#dissimulation childe
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"share the same bed and bathroom and shampoo and wardrobe" I SWEAR TO GOD IF I EVER FIND TEETH MARKS ON MY DAMN SOAP BAR-
I think you should be more concerned with him mixing his cologne into your perfume bottle in slowly increasing amounts and your pyjamas being replaced with his t-shirts more than a bitten soap bar.
there are a lot of things that I haven't written in the fic because i dont know how to add them in but be wary that there is a lot of shit that Childe does and gets away with.
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First Impressions - Azriel x Vanserra Reader
Summary: Your first excursion away from the Autumn Court to sit in on the High Lord’s meeting doesn’t go without a hitch.
Word Count: 2782
Warnings: Angry Azriel, Eris’s dumb mouth, Violence
Masterlist
“Keep your head high. Keep your mouth shut.” Eris straightens the collar of your coat, choking down his apprehension. Mother hen. “Don’t make eye contact and do not engage. Only speak if you’re spoken to and whatever you do, do not antagonize the Night Court.” You roll your eyes, removing his hand from your collar to hold it gently in your own. You soothe him, meeting his worried eyes with your own.
“You worry too much, brother.”
“I do not worry nearly enough, sister.” He pulls his hand away from yours, instead placing it on your back to urge you forward toward the throne room. You’ll be leaving home today. For the first time ever. Sure, you’ve seen all there is to see in the Autumn Court, from the ports to the forests to the cities to the hovels. But you’d never visited another court, and you were overjoyed at the prospect. When your father told you that you’d be accompanying your family to the Dawn Court, it took all of your self-control to keep your excitement unknown.
“Who all will be there?” You quietly ask, ensuring your conversation remains unheard by your father's shadows. Eris first replies with a quick shake of his head, tightening his grip on your back to urge you faster.
“The High Lords and their immediate subjects. I’m not sure if Tamlin will be present. If he is, it’ll be a shitshow. Do not speak to him-” you cut him off.
“Do not speak to anyone; do not make eye contact with anyone; stay with mother. Yes, father.” He gently smacks the back of your head. You choke back a laugh, swinging out of his grip to smack his shoulder.
“Don’t call me that.” He says, a boyish grin brightening his cheeks. Your own smile hurts your cheeks as you grab his hand in yours once more.
“Then fuss less. I’ll be good. I promise.” He gives your hand a tight squeeze before he releases you, taking steps to distance himself from you as the great entrance of the throne room comes into view. Before you can continue, you pause in step. Your mouth opens and closes, question like a stone on your tongue. Eris notices, of course, and halts his own movements.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you give him a sad smile.
“Will Lucien be there?” You’d been so young when he’d fled. That night was the cause of a hundred years of nightmares. Nights that had been spent with Eris, silly stories and games keeping your mind from the horrors you’d witnessed as a child. You’d not seen Lucien since, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him. Eris frowns, his shoulders drooping for a fraction of a second before he continues his pace toward the rest of your family.
“I’m not sure.” He whispers, and you remain silent for the rest of the short journey. Seconds before you step foot in the grand room, your perfected dissimulation slides into place. You’d been forced to charade since you were a babe, and you had the best teachers. You poke at your shield, ensuring it's in place, as you meet your mother's somber eye.
Slipping next to her in effortless fashion, you watch as Eris takes his place next to your father. Your remaining brothers, Bastian and Alarik, stand at attention on either side of the High Lord and General, all mere steps ahead of you and your mother. Your father speaks, his voice harsh and slicing with finality, as he turns to meet your eye.
“Do not disappoint me, Y/n, or you will remain in this palace for another two hundred and fifty years.” And with that warning, you meet Eris’s eye once more as you slip out of Autumn and into Dawn.
The Dawn Court could only be described as magnificent. Your mother holds your hand in a gentle grip as you arrive with the rest of your family on an angelic veranda. Your gaze rises first to cotton clouds teasing a periwinkle sky, wisps of pink and orange tinging their billowing edges. You stare into the sky for seconds, content to gaze forever, before the tightening grip of your mother's hand in yours draws your attention to the marble floor beneath you. Veins of deep black and pearlescent white mark the stone and lead into the grand palace and home of Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn. Pillars line the entrance and as your sight rises upon the sunstone facade, lavish balconies and stunning archways call your attention. It’s the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. And you've only been here for seconds. A great palace set upon a mountains peak. The stories you’d read and heard paled in comparison to the real thing.
Your mother squeezes your hand once more, her thumb smoothing your skin with a gentle touch as she motions you forward. You follow as your family is led further into the palace by an attendant. Your mother's hand in yours is a gentle but firm reminder that this is not a visit for pleasure. You find Eris’s back, his posture rigid. If you could see his face, you knew you’d be met with the emotionless eyes and a facetious smirk he’d perfected over centuries of harshness. As you pass underneath another gilded archway, you feel your own facade slipping into place. He’d spent years teaching you how. You’d be damned if you let him down now.
You can feel it the closer you get to the war room, the stronger the aura of pure power becomes. You feel it in your bones—a dangerous mix of pure disasterous magic that could only mean many powerful beings waited ahead. High Lords, you imagine all of them. Old and strong, it brings chills to your spine, and you throw needles against your own shield, ensuring it’s strength—a pity in comparison to the influence of those ahead. You feel a tinge of relief when you feel your father’s own shield expand to cover you and your mother. The smoky scent and warm touch of your High Lord’s magic offer the barest sense of relief.
Your father and Eris enter first, and as your remaining brothers follow behind, you catch a glimpse of evil grins on their faces. The tips of their too-white teeth are a nasty warning to those ahead.
“Enough.” You hear Eris command, and you know he speaks to keep Basitian and Alarik in check. Finally, you and your mother take a few final steps into the meeting chamber. You keep your head down as you’d promised him you would, your fingers tightening against her hand still in yours. Following her lead, you slide into a luxurious oak chair. Your gaze seeks Eris first, sitting just two seats away from you on the other side of your father, and your shoulders relax immediately as his empty eyes meet your own. He gives you a subtle nod, and you exhale softly, allowing your eyes to wander the rest of the room. It’s Lucien you now seek. When you fail to find his once-familiar deep red hair, you find your heart sinking into your chest.
Instead, your gaze lands on dark swirling shadows, cognizant and conscious, surely whispering of every breath, every fidgeting movement of the inhabitants of the chamber, and every available secret to the master they surround in a dangerous cacoon. He’s beautiful, you think. Intelligent hazel eyes observe every person and shadow in the room, and dark hair rests in a perfect manner against his sharpened brow and tan cheekbones. Your eyes lower to his arms, large with chiseled muscle and marked by the swirling black ink of bargain tattoos and the lively shadows that surround him. You find his hands and feel tightness in your chest at the sight. Melted skin stretches against the veiny muscles and long fingers.
Burn scars, you know. You have your own, and you know how difficult it is to permanently scar a fae. You catch sight of his siphons, two deep blue ovals attached to the backs of his hands, held in place by dark gauntlets. Encased is pure power. But it’s his wings that halt the beating in your chest. Colossal, powerful, and simply incredible, the dark, scarred leather takes your breath away. Azriel, you think. Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court. You’d heard many stories about the lethal Illyrian male now in front of you, sitting just a few feet away from you. He sits across the table from Eris, and the deadly glare on his angled face brings a chill to your spine.
“It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.” The High Lord of Night breaks the strained silence of the room, and you fight back the shiver at the pure power emanating from him. You subtly test the shield that surrounds your family, ensuring it still stands against his thrumming, dark power. Rhysand. He, too, is beautiful. Violet eyes sit underneath perfect dark brows, above cutting cheekbones. He meets your father’s ever-violent gaze, resting upon the Night Court’s concubine. Feyre. Unsurprisingly, she’s ethereally beautiful, with bright blue eyes and long golden hair.
“Mate- and High Lady.” Beron finishes, lips in a tight curl as he examines the female ahead. Her power, too, is deeply emanative. The couple is deadly. They know it. You seek Eris once more, wishing to be near him. Wishing that it were his hand in yours instead of your mother's. Instead of meeting your gaze, he bares an amused smile across the table. Your eyes glance over the Morrigan, as beautiful as the stories painted her to be. Her history with Eris was disorganized, and you did not know every detail of what had come to pass. You had yet to be born when their forced betrothal ended violently, but he’d told you enough. He stares intently at the female sitting to the side of Feyre, with icy fire in her eyes and pale blonde hair. You do not recognize her, but her sharp gaze is deadly as she stares daggers back at your brother. Her anger is palpable, and you can surmise that this must be Nesta.
When that certain glint shines in his amber eye, you find yourself tensing. You know that mischievous expression, and you know what often follows. This is not Eris, your best friend—your only friend. This is Eris, the asshole of the Autumn Court. Shit. You gently release your mother’s hand, ignoring the warning glance she gives you, preparing to act if he manages to create enough of a fit to require your assistance, regardless of your promise to behave.
“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” At the mention of Lucien, your mother releases a quiet gasp. Eris had shared so little with you when it came to him. But he’d told you of Elain, and you knew he was toeing a dangerous line. It’s Morrigan who replies, with a smooth, frigidness in her melodic voice.
“You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.” A wicked smile appears on his lips, and that glint in his eye is on fire. Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. You found yourself wishing for the coveted ability of the daemati at this moment. To be able to claw your way into his mind and tell him to shut the fuck up before he could begin. But no. Instead, you watch with bated breath as he opens his damned mouth and chuckles to himself before he speaks.
“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” You release an exasperated groan, and in the same second, the shield around you shudders and breaks with a pulse of deep blue light and powerful magic. The wood of Eris’s chair is shattered into pieces, and your brother is tackled to the ground. Azriel’s scarred hands are a tight vise around your brother’s throat. Within the same second, another shield is erected. Azriel’s own, deep blue and as strong as the one he’d torn down with no effort at all. You hear a muttered “shit” and “enough” from the other side of the table, and within the same breath, you’re standing with your sharpened emerald and obsidian dagger in hand. You make quick work of the resilient shield Azriel had erected, made of radiant blue magic. You catch sight of his siphons once more; only now can you see that the two on his hands are not alone. He wears five more. Eris, you fucking idiot.
You’re fast. You’re strong. And you know that you’d stand no chance against the giant Illyrian at any other time, but somehow, you manage to get the upper hand. You grasp his sturdy shoulder, rounding your dagger sharply to his neck. You dig in with enough pressure to catch his attention, drawing an immediate and steady stream of blood. You feel him still, muscled body impossibly still in your tight hold. You catch Eris’s eye over the Illyrian’s shoulder, and it’s almost comical—the mischievous and proud look of an asshole turning to a quick and sharp panic as he sees the position his baby sister put herself in to protect him.
“Release him.” You command, but Azriel’s grip on your brother’s neck remains unbroken. You watch as his eyes begin to redden, vessels widening in a concerning manner. You look across the room, meeting the High Lord of Night’s wide eyes with determination in your own. You crack your own shield, the barrier that keeps your mind safe from the prying eye’s of daemati. The shield Eris had taught you to wield the moment you began to walk.
Recall your dog, or all three of us will die right here, right now. You speak loudly, ensuring your words make their mark. You dig your blade in deeper for good measure, milimeters away from his carotid, steady stream of blood thickening as it runs down his neck and drips onto your brother’s face.
“Enough, Azriel.” Rhysand’s command is deep and unyielding and yet Azriel does not yield, instead digging his heavy knee into Eris’s stomach. You release your hand from his shoulder, instead opting to dig into his dark hair and pull tightly. Any deeper on his neck, and you knew all three of you would be dead. It’s your father who speaks next, apparently realizing the sensitivity of the situation at hand.
“Call off your overgrown bat!” He growls, but Rhysand does not utter another command. Your heart beats roughly in your chest, and you allow your sharp fingernails to dig into said overgrown bat’s scalp. It has no effect. Your eyes bore into Eris’s over the bat’s shoulder, wide and panicked in a mirror of your own.
“Come, Azriel.” It’s Feyre, now standing ahead of Rhysand with a hand outstretched toward the Ilyrian. You sigh in relief as he releases his deadly grip on Eris’s throat. He chokes heavily, inhaling deeply and shakily. You slowly pull your nails from Azriel’s scalp, releasing the tangle of hair from your shaking hand, before tentatively removing your dagger from his bleeding neck. He stands confidently, towering over you in height and with his giant wings.
“Come sit with me.” Feyre commands him, and you shudder in relief as he drops the impressive blue shield. He glances at you, dropping his eyes down and then ever so slowly back up, head tilted in menace, and you shiver under his heavy gaze. Finally, he takes steady strides away from you, and you reach to pull Eris from the ground. His slender and toned body falls heavily against your side as you slowly walk him back toward your family. You pass the shattered chair he once sat in, leading him toward your own seat.
“What have you done?” He near silently whispers, his voice terribly hoarse as he leans in close, ensuring that you’re not overheard.
“Our deal was off the moment you antagonized the Night Court.” You whisper back, and he tightens his grip on your shoulder.
“Beron will punish you for this.” You drop him into your chair, your mother taking his hand in hers underneath the table.
“No punishment could be worse than watching you die.” He reaches to squeeze your hand, releasing you as you step back, standing obediently a step behind him. You can feel your father’s gaze on you; his ire is already a burning hand upon your back.
8/13 update: this will remain as a one shot. I wrote and posted a pt 2 but I wasn't happy with it so as of now, I've taken it down. I'm sorry :(
#azriel#azriel acotar#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x vanserra reader#azriel shadowsinger#acotar#acotar series#eris masterlist#azriel masterlist#azriel fanfiction#azriel fic#azriel fic rec#acotar fanfiction#acotar fandom#masterlist#my writing
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I've been wanting to write this for a long time and with the skills this character has, I've been itching to write this.
ROTB Mirage x Fem!human!reader
Cap 2
Curious cat
Words: 1.506
Summary: You started noticing something strange in your neighborhood, while you were watching something weird. You decided to investigate it to find some surprise.
Warning: g/t content, g/t fearplay
You've been saving money for a long time, working hard… Living in New York was expensive, but it was your dream since you were a little girl, the city of opportunity. For now you had started in a waitressing job, the hours were horrible, the bosses didn't treat you the way you wanted but it was the best you could do until one of the interviews gave you the job you wanted. You came home late, the nights were pretty quiet and you had to be alert for anything. You were always taught to be cautious, to say that living alone had a risk but you thought it was better to take a chance, you never knew what you might find along the way. You had heard all the time of urban legends: monsters, shadows that took you away. "Nonsense" you thought every time they mentioned it, you may be from the village but it doesn't mean that because you are from the village you believe in those unfounded legends. Although today while you were working, you had heard a couple of customers talking about a ghost car, you laughed when you heard it and tried to dissimulate. "People should focus on real problems not urban legends" you thought as you packed up to go home. The way though you kept thinking about what the customers talked about. A ghost car… You couldn't get that legend out of your mind even as you went to sleep, I'm sure you'd get over that thought tomorrow. But it didn't happen that way, every time you heard more and more about that car, something that made you more and more curious, you had a big defect, when in your mind there was an idea that didn't disappear until you found out what was going on.
Until one day you decided to investigate all the rumors that were going around: you had gathered that it appeared only at night (as in all legends or horror stories), it was always found in abandoned parking lots, it was a gray car with blue racing stripes… "I lack more information there is something that does not fit me in all this …. And the people who have found it? Or something else?" you thought while looking at the notebook of notes about what could be that mysterious vehicle. The following days were spent asking the supposed "people" who had seen that car… All the words they said were not credible: that it disappeared in front of their noses, suddenly they saw three cars instead of one… others said they saw a giant figure… This last one already seemed ridiculous to you from everything you had heard, what was going to be next, an alien? Absurd. Although if I found a good story I could give you some more credibility and help anything or maybe you were fixated on an idea that was impossible… Here's to making your life a little more dynamic. The bad thing is that you would never know where that car was, it did not keep a fixed position, so in order to find it you decided to ask someone who would surely know about the car. Reek was a man who knew more about robberies than anything else, but if there was any information about that car he would surely know something about it. So you met up with him in a neighborhood in Brooklyn while he came in smiling:
The man was always walking around with a licorice in his mouth, he was more cooperative after I told him you would give him some dough.
-Girl, are you sure about what you're going to do? Some of my colleagues were looking for that "ghost car" - said Reek while showing a picture of the car.
You took a better look at the picture and it matched the descriptions that everyone you had asked matched. You were more interested in the make of the car? You had wanted a car like this since you were a child, in fact you were saving up to buy one for yourself.
-Just give me a location, Reek, and I'll give you the dough. I'm sure it's nothing. Plus you know how to avoid the cameras, right? - you said as you were pulling out some bills Reek rubbed his hands together.Well if you give me a little extra I'll even deactivate them…
-Just this or I'll tell everyone you're stealing cable TV… Reek was a little offended to hear it and rectified what he said to you. He gave you everything you needed. This time it was in a parking lot not far from the residential area, but the neighborhood was not very well known… That's why it was guarded. The idea was that Reek would create a blackout while you went inside. It seemed like a perfect idea and the sooner you figured out what that car was, the calmer it would put your mind at ease. Finally the night you were waiting for came, Reek had left you a place where you could turn off the power, it didn't seem too difficult, you just had to lower some switches but when you arrived you saw that they were already down.
But instead of running away you decided to enter, seeing that the doors were open, the parking lot was in a closed place that did not even have a guard, only people took advantage of it to leave their vehicles "for free". You approached carefully, you hid among the cars to see a group of thieves approaching the car. Everything seemed normal until you saw that it had disappeared in front of them, not only that the lights had gone out around it, to show the same car several times and repeated all this all the time until the thieves ran away. If you didn't see it you wouldn't believe it, it was really happening as all those people were saying. You stayed in your position while you stood up and heard a voice in your ear:
-You thought I didn't see you? You jumped back to see that the car you were leaning against was the grey car you were all looking for, you quickly ran to another part of the parking lot that seemed to be more isolated while breathing heavily.-You're making it too easy for me, girl…. You jumped again to see the same car next to you, your face went blank as you saw that gray car. You were trying to react, you ran away from it.
-Come on, I'm not that scary… Come here little girl - said the giant gray being. You were thinking it was a dumbbell as you were hiding under a car. Suddenly you heard silence all around you, except for the watch you were wearing.
Tick,Tick No matter how hard you ran… You felt its presence all the time, playing with your mind… You had only one word in your mind: run away…
But running away to where your mind was racing, your heart felt like it was going to burst then you heard some big footsteps around you.
-Come out wherever you are, girl? No matter where you hide… I'm going to find you - said that giant robot while you saw him walking away from you to another floor of the parking lot. You didn't think about it and picked up your cell phone to see that the car where you were hiding was lifted as if nothing by that gray robot, you tried to run again to stumble and find three of them. You were completely surrounded, while one of them picked you up and made the rest of them disappear, you tried to move but he was holding you in his servo as if nothing. You were completely terrified trembling… completely at their mercy. The giant gray robot pinched you on the cheek.
I have to say, of all the humans I've seen… I found you the most curious. At least you didn't faint or run away. You've got some guts. You were trying to get away from his touch but he had too much strength to dodge it, you're literally like a doll in his hands.
-Let me go! Possessed car! - you said as the robot laughed at the sound.
-Possessed car? Come on, my name is Mirage… I don't want to let you go yet," he said as he transformed into a car while leaving you on the seat.
-Let go of me! Let go of me! - you said as you kicked everything you could.
I'm sorry, curious kitty… I can't see if Optimus will let me stay with you. I'll take good care of you," said the car as it pulled away to a location.
You tried to kick more but it was impossible, your curiosity had led you to a moment you never expected. To the mercy of a giant being that saw you as its kitten. Curiosity caught the cat.
#sam writes#transformers#transformers rise of the beasts#tf rotb#mirage x reader#rotb mirage#rotb mirage x reader#maccadam#maccadams#tf knightverse#transformers x reader#transformers x human#transformers one shot#g/t#giant/tiny#transformers g/t#g/t fearplay#robot x human#i finally finished this#i feel proud of it#mirage#g/t sfw
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The most horrible thing Holmes ever said to Watson is, in my opinion:
"My dear fellow!" I (Watson) cried, approaching him.
"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he (Holmes) with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house."
"But why?"
"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"
Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion. "I only wished to help," I explained.
"Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told."
"Certainly, Holmes."
He relaxed the austerity of his manner. "You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath.
Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?
"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.
"For MY sake?"
"I know what is the matter with me. It is a disease (…) Contagious by touch, Watson, that's it, by touch. Keep your distance and all is well."
"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?"
Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger. "If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room."
I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.
"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them."
He looked at me with venomous eyes. "If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.
"Then you have none in me?"
"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice."
I was bitterly hurt.
"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I would not intrude my services. (…) . Let me bring (…) someone you MUST have, and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man."
But in the end of the case Holmes justifies himself, making it seem like it was all just an act:
"My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. (…) You won't be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress"
"But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?" (Said Watson).
"Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. (…) I act have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I think that something nutritious at Simpson's would not be out of place."
Oh, all of Watson's concern and way of acting towards Holmes is so cute, and yet he is so compassionate, even after what Holmes did, that I can't help but feel dislike for Holmes in this case, haha. Poor Watson.
#sherlock holmes#john watson#acd canon#acd holmes#holmes/watson#sherlock holmes/john watson#johnlock#The Adventure of the Dying Detective
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genshin impact | 原神 dividers by @cafekitsune
back to asterrical's personal faves ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ masterlist
Traveler . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
goodnight world by @intothegenshinworld
sagau masterlist by @intothegenshinworld
genshin au masterlist by @primofate
★彡 🄷🅈🄳🅁🄾 彡★
kamisato ayato | head of the kamisato clan
an unexpected replacement by @genshinology
ajax | tartaglia | childe | 11th of the fatui harbingers
dissimulation, part 2, part 3 by @teabutmakeitazure
i've known you fondly for many nights by @pochipop
primum non nocere by @justherefortheride-ismoving
digital heart by @that-foul-legacy-lover
the day the ocean erupted by @that-foul-legacy-lover
★彡 🄲🅁🅈🄾 彡★
wriothesley | lord of the fortress of meropide
lunch break by @earthtooz
★彡 🄰🄽🄴🄼🄾 彡★
wanderer | scaramouche | kunikuzushi
wanderer comes with you on a job. things are likely to go up in smoke. by @thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch
of scary dog privileges & matcha lattes by @mayaree-darling
you're a pain in the neck (literally) by @xiaowhore
a porcelain heart by @papiliotao
kaedehara kazuha | the wandering samurai
in which kazuha loses his sight, slowly by @dreamsofteyvat
★彡 🄳🄴🄽🄳🅁🄾 彡★
alhaitham | the scribe of sumeru
the withers and woes of a little fawn heart by hwaitham (sadly deactivated acc)
alhaitham x fem!reader (atonement fountain scene inspired) by @ladadiida
on the complexities of relationships and words by @vivalabunbun
there are nothing but flowers by @vivalabunbun
the mad scholar by teapartyspilled (sadly deactivated acc)
friend-zoned by @mimi-cee-genshin
how to woo the acting grand sage 101 by @baeshijima
★彡 🄶🄴🄾 彡★
gorou | the general of watatsumi army
gorou x fem!reader | normal!au + established relationship by @https-furina
arataki itto | the one and oni
itto as an ex-yakuza househusband! by @versadies
my favorite girl by @chilumi-shipper
★彡 🄿🅈🅁🄾 彡★
diluc ragnvinder | darknight hero of mondstadt
I love you so by @hiraya-rawr
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Some context things abt Yohan's birth/Yohan's mother:
- if he's born around ~1985 thats in the middle of SK's antinatalist era when the state did everything it could to limit births (official communication on family planning even included things like "two is too many". Yohan is an extra marrital second child in the midst of an intensive family planning policy era, feels like that could add to the shame & difficulty of the whole situation for his mother + for jisang, even if considering how rich and disconnected from society he was, it probably would not have affected him much (aside from the catholic guilt I suppose). Her as a working class, to-be single mother on the other hand...
- even today only 2% of SK kids are born out of wedlock + it's precised on their birth registry/birth certificates if theyre born outside of a marriage. Legally there's no difference of treatment compared to babies born to married parents, however I'm sure there are social consequences. Depending on who registered Yohan at birth, his original papers could have that indication. It seems to make more sense for him to find ways to dissimulate it once he had the means to tho, especially after becoming a public figure.
- Also idea floated by @clawbehavior that yohan's mother could even be a foreigner. There's that scene in the show where Heo Joongse accuses Yohan of not being fully korean. HJS's is written as a fascist/ethnonationalist which explains these claims once Yohan turns against him, but it's nonetheless a possibility. Now Yohan as a second child born out of wedlock, in the antinatalist era, and on top of that to a foreigner in an ethnically homogenous country ? So many avenues to explore
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A Question of Loyalty XII
Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader
Word count: 2.6k
Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.
The bright light searing into your vision. Your body ached all over, and you felt a sharp ache in her head. You tried to sit up, the movement caused you to groan in pain.
As you lay there, trying to gather your thoughts, memories of the attack flooded back to you. You remembered being attacked while in Alicent's quarters, panic gripped your heart. And then there was darkness.
You had to find out what had happened, the uneasiness already making its presence.
With a deep inhalation, you managed to push up into a sitting position. You took a moment to steady yourself, your muscles still throbbing. You couldn't stay in bed, not when you had so many questions that needed answering.
Your body protesting at the sudden action, you stumbled a little, but managed to made your way towards the door.
You noticed that the hallway was empty, save for a few guards.
"Excuse me, Ser,” you said, approaching one of them. "Do you know where I can find Queen Alicent?"
The guard looked at you, surprised. "You should be resting, my lady," he said.
"I need to see her," You insisted. "It's urgent."
He nodded and told you about her whereabouts. You thanked him and made your way.
Your slow pace caused you to take your sweet time to get there, you knocked on Otto’s chambers, and both were there.
Alicent rushed towards you, concern etched on her face. "What are you doing up?" she exclaimed. "You're supposed to be regaining your strength. The maids were instructed to keep you in your chamber, you—“
“Helaena... is she alright?" You impatiently asked, "And the children?”
Alicent's countenance shifted immediately, her eyes full of sorrow. "Helaena was unharmed. She has been concealed to her rooms. She's not eating, she's lost the light in her eyes."
You felt a lump forming in your throat. "Is Jahaera okay? Jahaerys?”
"I'm tending to her," Alicent replied. "But little Jahaerys..." She didn't even finish the sentence before you let out a stinging gasp.
“I failed them," You said, the words coming out as a whisper. "I..."
"No, Y/N, you tried," Alicent said firmly, cutting you off. "I saw. This is not your fault, you hear me? Do not dare blame it on yourself."
“Aegon?”
“He’s coping his way.”
You felt tears welling up in your eyes. You had never felt so helpless before. You had tried to protect Helaena and her children, but not enough, you had failed.
“This was the Black’s doing.” Otto muttered. You utterly ignored the fact that he was standing behind you.
“Rhaenyra wouldn’t take a child’s life. He was her sister’s, no…-“ you refused to believe.
“Who else would want the King’s heir dead? They sought revenge, even the score. This was their toil.” He pressed.
"You got them?"
“One of them. He attempted to escape with-“ Alicent paused for a second. “-with my grandson’s head in a sack. We seized him at the gates and he’s in the dungeons now.” Your anger flared up, rushing to the exit.
“My lady, you’re in no condition to—“ Alicent tried to talk you out.
“I can’t just sit and wait for them to confess. I’ll feed them to Silverwing—“
Alicent acquiesced because she too, was desperate.
“I will escort lady Y/N to the dungeons. Can’t prowl those halls alone.” Otto chimed in.
“It’s fine, my lord. I’m sure you have business to attend to.”
“I insist, my lady.”
“Allow my father to accompany you," you heard Alicent say. “I’ll go check on Helaena, and perhaps later on you can pay her a visit?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” As you complied with her request, she lingered for half a second & leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek. Otto made a face at the display of affection, you reciprocated the warmth she offered.
His words were dripping with disdain as he addressed you. "Don't even care to dissimulate, do you?"
You raised an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon? I'm not quite sure what you mean."
"I mean you and Alicent," he sneered. "Can't keep your hands to yourselves, can you? People can't go around seeing you in open sight doing whatever the hell you do. Save it for behind closed doors."
You bristled at his tone. "With all due respect, my lord, our relationship is none of your concern. I am loyal to our King, just as you said you were okay with Alicent and I being together."
"It is most certainly my concern," He retorted, his face growing red with anger. "She is my daughter, the dowager Queen. She has a reputation to keep, and you are tainting it with your scandalous behavior.” As Otto continued to rant and rave, your sense of frustration was building only stronger. How dare he accuse you of tainting Alicent’s reputation, as if the two of you were nothing more than a sordid affair. “I witnessed your.. interaction the other day, and I can tell you firsthand that it was- discomforting.”
You scoffed. “If people choose to gossip and spread rumors, that is their problem."
“Do you not understand the gravity of the situation? You cannot be seen frolicking about in public like some love-struck fools."
"But we are not love-struck fools. You may have cornered me, yet again I’m standing here today because I love your daughter and your grandchildren.” You answered with full sincerity.
Eventually, the conversation came to an end as you made your way to face Prince Jahaerys killer.
Filled with the sound of dripping water and the faint smell of rotting flesh. In the corner, chained to the wall, was a massive man with scars crisscrossing his face and arms. His eyes cold and calculating as he glared at you from behind the bars of his cell.
“He refuses to speak his name.” Otto said.
"The real torture is to commence. Who ordered the hit."
The man looked up at you with a sneer on his face. "I ain't saying nothing to you, folks.”
"Maybe you can use your charms to get him to talk."
He had no interest in talking, hence, you had to resort to threatening him with Silverwing’s wrath.
You stepped closer to the cell. "You may think you're tough, but I know that deep down, you're scared. You're scared of what will happen to you if you don't confess. I’ll tell you what will. I’ll go fetch my dragon and she’s not as talkative as I am.” The dragon inside you wailing. “You murdered a Prince of the Realm, and that is a serious crime. But I'm willing to make you a deal. If you tell me everything you know, you’ll receive a swift execution. Otherwise, Silverwing will have her way with you, and I assure you, it won't be pretty."
“Prince Daemon ordered the ambushed. We were contacted by a woman.. with foreign accent.”
“Where are they?”
“Don’t know. I was making for Harrenhal to collect my award. A son for a son.”
“So Queen—“ You quickly corrected. -Princess Rhaenyra, had no part, no knowledge?” You had to ask.
“Seven hells, lady. How could I know. I’m telling you, we were only following the prince’s commands.” You knew Daemon was capable of anything, not even Rhaenyra could prevent him.
“A beheading sounds like a good way to o’” The man said.
You turned around. “My dragon won’t come for you. But I made no promises for the King’s.”
—
You walked down to Maegor’s Holdfast. You hoped that your presence could at least render some comfort to Helaena.
She was seated in a large armchair by the fire, staring blankly into the flames. Her eyes were red and swollen, her once-glowing complexion was now pale and sallow. Your heart broke at the sight of her devastation.
Without a word, you crossed the room and took a seat on the floor beside her. You reached out and took Helaena's hand, offering a gentle squeeze.
"I'm so sorry," You mumbled softly.
Helaena didn't respond, but her grip to your hand tightened. “You need to eat, my sweet girl. Remain strong for your daughter.” Helaena lodged in silence and unmoving, lost in her grief.
You wanted to make things better for her, but you had no idea how.
“You’re not alone, dearest. I’m here, I’m here for you.”
Helaena started to weep, her sobs growing louder with each passing minute. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as she did.
As the night wore on, Helaena's sobs began to subside, you stayed there until slumber claimed her, and long after that.
—
You strode through the winding corridors of the castle, making your way to Alicent's quarters for supper. As you approached, you were halted by the presence of Ser Criston posted outside.
"Queen Alicent has company," He informed, his tone conveying a hint of caution.
"We dine together, Ser. You know that.” You annoyingly replied.
"She must have forgotten.”
"She wouldn't," you retorted, a sense of unease growing within you. You still slipped him through.
"Apologies, Your Grace. I told her you were not to be disturbed," Criston conceded, stepping aside.
“It’s quite alright, Ser. She’s always welcome.”
Your attention was drawn to the figure of the master of whispers, his trademark smirk etched on, wondering what he was doing here again. However, your focus quickly shifted to Alicent, who appeared pinched and.. shoeless. You looked at the clubfoot suspiciously.
Alicent quickly apologized for the intrusion and dismissed him. "How common are his visits at these hours?" You inquired.
Alicent broke down, her hands flying to her face as she struggled to contain her emotions. "He's been forcing me to...to..." she trailed off, unable to finish.
Your heart sank as you realized the true nature of the situation. "Forcing you to what, Alicent?" you urged, your voice gentle but insistent.
"Sedate his pruriences, by...letting him— leer at my feet. In exchange, he's been informing me about all the activities that take place within the castle walls," Alicent revealed, her shame palpable.
Exasperation began to simmer as you processed it all. How could someone take advantage of Alicent in such a vile way? You could feel the rage building within you, a seething fire.
Without a second thought, you flounced off in pursuit of Larys. He wasn't far off, his disability preventing him from moving too quickly. You grasped him from behind and pinned him to the ground.
"You son of a whore. How dare you? How fucking dare you!" You screamed, your voice raw. The man clutched his bleeding nose, his face contorted in pain.
Your fists rained down on him with brutal force. Each blow harder than the last, your eyes turning a furious red.
You continued to hit him with all the strength you could muster. Your fists growing numb. You didn't care, all you wanted was to make him pay for what he had done.
You completely let aside the fact only a few days ago you were seriously injured, the boost of the ire at its peak.
“I’ll fucking kill you you fucking cunt.”
Alicent found you a couple of minutes later, her concern growing as she witnessed the extent of it. She had to physically pull you off him, reminding you of the potential consequences of your actions. You were breathing heavily.
"I never want to see you near her again. Do you understand, asshole?" You hissed.
More guards arrived on the scene, drawn by the commotion. Alicent explained what had happened.
"Fetch the maester at once!" Alicent shouted.
“I’- I’m alright.” You assured l, but the blood dripping from your fists, and your coughing accompanied with ichor suggested otherwise.
—
As you regained consciousness once again, the first thing you noticed was the stinging pain in your knuckles. You turned your head to see Alicent sitting on a chair next to your bed. She offered you a small smile.
“Glad you’re awake.”
You groaned, trying to sit up. “Is he dead?”
“He’s not,” Alicent replied, you sighed, still sore.
“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” you muttered, thinking of the spleen you had felt.
Alicent’s countenance consternated. “Please don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you to the same anger that’s consumed so many others.”
You stared at her, she was right.
“I should have been more in control.”
“It’s okay. I understand how you feel. I’ve been there myself. I’ve been the target of Larys’ abuse for a long time. He’s been trying to intimidate and manipulate me for years,” she said, her tone tinged with bitterness.
“You should have told me.” You reprimanded.
Alicent sighed, full of sadness & regret. “I didn’t want to burden you with it.”
You shook your head, feeling a surge of protectiveness towards her. “I would never have let him get away with it if I had known sooner.”
“I know. But I was scared. I didn’t want to make things worse.”
As you laid there, feeling the pain slowly ebb away, you realized that Alicent had been putting up with a lot of mistreatment from that rat, his father.
“He never sat right with me. He should be dismissed at once,” you stated firmly.
Alicent nodded in agreement. “He’s much more dangerous than he seems. He knows how to play his cards. He’s dreadfully calculated. He...orchestrated the plan involving Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin's murders. It was not an accident, not the cursed castle. It was him."
Your eyes widened in shock. "What?" you asked, unable to comprehend the level of malice and deceit that that kinslayer was capable of.
"Positive," Alicent replied, her expression grim. "I'm carrying their deaths as well. It was...a misunderstanding. I never thought he would."
"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.
“I wanted my father back. I suggested it between lines, didn’t wish for it but he.. took it as a cue that that was my desire.” She explained.
“No one knew?”
"I'm terrible," Alicent said, looking down at her lap.
"I know better than anyone it's not in your nature," You assured her, reaching over to intertwine your fingers with hers. “You’d never command nor condone something so callous.”
“Wish I could go back and change it. Change my use of words. Never listened to him.” She said. “He won’t have the support of the court if we do this,” she warned.
“I don’t care. He deserves to be punished for what he’s done.”
“Thank you for defending my honor.”
“This was your secret, huh? I was here to listen to you, my Queen.”
"You were coming and going. Rhaenyra was a priority to you back then." You felt a pang of regret at the reminder. You had been so focused on Rhaenyra and her affairs that you had failed to see the danger that was lurking right under your nose.
Alicent was not just your lover, she was your partner. And you would do anything to protect her as long as you lived. The two of you were in this together, for better or for worse.
She leaned forward, kissing you with a fiery passion that sent shivers down your spine, this one of a kind electrifying rush only she could provide. Midway through the kiss, she pulled back slightly, "Am I hurting you?"
You shook your head no, lost in the heat of the moment. She resumed it, adding care and tenderness, her hands tenderly cupping your cheeks, while yours find their way to her waist.
As her kisses grew more intense, you moaned softly, encouraging her to keep going. Soon enough, Alicent straddled you, moaning in tandem as she continued to unleash her desire upon you, and you, upon her.
Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @lesbicentism @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @bugwritesstuff @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha
#game of thrones fic#got#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fic#hotd#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#rhaenyra targaryen#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower#rhaenyra x reader#alicent x reader
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Family Line by Conan Gray X Fitz Vacker
(How didn’t I think of it sooner?)
« My father never talked a lot »: Alden… isn’t really open. Like. I doubt any of his kids, and even Della, ever knew what was happening, what he was doing, even when they were on missions.
« He just took a walk around the block »: keuf. That’s the secret missions. For the Council and for himself. That a kid can’t understand.
« Till all his anger took a hold of him, and he’d hit »: so. As I said for Driver’s Seat analysis, I doubt the cracks and the emotions go out as anger in the Lost Cities. Though it could happen, adding to the guilt that broke his mind. Yeah. Alden probably screamed. Criticized harshly without realizing. That’s the blows.
« My mother never cried a lot »: Della always stayed in the shadows. She says it herself, she isn’t known as standing up.
« She took the punches but she never fought »: that is about how Della never corrected Alden’s favoritism. She just compensated by caring more for Alvar and Biana.
« Till she said “I’m leaving and I’ll take the kids”, so she did »: that’s book 4. That’s Della joining the Black Swan.
« I say “They’re just the ones who gave me life” »: Fitz all throughout Flashback. Standing against his parents. Protesting.
« But I truly am my parents’ child »: but he can never undo the pressure, the legacy. Even his name, Fitz, that means « son of ». He’s what the Vackers made him.
« Scattered cross my family line »: the way the Vacker family is exploded. The ancestors. Alvar by the Neverseen. Alden and Della never truly close to their kids. Biana and Fitz raised in competition.
« I’m so good at telling lies »: he’s good at dissimulation, at tricking the world to appear fine.
« That came from my mother’s side »: dunno if Della lies. Probably yes. And she always gives the impression to be pretty delicate beauty, when she’s clearly a fighter (cf her registry pages in Unlocked)
« Told a million to survive »: not to survive but to keep the appearances up. Everything’s fine. There is no reason to worry.
« God, I have my father’s eyes »: Fitz has always been perceived as perfect heir. Miniature Alden.
« But my sister’s when I cry »: the fact that, with everything collapsing, Fitz and Biana grew closer throughout the series.
« I can run, but I can’t hide, from my family line »: that is the feeling that whatever he does, he will always be a Vacker. Seen as royal perfection.
« It’s hard to put it into words, how the holidays will always hurt »: it’s hard to admit in Glitter City that it’s not really perfect, expressing that is something they’ve never been taught.
« I watch the fathers with their little girls, and wonder what I did to deserve this »: I think I remember Fitz voicing that. Voicing that he doesn’t know why he is there, treated with so much respect and admiration and feeling so out of place.
« How could you hurt a little kid »: how could you turn me into a simple puppet and forget I have an identity ?
« I can’t forget, I can’t forgive you »: that’s to the whole family tree. The old ones that passed down the pressure and perfection-expectations for centuries.
« Cause now I’m scared that everyone I love will leave me ». This line is about how Fitz doesn’t know how to love. How to be stable. How to live.
« All that I did, I tried to undo it »: that he tried. Being perfect representation of the system? He joined the rebellion. Hurting Sophie and mistrusting her? He went through the whole process of Inquisition and accepted Sokeefe. Making Biana feel invisible? He talked with her in Flashback.
« All of my pain and all your excuses, I was a kid but I wasn’t clueless »: how living in both worlds made him stranger to everything, how he felt something was wrong with the missions, how he just wanted to make Alden proud.
« Someone who loves you wouldn’t do this »: to the system. To all the girls flirting with him without knowing. To his parents not understanding his fears.
« All of my past, I tried to erase it »: killing Alvar as erasing the pain. Joining the Black Swan as erasing the pressure. He is a runaway boy too, but it shows less.
« But now I see, would I even change it? »: I think he can learn to think like this. To be satisfied.
« Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same »: now. By Stellarlune, he knows. He knows he can have an identity and not be a copy of his father. He can not make the same mistakes.
#kotlc#keeper of the lost cities#fitz vacker#yeah i know#it can go with Keefe too#but I prefer Fitz#(entirely personal)#if y’all want to do it for our#keefe#feel free#also.#I had another idea of analysis while writing the passages about Della#can y’all find which song I’ll do next?#family line
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i've had a few days to marinate on shogun and, since i haven't seen any of this discussed in the video essays i've managed to see, i would like to very respectfully critique toranaga's hero framing. i thought the last conversation with yabushige was supposed to temper that a bit but imo it was not enough. the torturing of the village to dissimulate for his own sinking of the ship followed by the luke-skywalker-staring-at-the-horizon choice of imagery felt inappropriate to me. the man is sociopath! he essentially sacrificed so many people so that he can become shogun and accumulate even more power than he already has. i don't think we should be praising that or shrouding it in such reverence. i don't expect much from male youtube commentators bc ofc they're not going to be sensitive to that strain of commentary and can't wait for a new badass male warrior to stan, but i'm starting to wonder whether i'm misinterpreting this series as i'm sure there are many cultural aspects i still don't understand
other decisions of toranaga's that did not sit well with me and struck me as red flags were letting hiromatsu commit seppuku for nothing and sending mariko to sacrifice herself. i understand these events were changed from the book? and honestly the book versions make more sense and make him less of an unfeeling lunatic (disclaimer that i haven't read it so i might be wrong ofc). but, i heard that in the novel, he tells his generals of his plan of feigning defeat so no one feels compelled into such a dramatic gesture as seppuku. if so, this is one show change that left me scratching my head
at the same time, mariko sama is a character i really liked, but i don't think her actions in episode 9 paint her in a very positive light; more than that, i feel like her death is kind of justified as narrative punishment? again, i understand that, in the book, she & ochiba no kata were not childhood friends, so it would make sense why mariko had no qualms to act against her. but, by helping toranaga to essentially & eventually become shogun, is mariko not endangering her girlhood friend and her son? my understanding of this period in japan's history is very limited, but lady ochiba's real-life counterpart, yodo-dono, and her son ended up committing suicide because of toranaga's historical counterpart. as such, i didn't really understand why ochiba no kata would lend a hand to toranaga's campaign. he was suspected at large of wanting to restore the shogunate so why wouldn't lady ochiba correlate that with her son's safety?
in this context, toranaga's statement that mariko's karma was to die for her lord while his is to become shogun ultimately feels so condescending and i'm surprised i'm not seeing more critique on it? mariko's sacrifice is being interpreted everywhere as this great act of strength and principle and i'm really just left asking myself what exactly am i missing. similarly, toranaga's professing of being ready to lay down his life for the heir and his promises to the dying taiko ring very hollow, to be honest. he even has an introductory scene when he is making nice with this child and it's just... ?? weird that there is no commentary attached to that
#shogun#genuinely asking what am i not getting bc all this is raising question marks in my head#don't get me wrong i loved the show and thought it well-crafted#miles ahead of hotd even with these discrepancies
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Danton breaking up fights between Robespierre and his soon-to-be ex-boyfriends compilation
The surveillance Committee launched an arrest warrant against Minister Roland; it was the 4th (September), and the massacres were still going on. Danton was informed of it, he came to town hall, he was with Robespierre; […] I (Pétion) had an explanation with Robespierre, it was very lively. I tell him: “Robespierre, you are doing a lot of harm; your denunciations, your alarms, your hatreds, your suspicions, they agitate the people; explain yourself; do you have any facts? Do you have any proof? I fight with you; I only love the truth; I only want freedom.”
”You allow yourself to be surrounded, you allow yourself to be warned, he replied; you are disposed against me; you see my enemies everyday; you see Brissot and his party.”
”You are mistaken, Robespierre; no one is more on guard than I against prejudices, and judges with more coolness, men and things. You’re right, I see Brissot, however rarely, but you don’t know him, and I know him since his childhood. I have seen him in those moments when the soul shows itself entirely; where one abandons oneself unreservedly to friendship, to confidence: I know his disinterestedness; I know his principles, I proclaim to you that they are pure; those who make him a party leader have not the faintest idea of his character; he has enlightenment and knowledge; but he has neither the reserve, nor the dissimulation, nor those lively forms, nor that spirit of consistency which constitutes a leader of a party, and what will surprise you is that, far from leading others, he is very easy to abuse.”
Robespierre insisted, but confined himself to generalities.
”Allow us to explain ourselves,” I told him, ”tell me frankly what is in your heart, what you know.”
”Well!” he replied, ”I believe that Brissot is at Brunswick.”
”What mistake is yours,” I exclaimed! ”it is truly madness; this is how your imagination leads you astray: wouldn't Brunswick be the first to cut his head off? Brissot is not mad enough to doubt it: which of us can seriously capitulate! which of us does not risk his life! Let us banish unjust mistrust.”
Danton became entangled in the colloquy, saying that this was not the time for arguments; that it was necessary to have all these explanations after the expulsion of the enemies; that this decisive object alone should occupy all good citizens. Discours de Jérôme Pétion sur l’accusation intentée contre Maximilien Robespierre (November 5 1792)
Robespierre: Camille's writings are to be condemned, no doubt; but nevertheless it is necessary to distinguish the person from his works. I consent freedom to treat Desmoulins like a spoiled child who had happy dispositions, and who has been led astray by bad company. His head sometimes wanders, but his talents are precious. But we must demand of him that he prove his repentance for all his thoughtlessness, by quitting those companies which have ruined him. We must crack down on his acts that Brissot himself would not have dared to admit, and keep Desmoulms in our midst. All these truths are not flattering for an author: but if the vanity of Camille Desmoulins is offended by them, he considers that he has attracted a small admonition sufficient to correct it. When he sees that he has deserved still more severe reproaches, he will feel the necessity of rallying to principles, and removing from himself all causes of an error that we are willing to forgive him for. Let him examine that his writings are the pain of patriots and the joy of aristocrats, and he will be grateful to us to see that it is only for him that we can forget them. I end by asking that his numbers be treated like the aristocrats who buy them, with the contempt that profanity deserves. I propose to the Society to burn them in the middle of the room (There is applause several times; Robespierre's speech was interrupted by applause and bursts of laughter). Desmoulins: That's very well said, Robespierre, but I'll answer you like Rousseau: "To burn is not to answer." Robespierre: How dare you still want to justify works that delight the aristocracy? Learn, Camille, that if you were not Camille, one could not have so much indulgence for you. The way you want to justify yourself proves to me that you have bad intentions. To burn is not to answer! But can this quotation of the sublime philosopher of Geneva find its application here? WelI, I retract my last motion; I ask that Camille's numbers not be burned, but that they be answered. Since he wants to, let him be covered with ignominy, let the Society not restrain its indignation, since he persists in supporting his diatribes and his dangerous principles. The man who clings so strongly to perfidious writings is perhaps more than misguided; if he had been in good faith, if he had written in the simplicity of his heart, he would not have dared longer to support works proscribed by patriots and sought after by all the counter-revolutionaries of France. His courage is only borrowed, he detects the hidden men under whose dictation he wrote his diary; he detects in Desmoulins the organ of a villainous faction which has borrowed his pen to distill its poison with more audacity and certainty. Desmoulins, who sees himself blamed by the patriots, finds himself compensated by the adulations of the aristocrats he frequents, and by the caresses of many false patriots, under which he does not perceive the perfidious intention of ruining him. You must know what he said in response to those who blamed his writings: Do you know that I sold 50 000 copies! I would not have said these truths if Desmoulins had not been so obstinate, but the point of order has become necessary. I therefore ask that the numbers of Camille Desmoulins be read from the rostrum: if there are individuals who defend his principles, they will be listened to, but there will be patriots to answer them. Desmoulins: But Robespierre, I don’t understand you. How can you say only aristocrats read my paper? The Convention, the Mountain, are they composed of aristocrats? You denounce me here, but was I not at your house? Didn’t I read you my numbers, asking you, in the name of friendship, for your advice, and to trace the path that I had to take? Robespierre: You didn’t show me all your numbers, I only saw one or two. To avoid quarrel I didn’t want to read the others, it would be said that I dictated them. Danton: Camille mustn’t be frightened by the rather severe lessons Robespierre’s friendship has just given him. Citizens, let justice and cold-headedness always preside over our decisions. In judging Camille, be careful to not strike a deadly blow against the liberty of the press. [A secretary reads number 4 of Vieux Cordelier, which excites reclamations, the reading is at several times interrupted by marks of improbation. The club, at the proposal of Robespierre, decides that it will hear the reading of Camille’s third and fifth number tomorrow, where he will justify himself.] The Jacobin Club January 7 1794
#robespierre#danton#pétion#desmoulins#if i had a nickel for every time this was recorded to have happened i’d have two nickels#which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice#but srs i’m with danton here#especially in the first example…#frev#frev compilation
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"You're upset"
No joke Sherlock, I'm just kinda held against my will by a mafiaso insisting I marry him. I don't even have my own room anymore. Nothing to get upset, right ?
this is what Dissimulation! Childe looks like making reader live with him in the same room and share the same bed and bathroom and shampoo and wardrobe. that's what he looks like when he invades all forms of reader's privacy because "I like you 👉👈" and "we're going to be husband and wife someday ;)"
#reader: im upset#childe: why :( tell me so i can make the cause go away#reader: youre gonna have to kil yourself if you want a permanent solution to me being upset#childe: *grabbing his gun* ill shoot my leg and get hospitalised for a few weeks if it makes you happy#reader: DONT YOU FUCKING DARE-#spoiler alert: the gun had no bullets and reader had a mini heart attack which turned into a full on mental breakdown while childe went-#-from giggling like a little shit to actually concerned because he didnt see anything wrong with the prank#this is not in the fic just something i came up with right now#childe brainrot#dissimulation childe#ask#anon
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Awaiting that delicious moment where H:SR Kaeya will confess to someone he trusts that not only he no longer feels like a person, but that he has nothing to call his own and no place to belong to: his body is borrowed from someone who already lived before him, his memories as a cheerful child seem to have happened eons ago to a disconnected person compared to the being he now is, and people that he's close to will eventually die while him, as a ''being'', continues to live on.
He no longer knows who or what he is, and if he's deserving to have an identity at all, and what he'll do after he's finished dissimulating the history of the Great Catastrophe. He truly lives in a present, and in an uncertaint future that he doesn't know what to feel about.
#from another realm ━ (ooc)#riddle me this; is everything that you remember real and nothing but the pure truth? ━ (H:SR V.)#delicious confession of a non-human. it's going to be heartwrenching#thinking about siob.han being just an human and seeing her get old and die............... you know. the woman who raised him. big ouch.
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Can Harris’s Cynical, Run-out-the Clock Campaign Succeed?
Harris thinks her delays, deceptions, and vilifications for the next 47 days will ensure her victory.
By Victor Davis Hanson
September 19, 2024
Cynically running out the clock has been the overarching principle of the entire abbreviated 105-day presidential campaign of Kamala Harris—ever since Joe Biden, at the 11th-hour, dropped out in July.
Harris seems unwilling or unable to answer any impromptu question that she has not been previously prepped for. Her answers at the debate were memorized and canned. They never addressed the questions asked.
Her single, 11-minute post-debate Philadelphia interview was a shipwreck of dodging and dissimulating—even though the host was sympathetically left-wing.
Even socialist Bernie Sanders pointed out that for Harris to get elected, she must temporarily disown her lifelong leftist credentials.
As vice president, she must further deny co-ownership of the unpopular record of the Biden-Harris administration.
Left unstated is that whether she wins the presidency—or loses it and continues as vice president for another three months—nonetheless she will inevitably revert back to her hard-core, lifelong leftist beliefs.
In addition, Harris has reconstructed her privileged upbringing as a child of two PhDs, living in a posh Montreal neighborhood into a struggling, middle-class Oakland childhood.
How can she stage such a complete makeover—and contemptuously count on the voting public to be so easily deceived?
She avoids all news conferences, one-on-one nationally broadcast interviews, and town halls. And like Biden, she will debate only on leftist venues with impartial pro-Harris moderators.
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Now that birth control is more or less routine, infanticide seems an unrelated and horrifying event; but to colonial women, who had no alternative and whose offspring were very likely to die in infancy anyway, infanticide might be a desperate kind of birth control after the fact. Various means of contraception were known at the time, and coitus interruptus was widely practiced. Sarah Smith, who had two husbands and several lovers, may have known about such things, but no means of birth control was foolproof. Young unmarried motherless women like Mary Martin, on the other hand, probably knew nothing of birth control. And in some cases birth-control information wouldn't have helped. Alice Clifton, the sixteen-year-old slave, was "debauched" in an alley by a white man known as "fat Shaffer." Women in desperate circumstances then turned to infanticide. But in killing their infants they not only committed murder; they also asserted, symbolically at least, that a woman should not be punished for her sexuality, that she is entitled to some measure of control of her own body. Such statements challenge civil and divine authority most of all. In a patriarchal society, they are revolutionary.
In Chester, Massachusetts, a week after Abiel Converse was arrested for murdering her bastard child, a Mrs. Tyler, several years a widow and several months pregnant, ate rat poison for breakfast. She spent the day "in great agony" and, about sunset, she died. The editor of the county newspaper took a dim view of this "inconsiderate conduct," and the Reverend Mr. Bascom denounced her at the Converse execution as "an unclean and whorish woman [who] was led on by this abominable wickedness, to murder herself: deliberately, designedly, without hope of any mercy; and without desiring the good wishes or prayers of any friend whatever." Not even the Reverend Mr. Bascom.
It is hard to read the old sermons today without suspecting that men like the Reverend Mr. Bascom were more concerned with their own authority than with God's. Always they warned women to be docile and obedient. At the executions of women convicted of infanticide, the ministers harangued women about "uncleanness"; but they also warned them against the sins of lying, secrecy, anger, disobedience, hypocrisy, sullen discontent, idleness, and "gadding about" with other women. In a political context, these "sins" amount to resistance, rebellion, subversion, sabotage, coalition, and conspiracy. No wonder the preachers thundered: "The Apostle wou'd have the young women taught to be sober, discreet, Chast, Keepers at home, that the word of God be not blasphemed. . . ."
But women apparently were not keepers at home, for during the eighteenth century bastardy became such a common offense that penalties against it had to be reduced. In 1747 Benjamin Franklin's marvelous fictitious creation, Miss Polly Baker, prosecuted for bearing a fifth bastard, argued that she had done her civic duty in adding "to the king's subjects" and should have a statue erected in her honor. Franklin's satiric essay is a serious argument for distinguishing "sin" from "crime." By 1780 the Marquis de Chastellux could relate straightforwardly the story of a "deceived" Miss Dorrance in Voluntown, Connecticut, being well cared for by her family. And George Grieve, Chastellux's translator, who also had met the family, advised English readers that in America such a young woman was "pitied rather than blamed" and could "still retain all her rights in society and become a legitimate spouse and mother, though her adventure be neither unknown nor even dissimulated."
Court dockets were crowded with bastardy cases. At the Court of General Sessions of the Peace held at Springfield, Massachusetts, in May 1785, Mary Howard, a "singlewoman," appeared and "voluntarily confesse[d] herself to have been guilty of the Crime of Fornication, and that she . . . had a Female Bastard Child born of her Body on the twentieth day of January last past. . . ." Mary Howard was followed by six other women. Each made a similar confession. Each was fined six shillings and charged three shillings for costs—a little more than a week's wages for a skilled spinster. A woman who accepted her child and her shame could be rehabilitated, but a woman who took matters into her own hands could not. In the same month, the Superior Court meeting nearby at Northampton sentenced Hannah Piggin to die for concealing the death of her bastard child. It was almost as though women who committed infanticide were punished not so much for killing but for trying to put one over on the authorities.
-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill
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Amelie's backstory
Here's a revised and more in depth version of Amélie's backstory to make her character a bit more complex and interesting than my first version; as well as better fitted in the Bleach world and make interactions easier. Some details are still to be added and think about, but here's the global idea.
I've added a bit about her personality at the end of the post to help with interactions and give you a better idea of who she is.
Early life:
Amelie grew up in a strict wealthy Quincy family. Her family is from the noble class and owns land in France. As an old child she was raised to be the heir of the family and wed at the age of twenty. A life she found little excitement from. Amélie struggled a lot as a child and teenager to fit within society, often talking and behaving inapproprietly and very blunlty with people. She had very little friends and trouble relating to other people, whom she other found dumb or dull.
She found refuge and escapism in ballet classes she started taking as a child, she likes the thrive and discipline to become the best she came, the attention during performance and portraying different characters. She dreamt of making a career out of it, her parents weren't very keen but allowed to keep going to those classes, seeing it was helping her building discipline and appropriate behaviour.
Pre-war:
By the age of twenty, she betroded her man named Pierre, of noble Etcht lineage, she wasn't very keen on him and the idea of marriage, but he proved overtime to be a very patient and kind man with her, who cherished her for who she was and never berated her for behaviour or eccentricities. For the first time in her life, Amélie felt understood and not judged, though many in society and in her husband entourage disliked her bizarre characters.
Shortly after her marriage, rumours of a war against Soul Society started echoing within the Kindgom, which wrecked fear and chaos amonsgt people who feared for their future. Amélie decided to pick up some archery and proper fighting class, she had only been taught the basics of archery, as anything beyond was considered inappropriate at the time for a noble lady.
She refused to be a spectator of her own downfall, should Soul Society attack them and didn't trust the army to protect them as her husband had a strong dislike for Yhwach and often voiced his concerns towards his intentions.
She found a teacher who presented themselves as expert if the arts of archery and with experience training military and mercenaries alike. She found herself absolutely thrilled and taken aback by the arts of fighting and the adrenaline it provided. She trained everyday for many hours and started excelling in precision. Her teacher saw her passion as well as the look on her face whenever she shoot, sensing a much darker edge and urges to her personality. Then suggested she tried to join the military or a brotherhood of contractors.
She first refused knowing her husband and family would never approved. But her teacher insisted that it would be a waste of talents and that it would be very difficult for her to live a normal life within society; if her needs weren't satisified and controlled within an appropriate framework. She risks ending up locked up in asylum, prison or w orst being accused and burned for witchcraft.
She felt extremely conflicted as her life was about to start relatively normal and under control, but she couldn't deny that learning to fight had awaken an urge in her she could no longer resist.
Early assassin life:
After a long dilemma she agreed for her teacher to introduced her to a contact to work as an assassin for the court. She was put to test and underwent very specific training for months to perfect her skills, as well as learned the art of dissimulation, as well teach her the ideology of the Empire. She cared very little for the latter, but she figured she'd better be good at pretending she did, if she wanted to carry on.
After a few months of training, she started off as a spy, in charge of spotting dissidence and resistance against Yhwach and his regime. Then once, established as trustworthy and efficient, she was entrusted with carrying on the assassination of some of the dissident. At last.
But amongst those dissident she has unveiled a correspondance involving her own husband, upon investigating in their home, she found out she was indeed involved with a group of rebel and held a lot of influence within their groups.
She found herself once again in a difficult dilemma, though at this point she had gone too far to turn around and back off. She had known this might likely happened and gone in secret to work as assassin for court. She decided to go for a quiet and clean sleep while Pierre was asleep. A first and sad first killl, that yet brought her a feeling of being alive she had never felt before that couldn't compare to anything she'd known before, not even her feelings for her husband.
People found out, she started earning the nickname of the black widow for murdering her own husband and she became a topic of horrors amongst society. Her family decided to disown her.
First war:
Shortly after, war started waging with a surprise attack on Lietchreich from Soul Society. Amelie was tasked with helping civilians escape and find safe escape to the Wandenreich, spot the enemy, sabotage their campement, killed some of the low foot soldier. But she wasn't considered experience enough to against higher ups or other high risks missions.
Wandenreich era:
After the war, she kept on working for the Empire, helping them spot dissident, as well as going on mission to the human world to spy on Shinigami's activities, carry on assassination, and helped rescue remaining Quincy in the world of living who wanted to escape to a safer land.
While she originally didn't care for the Empire's ambitions and her interests solely lied in killing, after witnessing the horrors the war, the Wandenreich ideology and a sense of Quincy pride started to grow on her.
She takes orders directly from Yhwach and his close entourage ie Jugram & his royal guards. She doesn't have a schrift, she's not a part of the Sternritter, but she may work with them and assist depending on her mission.
Reputation:
She's made quite a reputation for herself over the years. As an assassin she's known for her exceptional precision and one shot kill. A lot of people hated her amongst former noble society, she's viewed as a ruthless monster with no honour.
Personality:
She's usually quite cold and not the friendliest person, she often is very sarcastic and likes to trigger with her dark sense of humour.
She knows how to adapt, be charming and fake attitude or emotions when needed, but unless it's needed she doesn't really care about her actions and words affect other people. As kid and adult she was seen as weird for her bluntless and lack of empathy. The way she functions borders that of a sociopath.
Views on Shinigami & Hollows:
She hates them. She views them as a very backwards and power hungry society. After the first war, she fully endorsed Yhwach's ideology and that the world would be a better place if rule by Quincy and without Shinigami. She believes Shinigami's methods are gross and unmethodical, though she does a bit of a morbid admiration for some of their most blood thirst fighter.
Hollows she believes are inferior and brainless creatures.
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omg… when i saw fire emblem i HAD to jump on… 😳 dimitri my beloved 🫶 my ideal date w dimitri would have to be something real simple like a picnic date or a night out on the town and then we just wander around. my fav trope would have to be childhood friends to lovers but i don’t really mind anything! tysmmm and i hope u have/had a great valentines <333
hello!! omg you're my first request for fire emblem so thank you so much for stopping to request! i hope you're having a nice valentine's day as well <3 muack!
"And then, while I was using the computer to make some assignments, the boss came and told me that it wasn't necessary to stay and finish them." as you speak, Dimitri's brows arch in surprise. His eyes are still focused on the road, and his hand, covered by yours, resting softly on the gear lever. Turns the blinker to the right before softly braking near the street. You look at him with confusion, as he smiles softly and takes off his car belt. He gets closer to leave a kiss on your forehead.
"Wait here for a second, I'll be right back."
Dimitri leaves the car to enter on a quiet café you can see from the car. Inside, you can barely difference your boyfriend between the clients, but he quickly leaves, holding a couple bags and two cups on his hands. He leaves them on the trunk before entering again to the pilot's seat. He offers you one cup as he takes the other. He doesn't even dissimulate his smile as he starts the engine again, resting his cup on the holder next to you as he drives to ge slowly placed in front of a traffic light that doesn't lead you home.
"What are the bags for?" you ask. Dimitri's smile widens as he takes your hand, placing it softly under his before changing gear again, not answering your question as the sky starts to darken and the street lights softly turn on around you.
Dimitri drives for a while, telling jokes that almost make you spill your drink, kissing your hand when he has occasion and softly humming to any song you play on the car's radio. Dimitri slowly stops near the entrance of a park, turning off the engine as he looks at you.
"Do you remember when we were twelve and you told me that Valentine's Day was overrated?" you feel heath in your cheeks as he brings back old conversations. Dimitri always had good memory, and, specially, if it has something to see with you. "We were sitting on the bench near the monastery's entrance."
"And I said that Valentine's was overrated 'cause no one gave me chocolates that year." you laugh. It wasn't more than a child tantrum. Dimitri smiles softly, looking at the ring shining on your hand, so similar to his.
"Then, you told me that getting chocolates for Valentine's was a huge marketing tactic because you overheard our teacher speaking with her colleagues." he softly shakes his head. You sigh. "Do you still think the same way?"
The silence makes you think deep about what you want to say, ordering your words.
"It indeed is a marketing tactic." Both of you laugh softly, as the moon starts to rise in front of both of you, her soft light entering on the car and illuminating his profile and his golden locks. "But it's lovely. Everything gets so red and pink, so full of hearts and romantic. And heart-shaped chocolates from you always taste better." it makes Dimitri smile softly, feeling the blush reaching his cheeks. "Now, I have something for you..."
He smiles widely before reaching your lips for a kiss. "Before, we should leave the car."
Dimitri winks as he leaves, quickly appearing in front of your car door, opening it for you and offering a helping hand. You thank him with a soft smile before he takes a blanket and the bags from before, and you realize it before he speaks.
"When we were ten, you liked romantic picnics." You can feel tears forming on your eyes. "You never got the occasion to go on one, specially during our uni days, and you parked the idea." He speaks as he sets the blanket on the soft grass, making sure there was no stone or stick that could make it uncomfortable. "But I didn't." He starts to take boxes outside of the bags. Salty snacks, drinks and, of course, a box of heart-shaped chocolates. "I wanted to make it special for you, so..." He stands up after putting the last box on the blanket. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love. I hope this is our first picnic of many more waiting for us."
His arms take you on a tender hug under the stars, letting you grip to his shirt and feel his lips against your head, soft. You don't know how many time you've been hugging him, but you suddenly remember the surprise you packed for him that rests on your bag. Parting from him, you smile.
"Time for my surprise."
It's true that Dimitri and you might have been dating for a couple of years, but your love for him comes from way before. You take a folded paper, giving it to him. He softly undoes it, under your attentive gaze. There, your 9 year old self wrote, in capital letters and different colors.
"Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, I like you. Please, be my Valentine tomorrow and many years!" Dimitri's voice reads your words, smiling at the drawing of both of you eating on a picnic. It was one of your best saved secrets, and you promised yourself to share it only with him, on a Valentine's Day. Dimitri's hands fold softly the paper, before introducing it on his shirt's pocket, right above his heart, and taking you near him for a kiss. You can feel his smile against your mouth, and your feel like you melt when he whispers against your lips, brushing his softly.
"I love you."
#fire emblem three houses#fe three houses#fe three houses x reader#fire emblem three houses x reader#fire emblem three houses x you#fire emblem three houses x y/n#fe three houses x you#fe three houses x y/n#dimitri blaiddyd x you#dimitri x you#dimitri x reader#dimitri x y/n#dimitri blaiddyd x reader#dimitri blaiddyd x y/n#cookie's valentine ballet
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