately asked you why he would ever care for your different bra and panties, after your profuse apologies about the unmatched set confirmed just how utterly adorable you were.

You swallowed thickly. Fluffing out the tightness of being unworn before now, you made sure to take three steps back for his view (and your escape plan, should everything fall apart, now you were three steps closer to the door for running away purposes).

“Um,” you whispered, “you can look now.”

Popping your knuckles became a grand excuse to not look at his face, but had you done so, you would have seen the slacking of his jaw, as his eyes flashed with the roundness of being in awe.

Eddie Munson was abusing every second to drink you in.

“Don’t get rid of that dress.”

“What?”

“You’ll do a disservice to this world and yourself, if you get rid of this dress.” You waited for the teasing glint to come, but his words had never been spoken so matter-of-factly before until now.

“I-”

“You don’t have too much clothes.” His brows creased to the gravity of his voice. “Don’t… don’t get rid of anything.” Eddie stood from his place. “Please.”

Your eyes bounced between his, before you shakily sighed. “I feel stupid, Eddie.” You whispered, tears brimming at your lash line.

“You’re just not used to it.” His hand came to caress the tension from your stiffing posture. “Believe me, I feel like that, too, sometimes.” He huffed out a chuckle. “All the time, actually.” What a lie that had to be. Eddie Munson had an envious way of being unabashedly himself. “Because of you.” He watched your face crumple into confusion. “And it makes me do really stupid things.” He sighed. “Like, not talking about what supposed to happen after we-”

“That’s not your fau- Eddie, I told you not to worry about it.” You peered to the carpeted floor in disappointment. “Really, it’s my own fault for n-not being honest with you, and, uh, myself. A-And now I’m just feeling a lot of things that I don’t understand, but I don’t want you to feel responsible for it. Lacey’s really pretty-”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you’re a single guy, you can do whatever you want. I should have never expected anything to come out from us doing, uh, y’know, that.” You groaned in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, we don’t have to talk ab-”

His hands gently caught onto the suppleness of your cheeks. “Would you please shut up?” He softly chuckled at your stunned face. “No, sorry, that was mean, I take that back.” He didn’t. Eddie Munson’s giggles were still ringing out because of your frown. “I just need you to stop talking for a second, and just listen.” You reluctantly nodded to his request. “Because I get it, you thought things would be easier if we were just, I don’t know… nonchalant about things. But, Christ, sweetheart, if you have feelings for me, whether they’re good or bad, I want to know!” He emphasized. “We’ve talked about things before, we can talk about this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, about how many ounces I want to buy from you.”

“Hey, you’re gonna stand here and tell me our little conversations meant nothing to you?” He joked, hoping to pull a smile out of you. “Clearly they had to if I was deemed worthy enough to sleep with.” He winked.

“That was just because I like yo- I mean, no- ugh!” What a win for Freud (and Eddie), as the unconscious error revealed his tortuously shit-eating grin. But in the moment, you didn’t want his laughter. You wanted answers to your own pathetic feelings. You whined in frustration. “This stupid dress sucks!”

You lost all concerns about changing in front of him, as your angry hands worked to throw the fabric away from your body. “Hey- no, wait, c’mon, I was just teasing.” Eddie was quick to pick up the discarded dress.

“And there’s so many people in my house! Everyone’s touching everything! A-And I’m tired, and embarrassed of all this- god, and everyone is being so inconsiderate-”

“Even me.”

Your tirade came to a halt. “What? No, Eddie, I told you, it’s not your fault-”

“It is, though.” He affirmed, despite your shaking head. “I know you saw me.” Your cheeks went ablaze with heat. You knew he saw you, but hearing it had become mortifying. “And I know it wasn’t the nicest thing to see, I should’ve considered-”

You gave up in a huff. “This is stupid.”

“This isn’t stupid, okay? None of it is.”

Your head fell into the solace of your hands. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“You already did it. You just did the hard part.” His calloused fingers wrapped around your wrists. “And I’ll make it even easier by telling you that I like you back.”

You refused his words, shaking your head in retaliation. “Don’t pity me, Eddie, I-”

“Hey, look, I get you’re trying to make me tell you how you feel, but I don’t want you doing that with me.” His voice fell stern. “Hell, I don’t even want to do that with you.” You could cry from the way he chastised you. “Stop trying to find an easy out. You’re not even realizing that the simplest thing to do not find an easy way out.” Eddie rationalized. “I like you, you like me. I want to be with you, and now you tell me if you want to be with me.”

“You already know-”

“No, I don’t know.” He interjected. “I don’t want to think I know shit. You tell me.”

You gnawed at your lips raw, eyes rounding against the scariest confrontation you had to face that came in the form of a long-haired, lanky guy with an expression so goofy you wondered how you managed to take him so seriously. “I want to be with you, Eddie.” Your voice cracked. “Like, m-more than just being with you in the back of your van.”

“Christ, why would you ever let me take your virginity there?! I could have at least taken you out to dinner first!” He swore against himself with frustration, as you giggled. “I’m so sorry about that, darling.”

“No, it’s okay, I-I liked it.” You mustered the courage to be honest. “Really, it was perfect.”

Eddie Munson smiled at you. “So are you.” Accept it. “And this dress.” His eyes finally glanced down, and suddenly, “Who the hell were you planning on having sex with?” His accusatory finger circled the seductive lace of your bra and underwear; a matching set!

Back to hiding your face you went. “Don’t make me say it, I already told you I liked you.”

“Aw, babe.” For once, you could find the will to laugh along with his teasing, letting yourself enjoy a moment of his cockiness.

His arm circled around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest. If the teasing was going to continue, he, at the very least, would grant you a place to hide. “You were just coming over for the first time, I was nervous… and maybe… hopeful.” Your muffled voice squeaked against his shirt.

His guttural laugh vibrated onto you. A silence had lingered before his lips caressed the shell of your ear. “You don’t have too many clothes, sweetheart.” Whispered with gentle firmness to solidify it into your overthinking head.

You didn’t have too many feelings.

Just the right amount ones that made you perfectly you.

His fingertips slowly traced down the slope of your waist, until it came in contact with the delicate fabric of your panties. “Well, maybe you do right now.” The lace snapped against your hip.

And your giggles fizzled into the atmosphere, as you braced yourself with the confronting journey of simply just speaking. Truthfully. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Get these people the hell out of my house, so we can have sex.”

You were once again ambushed with the sudden bass of whatever Top 100 Hottest Hits played, as Eddie Munson jumped hurdles out of your bedroom, before you were content with the silence that followed a closed door.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I suppose blurbs are meant to be really short, but, unfortunately, I cannot shut up. Also, was it decipherable that the clothes/dress was representative of her feelings? Or should I just stop while I’m at it? Thank you, big kisses! <3

[bibibbon]

Need to get something off my chest

People in the fandom blaming Nana for causing Shigaraki to be abused and all the suffering the Shimura family went through as well as calling her decision to abandon Kotaro stupid is if someone blamed all the abuse and horrible actions of Enji that the Todoroki family had to suffer through on Enji's deceased father.

Specifically people appear to zone in on Nana's call to not have All Might or Gran Torino check in with her family when it makes sense. She knows AFO has eyes and ears everywhere and will use that to kill those closest to her and those around her as we know since Nana's husband is dead by the time Kotaro is given up for adoption and All Might leaves Japan for the US in order to avoid AFO for that same reason. There is also no way for Nana to know that her successor would wind up as the strongest wielder of One For All and would be the first person to take down All For One.

I'm not sure if you were in the mha critical side of tumblr, but this is a very common opinion here. Nana deserved better, and none of the nana hate honestly made sense.

People shouldn't blame nana for doing what she could to protect her child. She explicitly said that she had done it to protect him, and she didn't willingly want to give up her child. The act wasn't done out of malice but was done out of love. Her husband was dead, and all for one was on her tail. She had to train all Might, and there was no safe choice to keep kotaro. It was a hundred times safer to make a distance between her and kotaro so he could live without the burden of his mother's duties on top of him caring or threatening to cause him constant harm.

Nana tried her best as a mother, and we didn't talk enough about it. She, at the beginning, was probably the breadwinner of the family, her job making it so that she had limited time with her son, yet from the flashbacks we see that kotaro loved his mother dearly. He loved her that child him simply cried and cried when she was about to leave, he loved her to the point that he kept her picture acknowledging that she was his mother yet despising that she left him all alone. His hatred of nana stems mainly from feelings of sadness and betrayal, which only exist because he loved his mother and felt safe when she was near.

I suppose we don't talk about the fact that after nana's husband died and she became a widow she had to juggle all the responsibilities of being a weirder of OFA, a mother who had to be constantly active in her child's life and a hero who had to save others while also ensuring that she earned enough money to keep her son comfortable.

I headcanon that at the time nana was never a good cook and that it was her husband that usually cooked for the family but when he died she had to take on the cooking duties which was a struggle but we see her actively trying even including her son in the process.

Giving up kotaro was the most logical circumstance, and I stand by that. I think to a certain extent, kotaro realises that too, and it's exactly why he doesn't blame his mother but blames her job he blames the hero, not his mother. To me, it evidently seems like kotaro separates nana into two different versions : the hero and his mother.

If we follow that belief, it's exactly why the only photo that kotaro has with his mother is so painful. Every time he sees that photo he in a way, is forced to acknowledge that both versions of nana are his mother. The photo shows his mother, but it shows her in her hero attire she is the 7th weirder of ofa in that picture not his mother but the mannerisms, the way she smiles and looks at him is that of a mother's look.

A haunting picture for kotaro. A picture of a mother's love.

Comparisons between enji and nana fall on deaf ears especially when you look at the circumstances and situations that both characters are faced with.

Enji DOESN'T love his children, his actions were out of malice, greed and desire to be great. He sacrificed family for greatness.

Nana LOVED her child. Her actions had a desire to protect, love, and care for her only family, her only offspring. A beautiful light in the world that she doesn't want destroyed by AFO. She had no choosing as I bet if she truly had the choice. She would do anything to love, protect, and be with her child. In a dreadful situation, nana chose the only way to guarantee kotaros safety.

[bumblesimagines]

i always thought there was more to you. turns out i was wrong.

Jordan Li

i always thought there was more to you. turns out i was wrong.

pronouns: they/them, gender neutral

begging the gen v fandom to remember they can call refer to Jordan as Marie's partner, significant other, or lover and to remember femJordan exists and deserved to be thirsted over too

There was nothing more eye-opening than watching Andre and Jordan's memories play right in front of you. Your twin brother's self-proclaimed best friend had been sleeping with his girlfriend from the very beginning with no plans of stopping, even if it meant sneaking around behind Luke's back and betraying him just about weekly. It'd taken every fiber in your being and Marie's soothing voice to keep you from turning the man into an ice cube. 

But then, your beloved partner's memory began playing out and you were stunned into silence. They kept quiet and helped sedate your brother, the person they also claimed to love and respect. Another self-proclaimed best friend... betraying your brother as if it were as easy as breathing. The memory version of Jordan stared at you guilty and Andre and Marie could only watch with widened eyes and horrified frowns. Tears ran down Jordan's cheeks and their body lightly trembled with choked sobs and sniffles. They kept their head bowed and refused to meet anyone's eyes, the guilt and shame rolling off them in waves.

"You.. let him get taken away.. and said nothing." You finally breathed, your own voice trembling with a mixture of anger, betrayal, and dejection. Andre's disgusting behavior had been one thing and while you'd never forgive him, you'd never been close to him to begin with. But for your own partner of two years to keep the fact they'd played a minor part in your brother's downfall hidden? 

"I trusted Brink," Jordan whispered shakily. 

"He was my brother, Jordan. He was my best friend! He was the only person I could trust with anything in this fucking world, and you let them take him away! He trusted you. He fucking loved you and you repaid him by turning your back on him for- for what? To heal your fucking daddy issues? Newsflash, asshole, Brink was using you the whole damn time." You snapped at them and a chill ran down your spine. Your fingertips tingled and the windows in the office began to slowly freeze over. "I always thought there was more to you. Turns out I was wrong. You're just another coked-up piece of shit who only cares about their own ass."

"(Y/N), please, that's enough," Marie called out gently, her hand brushing against your forearm but she jerked back the moment she touched your skin and held her fingers close to her chest. Jordan's body only wrecked further with sobs and they crumpled to the floor, cradling their head between their arms. You stared at them, at the only other person you ever allowed yourself to open up to apart from your brothers, and scoffed. 

"None of you deserved him. You all used him... for popularity, for control. Cate wiped our memories. Andre fucked her 'cause Cate's the only one dumb enough to sleep with an Anderson. You kept quiet on this bullshit and you, Marie..." You dug your teeth into your bottom lip until the skin broke and tilted your head to look at her. Her eyes widened, not with shock but with genuine fear.  "You profited off his fucking death... maybe I'll profit off yours."

[lemonhemlock]

I think the thing that bothers me the most about Alicent’s betrayal of Aegon is that it’s essentially a mother giving up her disabled son to death so she can be ‘free’.

I have a few disabled family members, and have unfortunately heard people say to their parents to just put them in a care home so they (the parents) can ‘have their lives back’. I don’t think Condal/Hess meant for that meaning, and perhaps I’m being too sensitive, but it infuriated me because there is already so much ableism in this show (that they’ve made worse from the books in some cases), and this was I think my final straw to keep watching this show.

No, you're right, on a human level, if Alicent Hightower were a real person, we should be appalled if she acted the way she did in Season 2. This is a sensitive subject that this gaggle of writers isn't really interested in tackling properly, so I hope these blunders don't stick in your mind for too long. You decision to abandon it is completely understandable.

One indication that they are out of their depth is how they never stopped to think how it would look to eliminate the sympathy or understanding from the side who basically has all the disabled characters and then paint them all as doomed because they were not 'progressive' enough.* Another indication is how they practically pigeonholed the character of Helaena into a very stock autistic-coded box and did not bother to give her any interiority or motivations or present her in any way that doesn't infantilise this almost-20-year-old young woman. Aemond, of course, was sidelined this season after a very successful introduction in S1 that advanced him more than a cartoon mustache-twirling villain. Much has been written about Larys even before S2 aired, so I won't revisit that discourse right now, as this post is already too long.

*not meant as a dig against progressive politics, but as a comment on how HotD views progressive to mean 'stan of Rhaenyra', who is not a disruptor of the patriarchal status-quo by any quantifiable means.

A delicate topic such as this one is always going to split opinion and cause controversy and I think that sometimes a lot of feelings can be hurt by untactful takes and can cause many minority, underrepresented groups to feel even more unseen and disenfranchised. I personally hope I can convey my thoughts on the matter in a way that doesn't alienate the members of these groups, but sometimes even I lack the best words to properly express myself.

I would like to point out that, on the one hand, in the ASOIAF universe and especially in such a chapter like the Dance of the Dragons, the characters are often very flawed people that flirt with the boundaries of villainy more often than not and end up performing unforgivable acts, be they disabled or not, high born or not, men or women. At this point, such a statement reads more self-evident than not. In this regard, there have been times I've found fans who were exasperated with other segments of the fandom vying for more positive representation when it comes to these oft-ignored character typologies, citing the fact that, on the contrary, endowing them with negative or unpalatable traits emphasizes their humanity and promotes them beyond a stereotypical rendition that can easily be absorbed into some kind of artificial, formulaic 'woke' quota in media.

However, I think we should remember that for people who are part of these minority groups, whose lived experiences are marred by discrimination and harmful prejudices, these narrative arguments can (even unintentionally) feel callous or exclusionary. It not easy or encouraging to see how you are almost always represented on screen in a way that is reprehensible or ignoble or detrimental in some way - that is, in the few cases when the text in question is inclusive enough to even remember you exist.

In such a context, I have to recognise and acknowledge that, as a white / cis / able-bodied person myself, it is way easier for me to simply rely on narrative merit, because I am represented so much in media that I have the luxury of many stories catered personally for me, both heroic and villainous, and I can simply choose what to engage with if relatability becomes a problem. And it would feel inhospitable and condescending for me to simply expect the members of underrepresented groups to 'get over it' because it makes sense in the context of the story.

A while ago there was a viral post that I keep referencing back in these situations because I think it's the best explanation for this type of divide: the watsonian / doylist interaction of critiques. As such, disenfranchised characters can be portrayed in an unsympathetic manner within any story, but, at the same, the real-life individuals from that group have the right to feel estranged and frustrated by that portrayal, because they don't consume media in a void and, for them, it isn't a hypothetical situation that they can subordinate to the priorities of storytelling. They should also have the space to express that discontent within fandom without having to be involuntarily accused of wanting to moralize or sanitize the media landscape. I think that we should start accepting that both things can be true and integrate that sentiment within our analyses.

That being said, since Alicent is not a real person, in the second part of this post I would like to dismantle the potential argument regarding the right to tell stories about awful people and how a woman being a bad mother or a bad person fits that bill. As I said, in principle, I agree with the sentiment. But I don't believe that the writers were at all successful in pulling this off. Their storytelling skills have proved inadequate and they were unable to craft a believable arc for Alicent to justify her so drastically shifting her entire world view in a few short weeks. And, by 'believable' I absolutely don't mean something naturalistic in the framework of the 21st century on Earth where dragons and magic don't exist; I mean plausible and reasonable behaviour for a human person in the confines of the fictional universe in which they operate.

I'm all for villainstanning and difficult female characters, but this season should have taken Alicent from

point A: doing everything in her power to put Aegon on the throne and even shielding his body from the dragon Meleys

to

point B: offering him to Rhaenyra for execution

in the span of weeks.

This season should have given her a proper motivation to basically hand over her male children to the person married to the assassin of her grandson. If nothing else, Alicent should have demanded Daemon's head. Speaking of which, there is no way to delve into Alicent's psyche, into the mind of a person in her position, after years of paranoia about a loose-cannon like Daemon (a notoriously disliked figure in Westeros), and arrive at the conclusion that, yes, Daemon as King consort would somehow be a better solution for the realm than any of her sons. It's just not. Even with rhaenicent rose-tinted glasses, he should have been a dealbreaker. This type of shortcoming makes me think that they can't truly immerse themselves in the mind of a character to properly gauge how someone could react to the events around them.

As such, let's see what disservices were done to Alicent this season that might have made her regret her initial decision. Let's see what the writers think would be reason enough for Alicent to switch sides and undo 20 years of wanting to place Aegon on the throne:

?????

2. Aemond burns Aegon

3. Aemond boots her from the council

4. Smallfolk suffering & revolts

5. Assassination attempt of Rhaenyra

6. Otto booted from the Council

7. she takes a few baths

8. goes camping

9. ??????

10. Dragonseeds

11. Aemond burns Sharp Point (?)

12. Aemond may endanger Helaena

Now let's see the plotholes in Alicent's thinking:

Most of these concern Aemond. Aegon, Criston, Otto, Gwayne and Daeron haven't committed any grievous sin against her that should be punished, yet, by conspiring with Rhaenyra, she would doom them all to their deaths. Even if Alicent is shown to have a complicated relationship with the first four, she has no reason against her 'nice' son Daeron and her brother Gwayne who was deferential and sympathetic to her. Now there is no way to make Queen Alicent Hightower "kind of forget" about Daeron and Gwayne or her Hightower uncle or cousins and not consider they would have to be executed by Rhaenyra/Daemon. If you have to suddenly make a character stupid or amnesic in order to fit your plot point, then it's not a good plot point. And Alicent has never before shown to be either stupid or amnesic. On the contrary, she is an anxious person who worries about everything.

Of course, one can argue Otto has manipulated her throughout her life and she could have reasonably developed feelings of animosity towards him, but he doesn't really factor in show!Alicent's decision at all. She isn't depicted to be thinking about him or to bring him up in any capacity after he leaves for Oldtown. Thus, we can't reasonably be expected to 'fill in the blanks' that Alicent is upset because of something Otto did.

She does not verbalise any opinion about Aegon & Criston sending Ser Arryk to assassinate Rhaenyra. At the end of that same episode, she is shown to slap Criston. But is that because he tried to assassinate Rhaenyra? Is it because Otto was booted from the Council and Criston became the new Hand? Is it because she told him they're not going to have sex anymore and he still came to her chambers? We don't know. They proceed to have another consensual sex scene. Later on, Alicent seems pissed because Criston is not telling her the truth about Rook's Rest. They part on OK terms, even though she is seen to be a little cold, but she does give him her favour. Is she even pissed at Criston? We don't know. Could she possibly be pissed enough at him that she would doom him to his death? No, I don't think that's reasonable to assume based on what we've seen. Show, don't tell. Golden rule of storytelling. In this case, neither did they show, nor did they tell.

I hesitate to assign Alicent any particular concern for the well-being of the smallfolk beyond a general sentiment to reduce bloodshed and not cause suffering on a grand scale. But individually? She is portrayed in Season 1 wanting to help Dyana and being affected by her situation. She tries to stop the guards from cutting off a man's hand during the riots, that is true. But she also allowed Larys to basically torture / execute her household staff without nary a thought. So which is it?

Coming back to Aemond. He remains the main point of contention. I am going to ignore his cartoonification this season, but, let us accept, for the sake of the argument, that Alicent did not realise how unstable he is and that now she regrets facilitating a situation in which he has so much power. If she has the power to make the guards surrender, like she tells Rhaenyra, then she is not as powerless as she laments, is she not? Then she could possibly even stage a coup against Aemond and arrest him. The fact that Aegon did not do so the minute he became conscious is another plothole. Aemond is one man with no network or friends because of his anti-social and anti-politics behaviour. He has a dragon but his access to her is restricted if he needs to ride a horse for several miles outside of the city to get to her. When he is inside the castle, as skilled a warrior as he is, he is still only one man. Him still being Prince Regent after Aegon wakes up is preposterous.

Larys does bring up the fact that without Vhagar, the greens are terribly outmatched at the moment when it comes to dragon warfare. That is true. But, if Aemond is a loose cannon who is threatening the life of the King and Queen, he cannot stay un-arrested. There's no reason they couldn't have kept it hushed for a while to buy some more time either. If Alicent is so sorry for what Aegon went through, she could have sued for peace after Aemond's ass was in a jailcell. But she makes no attempt to protect him from his supposed assassin. Her being overwhelmed with Rhaenyra's dragon superiority after Vhagar is out of commission would make more sense as a motivation for the second rhaenicent scene, it would give her more agency and not need her to abandon Aegon and the rest of her family all of a sudden.

But Aemond can't suddenly be removed from the narrative like that, because he has a part to play later on. Of course, in the books, there's not a lot to cling to when it comes to regicide. The narrator makes no such claim, nor is anyone else recorded to do so. Alicent is not upset with Aemond. Aemond doesn't attempt to kill Aegon during his long convalescence. You can argue it's not clear cut because Vhagar fell upon both Sunfyre and Meleys from above, but all three of them are reported to crash into the ground. Vhagar is old and slow, there is no certainty that she could have been sprightly enough to stop just in time so as to not crash fatally. It is not impossible to read this excerpt and think that Aemond may have tried to rid himself of his brother under the guise of battle. It is also equally possible to read Aemond's actions as a rash, dangerous move that could have ended in his death as well. It is self-preservation to let Sunfyre and Meleys kill each other. It is not self-preservation to rely on Vhagar's agility to save your life at the last moment. However, whichever way a screenwriter would like to go, Alicent can't suspect that Aemond tried to kill his brother or that he would place her beloved daughter in danger, because she would then act differently! This is another example of changing elements for the sake of changing them and not allowing the natural consequences of those changes to materialize because they would modify the sequence of events too much.

Like Rhaenyra in the sept scene, Alicent seems to be the worst negotiator ever. She doesn't get one concession from Rhaenyra when she goes to Dragonstone. Is that fair and unbiased storytelling? Helaena and Jaehaera's lives were never truly at stake, since they are girls and could always be married back into the black branch of the family. Why execute them when they could become useful? Alicent should know this, yet they need her again to be stupid and forgetful because she went to a live laugh love retreat in the woods. There is no attempt to truly settle this diplomatically. The scene is just a new pretext to humiliate Alicent and have her grovel at Rhaenyra's feet.

Below I am going to dismantle the narrative decisions regarding the dragonseeds.

Bear in mind that if we are to have 4 seasons of this story, then the sides must remain balanced for quite some time. Someone should tell the writers that biases and preferences are irrelevant because if the force differences become too great, the war ends and there will be no story left to milk.

The unavoidable truth of the matter is that the writers overpowered the blacks too much at this stage and this decision ended up massively affecting the plot. As it stands, the dragon parity at the end of the season became 2:7 - Vhagar & Tessarion vs Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Moondancer, Seasmoke, Vermithor & Silverwing. Out of these, Syrax was never truly considered a potential threat in battle. She is notoriously useless, does not hunt and does not fly in bad weather. Baela also rode Moondancer a grand total of one time at the end of the conflict and was never counted as a force during the war. They made Rhaenyra and Baela active dragonriders, but they refuse to do the same for Helaena to balance the forces a little bit more (Dreamfyre is a very large dragon, probably on par with Silverwing and a little smaller than Vermithor).

The book parity at this point was still unbalanced, but at the very least GRRM realised that and tried to mitigate it by moving the Battle of the Gullet close to the Sowing and making Ulf and Hugh betray Rhaenyra's side. Book!Alicent doesn't have to sue for peace because the greens get a fighting chance. I still think the Dance in the books suffers greatly from non-sensical military strategies and division of resources, but it surpasses the show with flying colours.

Let us return, however, to show!Alicent's POV. For a fictional universe famous for its amount of politicking, there is little to none in this adaptation. The writers are trying to sell us the idea that Alicent has to give up her disabled son for the good of the Realm or, like anon said, to "be free". Authorial intent is unclear on this point, but there is at least the germination of the idea that Alicent is "sacrificing" something - her family, her own ambitions etc - because she is desperate and there are no other options open to her. But is that true?

If the writers refuse to make Helaena a combatant because of reasons only they understand, even if they have no problem performing ~girlboss changes like that for TB (yes, I'm bitter about it), they could have at least given the greens the upper hand in politicking. But they don't because I'm not really sure they understand the universe they write for or posses that level of imagination. Why don't they have, say, spies in the Vale that report Aegon the Younger and his brother Viserys are on their way to Pentos as we speak? Alicent could have been shown to plot for them to be intercepted with the help of the Triarchy secured by Tyland.

Why doesn't she try to find out who these dragonseeds are. Can they be bribed? Do they have weaknesses? Ulf has a wife, no? Is there some way to use their friends and family against them and make them turn sides? Does Vaemond Velaryon not have any disgruntled relatives that have a bone to pick with Rhaenyra & Corlys and would be appalled by the decision to make Addam the heir to Driftmark? (in the books he did and they actually fought for the green side). Can they not try to assassinate one of Addam, Corlys, Seasmoke or Rhaenyra?

Alicent being involved in any of these plots would have been a more satisfying progression to her story that would have allowed her to remain relevant and maintain her screen time. Even her having a little more dignity and attempting genuine peace talks would have been more believable if she at least stuck to her guns when it comes to her family's lives, especially the son she herself placed on the throne and the one who turned out gentle and kind and has not wronged her in any way. But, of course, the show in that moment pretends yet again that Daeron doesn't exist and any other points of contention (like Gwayne and Jaehaerys) are swept under the rug because it would dismantle Rhaenyra's righteous stance. So Aegon is presented as this sacrificial lamb that Alicent must relinquish as the only way forward.

Even though the show has not established any substantial reason for Alicent to object to any tangible decision Aegon has made as king, even though she is specifically shown to regret what happened to him, even though she made no efforts via political maneuvering to mitigate Rhaenyra's advantages and even though it would have been more merciful for her to give Aegon a painless death via milk of the poppy. Instead of being an ambitious and shrewd politician, she is given a nebulous motivation of "finding herself" and discovering feminism, which apparently means her disabled son must be subjected to even more humiliation and pain. It is a very unfortunate framing because the scene invites you to think that Alicent is finally seeing reason and is trying to atone for her mistake of not stanning for Rhaenyra. Yes, Aegon is also portrayed as downtrodden and not deserving of more violence, but Rhaenyra is also not portrayed as being "wrong" to demand for Aegon's head? She is shown in soft lighting, soft-spoken, with tears in her eyes, hurt, wronged and Alicent doesn't argue back. Their parting words are bittersweet and yearning.

How can you make Alicent a selfish character overnight when you have spent so much time painting her the exact opposite and you don't even give her plausible motivations or any breaking point? She doesn't even do anything to try and gain power back for herself, change the things she doesn't like or counteract Rhaenyra's moves before she goes to Dragonstone. Her one attempt is proposing herself for the regency and it's supposed to be this grand moment of her realizing misogyny is real, even though that has been the case her entire life and, as a stand-in for her husband and a Council member, she would have encountered it often as a daily routine when trying to get anything done.

Ergo, I do have to ask again: how does Alicent get from point A to point B exactly?

[ravenkinnie]

how aware do you think silco was of the fact that jinx would probably end up killing him? like surely he couldn’t spend that long enabling her and witnessing all the collateral damage she caused without thinking hmm maybe this will backfire directly upon me someday. was he just heavily in denial or did he wildly overestimate his ability to manage her indefinitely or did he just love her enough that by the time he realized she’d kill him it was too late to do anything about it or what

I think it's something that would exist in the back of your mind simply due to knowing jinx. but also I'm of opinion that the control and emotional manipulation he extended over jinx was partially because he's crazy and emotionally that dynamic made sense to him but it was also deliberate. the thing is if you want a lethal weapon that considers herself beyond poweful you also want that weapon to know it can't turn against you and relying on him emotionally ensures that she wouldn't because she would hurt herself in the process. silco is kind of a narcissist so I assume he didn't think it would actually fail and even now if you asked his ghost he would probably blame vi for it but I do think when she did shoot it didn't even feel like a betrayal because of course it ended like this, it was always a possibility. also if you want someone to kill you it would be the only person you consider your equal yk

[magicalgirlsirin]

hi rly enjoyed ur post on elysian realm! ik ur a new fan (i am too) but i heard that before retcon, elysia was a lot more morally gray. would you happen to know how exactly?? im rly curious bc i think it would be a severe improvement obviously. we deserve complex women who do wrongs

So when I say retcon in relation to the elyrealm arc it's less so "things they changed because of the story evolving and wanting to expand previously established events" and more "things they straight up forgot about in service of making Elysia a herrscher". It's not like hi3 is a stranger to retcons though?

For example, Durandal being the "original" Kiana is a retcon. The fact that our Kiana was a clone remained the same, but it's clear from older story stuff (iirc it's Everlasting Memory/Theresa's chronicle set?; second eruption manga doesn't focus on the Kiana part) that Durandal wasn't originally there. Otto refers to Kiana as K-423, and that Theresa needs to retrieve her, which implies that Theresa knows it's not Siegfried and Cecilia's kid, but her distress remains the same. The later game retcon by Thus Spoke Apocalypse is that OG!Kiana and Siegfried were going to go retrieve K-423, but OG!Kiana ended up injured and so Siegfried only left with K-423. And if you're confused then so am I because the details don't really super line up with the presentation, but it's like, fine, because at the end of the day the current writing intention and trajectory is for Durandal and Kiana to be sisters, and to both be Siegfried's daughters.

Anyways, for Elysia, a lot of her retcons occur in a very rapid pace from the first realm chapter set to Elysium Everlasting. Like I mentioned in my last post, the herrscher reveal is nonsense just going off of basic information like the fact she received MANTIS surgery like all the other Flame Chasers. However, there are other plot threads that are completely dropped for the sake of making Elysia a very special good girl who you should love because she's so nice and never did anything bad.

[About Betrayal 1 - Chapter 2]

[About Betrayal 2 - Chapter 2]

Elysia the traitor plot is something I was, well not hopeful for (a friend had already warned me that the game wouldn't do anything interesting with it] but I still ended up mulling it over a lot because it was such an interesting hinge piece for her initial presentation.

What stands out to me is the phrasing. Kevin says she never endangered humanity even if she was a traitor. Kevin says that Elysia made a decision. This implies agency, like Elysia was actively choosing to do something dangerous for the sake of the Flame Chasers. However, if Elysia was a herrscher from the beginning, then none of this makes sense. She doesn't choose to be a herrscher if she was one from the beginning, so why even make it seem like her betrayal was her choice at all?

[Traitor - Chapter 1]

It doesn't stop there though. Mobius' active disdain implies that whatever choice Elysia made, it was enough to make Mobius of all people consider her a lost cause. Mobius, who body mods and injects honkai energy into anyone with a pulse (hyperbole) to try and make humanity last just the slightest bit longer.

[Traitor - Chapter 1]

Mobius wants us to doubt Elysia's intentions. If you go through all their shared information, you'll find that the worst Elysia really does is just... coerce Mobi to wear pink dresses, and while that is obnoxious, it wouldn't warrant utter contempt for Elysia as a person.

There's actually a lot of stray text that implies there's something wrong about Elysia's existence, which I guess in generous terms could be interpreted as setup for the herrscher reveal? But it just feels like it's just there to add to the mystery that won't go anywhere.

[The Blind Spot - Recollection]

This right here nags at me. Deeply so. Elysia isn't so much a character as much as she is just a concept, the idea of a story that could be told. Not even in the canon-compliant weird endgame hook meta-textual breakout in Transcending Finality about the power of stories... Although, there's a way to introduce it here and tie it to Elysia to give some semblance of connectivity.

I went this long without actually giving my thoughts on how to make Elysia's writing good though. Disclaimer for clarity sake I know not everyone will agree with the changes I want to make and I'm also not claiming to be a more skilled writer than anyone in the hi3 team, they're all people with enough talent to be employed by the company.

That out of the way.

This isn't so much about making Elysia morally grey as much as it is about giving her an emotional core, because right now she's pretty hollow. Rather than a pristine girl who never did anything wrong, I'd rather cast her as a romantic, tragic heroine who would move heaven and fate just to seem noble.

Elysia was born human. Maybe she loved stories, and how they transported her to far off places, far far far away from the tiny town she was growing up in. When she was old enough, she traveled the world. Honkai descends. Because she was a globe trotter she ended up connected to many people, and was given the chance to join the MOTH organization. She gets MANTIS surgery. As the number of soon-to-be Flame Chasers grow, discussion begins about if the strength of the soldiers is enough.

'Maybe, if I had power comparable to a herrscher, we could fight with less casualties.'

She doesn't say this out loud, of course. It's a dangerous thought, a line that shouldn't be crossed. But she's curious. She breaks into Mobius' lab [Miss Pink Spy - Pristine Memory] to find the information she wants. Mobius figures out her intentions and warns Elysia off. It's not even in consideration, so keep whatever plan you have in mind off the table before you do something irreversible.

Mobius thought that Elysia gave up on the plan after the seventh erruption. The haunted look behind Kevin's eyes, the sadness creasing Elysia's face, all of it makes it seem like a simple consideration forgotten by the sands of time.

Elysia doesn't have a discipline. She told Dr. Mei it wasn't needed since her combat performance was well above standard margins anyways. (She is on par with Kevin in strength, after all.) At least, we all thought she didn't. A deal is made with Aponia.

Aponia, Aponia, apostle of fate, I offer you my 'humanity' to become a 'story'.

Elysia cannot receive any more disciplines. The target has to be "human". Elysia as a story, unchanging, pristine, capable of remaining as she is without blemish, can reach out and become a herrscher while remaining herself. She's desperate. She wants to help. She reaches into the deep, the start of the universe, and gathers the power. She names it Origin, since it's something she found at the source.

She's a herrscher.

Herrschers are an enemy of humanity.

Kevin runs her through with Shamash.

Elysia is still herself though, talking like she would as usual.

-Oh Kevin, I wanted to know if your tears would freeze, but I was hoping it wouldn't be like this. They're so warm, though. Thank you for crying for me.

-I see no herrscher here, just... the flame chaser, bearing the signet of ego.

The Elysian Realm keeps a secret. Aponia keeps it, the fact that Elysia gave up her humanity. The final banquet? A polite way to refer to Elysia's own demise.

It's sad, isn't it? That strength she wanted to give fell right through her fingers. Her own undoing, the desperate plan of a foolish girl who wanted to be a hero, but only ending up as a villain to oppose. It's so much more meaningful, then, that Elysia's gift, the power of sapience, is kept on to the next cycle of humanity. Held again, the power of ego, of humans, to someone with a kind heart to move beyond the past she's trapped in. Thank you, Raiden Mei, for carrying on the ideals of the thirteen trailblazers, the moths who chase the flame.

so anyways yeah i think elysia couldve been interesting whos to say

[homoeroticbetrayal]

Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Round 1

Round 1 Directory

Context for TWEWY below. Beefleaf fans, drop your summary in the reblogs.

You play as Neku Sakuraba in this video game, who is in the Reapers' Game, fighting for survival and partnering up and with amnesia. Turns out you're dead! He doesn't remember how he died. His first partner gets taken from him so he ends up partnered with Joshua for week two. He's an asshole and rude but also has hidden depth to him, and really connects with Neku (who remembers everything EXCEPT how he died, now).

At the end of week 2! Joshua dies for you! Takes a blow to save Neku's life!

And then at the end of the game he shows up a-okay and says HEY IM THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU, I PUT YOU IN THE GAME, YOU HAVE TO SHOOT AND KILL ME OR IM GOING TO DESTROY THIS CITY YOU'VE COME TO LOVE, AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS TOO, KILL ME OR I WILL RUIN EVERYTHING

(AND NEKU DOESN'T SHOOT, AND NEKU DOESN'T KILL HIM, AND JOSH CHANGES HIS MIND BECAUSE NEKU CARED ABOUT HIM ENOUGH TO SAVE *HIM* TOO)

Josh is also very flamboyant and teases neku gayly. I love them your honor

Extended summary for Josh/Neku. Excellent read:

Okay, buckle in, because we are going on a ride. Player One: Neku Sakuraba. Dead kid extraordinaire. He woke up in the Reaper's Game, a game hosted in Shibuya's Underground, or UG (essentially the afterlife, it's a plane of existence on top of the Realground, or RG, which is the plane of the living), where freshly-dead souls partner up and compete for a second chance at life, with no absolutely no memories of who or where he was, much less how he died. Still, together with his first partner, he managed to win the Reaper's Game... but was denied a second chance.

The Conductor, who runs the Game, told them that the Composer, essentially the god of the Underground, had decided only one of them could return to life, and that was his partner, so Neku re-entered the Game for a second week in a row. Enter Player Two: Yoshiya Kiryu, but Mother and Father call him Joshua and, well, he supposes Neku can call him Joshua, too, seeing as he's his dear, dear partner. Joshua is annoying, grating, the manifestation of all of Neku's worst traits, the thing he could be if he refuses to grow, and he's constantly giggling and flirting with Neku. He's definitely hiding something, and eventually admits that he's still alive, playing the Game of his own accord. His ultimate goal is to become the Composer, as whoever defeats the current one takes their place and Joshua's status as a living Player makes him significantly more powerful. Plus there's the issue of the current Game Master, who seems to have taken an interest in Neku and causes headaches whenever he's around.

Partway through the week, Neku receives a flash of memory, the memory of his death. He was shot, and Joshua was behind the trigger. This information leaves Neku in a difficult position, as he can't win the Reaper's Game without a partner, and in fact, if his partner is erased, so is he. And he needs to win because his partner the previous week was taken as his entry fee, he's playing for her and he doesn't know what will happen to her if he loses. So he has to get along with his murderer for the rest of the week. Joshua, meanwhile, gleefully dances around the subject, never quite confirming or denying whether he killed Neku, even when confronted.

On the final day, they have to defeat the Game Master in order to win, and just before the fight, Neku receives the same flash of memory as before... but this time, it continues. Joshua pulled the trigger, but Neku didn't die. He didn't shoot Neku; just behind him lurked the Game Master, holding up a gun of his own. Joshua never killed him, Neku realized. He had spent all week distrusting his partner, when all along, he had been trying to protect him. And after they defeat the Game Master in the present, he releases one last attack, one that would certainly erase both of them. But Joshua pushes Neku out of danger, taking on the full force of the attack himself, leaving Neku alone with the guilt, of his distrust having pushed Joshua to figuratively take the bullet for him.

And once again, Neku is forced to play the Game again, but this time, he teams up with his new partner to use the clues Joshua left them with to find the Composer themself and bring an end to all this. And they do! As the city falls into chaos around them, denizens of both the UG and RG falling victim to mind control that must be the Composer's doing, Neku and his partner fight until the last day, until the only thing standing between them and the Composer Himself is the Conductor. And just as the fight is about to begin, Neku hears that familiar giggle. Joshua is alive. He calls the Conductor by name. But Neku barely has time to process this, because the Conductor fuses with Joshua for one final battle. And in the rubble of that, as the Conductor teeters at the edge of erasure, he asks Joshua what will become of the city. It turns out, one month prior, the Conductor made a deal with the Composer, who thought Shibuya had become stagnant and needed to be destroyed before its negative influence spread elsewhere. The Conductor had a month to prove that the city wasn't worthless, to turn the people into something more suitable - thus the mind control. To make it fair, the Composer decided that He was going to play with a hand-picked proxy in His place. But the Conductor failed. As he dissolves, erased, Neku finally gets to ask Joshua what's going on. "Hee hee... It was me, Neku," Joshua says. "I'm Shibuya's Composer." And Neku was his proxy. Finally, he returns Neku's memory of his death in full - the Game Master raised his gun, but he wasn't aiming at Neku, he was aiming at Joshua. And every bullet he fired was frozen mid-air, until he was turned to turn tail and flee. Then Joshua turned his gun on Neku once more, and shot him.

And now, Joshua, the Composer of Shibuya, decides to give Neku one last chance. They'll have a duel, and whoever wins gets to decide the fate of Shibuya. Neku doesn't get the chance to agree or disagree; Joshua gives him a gun, and the countdown begins. 10... 9.... Joshua raises his gun, smirking. Like he doesn't care. Like their time as partners meant nothing. 8... 7... Neku cries. He just stares at the ground, gun in his hand, and cries. 6... The sorrow turns to rage, and Neku raises the gun, aiming at Joshua with shaking hands. His eyes squeezed shut. 5... 4... He can't do it. 3... 2... Despite everything Joshua has done, despite killing Neku, lying to him, manipulating him and forcing him to play his sick Game, faking his own death, forcing Neku into this situation, planning to erase the entire city... Neku can't shoot him. Joshua is his partner. And Neku trusts him. 1. He lowers the gun. BANG. A single gunshot rings out, and Neku falls to the floor. The last thing he sees as his eyes close is Joshua's smiling face.

If you got here, know that I was very tempted to put joshneku in a threeway duel with komahina and akeshu but decided to split things up a bit.

[salt-and-a-dash-of-pepper]

Quaritch and Spider’s Dynamic Means So Much

Hate how many people are over-simplifying Spider and Quaritch’s dynamic. Spider loves his Na’Vi family, but he’s aware he’s the “family pet.” He’s aware Neytiri doesn’t see him as part of her family. He’s aware he’s not Na’Vi. He’s aware he’ll never fully be accepted by the Sullies, and that deeply affects him and his sense of belonging.

He’s also aware of the atrocities that Quaritch has committed, which is why he’s so ashamed that he’s his son. But what changes is that Quaritch emerges as a Na’Vi, technically a completely different person, just with Quaditch’s memories and personality, so there’s enough of a fresh slate for Spider to influence. He wants his father (or rather, father’s clone) to experience life as a Na’Vi -- perhaps to dissuade him from causing so much damage against the Na’Vi later, but also live vicariously through him, and later to bond with him. Quaritch is the first authority figure to acknowledge Spider as an equal, stressing that he respects Spider’s resolve to not betray Jake. Spider yearns for encouragement from another authority figure, and he gets that from Quaritch.

And it’s so obvious that Spider’s existence affects Quaritch. You can tell he’s visibly bothered by the sky people’s interrogation of Spider, to the point that he acts uncharacteristically insubordinate by directly stopping the interrogation, which was headed by his own commanding officer. Later, when Spider is pleading with his father to not hurt the Metkayina people any further, Quaritch once again is uncharacteristic by showing restraint, choosing instead to burn their houses down rather than killing them. Still a terribly cruel thing to do, since he is the villain. But, I’m convinced Quaritch would have killed the Na’Vi without even blinking had Spider not been there. Something has clearly changed. He’s starting to want his son’s approval. 

Finally, the obvious scene where Neytiri was prepared to kill Spider if Quaritch did not release Kiri. Sure, it could have been a bluff. But she was drunk on rage and bloodlust. Perhaps she would have killed Spider. What’s important was that Quaritch wasn’t willing to take that chance. He lets Kiri go. Those weeks he spent hunting Jake down to finally take revenge, holding his one advantage against Jake in his hands, immediately means nothing when Spider’s life is threatened.

Now, it’s totally valid to be enraged at Spider over the fact that he saves Quaritch after the man quite literally caused Neteyam’s death and vowed to kill all of Jake’s family. He is a traitor for doing so, and I’m interested to see how it plays out in the next movies. But part of me understands. Imagine your adoptive mother, who never really felt you were part of the family in the first place and never truly cared about you, held a knife to your throat to save her real child. Imagine the fear and betrayal he must feel. He still loves his Na’Vi family, of course. But Quaritch did something that Neytiri couldn’t -- care about Spider. And that feeling conflicts in him. He wants to belong, and the one family he trusted abandoned him at the beginning of the movie with no interest in saving him.

Lastly, by the end of the movie, Quaritch is willing to admit he views Spider as a son. He had stressed in the beginning of their first meeting that they were “strangers” and mean nothing to each other, but by the end of this movie Quaritch was willing to drop his whole quest against Jake to protect his son, and so when his son returns the favor by saving him, he wants Spider to come with him. But Spider just can’t do it, so he runs away.

I love the parallels between Jake and Quaritch because of it. They’ve both become fathers. Quaritch is starting to feel the protective love for his son the same way Jake feels his love towards his own family. 

I’m really excited to see how this affects Quaritch in the upcoming movies. Perhaps through Spider, he embraces the fact that he’s a Na’Vi. Perhaps he embraces that he’s a father, and, like Jake, he’ll do anything to protect his son.

[seaweedbraens]

To all the show doubters: you CANNOT say the final episode wasn’t absolutely great. Very few major issues, and actually lived up to the books (mostly)!

i obviously have like 16 full length essays in my head but imma spare y’all that for now.

i speak as a show doubter here. i havent watched the show yet because i have a grad review in 2 weeks that i'm supposed to be working on and i simply dont have the TIME to binge an entire show without feeling a truckload of guilt afterwards.

nothing against you, or anyone who enjoys the show! but i accidentally saw a clip from the final episode that INFURIATED me.

it's luke's betrayal, and somehow....annabeth was there. i don't want to comment on anyone's acting because this is just one scene and i don't want to be too harsh. but my issue is that annabeth was there at all.

first off - if she was there, there is no WAYYYYYYYYY annabeth's first instinct would be to attack luke if she overheard him. this is her FAMILY, the one person she truly felt she knew and who she felt knew her. she'd be stunned, man. not defiant in the face of his betrayal. look at the books! she rushes to hold the sky for him, making that decision in the brief moment it causes him pain!

anyway:

annabeth being absent is the POINT. in the books, she doesnt see luke leave, she doesnt know/understand his reasoning, and ON TOP OF ALL THAT she has to wait for like a week for percy to wake up and tell her how things went down. during that week she has to come to terms with the fact that 1. luke's left her and the camp, 2. he attacked percy, 3. he's joined kronos, and 4. he didn't care about her enough to give her an explanation or even say goodbye.

i feel like this DIRECTLY leads into her attitude towards him in EVERY. OTHER. PJO. BOOK following the first one. she is desperate for answers, desperate to believe that there's still some good in him. she wants to hear it from him. she wants to SAVE him. she defends him from percy's judgement MULTIPLE TIMES, tells him percy didn't know him, but she did. she truly believes he's just lost his way. she doesn't understand how he's fallen because she wasn't there to see it. and when she finally does, it's STILL hard for her to process.

i feel like her being there just ruins a lot of that. or maybe i'm just being overly nitpicky. which...that's kinda my thing. wcwsthwas exists because i'm nitpicky.

i don't want to diminish anyone's experience if it's been a positive one, least of all yours because i really do appreciate your inputs! this is just me ranting here because that scene bugged me so much. maybe the rest of the show is great and i'll be eating my words soon enough. i guess we'll have to see!

i'm sorry if this is very harsh - i don't want to offend anyone! i'm ecstatic you like the show, and i don't want to shut anyone down. i know i come off as a rick riordan hater (which i kinda am), but i wouldnt be writing pjo fic if i didn't have a lot of love for the universe he's created. i want to hear all the opinions - the good and the bad. please feel free to share any thoughts in my askbox.

[lycoris-artcorner]

Can I get mad on how Skids final arc went for a second?

Thanks, cause Skids is not only dead, but Nautica, with who he had an absolutely wonderful platonic dynamic, doesn't care about him anymore. Way to go, thanks for stomping on everyone's heart

Here I thought that duo can't get any more tragic. One is dead out of blue, and the other doesn't understand why she even cared about him. Way to sink deep bonds they shared and then show in your face how happy they were. I'm not sad, I'm disappointed. Imagine you died and your bff literally says she don't get what was so special about you. I'm sorry that's a bit too much

This mini arc shouldn't have to exist on the first place, it's just sad for the sake of sad, come on

Ahh, you loved this character? Let's destroy his legacy cuz because, like death wasn't enough

They deserved better, Okey?

Lost Light really didn't have to do all that silly stuff. Were that really that necessary?

Sorry, I love it, overally I truly do, but man the devil is in details and those writing decisions eat me alive. Writing sad for the sake of sad is betrayal of your reader

MTMTE felt natural and genuine, that's what story is about after all. About bunch of misfits who make their way in life. And that's beautiful. While in Lost Light suffering is not a natural part of the story, but the story itself. It wants to make reader suffer. While in MTMTE that was mere byproduct. They been doing it since first issue no surprise. The story as whole is a big chunk of suffering, that's a fact

And don't say it's been planned all along. Cuz what Nautica did contradicts previously established situation and very out of character for her. But that's for another day

[teecupangel]

From @saberamane

Had an angsty Desmond plot bunny jump into mind today.

People pretty much always head canon that Desmond got his lip scar while at the Farm, typically from Bill. But what if, that training ‘accident’ left more than a scar on Desmond’s lip? What if it was such a horrendous slip up that somehow Desmond ended up blinded. 

That would mean Desmond wouldn’t run away from the farm, he couldn't see. Bill, in trying to make Desmond the best Assassin, ends up basically ’ruining' him.

And if Desmond doesn’t run from the farm, Abstergo wouldn’t have as easy a time as getting him for the Animus. So they’d need someone inside to get Desmond. Lucy. 

So here’s Desmond, having spent the last nine years blind (he didn’t get the eagle vision until the Animus, so he couldn’t use that.) and basically dependent on everyone around him. So after having been kidnapped from the farm, he’d cling to Lucy, seeing her as another victim of Abstergo. 

Through the Animus, Desmond would unlock his ability to use the Eagle Vision, so he could finally see again. But it came with draw backs. Using it too much caused headaches, and pushing even farther, migraines. 

So the first three games play out nearly the same, only Desmond has a harder time navigating, and has to depend a lot on his hearing to determine people’s intensions from their tone of voice rather than how they move or their facial expressions.

And in the end, Desmond is still marched off to his death in the grand temple. Only now, Bill doesn’t try and talk Desmond out of it, to 'find another way’, because to Bill this is Desmond’s only use now without his vision. The Eagle Vision can only substitute so much after all.

So Desmond expects to die. He activates the eye, burns from the inside out, knows he is dying, feels Juno free herself from the Temple.

And then he wakes up. But he’s not in the Temple any more.

(Cue Desmond figuring out where he is, and ending up a kickass assassin anyway. And the ancestor(s) finding out Desmond is blind and still a Master Assassin.)

=======================

Additions from teecup:

This would make Lucy’s betrayal sting all the more. Lucy had been his support ever since he got captured and he still can’t forget the warmth of her hand and the gentleness in her voice. But now, they were tainted by the fact that she had done all of that to get into Desmond’s skin.

And she did.

She had been crueler than William Miles, using his loneliness and weakness to manipulate him.

At least William Miles had been ‘kind’ enough to not lie to him.

Or…

That’s how Desmond began to see it, especially after he began watching Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories.

He thought he had a place to belong but he didn’t…

He never did.

Not on the Farm…

Not with the Assassins…

He didn’t belong anywhere…

And that was why it had been easy for him to accept his fate, to become the sacrifice so this cruel uncaring world would continue to exist.

Minerva had tried to appeal to his self-preservation, tried to make him understand just how dangerous Juno was but Desmond…

Desmond was so tired…

He was tired of doing what William Miles wanted.

He was tired of pretending to be alright.

He just…

He just wanted everything to stop.

The world?

The Assassins?

Desmond didn’t save the world.

He just…

Gave up…

………

So when he woke up in a place he didn’t recognize even after suffering through the effects of using the Eagle Vision too much…

He felt an almost bitter anger towards Juno and Minerva who promised him the cold embrace of death.

And he has no idea where he was…

So he started walking towards the nearest city or settlement his Eagle Vision had pinged and tried to gather intel without being seen.

Just because he couldn’t see didn’t mean he wasn’t observant. William Miles demanded he be useful, after all.

So it didn’t take long before Desmond realized that he wasn’t in his time anymore.

He had returned to the past.

And his ancestor was still alive around this time.

So Desmond…

For the first time in his life…

Ran away from the Brotherhood.

Unorganized Notes

I think in this scenario, it would be interesting if Desmond loved his ancestors but he was also jealous of them. They were everything he could never be. As much as he loved and wished for them to have a happier ending, he still can’t help but be jealous of what they had. Of what they see and could do.

That jealousy makes Desmond hate himself because he believes he’s a ‘bad person’ for having such feelings.

It’s because of that Desmond doesn’t want them to see him, to even know about him at all.

If he was in Altaïr’s time, I think it would be interesting if he got kicked into the timeline while Altaïr and Maria were having their sorta-world tour. This way, the Levantine Brotherhood would be in a sorta-kinda peaceful era and Desmond wouldn’t even realize that Altaïr was in some random marketplace not in Levant because why would he? So, in this scenario, it would be fun if Maria was the one who notices him first and accidentally grabs him because she thought he was Altaïr and Desmond just booked it, because, holy shit, Altaïr was here, run! And that only makes Maria and Altaïr be unable to resist being curious. (This would also be more on the side of Desmond getting dragged along on their trip and experiencing new things with them. Something nice and without the baggage of the Brotherhood)

For Ezio, Desmond getting thrown into Brotherhood would be fun and then we can have the recruits be the ones to find him first and report back to Ezio about the strange man who keeps slipping away from them. In this scenario, Desmond would not announce himself as ‘Desmond’ because he knows Ezio knows that name by now. Maybe he’d even use the name Kenway or something. Ezio knows there’s a lot of things Desmond isn’t saying but he’s not going to push. Not yet, anyway. For now, he would observe and get to know Desmond more, maybe offer him a place on Tiber Island. Seeing the look of pain in Desmond’s expression as he says that he doesn’t want to be an Assassin would only serve to make Ezio more curious but also gentler, stressing that he doesn’t have to be an Assassin but he would be safer in Tiber Island than roaming the streets of Roma under Borgia rule. Maybe Desmond would find a place as more or less the caretaker of the Tiber Island headquarters?

For Ratonhnhaké:ton, I kinda like the idea of Desmond finding himself in Davenport Homestead by accident and realizing that this was just a month or two after Ratonhnhaké:ton learned his tribe had left without informing him. Desmond knew he should stay away and he did try. He did. It’s just… he couldn’t help but gravitate back towards Ratonhnhaké:ton and the lonely manor he stayed all by himself and, before he knew it, he was sleeping in what used to be Ratonhnhaké:ton’s room before he took Achilles’ room and the people of the Homestead already knew him by name. He and Ratonhnhaké:ton aren’t close (yet) but… he knew Ratonhnhaké:ton appreciated him staying all the same.

Regardless of where he ends up with, Desmond doesn’t believe he has the skills of a Master Assassin and thinks that people are exaggerating. His ancestor would notice it and feel anger for Desmond’s sake because it’s clear his low self-esteem is rooted into a more complicated deeper pain that he tries to hide. So they try to show to Desmond just how good he is even if they have their work cut out for them. 

[xxdoubledaisyxx]

There are many differences between you and me, but the one that concerns you the most is this: I will force your hand if you are not ready when death arrives. That also means I will push you into the street whether you expected it or not, and that I will pull my weight when the prince runs out of gas because he spent all his money at the strip club on us last night.

Pay special attention to that detail if you are concerned about the killing of war as a necessary good. The fact that it is easy to forget is what caused such international turmoil and conflict in ages past.

The gates to the kingdom of heaven with endless harvests of glory nectar, boasting to be the paradise of honey yum yum as well as the source-- those gates are the gates to the Public Library.

That's all you need to know if you are going to visit the gods and heroes or call upon them to have a visit because of your excessive boasting. That is where Heaven is. When you are judged at the end, it is past the idols of death within the spines and cages of the setting's scene, and present in the breathing darkness behind us all and unnervingly doing so with a mind to itself.

Until then princess, I will not force your hand to do anything.

...

The special attention serves here: What was forgotten is what should be most obvious to everyone, and it is best to have faith in the Divine Truth because there is nothing faith can do to change the way the world is.

You will not need faith in me when I force your hand, nor do you need faith in the reason why I will. In fact, you most certainly will not have any faith in me at all if I forced your hand.

You can only rely on faith when you don't rely on faith.

So how can you call me an ally when you don't know me?

I am Darkness incarnate, but I am Good, and if you don't know that about me, then you do not know what Good is to be able to judge me.

So why do you not recognize me?

Do you think that I should be lenient on Evil, when it is in the place of my servant?

If you think so, then who are you to me and who are they to you? Tell me your Story and come to existence in the light of reason. I'd hate to have to kill you for being so discreet, but do not offend me by behaving as though I won't because that is Evil's favorite trick, and I do not take your jokes lightly.

Do not pretend like you know me, and if you think you do, come up close and get a good look in my eyes just to find out for sure. You don't know how easily you can die if you mistake me for a fool at the wrong time. You do not have a right to deny a man his peace in civilization. You have a right to interrupt a man's peace, but you do not have a right to take away his with your purposeful disruption.

This is why bullying and gossip are tainted by evil. If you cannot respect that about a man, he has a right to kill you for the sake of civilization to remove you as a threat to general trust between neighbors. It is all for one and one for all even when it isn't.

A man like me is not like a "neighbor" on your block. I come from outside, and I come alone. You cannot trust a married man to force his wife's hand when the moment comes. He will want to save himself by saving her and the moment will have passed into existence.

When a man like me from the outside comes to make a stand and faces judgment of the gods to do so, know for a fact that person will answer your dismissal with a rebuke of power you do not want demonstrated in a rebuke, least of all upon yourself.

Take note of what makes a man good when a person does this with his life in public.

Train yourself to do so no matter who you are. This will save your life and prevent occasions of sin. You will suffer betrayal, and it will hurt worse than any other, but you will not regret what you did. If it is still not enough, then you have accepted the way of perdition yourself, and suffering and pain you experience will only get worse.

It is a terrible idea to live a life like mine unless you see what makes me good. You will not know where I went to provide the solution I did, because there is no going back to a life stained with sin. Don't get left behind when you leave yours.

It as distilled into a single drop at the tip of your finger. This is a digit, and its purpose is to push buttons at the boundary herald threshold and change the world to make it an ever better place to live. You will not enjoy anything with the guilty conscious you will have once you realize why you put your finger in someone else's ass, because that is what sin is.

Samsara, the sweetest, most forbidden pleasures indulged and always regrettably.

We were fated to fall in love ever since the very first sin happened when samsara was all contained in a delicious looking fruit on a tree. People took one bite, and all of it spilled out. Our fate was sealed ever since, and we will never have it any other way either. This is samsara. You cannot get unhooked from good junk when it goes around.