#despite the female or dragon aspect

[moeblob]

10/10 is Lon'qu Day so here we go, a 10 out of 10 family.

[jinxekkotimebomb]

The reason Farcille appeals to me as a dynamic is because it's really refreshing and unique for a fantasy series. They're two girls who found each other and became close on their own terms, not just because they like a man, or through a man. Marcille is Falin's first friend. Marcille is the only one besides her own brother, who bothered to try and reach out to Falin despite her absurdities, and try to understand her and not judge her because she's different. Falin felt she didn't belong and wasn't normal, and Marcille struggles with similar feelings.

Their bond is an important and vital aspect of the series. Laios and Marcille both wanting to save Falin after she sacrificed herself against the red dragon. Marcille having attachment issues alongside Falin and having to learn to be independent and less clingy on her. Furthered by Falin herself realising she needs time alone after being saved at the end of series as she knows she has mostly relied on Marcille and Laios her whole life. Falin wants to become her own person and find her identity outside of the both of them.

I just love how Falin and Marcille love and care for one another but also realise they were initially co dependant and try to improve themselves without each other and don't trap each other down by what they want. It's just refreshing seeing two female characters in a fantasy series have such a strong bond with each other (regardless if you see them romantic or not). That isn't just tied around their worth with men around them. It feels realistic and it's relateable.

Falin is a really personal character for me and I love the way the series handles her connection with Marcille and her brother Laios. The way it also recognises her issues and flaws through other characters and it ends with her taking control of her own life. Dungeon Meshi has so many themes which can appeal to many different types of people, it's why i started loving this series so much. It's so comforting seeing platonic, romantic, familial bonds being explored in unique, real ways.

Anyway the point of this thread was just to explain why so many people love Farcille as a dynamic. It feels natural but also a refreshing relationship between two women who love and care for one another without their worth being tied down by male characters. Falin and Marcille, Laios and Falin's sibling dynamic, Kabru and Mithrun are all really refreshing dynamics Dungeon Meshi actually takes the time to explore and develop across it's story. Not many manga really develop relationships in this way, it's why i love the series!

[coralinnii]

I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Malleus genre: drama, hurt/comfort, romance note: part 3 continuation of Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy AU Malleus ver, not gender specific reader, no pronouns used, villain/ess!reader is human, insecure villain/ess!reader, use of non-canon characters, 1.6k word count

I'm scared that people aren't gonna like how the villain/ess!reader is portrayed but I wanted to write people who are hurt and are afraid, cuz that's what being alive is like, to sometimes be afraid. So, hope you enjoy!

There are requests with more specific topics or aspects of the story so they may get their own story post. I'm not ignoring you, I'm more story pacing ^^"

In one night alone, you’ve met your ex-fiancé and your former friends while you were with the fae that has asked to marry you. Then, said fae went on to antagonize your ex-fiancé who was a prince and low-key threatened to ruin him, his lover and those who supported the couple. 

You were not built for this stress

In his defense, Malleus only did it because your former fiance started to mock you and your family over a crime that was proven false. You certainly weren’t ungrateful enough not to thank Malleus for his assistance. The powerful king simply smiled.

“This is but a mere glimpse of the things I would do for you, should you finally accept my proposal” 

“T-this is not a decision you can rush” 

You were hesitant and gave excuses to refuse the dragon king but he made efforts to rebuke your reasons one by one, destroying whatever obstacles that kept you from saying yes. Soon, it came down to one reason, your real reason. 

You were scared

Not of Malleus, he has never done anything to warrant fear from you. But rather, his status as a “route target”. 

Before the arrival of the heroine, you were friends with the other route targets and even felt happy enough to be engaged with the prince despite having only platonic feelings between each other. But the moment they all met her, your world became hers. 

Your former fiancé grew irritated with you, then full out ignoring you. It was no better with the others as well when you expressed your worries to your mutual friends. Rather than consoling you or hearing you out, they took the heroine’s side and started ignoring you as well, calling you delusional and unreasonable. 

Everyone changed (or perhaps you changed and this was how it was meant to be) and you were left ridiculed and soon villainized by those you felt close to. The look of disgust on their faces whenever you attempted to just speak to them, it hurt you.

Would Malleus be the same? Be kind to you then break your heart when the heroine comes in? You suffered because of it the first time but if it was Malleus…your last and maybe closest person in your life since reincarnating to this world… you don’t know how you could come back from that. 

So you started to give up on your happy ending, refusing to answer Malleus’ proposal, avoiding to engage with the heroine at all, even escaping the party and retreating to your old hiding spot… in the royal garden. 

Alone with your thoughts, you berated yourself over your cowardice as you hid in the tall rose bushes. Gently, you fidgeted with the rose petals and you reminisced about the past. You met Malleus here, didn’t you? 

You were so clueless over your future. Back then, you still held hope that your fate was not predestined, that you could be content with stepping aside for the heroine and live happily with them. Yet despite your conflicted feelings, you managed a smile as you recalled one fateful night in the garden. It was the night that you met with your closest friend… 

“Lord Malleus!” 

…Did you say that out loud? 

You looked around in confusion to see if you were truly alone as you thought and to your surprise, you saw beyond the tall hedges the very fae you were just thinking about and the person who called him…

The female protagonist. 

“Do you like flowers, Lord Malleus?”

Your heart clenched painfully as you saw your worst nightmare come to be, the female lead with your friend(?) and they were alone in the gardens, where you realized where the player was supposed to meet Malleus in order to enter his route. Was the baron’s daughter aware of this? Did they meet like it was meant to be? Should you stay…or run away? 

You could. Your engagement has been annulled and your family was cleared from accusations of treason. You haven't accepted Malleus' proposal so nothing is holding you or your family back from leaving this kingdom forever and starting a new life away from here. No need to follow this cursed story to the end. No need to ever see your ex-friends or the protagonist ever again. 

No need to see Malleus again. 

Just run away.  

Malleus internally thanked the elders and Lilia for their lessons to conceal his emotions, or he could have done something as drastic as burning this garden to ashes due to the annoyance he felt at this moment. He noticed your escape from the party and assumed you wanted some fresh air so he left you on your own. But soon, the party attendees bore him and he soon ached to be by your side once more. So, he made his way to the one place he immediately thought of when thinking of you, the royal gardens. 

It was his curiosity borne from boredom that brought him to the gardens that day. He found himself attracted with your kindness and obliviousness to his true identity. He found you charming, a delight and later an optimist when learning of your situation. He knew right away who you were, the child from a noble family betrothed to the young prince of this kingdom since young but that piece of information did not bother him…at first. 

But you were turned from charming to tempting as time went on. He craved your attention, envisioning your smiling face with each letter he received from you via his attendant Lilia. He couldn’t count how many times he wanted to visit you personally but couldn’t. He was sure that if you knew his identity, you may cease your correspondence with him in fear of a scandal between the kingdoms. He at least could appreciate your tactfulness. 

But he was greedy as any dragon fae would be once he heard your engagement was annulled. He may curse the foolish prince for his actions but Malleus suppose he should count himself lucky that your ex-fiancé was a fool. If he were a decent man then he may have to declare war by stealing you away. 

But Malleus encountered another greedy individual, and she’s standing right in front of him. 

“Do you like flowers, Lord Malleus?” The baron’s daughter asked, fluttering her eyelashes cutely. 

“This garden and its flora has its charm” Malleus curtly replied, he can’t hate this garden afterall. He met you here. 

“So do I! I guess fae and humans aren’t so different, huh” 

Well, that’s a stretch of a comment. He couldn’t comprehend this human’s agenda. Constantly surrounded by young men, Malleus assumed she had better ways to spend her time, and not waste his. 

Wait…was she reaching her hand to him? 

“My wish is for humans and fae to get along. Wouldn’t that be great?” The female lead sweetly said with her best smile, stretching her fingers to reach for Malleus’ crossed arms. 

To dare attempt to lay hands on him without his permission. No one would fault him for burning this woman’s audacious hands off, right? 

“King Malleus!” 

The dragon fae’s pointed ears perked up at the sound of his name. He turned immediately to the source, knowing exactly who just called him. 

“My dear human” he responded back with a smile as he saw you walking quickly towards him. 

In spite of your nervousness, you walked up to the duo and looked to share a gaze with the tall dragon fae before cautiously moving to hover your hand on his arm. Malleus did you one better and guided your hand to firmly rest on his arm, with his large hand kept over yours. 

“Good evening, lady” you nodded your head at the heroine who seemed displeased with your presence but curtsied back, as is custom. You barely gave the woman’s much of your attention (your confidence may waver if you did) and turned directly to face Malleus.

“King Malleus, I had planned to retire early tonight and leave this party” you looked to Malleus, taking a deep breath before speaking once more. To let yourself be selfish and fight for the only man that mattered to you now. “Would you like to leave…with me?”   

“Aren’t you being rude?” The female lead argued, barely hiding her annoyance with you. “Not only did you interrupt a conversation, you’re shamelessly asking Lord Malleus to leave-“ 

“Where would you like to go, my dear human?” Malleus’ deep voice interrupted the baron’s daughter, not that Malleus cared as his striking green eyes focused solely on you. 

“If you’re willing…perhaps your manor’s garden?” You shocked yourself with your boldness, but you kept at it. “I much prefer your garden above all others, especially during our dates” 

Whoosh

Your senses couldn’t keep up with the sudden shift as you were suddenly lifted by Malleus who quickly scooped you up into a bridal carry. You and the female lead both had looks of shock by the fae king’s sudden actions but Malleus paid attention to only one of you.

“I had made the false assumption that all humans were charming” Malleus’ eyes glinted a bright green, you compared them to gems, as he smirked amusingly at you, his fangs peeking from his lips. “But only you could evoke such feelings of greed within me"

Ignoring this world's protagonist, Malleus began to shroud the two of you in specks of green lights, a sign that you were going to be magically whisked away at Malleus' whim.

But before you did, you managed to meet the female lead's eyes which were filled with nothing but indignant rage. She looked ready to destroy you and everything you love, but you steeled yourself. Instead of flinching under her glare, you smiled at her while wrapping your arms around the dragon king's neck. Without a word, you made your decision.

I'm not giving him up

[bbygirl-aemond]

my brain: rhaenyra being too emotionally and physically wounded from the traumatic stillbirth of her only daughter is a central part of her character within the book. additionally, her ability to wield immense power and present a substantial threat despite not actually taking to the battlefield herself represents a unique perspective of girlbossing that does not rely upon forcing a female character into masucline roles in order for them to be strong. there are many members of team black who fit the girlboss fighter trope already (rhaenys, baela, nettles, alysanne blackwood, etc.) but rhaenyra was the only one who broke this mold while being a force of nature in her own right. in turning rhaenyra into a sword-wielding, dragon-riding girlboss and robbing her of the physical and mental scars caused by her miscarriage, the showrunners are therefore fundamentally losing some of the most unique aspects of her character and eliminating the gendered dimensionality of team black

also my brain: pretty sword for a pretty girl 🥰

[blackenedsnow]

If you had watch the Og Dragon Ball series, I was wondering if you could write headcanons for Yandere King Piccolo with a female reader? Maybe the reader works for Emperor Pilaf and he takes an interest in her or something like that.

yandere king piccolo x female reader ; headcanons

WARNING: Yandere behavior, psychological manipulation, implied threats, stockholm syndrome elements

PAIRING: King Piccolo x Reader

NOTE: Thank you for this cool request! I hope you enjoyed this! Take care, and feel free to send more fun prompts my way! <333 I had a lot of fun with this, sorry if it's too long </3

King Piccolo is not someone who typically spares a thought for individuals unless they serve his conquest, but you?

You’re different.

Perhaps it’s your intelligence, the way you keep Pilaf’s chaotic operations running smoothly, or how you face him with a defiant spark that most wouldn’t dare.

Whatever the reason, you’ve unknowingly captured his attention.

The moment he notices you, he claims you in his mind.

He doesn’t ask for things—he takes what he wants.

Pilaf, despite his cowardly nature, tries to keep you at his side when he sees Piccolo taking an interest.

Pilaf’s protests are silenced with a single glare, and within moments, you’re no longer Pilaf’s assistant—you’re Piccolo’s possession.

It’s not even a negotiation. Piccolo simply informs you that you’re leaving with him, his tone brooking no argument.

Piccolo’s obsession manifests in possessiveness.

He expects obedience from you, but there’s a twisted respect buried beneath his demands.

He finds your stubborn streak amusing (and oddly endearing) but will squash it if it gets in the way of his plans.

Any attempt to escape is met with swift and decisive action.

You belong to him now, and he’ll ensure you understand that, whether through manipulation or force.

Anyone who dares to harm or threaten you faces his wrath.

While Piccolo may be ruthless and cruel to his enemies, his protectiveness over you is absolute.

He justifies this to himself as guarding his “property,” but there’s a subtle undertone of care that he doesn’t fully acknowledge.

You may not be able to leave his side, but you’ll never have to fear harm from anyone else as long as he’s around.

The more time he spends around you, the more his fixation warps.

He finds himself wanting to keep you closer, to learn more about you, and to control every aspect of your life.

He’ll demand you tell him everything—your thoughts, your fears, your dreams.

He doesn’t understand why he cares, but it frustrates him when you hold back.

Piccolo becomes jealous of anyone who knew you before him.

Even casual acquaintances are seen as potential threats.

Your resistance intrigues him, even as it infuriates him.

You’re not like the mindless followers he commands—you challenge him in small ways, and that keeps his interest sharp.

However, if you defy him too strongly, his patience has limits.

His punishments aren’t physical but psychological—he’ll isolate you, destroy things you value, or remind you just how powerless you are against him.

Piccolo isn’t soft, but his obsession manifests in odd moments of tenderness.

He’ll brush your hair away from your face while you sleep or sit silently beside you when you’re upset.

He won’t acknowledge these acts, dismissing them as inconsequential, but they reveal the depth of his obsession.

If you ever show gratitude or warmth toward him, even out of fear, he’ll take it as a sign of your submission—and it only fuels his possessiveness.

Despite his fixation on you, Piccolo never loses sight of his ultimate goal: world domination.

He expects you to support him in this endeavor, whether as a confidant, a strategist, or simply as a silent companion at his side.

In his mind, your role in his empire is non-negotiable.

He sees you as the only one worthy of standing beside him when he rules the world.

Over time, you might find yourself walking a thin line between terror and fascination. King Piccolo’s presence is overwhelming, but there’s something about his power, his unwavering confidence, that draws you in despite yourself.

Piccolo notices this, of course, and he exploits it mercilessly.

He thrives on the knowledge that you’re starting to accept your place beside him, even if it’s out of fear or necessity.

Even if his plans for domination fail, his fixation on you won’t falter.

You’re his—body, mind, and soul—and he’ll stop at nothing to keep you by his side.

[witchthewriter]

Big three and mbti type of Bloody Ben?

From what I've heard about book Ben - I love him. A quiet and shy boy who wants a female ruler & fights for her in a completely savage way! UGH!

Also, I'm torn because who we thought was Bloody Ben turned out to be a guy named Davos Blackwood?! He will always be the best option for Ben tbh...

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝑩𝒆𝒏 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅'𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆

Benjicot Blackwood, known as Bloody Ben by his men, was the Lord of Raventree Hall and the head of House Blackwood during the Dance of the Dragons and during the reign of King Aegon III Targaryen.

𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈

𝑰𝑺𝑭𝑱

This is a capable, can-do personality type, with a wealth of versatile gifts. Though sensitive and caring, Defenders also have excellent analytical abilities and an eye for detail. And despite their reserve, they tend to have well-developed people skills and robust social relationships. Defenders are truly more than the sum of their parts, and their varied strengths shine in even the most ordinary aspects of their daily lives.

In all areas of his life, he is dependable and considerate. He's comitted to protect those around him. He has a down to earth demeanour. It puts people at ease. These people aren't afraid to weather the tough storms if it meant fighting for their family and beliefs.

𝐒𝐔𝐍

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒐

As a fixed sign, Scorpio holds the qualities of being a sustainer, being able to apply profound powers of concentration to projects, and discovering hidden truths. As a result, those with the sign of the Scorpion prominent in their charts tend to be magnetic, highly sensitive, intuitive, creative, and secretive at times.

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

𝑨𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

Aries Moon individuals exude independence and courage, radiating a powerful light that guides them through life's challenges. Their innate bravery propels them into leadership roles and encourages them to carve their own paths. The question often arises, "Why are Aries Moons so intense?" The answer lies in the fiery essence of their emotional landscape. Aries Moon individuals experience feelings with depth and intensity, from the peaks of happiness to the valleys of despair. Their emotional honesty is admirable and vulnerable, showcasing their strength and need for connection.

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓

𝑨𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔

Ben has a really interesting way of presenting himself. Going by the books, Ben is young. Around eleven years old and quiet. However, when it comes to war, he DOES NOT HOLD BACK. The Aquarius Rising mindset is actually far more affectionate and kind than people give them credit for. Aquarius is represented by the water bearer, after all, and that shows up in Aquarius Risings’ daily life. They are continuously showing up for the people they care about, taking the time to hold the woes and stresses of their kinfolk.

[aleksanderscult]

Hello, I started following your blog pretty recently and I agree with most of what you think. I felt so confused when I finished the books and came on tumblr to see everyone hailing malina as the perfect relationship and I was glad to know that I wasn't the only one who disliked him.

I wanted to ask you something, im not sure if I saw this on this blog, but someone said that zoya is an example of toxic feminism in YA fantasy. Which checked out to me, but it also felt that bardugo added misogyny, feminism and toxic feminism in the SaB series.

Misogyny since alina had to face sloot-shaming in every book (almost entirely by Malyen ugh 😒). I felt that she really tried and suceeded to be feminist with genya, since she actually stood up for herself and had many facets to her personality. She also wasn't an important character just because of her beauty or anything super superficial. Genya IS a strong female character, and she wasn't 'broken' by the king, despite the foul things he did.

But zoya.. my god, I really wanted to like her, but I just couldn't. She is mean and hot headed to the point where I really don't see any redeeming factors to her. I always liked 'mean girl character who isnt as shallow as she seems' in fantasy novels, but she didnt exactly have a redemption arc either. If the darkling had warned her about expanding the fold in the first book, she would have fought for him. I think she isnt a strong female character, but just a girl who is a bully and decided to help mc since the antagonist hurt her specifically. She doesnt even think of the other casualties of novokribirsk. I think the 'break nikolais heart, I'll comfort him and make a magnificent queen' part was a joke, but still....

Please excuse my yapping. I haven't read crooked kingdom and nikolais duology, so I don't know if the characters had any developement since then, so please ignore any innacuracies of this text pertaining to that. Do you have any thoughts on this?

(Do you allow emoji annons? If so, can I be 🎀 annon?)

(Of course I do! You can use any emoji you want and ribbons remind me of coquettish things 😍)

Genya in S&B was my favorite version of her. She was traumatised by the King's abuse, that's true. But she wasn't solely that.

(Here's a meta about that version of her that I once did)

She was very brave, vengeful, intelligent, politically aware, had a sense of humor and was kind. There were different aspects to her personality and wasn't solely "the victim" as many fans of the Grishaverse like to portray her. But in Nikolai's duology Bardugo either forgot how to write complex situations within a court or just doesn't know how to (or it doesn't suit her 🙃).

She threw all the blame to the Darkling (as if he was entirely at fault for her sexually abuse), forgot that Grisha were serfs meant to please and serve the royal family (hence why the Darkling gave her to the Queen) and also forgot how it was the Queen who withdrew her protection and allowed her husband to abuse her. Also, a slight amnesia to how Genya herself decided to stay and take revenge. Essentially, the character became Leigh's mouthpiece to remind the reader that the Darkling is a heartless motherfucker that is undeserving of redemption. How banal.

Now about Zoya. Zoya is the typical female character that we encounter in media nowadays. A girlboss that kicks ass, is rude, has no sensitivity and threatens everyone. Again, cliché. But Leigh broke her own in-universe laws when she gave Zoya the protagonist's role.

Meaning:

The narrative with Alina as a protagonist: "You can't have feelings for your enemy!! You can't be independent! You need to depend on your toxic, childhood friend and...what is this? Power?? You took three amplifiers?? WELL SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR POWERS THAT KEEP YOU HEALTHY AND STRONG!!"

The narrative with Zoya as a protagonist: "Take the amplifiers, take the power to turn into a dragon, let's also have a Saint in your head giving you advice and guess?!? You just got promoted into a Queen and soon enough you will marry the love of your life!! Kudos!!"

That's basically what happened.

It would be an amazing end if only:

- Otkazat'sya didn't hate the Grisha's guts.

- Zoya had the qualities of a leader and a Queen instead of being handed the throne on a silver plate from an illegitimate son who failed in his job.

- The author didn't break her own rules just to prove and show how "awesome" her protagonists are.

- The same author didn't copy paste the storyline of Daenerys Targaryen into Zoya's (somehow she needed to appear cool and sympathetic)

- Half of the fandom didn't hate the primary protagonists now than they ever did before.

So basically Leigh infuriated the fandom even more about Alina's fate when she gave Zoya everything.

And about your question if the characters had any development in the later books after the trilogy. I've got some bad news, my friend. 🥲

[22degreehalo]

I think, to me, House of the Dragon s2 has the same base conceptual problem as the Barbie movie: it wants to tell an aspirational story about women succeeding in ways that real women usually aren't able to, by means of a fantastical setting, but also wants most if not all of its messaging to be relevant to real-world women.

To overcome that conflict - to spend so much time making the character 'relatable' while also putting them into an intentionally and purposefully unrelatable position - you have two major options.

Firstly, you can tie in some sort of inherent 'essence' of womanhood: that a woman in that position would be kinder, more generous, and more nurturing than a man would.

House of the Dragon season 1 didn't especially try to do this, but season 2 sure did. Suddenly, characters started telling us that Rhaenyra was the kindest and most peaceful contender for the crown, despite absolutely nothing in season 1 indicating that that was an especially tangible aspect of her personality. It's not clear when or why she started 'valuing the common people', as Mysaria puts it; she simply does, because she is Rhaenyra.

Unfortunately, the most basic possible plot elements of the story struggle against this characterisation: this is about a bloody civil war. If Rhaenyra were truly peaceful, she would not be going to war at all, and if Alicent were the same, she would never have goaded Aegon as she did, or gone along with Otto's plans. Not only does this heavily constrict the action of the story - the two must continually Not Do Things to show how peaceful they are, even as the other characters and audience alike scream for some sort of action on their part - it threatens the very premise of this 'aspirational' figure: Rhaenyra can't claim the throne merely because she deserves it, just like men have done before her, because that would not be Peaceful Enough. So instead, the writers concoct the prophecy - already loosely relevant to Rhaenyra at all - so that her grasping for power can be considered generous and good. Rather than standing her ground and having faith in herself, she instead becomes a passive receptacle for men's dreams (her father's and the original Aegon's alike).

In Barbie, this conflict is less obvious; however, when we consider the next problem below, it becomes quite jarring how much the Barbies' superiority is treated as ultimately inherently kinder than the Kens', without much real evidence. Any action the Barbies take is portrayed as good because it is non-violent, unlike the Kens, despite being intentionally hurtful, deceptive, and cruel.

The second and much more concerning way to find harmony between a high-ranking, high-status female character and the real-world oppression women face? Simply ignore all other oppressions rather than misogyny, and ignore any privilege the aspirational female characters have.

In both Barbie and House of the Dragon, the main character is treated by the narrative as an underdog, despite all evidence to the contrary. Barbie is a member of the elite, of an oppressive class who intentionally keeps her lowers underfoot. That isn't a malicious reading; the Kens are explicitly and intentionally compared to real-world women on multiple occasions (e.g. when it's joked that they might "someday" be able to become Supreme Court Justices). Rhaenyra at least has Aegon and his immediate family to compare herself to, as the currently-reigning king rather than the ousted 'true heir', but she is to literally every single other citizen of Westeros (and possibly Essos, too!) a higher power.

Despite this, House of the Dragon repeatedly shows an unwillingness to consider Rhaenyra's actual, practical power. Other characters gush over her kindness to the smallfolk, but when Rhaenyra comes on to a servant who repeatedly refuses her, is nonetheless treated as the victim due to her gender. And then again, when she begins a relationship with a servant, it's never considered for a second that there might be some abuse of power or coercion, merely because they are both women.

In Barbie, this cognitive dissonance is even stronger: the societal oppression of the Kens is treated as positive, merely because they resemble our world's oppressor class. In this sense, the movie posits an extremely simple, gender essentialist understanding of privilege: Women - inherently and regardless of their material or other circumstances - are victims, and Men are villains at worst and pathetic privileged crybabies at best. There is no room for any greater examination of discrimination; the secondary-character Asian Ken is treated just as much as an oppressor to the (white) Barbie as any other. Womanhood, it seems, is defined by being an underclass, even in a world in which by definition they are the rulers.

But nowhere in House of the Dragon does this mis-match of aims become clearer than in Alicent. Season 1 does well to show the ways in which she, despite being among the heir to a powerful noble family, is nonetheless oppressed on the basis of her gender: she is coerced to marry a man far older than her and to bear him many children regardless of her wishes, and may only wield true power in the realm when her husband is indisposed.

However, that oppression is still contextual - not absolute. Where Season 2 errs is in treating that oppression as fundamental to her entire character and plotline, despite she in truth being a proactive and significant mover of the events of the story.

When Alicent gives up Aegon's life to Rhaenyra - when she is told that she has not sacrificed anything, but must do, and she hesitates and agrees, because only with this will she finally be 'free' - she is treated by the narrative as a woman who has been so thoroughly controlled and degraded she has been driven to extremes. She is presented as a war-torn victim; somebody grasping at this one, limited, terrible piece of leverage in an attempt to save herself from the Hell she has had thrust upon her. For many women in real life, that would be an understandable and harrowing story, but for Alicent, it is simply not true.

Alicent is, in fact, a powerful political operative within Westeros. She had the ear of the King for many years, and attempted to use it to turn him against Rhaenyra and her children. She is the mother to the current reigning king - now barely into adulthood - and has had his whole life to mould him into whoever she wishes he could be, which - again! - she mostly seems to have used to convince Aegon that Rhaenyra is a threat who must be put down. She was not heavily constrained or controlled by the king, and did not fear him; nor did she fear her son, who she on multiple occasions slapped (an entirely ordinary mode of discipline for the time period). When her husband died, we got an entire episode of her conspiring and manipulating to take advantage of her family's position as the first on the scene so as to place Aegon on the throne, despite his lack of will or foreknowledge, in order to further their own ambitions and protect themselves.

Alicent is not merely an innocent victim of the patriarchy, however much the writers would like her to be in order to make the feminist statement they wish they could make. She is in fact far more responsible for this civil war than Aegon himself is, and arguably maintains a high level of influence and control over him even after he was crowned; certainly, once he was badly injured and disabled, it's easily apparent that she has more power than him, something Alicent herself admits when she attempts to defend his life to Rhaenyra.

Misogyny, unfortunately, does not justify her actions. She is simply in too different of a position from ordinary women for that to make any sense at all. If the writers had committed to the aspiration nature of the show and presented her as a powerful woman using everything at her disposal to get her way, just like men have done both within that universe and in our own, they could have told a compelling and unique story. The attempt to simultaneously craft a traditional feminist narrative of persecution and triumph despite the odds, instead, falls horribly and discomfortingly flat.

[keepittoyourshelf]

Sometimes it really is all about sex.

Let’s talk about morally gray characters again. I just finished playing Dragon Age: Inquisition in prep for the Veilguard release and Solas is literally the textbook example of what morally gray character is. No spoiler warnings because the game is fucking ten years old, already.

TLDR is Solas is one of your companions (romanceable if you’re playing a female elf) who actually turns out to be an ancient elven spirit of some sort that is actively working to undermine your efforts. He was responsible for creating the Veil, as an act of revenge against his fellow elven spirit-gods for killing his bestie Mythal. This unfortunately had unforeseen consequences of cutting the elven people off from the Fade and ensuring that they were no longer immortal. He’s now working to reverse this mistake, despite the fact that doing so will essentially destroy the player’s world and wipe out all non-elves. Or something to that effect.

If you play the Trespasser DLC (highly recommended since I don’t think Veilguard will make much sense otherwise, and you will not get the full impact of the Solas romance if you pursue that path), you’ll get to talk to Solas at the end and he is genuinely regretful and remorseful, and not just for how this will affect his friend/lover, but how it will affect all people. This is despite knowing the cost. He knows the cost, is fully aware of it, is remorseful about the pain and suffering it will cause, and yet is willing to move forward anyway.

Another example I’ve referred to before? Kaz Brekker. Think of how fucked up what he did to Pekka Rollins re: his kid was. Disregard how fucked up Pekka was in turn, because two wrongs don’t make a right, right? Kaz didn’t care. Kaz has never really cared who gets hurt so long as it’s not people he actually cares about and he achieves his ends. It’s literally anything goes. We as readers can still “cheer” for him conscience free because ostensibly the people he’s acting out against are all pretty much trash human beings, but you have to think that statistically innocents are caught in the crossfire, and yet Kaz dgaf. No explanations, even though they would make total sense in context without actually justifying the actions he takes (because they are wrong), just revenge. We as readers aren’t necessarily expected to like what he does. But we should understand it.

Lestat de Lioncourt is the same way. It’s obvious in the books, but quicker and easier to digest via the TV show that’s currently airing on AMC. Lestat is straight-up a petty, jealous, vengeful bitch (though he never beat Louis the way it’s shown on the show, so take that aspect with a grain of salt). Lestat also suffered a seriously abusive childhood and his experience of being turned was tantamount to rape. He doesn’t always go after evil-doers, though later on in the series he goes after them almost exclusively, with the occasional slip-up. Yet we still love him and cheer for him. Is it because he’s handsome and charming and witty? Yeah, mostly. Does he make excuses for what he does? Not really. He might explain his motivations, but he doesn’t excuse the evilness of his actions. He knows they’re wrong and does them anyway.

Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3 is another great example, though his morally grey status can be considered arguable depending on whether or not you Ascend him (and consequently doom 7000 presumably innocent souls, including children). For those that have played, you know Astarion’s past is as traumatic as it gets. That in itself explains away a lot of his attitude, though I personally believe he was a sassy dick even before all that happened. The way he manipulates Tav and the other characters though, all of that is motivated by self-preservation as a result of his past abuse. If you explore his romance path, you talk to him enough to know that he knows what he’s doing is wrong, and he’s regretful for it, to a point. He’s definitely not regretful about every mean thing he’s done though, that needs to be made clear. Does he offer excuses? No, not a one. He explains his motivations though, and he’s sorry for whatever pain it causes insofar as it relates to Tav (either as a friend or a lover), but everyone else can pretty much fuck off. So yeah, he’s not free of his asshole status just by virtue of being abused, but it does explain his actions enough to let the player still like him and romance him in spite of it all (if the hair alone wasn’t enough to make you turn a blind eye, that is).

This is all leading up to me once again explaining that RHYSAND FROM ACOTAR IS NOT MORALLY GREY. He never has been and he never will be. What is the difference between him and anyone I’ve mentioned above? Chapter 54 in ACOMAF really says it all. Up until that point, Rhysand was the villain. Feyre could not in good conscience explore her attraction to him because he was the bad guy, and head of the bad guys. Literally everyone else in that world thinks of him as evil and is fearful of him. This is by Rhysand’s own design for, well, reasons. Until Chapter 54, where he deconstructs, in practically bulleted-list format, every single bad thing he has been shown to do in the books up until that point. This is needed because since Feyre is narrating, she’s not privy to his inner thoughts and can’t possibly know he’s not really evil, and thus cannot justify fucking him. Killing kids and innocent people? He was under the influence of Amarantha. In order to save the majority, a small minority had to be sacrificed. Let me give a tip here: If someone is saying they do something bad for the greater good, they are 1). Most definitely not morally grey and 2). Quite possibly a nazi. Abusing Feyre mentally and physically? Necessary to keep his cover, so he could continue to protect the majority for the greater good, or undermine Amarantha, which he never really managed to do in the 50 years he was held captive, or whatever. Sometimes he did it because he could find no other way to be near her because even then he was So In LoOoOvE. The whole point of that fucking chapter is to show the reader that there were good/romantic motivations behind bad actions, which in SJM-speak equals good. Unless you’re Tamlin, in which case you are still evil. Why does this need to happen? So SJM can write mid-level smut guilt free.

Chalk it up to religious guilt or societal pressure, but Kaz, Solas, Astarion, Lestat, and others have shown time and time again that you can do bad things and still be considered good enough to justify romantic interest, or friendly, if that’s your bag. The line in the sand really comes in having awareness that what you did was bad, not really caring about it, and most importantly, not needing to completely erase a bad past based on one or two actions/statements/beliefs (or because they’re just good looking). Even if you do not romance them, you can at least understand some of what they do, even when it is bad, because of their history, their obvious remorse, or just their fucking charisma etc.

One could argue that Chapter 54 would not have been required if SJM didn’t think we needed to read Chapter 55 guilt-free, or at least without being able to so easily equate Rhys with Ted Bundy (a handsome, charming psychopath). Rhysand does not express remorse over the acts themselves, so much as he expresses remorse over the fact that the fact that he did them, for whatever reason, could prevent him from getting what he wants. The reader, by virtue of Feyre’s limited and biased POV, is not given permission to let Rhys into their hearts and hoohas until we know that he was forced to do bad things. Bad things that never, ever would have happened otherwise. So it’s okay that she wants to have sex with him.

Solas, Lestat, Kaz, Astarion - they all do bad things. They all know they are doing bad things. Not everything they do is bad (that’s an important point to make), but when they do bad things, they do them with full knowledge that they are bad things, and that good people will suffer. Sometimes they care, sometimes they don’t. The reader cannot say unequivocally that they are either good or bad, because their actions can be understood when looked at in context of their history or their motivations. They cannot be entirely excused. I.e. A wrong thing done for the right reasons is still a wrong thing. It’s still murder even when it’s done in self-defense, and you always have a choice. You never have to do something. The distinction is whether you are willing to do a wrong thing to avoid something you don’t like happening (I.e. you or someone you love dying, or feeling intense pain). However, that doesn’t make murder suddenly not murder. A reason is not a justification. You just choose to do it for a reason. If you don’t (and are doing it for fun) then you are just evil, and most definitely not morally grey.

The key difference is that the reader (via Feyre) is told repeatedly that Rhysand is no longer bad for having done wrong things because he did them for the right reasons. He is no longer the villain he was in book 1 by virtue of Chapter 54 in book 2. Solas is still the villain (and in fact is the main antagonist of Veilguard); so are Kaz, Lestat, and Astarion, depending on who you ask. When other characters in their respective worlds offer their personal opinions on said characters, some will be favorable, some not. We are at least allowed the opportunity to see a different POV and make that choice for ourselves. There’s continuous ambiguity. The ambiguity is the literal grey area.

This is not the case with Rhysand and this is why he can never be morally grey. We are told he was the noble hero all along, he is literally retconned as such (much like Spike was in BtVS, because Buffy-as-heroine could never justify living someone like him otherwise). He was reformatted so much, in fact, that he’s actually thought by some to be deserving of being king of all Prythian. Not just other characters, but by the reading audience at large. His bad things are no longer bad because he did them for the right reasons (or that dogwhistle of a statement, for the greater good).

How do I know this? Because Rhysand is consistently juxtaposed, by SJM’s own hand, by virtue of Feyre’s narration, with Tamlin. Over and over and over again. Now, technically Tamlin has also done bad things for the right reasons (protecting Feyre, helping his subjects) but he remains the villain. If another character tries to say Rhysand is bad (I think Tarquin does, but I could be wrong) they are either wrong or just don’t understand or are under emotional duress and are incapable of seeing the truth. Tamlin does not deserve to have his actions looked at in context (the way we do with Solas, Kaz, etc) because….well, I don’t have a good explanation for that, because SJM herself hasn’t offered one, other than repeatedly showing every other character in the book saying he’s a bad guy and doesn’t deserve to be forgiven. Purely by comparison’s sake, there is literally no reason in a fact based world where one can say without question that what Tamlin did to Feyre is worse than anything Rhysand has done. They both physically hurt her. They have both confine her without their consent. You know what Tamlin has never done though? Touch Feyre sexually against her will. He didn’t engineer situations where he mentally abused her just so he could be near her. That’s not romantic, it’s sociopathic. Fantasy is fantasy, sure, but you can’t defend that even in context of an alleged “fantasy morality” because we are humans and can only look at these things on the context of lived human experiences. There is no situation in real life, anywhere, where mentally or sexually abusing someone is justifiable for any reason, ever. Bottom line, all arguments to the contrary invalid. Any time someone comes out against Rhys, they either retract their statements, are reviled themselves (hello Nesta) in the narrative, or just in the fan community itself.

I haven’t read the third Crescent City book because I finally reached my limit for bullshit, but from the discourse I’ve seen Bryce has been getting a lot of hate for thinking Rhysand is a dick, or something to that effect. Right or wrong, it’s at least more evidence of SJM and the audience’s own bias in favor of Rhysand….and that’s really who these screeds are directed at. The audience. Rhys defenders are wrong when they say he is morally grey. He is not when other characters aren’t allowed to voice opinions against him without having the narrative over-emphasize their own faults at the same time. The text must remain objective and somewhat open-ended. SJM is as biased a writer as they come.

So I guess you could excuse all the word vomit here and just say that actually being considered morally grey is predicated on multiple opinions (it doesn’t necessarily need to be multiple narrators/POVs, but the audience needs to be presented with an alternative opinion in a way where it’s not immediately dismissible). SJM has never shown any indication that that will happen, because even when opinions other than Feyre’s are introduced they either echo her sentiments or we have someone else shooting them down in response, or the character in question is repeatedly shown to be flawed themselves.

Moral of the story? Stop wasting time on SJM and play Dragon Age: Inquisition or Baldur’s Gate 3 instead. Story is better, there’s so much room for interpretation (which makes replay/re-read value increase) and the dudes are just hotter. Sorry not sorry.

Even if Solas does look like an egg. He’s a hot egg.

[gatheredfates]

ALAICE DEVERAUX

Nicknames: Not applicable. Age: Twenty-one. Nameday: Twenty-Seventh Sun of the First Astral Moon (apparently I gave her my birthday, so that might change!) Race: Duskwight Elezen. Gender: Cis female. Orientation: Straight? Profession: Lady of the House of Deveraux and Dubois, last remaining survivor after the Dragonsong War; apprentice baker and occasional confidant to Firelight Trading Company.

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: A light blue, leaning more into teal. She tends to style it in loose curls around her shoulders. Eyes: She is heterochromatic! One eye is teal, the other is a steel grey. Skin: Pale with a silvery undertone; it tends to reflect whatever light hits it, rather than possessing it's own distinct colour. Tattoos/Scars: None of any note.

FAMILY

Parents: Lord and Lady Deveraux, dead by Alaice's sixteenth year. It is said that Lord Deveraux attempted to defend his wife from the dragons before he was engulfed in flames. No remains of her mother have been found. Siblings: Not applicable. Grandparents: Not applicable, more unfortunate souls lost to the war. In-Laws and Others: Alaice has a child from her first marriage, a daughter called Alyna. Her husband, Draeir Dubois, died under mysterious circumstances in the months preceding the Ishgardian/Dragon peace treaty, bringing no end of speculation from gentry and smallfolk alike. Some suspect his desire to expand his house beyond Foundation's spires drew ire from the High Houses and he was made an example of. Others suspect a more... intimate cause. Without a murder weapon or obvious intent, none can deduce a proper suspect.

She is particularly close to @riftdancing's Siyoh Mari who, whilst not understanding a lick of Ishgardian gossip, will happily entertain the confusion over a cup of tea as Alaice dramatizes. This leagues better than Elandervier who told her she'd 'rather chew on a voidsent's ass' and leaves at the very mention of anything to do with the city. She has an extremely complicated relationship with the other Elezen due to their mutual upbringings, trauma and reconciliation.

When Firelight is conducting business in Ishgard, she can be seen at its patriarch's side helping him navigate the intricacies of the city. Pets: Unless you count the many birds that have taken residence in her gardens, not applicable.

SKILLS

Abilities: Alaice is ice-aspected to a dangerous degree, and it's an element she has always tried to keep under wraps for fear of heresy and expulsion from the Holy See. As a result, the magic is unpredictable and emerges as a by-product of extreme situations/emotions. Only a select few people know she possesses such an ability. Hobbies: Like all ladies of her standing, Alaice was given a proper education including tutelage in deportment; music, song and dance; needlework and painting — among other gentle pursuits. She has a particular affinity for bird watching and, in the advent of her husband's death, has sunk herself readily into her little business as a baker.

TRAITS

Most positive trait: Alaice possesses a remarkable capacity for trust despite her confinement and husband's abuse. Worst negative trait: Her naïvety. As a woman constricted by the societal expectations of Ishgardian women, Alaice knows scarce little about the world around her — or even Ishgard proper. It is something she is working constantly to undo.

LIKES

Colours: Blue, white, silver, gold and shades of brown. However, given Ishgard's proclivity to the cold, any colour that can break through the sheen of snow is a welcomed addition in her eyes. Smells: Anything floral and/or citrus. These are not necessarily smells she will wear, but remind her of a time before the Calamity when the climate of Ishgard was better suited. She's also partial to vanilla, almond and loves the smell of rain. Textures: Knitted wool and smooth glass (or ice, though she tries not to think too much about it), the gentle prick of pine and the grooves in wood and stone. Drinks: Champagne, white wine and mead. She's also discovering some enjoyment of red wine, stay tuned if she gets more extreme!

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: Rarely. She smoked recreationally after her parents died, a sort of 'dare' from the other ladies in her company, and took it up in secret as a way to release anxiety in the early days of her marriage — away from the prying eyes of her husband. Alaice quit after becoming pregnant with Alyna and hasn't taken it back up due to associating it with those negative experiences. Drinks: Semi-regularly. Much like smoking, she quit entirely when she got pregnant and tends to only partake as a social nicety. She can acknowledge where she was falling into unhealthy patterns when she was married and tries not to go back to those places. Drugs: Not applicable. Mount Issuance: Not applicable. Alaice was fed on the indoctrination by her husband that is not a lady's place to traverse, but that men should come to her. If she is needed for Firelight Business she will be escorted by their couriers, but she has no vehicle of her own. Been Arrested: No. Being a suspect was traumatic enough. Why would she kill her lord husband?

Tagged by: @eriyu — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag. Tagging: @thefreelanceangel, @hythlodaes, @piyopikamika, @sealrock, @thevikingwoman & @yloiseconeillants! If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!

[shintin]

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.

Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.

He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."

You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.

But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.

The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.

With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.

Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—

As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.

As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.

Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.

The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.

There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?

After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.

You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.

You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.

But you suddenly stopped.

One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.

With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.

Something human.

Male.

You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.

"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.

Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.

He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.

Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"

"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.

"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.

The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.

Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."

For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.

"You kept those origamis."

There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.

"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."

He said nothing.

"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.

"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.

You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.

However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.

He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.

Who did sculpt this man?

 Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."

Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

*

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.

He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.

Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.

He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!

The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.

He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.

You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.

He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.

Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.

Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.

A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.

Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.

The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.

You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.

He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.

You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.

You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.

You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."

You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."

Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.

On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.

At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.

You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.

You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.

A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.

It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.

He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.

You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.

And it scared you.

Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.

If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.

You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.

"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.

"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.

"Hm?"

You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"

"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.

"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.

You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.

*

Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.

"You're feeling better."

You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."

"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.

"So I had a few shots."

"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.

"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.

"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.

He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"

"I've got plans."

"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.

"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.

Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.

A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"

"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"

You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.

You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.

"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.

"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"

He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"

Yes. "No."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."

"He's not here?" you questioned.

"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.

"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"You heard what I said."

"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.

"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"

"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"

"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"

"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"That seems unlikely."

"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"

Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."

You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"

"Love—"

"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"

"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."

You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."

"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?

"Yes," he said—another pause.

"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"

"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.

"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."

Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."

Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.

Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.

No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

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DA: dogguard Veilguard opinion (crossposted + expanded from twitter)

I only know about dragon age through osmosis, my friend is playing it while I sit in, and so far my major criticism of VG is that the game is flanderizing its own characters at breakneck speeds and the banter feels incredibly weak DESPITE that aspect being one of the more signature traits of DA

regardless of how the journey ultimately goes, it's an experience that I'm taking notes on as a game/narrative designer for MushRush since you will be carting around a similar number of fantastical companions

read more has more scattershot, but specific thoughts; contains spoilers up to after having JUST finished recruiting all of the companions

disclaimer: I don't know shit about DA LORE, so I'll probably misspell locations, etc., I don't care enough to correct any of it.

the early game has real "shaky first draft" issues where characters repeat themselves or say nothing insightful or at least entertaining. it's gotten better since after the mayor in d'meta, but there have still been some instances of dialogue triggering that makes rook come across as hilariously unobservant such as them noting there are "a lot of undead" in the necropolis you pick up emmrich in. dead bodies in MY NECROPOLIS???

another part that sticks out to me is that the female characters are getting shafted hard since they are all (mostly) introduced before the male characters, so the "1st draft writing pains" get assigned to them

however, neve is unfortunately the Worst Companion so far, followed by harding (will elaborate on her later).

I still don't have a grasp on what neve's companion hook even is- even AFTER letting minathrous get dragon nuked. all I got was "neve is sarcastic and dry and job-oriented, followed around by sprites???" which is a shame since a mage detective should BE ENOUGH but she doesn't have the GRIT of a noir detective or the clever observations of one who is more holmes-aligned. her room does more to characterize her, which is good for the art team but a shame to the writers (even as they try to pepper in more interesting traits about her through other characters)

so we have to fall back to what the game DOES tell us, such as approval/disapproval, of the 2 instances of her showing disapproval, we couldn't figure out WHY she disapproved. (1st was doubting varric could convince solas to stop fucking up everything, 2nd was for leaving the mayor in his fucked up town)

my friend and I formed several theories for something internally consistent:

-neve doesn't like it when you assume the worst of people (tall ask considering what solas was actively doing, but it's a BELIEF) -neve doesn't like it when you doubt/question authority/authority figures -neve believes the gods truly override people (my friend joked "SECRET CHANTRY GIRLIE??") -neve doesn't like that we are "being mean to a man" (this is a joke I made) -neve is a contrarian because when you only have two characters, someone HAS to have a different opinion (this is purely meta and still poorly executed)

whatever it is that makes neve tick, we're probably not going to find out since she's HARDENED or w/e because we chose birdbatman over her (my friend was aware of the effects of the choice locking out Neve/Lucanis content, but debated over the choice because of the LORE, the tipping point occurred when I asked if they cared about Neve content which was an obvious NO)

TL;DR: we are currently getting more mileage/chuckles out of "NEVE DISAPPROVES" during choices than from anything the game intends, UNFORTUNATELY

----

next up is harding, harding is a perfectly normal character with some obvious insecurities and now having to grapple with magic. unfortunately the writers have tipped their hand that they care more about harding's LORE ties with the titans/gods than as a character

the most awkward handing of this is when we did harding's personal sidequest of trying to get a handle on her powers (perfectly fine!), but then it just abruptly STOPS because we help some random fucking guy in the forest

the real nail in the coffin came when she (essentially) went "solas seems sad tho )8", despite being the same character that hated she didn't shoot him to stop the inciting incident. I personally would have appreciated if she had more doubts/expressed conflicts about her action/inaction, about it but as-is, the exchange feels WAY too much like the writers taking shortcuts to make solas grey (or god forbid, "GOOD", ACTUALLY). varric is already running interference, having harding do it too just tells me they're willing to throw other characters under the bus to accomplish this annoying goal.

as an aside: when this conversation occurred I said something to the effect of "Harding, no!! Don't make us throw you into the basement with Neve!!!"

----

returning back to the point of how the female characters seem to be suffering a lack of writing effort compared to the male ones- bellera is a noticeable example of this.

her characterization is purely fixated on magictech (fine), she gets more character as soon as emmrich gets introduced (not bad in a vacuum), but despite being present with harding and neve, the most conversation she seems to have is that she can cook different foods and neve wants in on some of the cooking. again it could have been "1st draft" pains, but given how fixed the party is at the start, they should have something more going on, ESPECIALLY since harding and bellera disagree with neve on how the mayor and d'meta was handled! bellera supposedly had people she cared about in this town and she glosses over it fairly quickly. also there's a relative lack of reaction to harding (or neve)'s injuries from the solas event.

----

character flanderization as mentioned WAY back at the start, this problem is (too) quickly made apparent with lucanis

I thought the mention of the coffee (WRT to dealing with spite) was intended as a throwaway line and something that would stay confined to the sidequest, instead it comes up in the banter as well, in addition to him being the demon of whatever (and now having a literal demon, har har). the 'most' interesting banter so far is when bellera asks how lucanis's situation even happened, and it's not BAD but I felt there was flavor missing to the exchange

since both characters are noted to be the "good" cooks of the companions, I thought it could hint at how lucanis's favoring of cooking is NOT out of niceness but because he doesn't trust other people to it since he is 1) a fucking assassin ("he stabs people", I don't care, poison exists and he's the grandson of the crow mafia), 2) was force-fed something that saddled him with spite

like I know there's more parts here, but SURELY something spicier and/or more natural than just the point-blank answer, the man was betrayed and landed in prison for a year AND is supposed to be operating on a lack of sleep because of spite, he can be a little snippy about how his bodily autonomy was violated

----

the last recruits:

davrin (at this time) ends up being on the upper end of characters since he's the MOST GROUNDED/NORMAL. he's fine and closest to what neve was probably intended to be, skeptical, has a dry sense of humor, but can trip up rook (our rook didn't recognize that a name davrin held a grudge against is historical). it probably helps he has assan to bounce off of so he can tread closer to have a 3rd dimension of personality (it's TOO early to tell)

emmrich is a professor of necromancy, he's polite/nice but also has no problems with magicking skellieboys into servitude, I'm hoping this old man has some spice going on. also it's a crime he puts on his human face when he has a SKELLIE FACE. COWARDS. I'll forgive it a little since at least he still gets to be OLD, instead of some freakishly smooth bishonen.

taash is a horse girl(TM) but for dragons. they also have hints of relationship with a controlling mother, I have no expectations of this. I'm hoping this isn't another lucanis flanderization situation but that's probably a different game.

the lords of fortune thing is bullshit however, "yeah we steal items but return cultural artifacts" that better be a PR thing purely b/c rook is in the room, otherwise, holy shit I'm dying. like, writers, I could understand some cultural favoritism, but ALL cultural artifacts? what the hell are you talking about??

---

now a main plot writing quibble, just to round it out:

the treviso occupation is driving me insane that they really said with their full narrative mouth that the place with NO military but an ASSASSIN'S GUILD couldn't figure out how to deal with the MOST hierarchy-based military occupying them??? like I get that wouldn't instantly (or permanently) end it, but it just feels absurd!!! what kind of assassin guild doesn't know how to kill ONE GUY, especially when he gives speeches in open areas!

it's just such a HARD SELL that the assassin guild can be so bad at assassination short of some 5d chess backdoor dealings involving the mindrape potions that the antaam were apparently cooking up while avoiding having it traced back to them or something

as for the minrathous/treviso choice, it feels like a missed opportunity to have the macguffin knife be what actually drives the dragon off

like, I KNOW that rook/the player is the center of the world, but you don't LOSE anything by tweaking that detail either, it just comes off as ridiculous that "3" (1) people really would make a difference

anyway, thanks for reading, that was a mountain, we'll see how DA:VG continues

if there's additional DA LORE you think would season my experience (baffled/piss me off/etc.), feel free to comment!

[lauraroselam]

Are your characters from Dragonfall a certain gender/sexuality, or are they just simply queer?

Arcady is nonbinary, uses any pronouns, and I never share what physical sex they were assigned at birth (I don't even know, really). Readers use she, he, or they for Arcady depending on their interpretation despite the fact everyone is reading the same words on the page. Some read the relationship as more Achillean and others don't, for example. No one is misgendering Arcady, but it's still fascinating, and was my hope and goal setting the book up the way I did, even though I knew the narrative positions might be confronting for some.

Sorin uses she/her pronouns. Everen uses he/him pronouns. Everen is the only male dragon and was raised among only female dragons who reproduce via cloning themselves, so most dragons are canonically sapphic. #lesbiandragons

It's set in a country (Loc) that's so open and accepting of gender and sexuality that if anything, heterosexuality is probably the least common. You default to they/them to strangers until they tell you otherwise, no matter how they present. Gender roles, fashion etc is fairly mutable. People shift presentation or pronouns without any issue or judgement. You can go to a healer and have your hormones shifted pretty easily. So most characters are bi, pan, trans, or under the queer umbrella.

Anyway, read Dragonfall if you like the idea of a book about dragons and gender that is set in a world that's the right wing's worst nightmare. (Though there is a lot of class dividing, still, so that aspect would be right up their street, I suppose.)

Thanks for the ask, anon!

[imminent-danger-came]

tbh you are so real for talking about the misogyny targeted to mei & other women in the lmk fandom. in general its like people only value mei as: a: the wingman to some basic mlm ship or b: macaque 2.0. its honestly crazy how so many male side characters overshadow her in the fanbase despite not even having a FRACTION of her screen time. idk chat i feel like the reason people dont care about mei but care about some random male side/background character is less because they're inherently more likeable but because some of you view women as inherently less likable. and everyone is always like "mei is so girlboss pussy cunt slay shes the only reason theyre still alive because she keeps them safe from their silly boy shennanigans shes their ultimate wingman shes so badass shes their lesbian best friend i totally paid attention to her when i watched this show LOL" and even ignoring the obvious misogyny here (ie. how people reduce her to being the male characters babysitter) its like... okay... i know mei is cool & badass already... could you name literally ANY other character trait she has. like people just value her as being "the braincell" who can get red son and mk together or something stupid and its like are we having fun still is this still fun. literally every day i go into the mei tag its like "look at mei shes red sons wifey and shes vaguely in the background of this drawing of red son and mk staring into each others eyes #trafficlighttrio am i right oh look shes macaques niece now this post is about ao lie why is it in the mei tag"

and thats literally JUST talking about mei and it doesnt even begin to cover the other female characters. chang'e constantly gets reduced to being red sons aunt/mom/big sister despite them like. not having any actual interactions in the show. lady bone demon constantly gets overshadowed by her minion who has like 2 seconds of screen time, or she gets made into a cartoonishly abusive madwoman who people call lady bitch demon. just in general people act like shes a horrible person for like. being a villain. liks yeah the trying to destroy everything was bad but also she was an antagonist and thats what antagonists do LOL. spider queen gets completely ignored. princess iron fan gets made into a cartoonishly abusive mother so that way red son can have a poor angsty backstory and some male character (usually nezha, macaque, swk) can take care of him.

(also theres just a great deal of ethnocentrism in the lmk fanbase? like im white so take what İ say here with a grain of salt but so many people will misconstrue aspects of chinese culture for their own personal hcs. people will say male characters are transfem or nonbinary while completely ignoring the time period/culture their from where thats the norm. like yippee youve implied that an east asian man is feminine/emasculine because he has long hair. how do you not see the negative connotations with this. people also turn pif (& lbd to an extent) into a dragon lady which obviously has negative racial connotations lol.)

anyway this is where my unhinged rambling ends have a good day have a good night İ had more to say here but İ reached the text limit. İ dont see a lot of people talk about the misogyny thats prevalent in the lmk fanbase so İm glad youre pointing it out lol.

Yeah, I totally hear you. The lmk fandom has plenty of issues with misogyny and, like you said, ethnocentrism. It's definitely something worth having a discussion about, along with these issues in fandom as a whole.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MARVEL COMICS)

1.) Elektra was created by the misogynist himself, Frank Miller, who would write female characters like garbage including her. Throughout her entire existence within a majority of Daredevil comics, Elektra has been treated as a character made to be a trophy for Matt Murdock. Daredevil writers love making her life revolve around Matt in a way that its framed as romantic when the reality of their relationship should be framed as a tragedy due to their conflicting ideals (and in my honest opinion, I think she should start hating him).

Frank Miller’s Man Without Fear completely butchers Elektra’s character by changing her character to this “crazy woman with voices in her head who loves to kill anyone and anything” completely shitting on the original backstory of her being a sheltered rich girl who was very kind and sweet until her father’s death that shattered her hopes and dreams, leading her to become vengeful and turn into an assassin who believes that all she’s good at is killing and that she can’t ever live a happy normal life.

[…]

And of course thanks to the mcu, that influenced current Daredevil writer Chip Zdarsky, who ruins her character EVEN MORE by trying to follow up on the MWF backstory AND make it align with the mcu version as well to this spy that was sent by the Hand to purposely seduce Matt just like how mcu Stick did in the show. Zdarsky writes Elektra in a way that ruins her character completely and makes her infantalize/belittle Matt by calling him naive and foolish despite in previous incarnations where she UNDERSTANDS why Matt wouldn’t follow in her footsteps and wouldn’t kill and WOULD NEVER TRY TO CONVINCE HIM OTHERWISE (and Zdarsky made her fetishize Matt’s blindness in a way in which she would never do if she was in character). Zdarsky made her stop her ways JUST FOR MATT and then writes Matt to constantly disrespect her and call her a murderer despite in previous iterations where he WOULDN’T DO THAT AND ALSO UNDERSTANDS WHY SHE’S LIKE THIS WITHOUT CHANGING HER. (Zdarsky wrote everyone OOC in his run but the most who suffered from it is def Matt and Elektra). Then Zdarsky made Elektra become Daredevil which yeah, the suit is cool, but the implications of it sucks as Daredevil is not an identity that anyone can pick up on like Spider-Man. Daredevil is explicitly an identity that Matt took up bc of the injustice his father received after his murder along with the desire to protect the victims of the justice system. Elektra is a foil to Matt so her uprising as Elektra wouldn’t align with becoming Daredevil. How he framed it was essentially on par of a woman taking up the husband’s last name but so much worse. Elektra as Daredevil doesn’t work because it completely erases her identity as Elektra and further pushes the idea that she only exists to serve as Matt’s trophy, as his pain, as his wife, as his tragedy, etc etc.

Not a single male Daredevil writer should ever LOOK at Elektra ever again until they know how to write her because she has been done so dirty and receives misogyny on EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF HER EXISTENCE. There’s only been a few times where Elektra’s been done well and a lot of them had Matt be involved very little in it and it really makes you think.

2.) Both show and fandom perperativing the sexist and racist troupe of a dragon lady: overt sexual and physical aggression, untrustworthiness, and mysteriousness. The fandom is notorious for saying Elektra is toxic, instead of recognizes she’s an abuse victim working for her abuser. More often that not, all nuance is thrown out the window

(Comics and show) Killed for Matt’s(Daredevil’s) pain/fridged

3.) Constantly mischaracterized and used as a prop for Matt Murdock/Daredevil, especially in the case of his netflix series and his ongoing comics written by Chip Zdarksy (where she is so intensely out of character she’s almost unrecognizable, and in the case of the current Daredevil run parts of her origin story have even been heavily retconned to more closely resemble her Netflix counterpart which is. Oh my fucking god its infuriating.) But it’s an issue really like half the time she shows up in any given daredevil comic (im being generous)

ABBIE MILLS (SLEEPY HOLLOW) (CW: Racism)

1.) Abbie starts out as one of the two protagonists of the show, only to get almost entirely sidelined as early as season 2, getting less and less screen time and allowed no relationships, either platonic or romantic, while the other lead Ichabod Crane has a seemingly infinite amount of them. It got bad enough that her actor wanted to leave the show, which they did by having her sacrifice her soul in the season 3 finale for the male lead to live, and then they ended the show after season 4 anyway, because guess what, it’s a bad idea to entirely sideline and eventually kill off one of your leads!

2.) She was killed by the narrative to advance her white male co-protagonist’s plotline and I’m still mad about it, Abbie deserved so much better. This is an example of racism in the narrative too and it extended to the production of the show, see news coverage:

3.) Look, I only watched the first season but they killed her off the show SHE was a co lead of!! Misogyny AND racism, all rolled into one. I remember seeing the fan reactions and I was so mad on their behalfs. They wrote her off her own show and from what I recall, gave her less and less screentime leading up to that. Truly, she deserved so much better and I will always be upset by this.

[elegantwoes]

sansa stans steal everything from other characters/relationships. 'the queen we chose line', dany's dragons, arya's wolf, good queen alysanne, gendry. jonsas steal the 'what do you know of my heart/sister' line from jon and arya, and most recently i've seen them steal the bear and the maiden fair song from braimes. your fave is so boring and dull you have to steal stuff to make her more interesting and unique. she is the most boring character in asoiaf deal with it.

I specifically asked you to provide sources we actually 'stole' those things too, because half of these are outlandish as fuck. I will only address the ones that do have some merit: The Alysanne one.

Anyone who has a basic understanding of English history knows that Queen Alysanne is based off of Eleanor of Aquitane. GRRM flat out said he based Alysanne on Katherine Hepburn's version of Eleanor in the lion in Winter (1968) movie. However this isn't the only time GRRM spoke about Eleanor of Aquitane:

However, with Catelyn there is something reset for the Eleanor of Aquitaine, the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society.  (x)

The first character GRRM compares Eleanor to is Catelyn and calls them both baddass. Secondly he describes Eleanor as 'the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society'. GRRM describes a type of female character that conforms to societal expectation of womanhood in a feudalistic society and Sansa squarely falls under that category..

Also while Sansa hasn't 'achieved considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society' just yet we can clearly see that Sansa will go down that route. Anyone who analyses Sansa's narrative arc in good faith knows she will hold a political position by the end of ASOIAF. The fandom has unamiously agreed to this. The only ones who vehemently deny this are antis.

So since Sansa is so extemely similar to Eleanor of Aquitane it naturally makes sense that she is similar to Alysanne as well, but that isn't the correct way to describe this.

It's Alysanne who is similar to Sansa. She is created in Sansa's and Catelyn's image and not the other way around. After all they are the major POV characters with lots of chapters. Alysanne is only a historical figure in Westeros who is only mentioned in one book whereas Sansa is a character who will shape the future.

And this is only aspect to Sansa Stark as a character. There's also her biggest storyline that is related to songs and truths, her identity and autonomy arc, how she is deconstructing and reconstructing what it means to be a true lady (a fine counterpart to her true knight), her romantic storyline is another.

These are all storylines that only belongs to Sansa and aren't stolen from anyone. So you were saying, anon?