#except for her formal look for the latter

[liquidstar]

i finally finished alternate outfit designs for my ocs :) well these five at least lol

ill put the individual frames under the cut!

[shortnotsweet]

This technically applies to my Stepmother AU in which Alicent is around six years older than Rhaenyra, and occupies a wicked stepmother role as opposed to ex ‘friends-to-first loves-to-enemies’. Despite lacking the foundation of shared girlhood, both find simultaneous comfort and rivalry in one another, and undergo a gravitational pull. A young Rhaenyra’s eagerness to participate in swordplay and political affairs at a young is accommodated for, and she grows up with a sword in one hand and the weight of experience in another, which further helps pave her way to the throne.

Alicent’s Costuming

Alicent’s clothing is almost entirely bottle, emerald, or forest green. While there is layering present in her skirts and jackets, the accent should always be a darker green than the base color. The fabric is deep, rich, and retains an undeniably high-quality luster. Look to velvets and silks. Gold embroidery lingers around her sleeves, neck, and hemline to elevate the coloring.

Metallic embellishments should be almost military-like, and appear heavy. Contribute to the imagery of chains or shackles in addition to her status

Draws inspiration from historically accurate stiffness and Victorian shapes, with a tapered waist, imposing, puffy sleeves, and a high neckline. Despite inaccuracies, this shape is evocative of someone elegantly and conservatively feminine, repressed, and capable of exerting power over others. Reference a classic, trussed hourglass shape. Skirts should be notably heavy and full; may make noise in movement

The coloring and shapes remain relatively consistent but lack variation; this is to demonstrate a lack of freedom and exploration, as well as an adherence to conventional feminine roles

Despite these limitations, her costuming should always be put-together, coordinated, and unquestionably fashionable. Tight sleeve cuffs may be accompanied by a more traditionally medieval fan sleeve

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

In this AU, her hair leans more towards a dark brown instead of auburn, as her show counterpart. This is mostly due to faux-book accuracy and to simplify the sketch process, since keeping her hair darker in comparison to Rhaenyra’s lighter hair translates more easily in uncolored renderings.

Keep her hair either in a tidy bun or pulled back and loose; avoid too many intricate shapes, braids, or styles. Occasionally, the hair will hang loose. Lean into medieval or royal headpieces, clips, coverings, etc.

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

Rhaenyra’s clothes are primarily black and red, occasionally accented or substituted with neutrals such as beige, white, or gray. Exceptions may include blue or yellow, but she generally stays in this color palette.

Strong focus is drawn to her shoulders and neckline, sometimes with embroidered or embellished detailing. She often has strong, angular shoulders in her dresses or jackets, occasionally theatrically pointed. Off-the shoulder necklines emphasize her collarbones and a certain broadness.

There should be decent variety in her clothing; there is a hypothetical outfit for every occasion and more (for battle, for riding, everyday, formal, feasts, everyday, etc.), and most should be composed of multiple pieces and utilize generous layering. This includes under-fabric, belts and corsets, jackets and doublets, draped fabric for aesthetic purpose, and even functional capes.

Most of her clothes should provide visual aid for movement; additional fabric to her skirts, for example. Her clothes should be highly stylized but still easy to move in. In riding and battle gear, it is presumed that she wears pants and boots under her skirts, even if they are not visible.

Shoes lean more into boot cuts, still practical but should have a sleek and uniform quality to them. When she walks, she should make some kind of noise. Shoes should usually be black or potentially red, the latter for decorative purposes.

Overall her style should be more contemporary and lean into the fantasy element. She’s not opposed to oriental details or showing skin, and her costumes should reflect both couture-height drama and period-reliant aspects. Longer lines and diagonal hems mean she is not as devoted to an hourglass shape, and her high collars should always be decorative in some respect.

Keep her hair long and mostly loose, sometimes pulled back. Small braids should be implied as incorporated. Occasional hairstyles feature complicated braids. With the exception of highly decorative braided styles, simple buns should be avoided unless accompanied with very high necklines.

Avoid headpieces that are not either a) her crown or b) ceremonial.

[beegomess]

Dark Paradise || Theodore Nott

Don't forget to watch the previous chapters

19. Birthday gifts

The festivities of return to classes were many, the communal ones, for example, began their organization for the first clandestine party of the school year. And coincidentally or not, Draco and Y/N's birthday was in the first week of September, being always celebrated twice, once at a formal dinner and another at school, without their parents knowing about the latter.

I was still in the first week of school when this was interrupted by the formal festivity of the Malfoy brothers. Y/N, Draco and his friends went to his family's big mansion at the end of the week for the then birthday. For that night not to be so boring, the plan was to go back to Hogwarts and make the most of the clandestine party that took place in their communal in celebration of the beginning of the school year.

At dinner all the family friends were present again, which perhaps gave some sleep in Y/N. The conversation was definitely not interesting, since she and Draco were obliged to show all their gratitude for the presence of people they never heard of. However, the boredom on Y/N's face broke down when he saw Lorenzo enter the place accompanied by his family. The girl excused herself and addressed him with a cheerful smile.

- Enzo, you're back! - She hugs him, and maybe she didn't realize that that was the first time she hugged him. It was beaten for her, but for Lorenzo it might be a sign that she missed you. - I thought you were going to extend the trip for a few days.

- I wouldn't miss your birthday. - Y/N and he leaves the hug, finally being able to see each other's face clearly. Definitely Berkshire had been a little different since the last time you saw him, a different good. Maybe even more beautiful, if that were possible.

- To be honest, you wouldn't be missing anything too much. - She jokes.

- But it's still a chance to see you. - He says in a more serious tone, but soon continues to soften and make her smile. - Even if it's in a boring event.

Y/N would answer him in the hope that the conversation would continue, however, it was interrupted by the approach of both families in another boring conversation.

Her mother's request that she leave her circle of friends a little that night was the reason why the girl had not yet talked to them. A little anxiety hung over Y/N's mind when he saw Theodore arrive with his father, the boy had not yet returned to Hogwarts because he was accompanying his father on a business trip.

At a certain point during the night, Narcisa noticed the boredom open on the faces of her two children when they heard her parents' conversation with two other friends, and decided to make an exception for the two.

- All right, say hello to your friends and their families, but I don't want to see them piled up at all, do you understand me? - Y/N and Draco nodded quickly like children and with a hopeful smile and walked away before the woman changed her mind.

The two brothers approached families that didn't seem to be talking to other people so as not to disturb the conversation, so Y/N subtly searched for Theodore, but saw him and his father with their backs to Laila's parents, which made her automatically look again to make sure she wasn't going crazy. His blood boiled at the thought that his mother had invited a girl she doesn't even want to like.

- Merlin, why is she here? - Y/N asks his brother who seemed distracted looking for the Greengrass.

- Look around, Y/N. If this party was really about us, this here would be practically empty. - Draco says sincerely what makes Y/N reflect and come to the conclusion that his wills really didn't matter in the eyes of his parents in most situations.

- Y/N! Draco! My congratulations on the party and well, on the birthday, of course. - Pansy's mother had a gentle smile as she approached and gave each one a quick hug.

- Thank you, Mrs. Parkinson, but I must confess that the merit in the preparation of the party is all our mother's. - Draco said kindly, which even sounded strange to Pansy and Y/N's ears.

- Happy birthday to you, including. - Pansy said to her friend while her was talking to the blonde next to her.

- Thank you. - She answers distractedly, still paying attention to Nott and Laila's interaction. - What do you think they're talking about?

- About a wedding, of course. - Pansy said simply and Y/N looked at her scared.

- What? But so soon?

- I'm just kidding, Y/N. - Pansy hides a laugh with her hand when she sees her friend's reaction, but soon she regains her composure. - But one hour the subject will be this if you don't do anything. - Pansy warns and Y/N looks at her confused, however, decides not to continue with the conversation. He would be exposing himself with any answer he gave.

[...]

Few people were still in the Malfoy Mansion at that time, the end of the party was already a reality and most of them went back to their homes, including their friends' families. Pansy, Blaise, Mattheo, the Greengrass and Theodore sisters were just waiting for Y/N and Draco, who were still saying goodbye to some guests.

- I promise we're going, I'll just say goodbye to a few more people and I'll be right back. - Y/N said to the friends who were thrown on the chairs of a round table, all bored with her delay.

Y/N moves away again, but with the emptiness of the hall, it was still possible to see her. She and Draco said goodbye to the Berkshires, which meant that no friend lost a movement of the situation if you want. The girl laughed with her brother at some joke told by her father.

At a certain point, Lorenzo takes out a small black box with a pearly bow wrapped in one of the pockets of his pants and handing over the Y/N, who looks at him with some surprise.

- It's very beautiful, Enzo. Thank you. - She ran her fingertips with a small smile over the thin silver bracelet with small diamonds decorating it.

- I'm glad you liked it. - The boy replied without taking his eyes off his reaction for a second if you want. - Can I? - He referred to dressing her with the accessory.

- Yes, please. - She holds the box with the other hand while Lorenzo takes the object, closing it around the stretched wrist of his right hand.

The small touches of Berkshire's fingertips on the girl's wrist made her throb quickly, which seems not to have gone unnoticed by him, who looked at her immediately, smiling without showing his teeth and looking back at the object he was handling.

- It was perfect. - Narcisa's voice reaches Y/N's ears, taking her out of the daydreams that gradually washed away her memories with Theodore.

And then, the farewell ended, making Draco and Y/N go in the direction of their friends again.

- Let me see the bracelet. - Pansy asked, curious to see the accessory more closely. Y/N just reached out for her and her friends to analyze.

- Merlin, he really has good taste. - This time Daphne had a silly smile when she said, Theodore and the other boys just rolled their eyes in response.

- Can we go? - Mattheo gets up already a little impatient for more comments.

Everyone followed him without even answering and Y/N did not react to any of the comments made about him or Lorenzo. Well, you can say that his mind wandered for his concern about Theodore and Laila.

[...]

The friends were rushing through the dark corridors of Hogwarts Castle after disappearing in the black forest. The laughter between them was audible as they approached the entrance of Slytherin's communal.

What broke the smile on Y/N and Theodore's face was the vision of Laila waiting at the communal door to be let into the party as well as the others. The friends came in and Laila, who followed them inside, was just waiting for Theodore inside now. However, she was completely ignored by him and the others of the Elite Slytherin.

Y/N went to the improvised bar made with magic in the corner of the room, while she was stopped from time to time to receive a suggestive happy birthday from some boy, who only received a "thank you" in response and nothing else. The loud music and the dimly lit place gave the last characteristics of a party full of people from other houses.

Theodore was looking for her with some anxiety, he hadn't been alone with her since he arrived, and well, maybe he had a gift for her too. The boy dodged people directing to Y/N, who was still drinking with Riddle next to him, when suddenly Nott feels a pull on his arm and looks back ready to curse whoever it was.

- Theo! - But he avoided a curse when he saw it was just Laila who called him. - Can we talk? - She said loudly for him to hear.

- Can't it be later? - Theodore tried not to look rude, but it was in vain.

- Please, it will be quick. - She insists and he accepts just going to a corner, but a little closer to Y/N, who seemed to have fun with Mattheo in the middle of the other people while they danced. - So, I was thinking about what you did some time ago and... - Theodore tried to pay attention to Lufana, but quickly turned his gaze directly to Y/N dancing while Laila explained why she had forgiven him for getting his name wrong during sex, the interesting thing was that he never apologized, an asshole attitude if he really stopped to think.

- Great, Laila, that's good. Now I have to go. - Theodore said as soon as he realized that she stopped talking and walked away from her, leaving the girl confused and a little disappointed with the reaction.

Theodore walked to the place where Y/N was, but she was no longer there, however, luckily for her she was just further ahead, this time talking to Daphne.

- Y/N, I was looking for you. - He said a little panting, maybe he let his anxiety shine through.

- It was, wasn't it? - Daphne said with a suggestive smile and Y/N just looked at him shining to know that he was looking for her.

- Can you come with me? - This time he went to Y/N, who asked Daphne for permission following him.

- See you tomorrow! - Daphne was visibly altered, she was never very scandalous.

Y/N followed him throughout the community and in the corridor she began to feel an unusual heat, mainly because she was in the dungeons and it was not very common to feel heat there. Maybe this feeling at the foot of the belly was given by the memories of the last time they were together and how much she used this memory to touch herself during the time they were away.

- May I know why we are going to your dormitory? - She asks in a suggestive tone, which makes Theodore smile in response.

- Your gift is there. - Y/N frowned confused if this was some kind of double meaning or if she was misinterpreting the signs. - And I had no way to take it to you.

They entered the room, and Y/N cared little if it was what she expected or not, she was very in need of him to wait for whatever it was. So, as soon as she saw Theodore turning to her again after closing the door, she brought their faces closer and took her gaze directly to the boy's mouth, who reciprocated.

- I see you've missed me. - Y/N shuddered when she heard him say that even better than she imagined. The girl hung her hands around his neck, then lowered one of her hands to rest on her chest.

- I don't know... - She had a malicious smile and a nebulous mind to have him so close again. Theodore really had a gift for her, but that would be for later, he wouldn't postpone one of the opportunities to have her just for him once again, after all, he also felt it. - But you I'm sure you felt it, wouldn't you?

Theodore decides to stick his mouth to hers once again, taking his hands directly to the waist of the girl dressed by the thin fabric of the dress she wore. Y/N sighed heavily when he felt the boy's hands on himself again, which made him smile during the kiss. Nott lifted her on his lap, running his hands under her clothes and putting them on top of the desk. The boy went down the kisses all over her neck and collarbones, like a complete needy. Y/N let out low moans and slow sighs while biting her lips, and for a moment she thought she was in heaven. Merlin, he was hot.

- Teddy. . .- However, Y/N thought he heard a different noise and ignored it, but the noise was repeated, but Theodore didn't seem to hear anything since he was too busy already running his mouth through her apparent thighs. - Did you hear that? - She pushed him away and he looked confused. Y/N jumps off the table and tries to listen again.

- What...

- Shh! - They are in complete silence, when the noise is heard again.

Now easily identifiable, the cat meow came from inside the closed bathroom. Theodore gets up and heads to the door, opening it and bringing a box in his hands. The meood that came from her only increased as he got closer.

- Happy Birthday. - He leaves the box on the bed and Y/N approaches with curious eyes, smiling big when he sees the little black kitten inside the box.

- Merlin, Theo. - She takes the animal on her lap carefully, and as she caresses his little neck he purrs and stops meowing in complaint. - I can't believe it. - Y/N was visibly happy with the animal in his arms while sitting next to Nott on the bed. - He's so cute. I loved it, Teddy. How did you know I wanted a kitten? - She asks without taking her eyes off the cat who was already starting to close his eyes on her lap.

- You told me in one of your letters. - Theodore watched her happily for getting the gift right. It was a sweet moment that he would never forget, not even Y/N. - What name will you give him?

- I already had a name for a black kitten in mind even before I had one. - She said with some pride. - Your name will be Toast.

- Toast? - Nott laughs lightly with the name, and Y/N throws him a fake indignation.

- Well, he's a little toast that passed the point, isn't it, Toast? - Theodore admires her even more for the affection for an animal that has so much indifference to the human being. - Tomorrow I'll go to Hogsmeade to buy several toys and beds for you.

Y/N may have never won such a significant gift like this. The two spent the rest of the night caressing the cat and learning how to please him, when Riddle caught them sleeping again, Y/N was hugging Theo, while the little cat was curled up on Nott's chest, Mattheo couldn't avoid the proud smile that insisted on leaving. This time he decided not to wake them up.

_______________________________

next chapter>>>

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[tobiasdrake]

Watching episode 2 of Ranma reboot and it remains like a blast from the past.

Gonna be posting spoilers and screencaps to talk about it, so all of that's after the jump.

I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate the slapstick of the original manga because Rumiko Takahashi is kind of brilliant at it.

This gag sets you up to think Akane's about to hit him for yelling misogyny at her early in the morning, but then out of absolutely nowhere his fucking dad erupts from the aether and clocks him for it instead.

That's fantastic. It uses the familiar language not just of Ranma and Akane's established dynamic but of tsundere romances in general to set the gag up, and then hits it with a startling and unexpected swerve that still pays it off but in a way the audience didn't see coming.

Speaking of Genma, bits like this:

Ranma defeats Genma using the "Look, a distraction!" technique and it's funny because he won with what most martial arts anime would consider a cowardly tactic.

But it's funnier when you know the actual art he practices, 無差別格闘流 musabetsu kakutou-ryuu. Separately translated as either "Anything Goes Style of Martial Arts" or "Indiscriminate Grappling". The latter of which is hilariously specific, as 格闘 kakutou can mean wrestling or grappling but simply refers to weaponless styles of hand-to-hand fighting.

He's a fisticuffs brawler by trade, contrasting the various adversaries he faces throughout the series who are mostly tool- or weapon-based fighters, to varying degrees of esoteric oddity.

But what makes this so funny in hindsight is the "indiscriminate" part. Ranma's martial art is built around the idea that there are no rules and whatever gets you to the finish line is fine. This distraction isn't Ranma being cowardly; It's actually part of his martial art. This is how he was trained to fight. XD

You know, I actually forgot that Dr. Tofu... existed.

But setting that aside, once I remembered who this guy is, I forgot that he's implied to be an exceptionally talented martial artist. Capable of masking his presence so thoroughly that even Ranma can't detect his movements.

That's really interesting. To my recollection, Dr. Tofu never has a single fight in the entire series. Instead, his expertise simply serves as an explanation for his familiarity with all the wild and bizarre mystical maladies that come his way.

It lets him be like, "Oh yeah, the reason you're deathly ill is because someone hit you with the 5,000 year old forbidden Chinese Slow Death Syphilitic Pressure Point technique. Here, let me apply the three-step acupressure reversal technique that was lost to history."

But now I.

I kinda.

Want to see him fight.

(Has this dude been like the DBZA Popo of Ranma 1/2 this entire time?)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA She clocks him with the water kettle to make him respectfully bow.

I did not have the cultural context to understand that joke when I was young.

Rumiko Takahashi is so good at slapstick.

Yeah, okay, I don't remember half of what I said about Akane when I was young but I recant all of it. She is so fucking cool.

Imagine if you had to do this every single morning. Every morning. No exception. Just to get to school. At sixteen.

And keep in mind that this is sexualized violence. These guys are trying to overpower her because they think she'll have to be their girlfriend if they beat her up. Every single one of them is sexually harassing her. With violence.

Fuck this entire situation, y'all. I hope she gives them all life-ruining physical injuries that ruin their ability to get scouted as professional athletes at this critical age and turn them into bitter and misanthropic thirty-somethings whining on the couch about how they peaked in high school.

That's probably not how it actually works in Japan. My American is showing. But nonetheless!

She said "Kuno-senpai". She addresses him formally using his last name because that's a normal thing to do in Japan.

Subtitles, why are you changing the way characters speak to each other? The show is released with a dub and a sub alongside one another. If people are choosing to watching the sub, they don't need you to hold their hand and Americanize it for them.

She correctly calls him Kuno in the dub here. The dub is more accurate than the sub about this line. Don't. Do that.

This guy is such a dweeb he makes Jou-senpai look cool. They nailed Kuno, King Dipshit of the Jackass Mountain Akane has to climb each morning.

This is the guy who came up with the whole "Whoever beats the shit out of Akane may claim her as their trophy" thing. He probably watches Andrew Tate videos and writes internet screeds asking why women don't respect his authority and strength. Fuck this guy.

Seriously. He just. Said this. About some girl in another class. And the boys in the school were all like, "Oh, yeah, that sounds reasonable. First one to break her leg gets the girl! Thanks for showing me the best way to express my masculinity, bruh!"

A wacky setup for Akane's personal background but also a chillingly accurate metaphor for how the Manosphere functions.

For his part, it's pretty clear that what Kuno is attracted to is martial strength. He becomes interested in the "Mystery Girl" that appeared after Ranma "fled" pretty much right after she beats his ass.

He's kind of an interesting parallel to Shampoo in that regard. I never really thought of that before, but both of their interests are predicated on how strong Ranma is.

He also makes for an interesting dynamic for Ranma, from a gender perspective. Ranma's curse and the constant menace of Kuno forces Ranma to endure firsthand the kind of harassment that Akane has to undergo in her day-to-day life.

Of course, this being Ranma 1/2, Ranma's going to be getting that from both genders throughout the series. Rumiko Takahashi created a harem dodecahedron for her story, with Ranma and Akane being beset not just by rival suitors but also by rival suitors for their rival suitors trying to kill them and win the rival suitors' love.

Kuno's just one of the crowd.

But it was nonetheless an interesting choice to give Ranma a toxic male harasser as one of his suitors, that speaks to the interesting gender dynamics at play in the series.

One last thing. Something I really love about Ranma 1/2 is the way it uniquely changes the experience of just. Being around water. Like, the ever-presence of water especially in an island nation such as Japan is a constant threat.

You really don't think about how much water there is in everyday life until you have a Jusenkyou curse.

[crystallizedtwilight]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE the outfit post for LSB omg, so creative and satisfying to look at

Thank you! Here are some extra facts about their fashion tastes hehe

Lock - Loves to layer things and typically wears a long sleeve shirt or tank under his hoodies (unless it’s hot out). Doesn’t like text or graphics on his clothes because “There’s nothing cooler than Red. Red is all you need!” The one exception to this is the Naughty List sweater, which was a cheeky “gift” from Mrs. Claus, but it backfired because he thinks it's hilarious so that is the one exception. Doesn’t care for formal clothes but keeps them because Sally made it and he needs it on occasion.

Shock - Loves layering even more than Lock. Most of her outfits are 2-3 layered items. She actually adores the formal dress Sally sewed for her and she would wear it more often but is worried about ruining it during shenanigans. Doesn’t typically reach for things with text or graphics. Loves wearing lavenders, purples, and indigos the most but enjoys throwing a pop of teal in there for variety. Refuses to wear heals unless it's a very low one or chunky platform. Likes a feminine look as long as she can still jump a fence in it.

Barrel - Doesn’t like layering—he wants one comfy shirt and one comfy pair of pants and will call it done. Loves graphics and text on his clothes! Anything with a skeleton, bugs, or ghoul pun is right up his alley. Loves a simple, soft T-shirt. Has some things that glow in the dark. Enjoys pins which he’ll wear on his beanie sometimes. Doesn’t mind the formal wear. Prefers to be comfortable over fashionable but does a decent job at the latter, accidentally.

[akutasoda]

what were we thinking?

prompt - reasons you both see that makes the love die

includes - ayatsuji

warnings - gn!reader, angst, unhealthy breakup?, no comfort, wc - 572

a/n: ayatsuji's part to anon's request!

ayatsuji was many things. that you were very aware of from the very moment you ever met him. looking back on it, you realise that tsujimura may have offered you enough warnings. when you first met him you were graced with the same facade, a seemingly cold and emotionless man that had little care for those around him.

he wasn't that talkative at the start, the only time he'd talk to you would be making a snide comments toward you even if you weren't speaking directly to him. maybe you were just too persistent for your own good or maybe you grew on him but you doubt it was the latter - whatever it was, you eventually doomed yourself. upon dropping his cold facade you gave yourself a hope that he didn't detest you and would go out of his way to mock you but maybe it was only temporarily.

his kind side was much more preferable, you could hold any conversation with him and he seemed much more expressive around you. tsujimura openly showed her shock when it became obvious to others that you and ayatsuji may of becime something more than friends. it seemed practically impossible for ayatsuji to be able to hokd that sort of relationship but it seemed you were the exception - or maybe just a trial run, or even a means of proving a point.

everything seemed great for a while, ayatsuji dropped most of his cold and harsh persona's around you and you could convince yourself that he was willing to help make this relationship work. it seemed this was a great oversight. no matter how much somebody's facade may drop, it is bound to resurface again and even stronger than before. without any warning ayatsuji changed back to his chide comments one day - criticizing everything you did and showing no remorse for making you upset.

you had no clue why he changed so suddenly but you could take a good guess. what you wouldn't know was the truth, ayatsuji cares for you deeply but he just couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of his status with you and so he would have no choice but to push you away. he didn't quite know how to do it formally and so settled for abruptly pushing you away.

you realise now that dating ayatsuji was a mistake. you both realised all too late that he wasn't ready for a relationship, to allow himself a weakness that was being associated with someone he cared deeply for. the breakup was a mutual decision, a part of you wanted to blame him for not realising he wasn't ready for a relationship but that seemed almost petty. you told him that he needed to start allowing people to help him, to allow himself weaknesses because maybe they weren't what he thought they were.

akutasoda's 1k event

[iniziare]

Little Kafka™ Things (or a fair attempt at 'little'). I used to write lists with little random tidbits about my characters, which I came to realize tonight that I sorely missed making. So let's throw a little thing together for Kafka, as I've been hooked up to a salt IV about her, and I need some sanity. Some of these may be old news to oldie mutuals, but it's a new blog, so here we are. Time to start over, and start with basics. I'll elaborate on some in later posts.

The best way to describe Kafka, in my opinion, is a woman from a bygone era. While a beautiful mix of the olden days and the new, she very much oozes the former more than the latter. She is refined, sophisticated, cultured, and archaic in her tastes. Her fashion preferences (what she wears or what we know she has in her possession) include overcoats and velvet coats, both quite vintage, or rather "old-school". A shirt/blouse with ruffled cuffs? Quite an ode to an age long past (Victorian), even choosing to wear gloves outside of formal occasions/positions is quite the unusual choice. Outside of that, the katana is the samurai's blade, an ancient choice, it's not really utilized anymore, at least not in the same capacities, or with the same weight. The classical music? It's no longer really listened to. I once saw her referenced as foreign. Perfect.

Age-wise, she sits comfortably in the earlier half of the 30s, not a year younger.

Yes, it is noted (though mind you, by Silver Wolf) that she likes the occasional 'fabulous' thing, which hints at her having a bit of a refined palate, but that does not make her materialistic. It simply needs to fit in with #1. I mean look, a pearl earring, an ensemble of silver jewelry without a speck of gold (except on her default overcoat).

On that note, she's also very specific in perfumes, her signature would be Yves Saint Laurent's "Black Opium". Something that just like her, 'promises without unraveling, and tells without really telling, making it the perfect expression of femininity and grace.'

She is cleanly, and does not enjoy a mess, in her surroundings or on her person, but especially the latter. I will never budge on this, as her trailer empowers the thought and nothing has countered it since. Do we remember how she was fixing up her cuffs in the prologue after having engaged in combat? Yes, I know it's a little things, welcome, they arguably mean the most. A stain anywhere, blood? Absolutely not. As for her surroundings, please imagine her lifting an empty pizza box or whatever has been munched on from the sofa with a groan of "How many times will you leave these laying around, Silver Wolf?" Is it that much to ask that you clean up after yourself? And to return to the last point for one more moment, I swear, if anyone gets even a drop of blood on her coat or shirt, or sheets, she's not thrilled. Dry cleaning bill goes to you.

She gets bored incredibly easily. And while she has quite the manners to fit her overall 'essence', you might come across her attention having deviated a bit, granted, usually this will only be after you've been made aware of it. But this is to say, she will not get along with just about everyone. She's also not 'one of the young ones', she does not have the same interests, and though she'll find herself oddly enjoying a game of Origami Bird Clash, it's really because of Silver Wolf. All in all, if you can intrigue her, poke her curiosity, or you have a mind that interests her, then you're good. But you, and not what you can do, need to be interesting. Remember, the following quote is incredibly important for her character across the board: "She must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost."

The order in which I believe she gets along with the Stellaron Hunters most, based on what canon has given and shown us so far, is as follows: Blade and Elio (in both vastly different ways), Silver Wolf, and then Firefly.

Kafka has an incredibly interesting view of destiny, and while this is something that warrants an entirely separate meta, I want to iterate the following so that no assumptions are made. As much as she speaks of 'The future is like a labyrinth: every divergence is merely an inducement. There is only one real path." And similar quotes, it is also incredibly important that (alongside another very interesting way of answering an earlier 'Is the future predetermined?', with specifically: "No, but what is predetermined is the future that has value.') this was a fundamental moment in her SQ that needed a great cost to obtain:

Trailblazer: Is destiny predetermined? Kafka: ... (If Kafka says the truth) Kafka: No (If Kafka says the lie) Kafka: Yes

[industria-adastra]

[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: It's sad to be at the bottom of life, right? (4/5)

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Summary: It's amazing, really, how quickly love can turn to hate. Or maybe, it hadn't been love after all.

Note: Recently, I've gotten into Hazbin Hotel again. I ended up adding more stuff to the latter half of the original chapter 3 that I cut. I hope you like it, intended audience of maybe two people.

-------

There is a man who is always present in these events. A man who always hangs about on the fringes of the ever-increasingly elaborate parties in Jennette’s name, observing within the shadows. Athanasia finds him to look disturbingly similar to her father, even if she brushes off their similarities time and time again. And like her father, as she discovers in an accidental bump, he reeks of the magic that the Obelian royal family seems inexplicably chained to. 

She goes searching within the records, and already, his face appears only a generation away. Yet, Anastacius de Alger Obelia had been long dead, hadn’t he? But Athanasia has long learned to not believe in coincidence. Something strange is afoot. Will he become a test of what she’d do for her family?

At another ball, another celebration for Jennette, his dark gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash jewel blue, and, oh,  Athanasia understands now.

(She’s never tried spilling blood with her own hands)

Stiffening as he leisurely walks over, Athanasia’s mind rushes through potential actions she could take. On one hand, she could alert everyone within the vicinity, especially Lord Robaine, about her uncle truly living up to his name. On the other hand, remembering the bitter twist of his lips, staring at Father and her sister, Athanasia stalls.

(Perhaps it is a good idea, with the pressure of twisted magic she hadn’t truly noticed the strength of before. Something's wrong.)

Her vision blurs, watching him steadily walk over, the light clicks of his shoes like a war drum against her ears. His clothes don't seem to fit, a strange, ever-changing amalgamation of fluttering robes and crisp formal wear. His hair is neat and carefully tousled, and his hair is shaggy and unkempt.

(There is something deeply wrong about this man)

“It’s annoying, isn’t it, not being the golden child everyone loves?” It’s as if two people are asking this of her, with a strange mix of amusement, cold pity and understanding within his (their?) eyes. 

(Something about him is wrong, wrong, wrong)

Athanasia opts not to reply, shifting her gaze elsewhere. It’s a question loaded with enough weight to topple an empire. She’s quite sure that what that man means by ‘annoying’ is not as light as it sounds.

“I see,” his eyes move to catch her gaze. 

Before he moves to turn away, they give some last few parting words that render Athanasia stock stiff in her heels.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when you break alongside your ghoul of a mother, my dearest niece.” 

"Dearest descendant of mine."

The phrases overlap together, and before she can even blink, before she can let go of a tense breath, a body moves into her field of vision, blocking her view. Athanasia stumbles forward, hand outstretched to politely shift it away. But when it moves, they are already gone.

(It's as if they've vanished into thin air)

After that fateful encounter, Athanasia never sees him appear at another ball ever again. 

She wonders if she should have ever told her father about this meeting.

Then again, with his constant state of apathy and ennui during their regularly scheduled tea times with Jennette concerning anything relating to her, Athanasia wonders if it’ll simply pass through his ears like white noise.

-

Ever since the first one, the tea parties Jennette tries to host for the three of them are always painfully awkward. This one is no exception. Athanasia is eighteen now, and all that’s changed is Jennette’s choice of tea and snacks—this year is chamomile and imported sweets from Siodonna.

The overpowering taste of sugar accompanies the taste of rose. Paired with the chamomile, it verges on being too sweet. 

Without a need to contribute to the current conversation (consisting of Jennette rambling and her father barely even looking like he’s paying attention—he looks perpetually drowsy these days), Athanasia finds her attention turning to Bluey’s recovery. He keeps shedding feathers all over the place, and sometimes his muscles lock together involuntarily. Sustaining a life is harder than keeping it in stasis. She can’t push too much magic in, and neither can she give too little. Yet, there is no predefined value to sustain—there’s an unknown sequence yet to be found. She needs to find it soon.

“Just yesterday, I went to see Ijekiel—”

Clank. Athanasia’s teacup strikes its saucer perhaps a bit too harshly, rudely cutting off Jennette’s words. Because of that, she offers an awkward, sheepish smile to her audience of two. 

“My apologies for that, but I’ve suddenly realised that I have some rather urgent matters to resolve back in the Ruby Palace.” As she speaks, Athanasia moves out of her seat, ready to leave. “Please, have a wonderful rest of the day.”

(It isn’t as if they’d notice her anyway)

 “O-oh! Of course, we will! Right, Father?” At that, Claude only stares at her silently, yet all Athanasia can see from his eyes is apathy—a passive gaze with nothing attached. “I hope it’s nothing too serious…”

By then, Athanasia had already started to walk away.

(She wonders why she thought they’d call after her)

-

It all happens in a flash. Jennette, chatting with her amiably about the latest fashions and Ijekiel’s latest romantic gesture. And to clear her throat, she takes a sip of tea. But as she opens her mouth to speak again, her blue eyes widen, her mouth forms an “o” in surprise, and Jennette coughs up crimson blood before she collapses to the ground. The sound of breaking porcelain resounds as it crashes onto the ground.

Not even a second passes by and Athanasia has already rushed towards her, heart pounding in her ears. How will she explain this to her father? How had she been so lax in her vigilance? How had she been so blind as not to notice poison? Why Jennette? Why her? Her mana rushes out in an attempt to heal Jennette but she can’t properly do so if she has no idea what has been affected. What had Jennette ingested within the tea? Athanasia’s hands shake in terror as she scoops Jennette into her arms. 

“HELP!” She screams, heavy breaths coming out as tears start to flow. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYBODY! THE FIRST PRINCESS HAS BEEN POISONED!” Fearfully, Athanasia's eyes dart around, catching the eyes of a nearby maid, whose mouth is wide open in shock.

"What are you doing?! Go! Go get help now!" Athanasia so rarely ever raised her voice, but right now, she’d scream herself hoarse, scream herself mute if it’d save Jennette. 

Luckily for the maid, she quickly runs off toward the royal doctors. But now, there is nothing to do but wait, nothing to do but watch as the blood trickles down from Jennette’s mouth. Sweat is already building on her skin, and all Athanasia can do is hold her close and make sure Jennette doesn’t unconsciously choke on her blood. Jennettee’s eyes are still open, but Athanasia thinks that she cannot bear to close them, even for Jennette’s later comfort. As her heart continues to race, Athanasia finds that the only thing she can do is silently lament to her mother, and pray in her heart that all will be alright.

There is blood on her clothes. 

-

When Jennette is taken away to be treated, Athanasia finally collapses from the stress of it all. Yet when she wakes up, she sees neither the old, yet comforting walls of her room. What she sees are the grey stone walls; what she smells is the rotten stink of excretion and urine; what she hears is the rhythmic clanking of metal armour and the scurrying of rats. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that she’s in the dungeons—as unfamiliar as it should be.

There is still blood on her clothes. There is still blood on her hands. It’s brown and crusted and stinks of iron and Athanasia thinks she hears a woman weeping. Her gaze darts around, trying to see if her mother is here. If she was, Athanasia could get an explanation. If she was, Athanasia could have some comfort in this sudden new insanity.

But her mother is not here, and Athanasia is alone. There’s not much else to do but sit and wait.

And just a few moments later, her answers come in the form of three individuals. Duke Alpheus, Countess Rosalia, and last of all shadowed by the badly lit rooms but still standing out so strongly—the Emperor, her father. The three of them stare down upon her dirtied form with closed expressions (and what she can always recognise as barely hidden disdain). 

Athanasia decides to focus on her father. Not that it was hard to. 

“Your Majesty?” 

No reply. 

Athanasia tries again. “Is Jennette alright? Is she safe now?”

Instead of her father’s even monotone, it’s Countess Rosalia’s sharp, nearly squawking, shrieking vocals which answer her. “Jennette is safe from you, Your Highness.” She spits those words out venomously, almost triumphantly. 

It doesn’t take a one-in-a-million genius to understand what has happened.

Still, Athanasia tries to keep her calm, “What do you mean, Countess? You, of all people, should know that false accusations towards royalty are tantamount to treason.” Better to be blunt and be done with it.

This time, it is the Duke who speaks, looking down upon her between narrowed eyes, “Your Highness, there is no need for any more pretence. It has been found that you were the one who poisoned Jennette.” Prim and proper in his shiny white clothes and his always meticulously coiffed hair; in the depths of her heart, Athanasia couldn’t understand how a man like Ijekiel could be his son.

“And what evidence do you have to prove your claims?” Athanasia has learnt to smile like how Raven bares his teeth; sharp and quick, a warning to go no further. If there is anything else she’s learnt from Ijekiel’s friendship, it is that a smile grants both mystery and versatility. “Proper procedure states that I have the right to be subject to a fair trial, and a right to know upon what grounds you base such accusations on.”

She watches the countess artfully swing her fan up into a waiting hand, only to snap it open with a violent elegance. “Your Highness, there is no need for such tedious procedures when your guilt is crystal clear for everyone to see.”

Like a part of a two-headed snake, the Duke adds his venomous spit to the mix, “Out of jealousy, you dared to poison your own sister for your own shortcomings.”

“This is more fact than fiction—countless witnesses can prove to you that I had no idea what would happen to Jennette.”

“And countless witnesses can also prove that you’ve always harboured such envious hatred for your own sister. How wicked you are, to take away her fiancé—to take away my son—and now to take away her life.”

Still, Athanasia continues to stay calm. Her father would surely intervene at some point, wouldn’t he? “You must be mistaken, Ijekiel and I are merely friends. He is my future brother-in-law, and it would make no sense to alienate myself from him. And I care dearly for Jennette. I would do no such thing when it would only bring her pain.”

“But your actions speak louder than your words, Your Highness. Such pretty lies may come easily to you, given your blood, but we both know that you purposefully seduced him. Just like that crass, low-class whore you were born from.” The woman sneers, edging threateningly closer.

Athanasia snaps. She rushes to the bars, slamming into them with a strength and speed all too abnormal for a girl her size and age. Taking advantage of their foolish arrogance, she takes the opportunity to grab at their disgustingly extravagant clothes, bringing them eye to eye, and knocking their heads painfully on the steel bars. 

(They tell her to not let go, to keep moving, to keep shaking. Until they are but bloodied flesh and broken bones and as filthy as their tongues are. Better off as fodder, better off to be used for something grander than they could ever be.)

“Keep my mother out of your mouth! How can you be so sure that such a miscarriage of justice will—!”

“Be silent.” Finally, he speaks. His mana collapses onto her like that of a dying star, forcing her to let go, forcing her back onto the ground. But while it is painful, it is more bearable than the knowledge that her father simply did not care.

Ignoring the bodies quickly scrambling behind his protection, the Emperor simply comments, “Have you finished your petty tantrum?”

For the first time in her life, she gawks at him, at his apathy and unchanged expression. From the look on his face, Athanasia knows that he will never change his mind. He will never change his mind for her because he does not care. 

She’s known this for so long, and yet, and yet it still hurts.

And just like that, her verdict—her guilt—is decided just like that. She has blood on her hands because it is the word of the Emperor—Sun of the Empire, a ruler before he is her father (as it should; as it shouldn’t be so). Athanasia bites down harshly on her lips, casting her gaze on the stone floors, and nary a sound is allowed to escape. She wants to rage, wants to scream, wants to reach beyond the steel bars and tear at the cloth near her father’s feet—to beg for an explanation, to defend herself, to harshly refute her claims.

Who had she loved dearly all this time? Who had she worked for to the bone to gain just the slightest bit of approval and notice? Who had she idolised as perfection even as it was so clear that he was nothing but a statue carved out of ice? Her father—

(The child will die. He will kill her, like he slaughtered them, watching them breathe their last. She is her child my child our only child. She must live.)

Her mother’s cold hands tether her to reality, and Athanasia does none of that. 

“Breathe,” Diana says, right on time, pressing atop her, enclosing Athanasia within her arms. “Not in front of the Duke and the Countess, Dear. Later, when it’s safer, Mama will be here. You know Mama will always be here for you.”

Right.

She has always had her mother. Always had Lily and Raven. And now she has Jennette and Ijekiel.

It is enough. (It must be; She wants a father.)

Athanasia forces herself to hold it in, to stare straight into her father’s eyes and say, “Your Majesty is as efficient as always. Will there be a further investigation into this incident? After all, Your Majesty, efficiency without accuracy is just another way to describe sloppy work.” She smiles, ignoring the subtle shock and outrage—the lovely confusion—on the Duke and Countess.

“...You are the primary suspect. It will be enough to make an example of you.” Always putting in the most minimal of effort when it came to her. 

“I see. Then may I know if you have settled on a date for the execution?” Even now, she couldn’t let herself look any less insanely perfect in front of him. Even now, she still loves him—but perhaps no longer like that of a follower and their god. After all, gods cannot be flawed.

Unreadable as always, her father so graciously lets her know when she’ll die by his hand. “The dawn of the 8th day.” Cold, clipped—he doesn’t even seem to register that it’ll be her birthday. By the sun, moon, and stars—what a joke. This is the most attention he’s ever truly given to her.

After that, he’s already turning his back on her, moving towards the exit. The Duke and the Countess cast her cold, calculating looks before they scurry after him (like the rats they were).

When they finally leave, out of sight, out of mind, Athanasia finally allows herself to collapse into her mother’s ready arms. She shakes, she sobs, and she cries—but Athanasia still does not let a single sound escape. How unfair it is, to mourn something she never had from the start.

There is blood on her hands, but it is because of someone else.

(Athanasia doesn’t want to die.

“You won’t,” her mother promises with a whisper. “We’ll make sure of it.”)

-

“How far will you go for Diana’s—my child?”

“Anything for Athanasia,” the nanny’s sea blue eyes look straight ahead, resolute. 

“Even your life?”

“If it must be so.”

-

On the second day of her imprisonment, Raven brings him a thick, tattered book. It is hard to hide large secrets, but having grown up as an Alpheus, hiding them is but second nature to him. 

Drunk off his victory, his father grows sloppy—perhaps even mad, judging from the strange one-man dialogue he occasionally hears coming from his office. (Before…everything, they had conversed about noise-cancelling magic before.) His father’s lack of care is a boon when Ijekiel knows his actions will tear into the tapestry of success his father had so carefully woven.

He remembers being told that to love is to wish for someone’s success and happiness—to do all you could to ensure their dreams would come true.

Ijekiel thinks that to love is also to do all you can to stop someone from going past that line in the sand, the precarious precipice of no return.

Then again, he muses on the seventh night, sorting through all the information about guard rotations, patrol routes, floor plans and the like—it’s not even the most damning action of his right now. Ijekiel raises a hand to press lightly against his sternum, feeling the heavy weight of the key, the rough texture of the iron, even though it’s buried underneath all the layers of his clothing.

A haunting birdsong trickles in the open window, and Ijekiel stops to turn and gaze at the moonlight.

He thinks that, perhaps, also, to love is to be willfully ignorant.

-

Ever since her verdict had been so kindly handed down to her by her father, Athanasia’s days are now spent in the dungeon, rather than in the comfort of the library or her room. There are no books to read, so she spends time talking to her mother, practising the spells stitched into her memories. However, without Raven, they’re weaker, barely sparks yet still clearly noticeable. Strangely, no guard ever seems to be able to perceive any such practice; eyes glazed over every time. Nor are there shackles on her limbs, binding her down like an animal. She won’t question it, instead preparing for a hypothetical scenario in which she’s free.

(Mother had promised her.)

She’s sure that the guards all think she’s mad from shock. They look at her with disgusted pity and gossip about her as if she can’t hear at all. But their loose tongues help her hold onto the outside world.

Jennette is in a coma. For all their talk of family, she surmises that the most precious child of both the Countess and the Duke is power. Her father spends most of his time working. Athanasia supposes that there’s much to do when you’re executing a direct member of the royal family. Morbidly, she wonders if the Black Tower magicians would want her body for their research. Lily is that “crazy palace maid” who begs to be heard every day (no news on how her father reacted to it—but such a case is one where Athanasia sincerely prays that her father’s apathy will outweigh any annoyance, that Lily’s noble family will take her out of harm’s way before the worst can come to pass). 

Raven and Bluey are both missing (something’s coming). And Ijekiel… Last she heard, he’d been the picture-perfect fiancé, periodically visiting Jennette like clockwork every day.

At the same time, Athanasia gets a single stem of flowers each day. She wonders if Duke Alpheus knows about them.

Goldenrod, purple heliotrope, blue verbena, pink gladiolus, blue periwinkle, an iris suspiciously dusted with fur and downy feathers.

When will it be the hour of their flight?

“Wait and see, it’ll be like a fairytale,” her mother says, dancing all the while. “In the meantime, show me how you weave your magic again, Athy.”

-

It is cold within the dungeons. Athanasia will surely die tomorrow if nothing short of a miracle occurs. And yet, there is no worry in either her heart or her soul. Her mother had promised her, and to love, for Athanasia, was to devote and believe—to have utmost faith.

(She wonders what her father’s idea of love is—indulgence? A passive acceptance not too far from apathy? At least she knows that her mother’s love is undying, from beyond the grave. Lily’s love is steadfast and loyal, always trying to make the best of things. Ijekiel’s is inherent in every action, every move. Jennette’s is puppy-like, endearing.)

Athanasia hums as she finishes the final touches on her flowery bracelet, sliding it over her wrist with a sense of pride. The flowers are ill-suited to be bound this way, but such perversions of reality and logic are what magic is for. From behind, her mother gently combs out the knots in her hair with deft fingers, plaiting and pinning until all of Athanasia’s golden hair is safely pinned up.

“The midnight hour comes soon, Dear—Eumiellia’s always said that it’s the perfect hour for some…mischief.” Her mother says in a sing-song tone, drawing her up on her feet and guiding her to watch the way the light on the dungeon corridors starts to change and grow. In the depths of the Empire’s bowels, the echo of the nearing footsteps rings louder and louder in her mind.

Someone is coming.

“Is it time to go now?” Athanasia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already said it’s the perfect hour, Athy.” So they wait. It doesn’t take long for Athanasia to realise that alongside the light footsteps, another pair of feet pad forth as well. Excitement bubbles in her chest—she’s heard those footsteps before.

Athanasia sees Bluey first, the stitched bluebird squeezing between the bars to nuzzle into her awaiting hands, before leaping into flight once more.

Raven is next, her book grasped firmly in her mouth. Already, Athanasia can feel the electric rush of mana, from a steady trickle to rushing rapids. Were it not for the anti-teleportation wards, she probably could be free already. 

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of white horses, Your Highness.”

All of a sudden, she feels lightheaded, warm. “Ijekiel?” She breathes out, staring disbelievingly at his hooded figure, the glint of his golden eyes. He smiles back at her, taking out a key from underneath his collar. 

“The one and only, Athanasia.” Her door unlocks, and he reaches out to tug her forward into a tight hug, holding her so tightly and so closely that Athanasia can feel the skin of his neck, and smell the scent of his skin. “Did you like my message? I learnt it from the book about Obelia’s flower language we read together every February.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be doing this in person? I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. After all, you’re my…friend.”

Athanasia finally hugs back, squeezing her arms around Ijekiel tightly. Her eyes squeeze shut with unshed tears. “I’m glad you’re my friend too. But what I meant was that I didn’t expect you to mean you were going to conduct a jailbreak.”

“Well, a nobleman should always have many skills.”

“Jennette is lucky to have you.” She feels Ijekiel tense momentarily in her arms, The break in conversation appears to drag on, long and uncomfortable, before she hears him let out a sigh.

“She’s lucky to have you as well,” he says in return, before seemingly tacking on as an afterthought, “as a sister.” At those words, he releases her from his grasp, pulling away, only to come close once more to wrap a dark cloak around her shoulders. His hands rest on her shoulders, and Athanasia isn’t sure if he realises how tightly he’s gripping her.

“We should get going now. The guards won’t stay out for long.”

“Are you coming with me?” They both know it’s a stupid question; both know what the answer will be; both know that she will never truly mean it. 

Ijekiel doesn’t reply, but his wistful gaze is enough. 

Athanasia smiles, and it is small, almost sad, as she makes a request of him, “Take care of her for me, and for her own sake, alright?” Gripping the front of the cloak, she looks off into the dark distance, the unknown of her impending freedom. “Politics was never her strong suit.”

“Of course, as Her Highness asks.” Ijekiel chokes out the words, and he lets go of her shoulders, turning away and towards the dungeon’s exit. “I’ll escort you to that place—as long as you can get out of here, you’ll be able to leave the palace, right?”

“Yes.”

And so out they go, past the numerous cells and past the unconscious guards, from the darkness, to the moonlight. The night air tastes of freedom; walking on the stone paths, past the patrolling guards, feels like a kind of liberation. Her magic wraps around them like a shield as they make their way to the place where they’d both realised they’d fallen in love with the sun. 

As they stand below the tree, Athanasia finds herself reluctant to truly say goodbye to him. 

So she doesn’t.

“Tell Lily I said goodbye, please?” The magic swirls around her feet, building, building to a crescendo, changing the colour of her hair, the colour of her eyes—held high in the air by a single thread of hesitation. 

Ijekiel cannot tear his eyes away from her. It’s only through sheer strength of will that he holds back from reaching out once more. “If it’s you, there’s no need to ask.” 

Athanasia smiles, bright and true, and she turns away. “I’m glad I met you, Ijekiel.” Her magic swallows her up, leaving not a trace, not even a spark.

It’s as if she were never there in the first place.

He speaks to the empty air, hand outstretched. “I’m glad I met you too, Athy.”

-

Athanasia jumps from inn to inn, hiding in plain sight, making sure to cycle through a number of features wherever she goes, obfuscating the Imperial guards’ search for her. Above all, she likes it best when her eyes are either pink or blue; when her hair is blonde or brown. Through it all, her heart crashes about in her chest, thrashing about in her ribcage even as she refuses to think about how she’s being hunted down like a criminal by her own father. Money (golden and shining and reliable in a way her father never truly was) is never tight due to her magic. Still, Athanasia is starved of genuine interaction with anyone but her mother. Yet it’s all too risky even to fathom making an acquaintance when she knows they’ll all bind her in chains if they ever know who she is.

Her mother helps as best as she can, whispering in her ear about the innkeeper was starting to become suspicious, or what rumours were being circulated here and there—helping her avoid areas where people are most keen to turn in the abominable villainess who’d harmed their beloved Princess (never her, never Athanasia, it was always, always Jennette who’d be so loved and accepted by all). Athanasia is oh-so careful, living as if she were dead, waiting, waiting, waiting as she always did.

Until she sees the body strung from a rope in the town square.

Horrifically injured, it is covered in a damaged maid’s dress, and matted brown hair covers its eyes. But Athanasia recognises the bend of those limp hands, the careful embroidery lining the apron and the skirt, the unseen tie so horribly torn and broken like her heart. Her breath feels uneven, all too loud for her ears in an environment that seems to press down on her. Mother’s ghostly arms pull at her as gently firm as can be, but Athanasia cannot bring herself to move. There is a scream stuck in her throat, and it claws with an animalistic ferocity to be let out. 

Faintly, she thinks that Ijekiel would’ve labelled this as the protagonist’s tipping point.

-

Lily is dead.

Mama confirms it too, with all the coldness and stiffness of flash-frozen water, the absence of spirit, her soul.

Not even days after she’s started running away, does she see the still corpse swaying in the air in front of her eyes. It’s already started the process of decay, the white pallor that marks her as gone having already overtaken her skin. Not to mention the unmistakable hole in her chest, the browning stains of blood on her always impeccably clean uniform, the doll-like stiffness of her body, and Lily cannot be dead because her Father hates her so but he is not a madman bereft of morals (as long as it does not involve her) he is a cold but stiff, still just ruler (as long as it does not involve her) because because because—

It had been fine as long as it was only her who bore the weight of such cruel apathy. 

Claude de Alger Obelia, emperor of Obelia, tyrant of Obelia has, had, killed Lily.

Her mama lays her hands upon her shoulders, ice-cold and sub-zero degrees burning Athanasia’s skin like a hot iron brand. Memories gleaned rush into her mind 

And he would pay.

He would pay for it. He had to pay for it. There were consequences to every action, everything you took from the world. Whether it was forcing the creation of your imagination into life, speeding up natural processes of growth, or ripping away a life unfinished. There was always, always, a price to pay. Equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.

And Athanasia would become his debt dealer. His Thanatos, pounding, clawing at his door. 

She could fix this. Athanasia was a fool and a horribly, terribly blind idiot with a brain rotted with desire but she could fix this because if her Mama could come back to her so could Lily, and then she could apologise for being such a stupid stupid child. Everything would be back to normal. Back to the imperfect (no, they were perfect and unblemished) days of simply lazing around as a true family.

Lily wasn’t gone yet.

And Athanasia would make sure that she stayed, for good. Forever.

All she needs to do is prepare the stage, erase a few eyesores and tidy up this mess.

(The light of the torches cast long shadows as she took one step and another forward)

For that, her first order of business is to take back Lily’s body.

-

Early morning comes with the herald of the confusion of the masses.

(Poor, ignorant souls who have yet to realise what will be wrought upon their world)

The body of the example, the unremarkable maid of an unloved princess no longer hung from the noose. Only a snapped rope, roughly cut off from the rest of it, lay hanging from the wood.

Someone had taken the body, but who? Who would dare defy the order of the Sun of Obelia, Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia?

And within the shadows, a girl began crafting. Smoothing over blemishes, re-building foundations, and making once wrongs become rights. She fixes and repairs and improves because it is all for Lily’s sake. Lily must not come back in pain. She must come back to a body that knows no pain and will never know pain ever again.

But because it must be perfect (it must be, it had to be because she had to make up for it somehow and she knows it’s not enough but—), because she will accept no flaw, Athanasia needs practice. More practice than little animals and plants in various states of decay. Better practice than that. She needs people. 

(People who will surely, surely join her, who will always live up to her expectations. Because they will be reborn and reshaped to fit them.)

Athanasia always works hard for those she loves. Will always work hard for them and those she has yet to love. Because she is a starving child, and she will devour everything even if she’s full. So in return, she’ll do anything.

She gently thumbs the closed eyelids of a most remarkable maid, knowing that beyond them are dull blue eyes. It isn’t right for them to be such a colour. Her hand goes to her face to trace soft lines just below her jewel-blue eyes. That colour is a physical connection of “family”, an invisible thread tying them together. 

He didn’t deserve to have such a colour. Its beauty—wasted on him.

It’s a colour that Lily deserves so much more than him.

And Athanasia knows she can fix it. 

She has to.

[rafent]

♡ what if we were both dragons and we

High Priest / Dragon ♀ ♂

An exemplary child of dragons that can transform, create Corrupted, earth puppets, awaken emblems, and even rouse them. In short terms: a prodigy. Identifies more as a Divine Dragon due to their Lythos upbringing but has no qualms with their Fell Dragon blood

In true avatar kid fashion, gender is dependent on the player. If the chosen avatar is male, then this child is female. If the chosen avatar is female, then they are male. Looks the same as both genders. In this case, they are female!

Feels the closeness of her bonds and sees no need for formalities. Blunt, innocently unguarded, and refers to everyone by first name including her own father, which irks Rafal to no end. Alear remains the sole and mysterious exception

Both parents, Alear and Rafal, are miraculously present in her life. Like the former she is a kind soul and feels responsibility to protect others. Supposedly does not resemble the latter much, a fact that Rafal is relieved for...

She is exceedingly confident in her prospects of victory and does not entertain the possibility that either she or her allies will lose. "We'll win no matter what. On my power as a Divine Dragon, that's a promise"—a favorite saying of hers. She is also fond of sweets. Perhaps resembling one particular father in these respects

Character Arc: One distant millennia in the future, a day will come where Elyos is upturned. Emptied of peace and its usual protectors. With both Alear and Rafal the most powerful dragons lost to the sands of time, a new Divine One must inherit the world they sought to protect. She will rise to the occasion

Grew up speaking to 'the nice spirits in the rings' that no-one else can see. It is a secret kept to herself in the manner of imaginary friends. Though born twinless, she is not alone; they are in a sense her many kind older brothers and sisters

Army Superlative(s): Struggles the hardest to wake up on time, worst split ends in the army, likes to be alone the least

[viric-dreams]

I wrote out some quick notes on character design for eventual profiles and spotted some interesting similarities:

-both Ockham and The Rubbery Barber Surgeon have visually presented male for professional reasons (the former past, the latter present). Ockham continues to do so out of force of habit, but this may change since heshethey no longer has anything to do with said original context (sailing/zailing). In the Neath, where people are less concerned with gender presentation than in early 19th century Europe, Ockham is equally unconcerned with how heshethey is read. Clothing is a matter of convenience (or formally, whatever looks nicest). The Rubbery Barber Surgeon, on the other hand, enjoys masculine presentation (though is often annoyed that he feels pidgeonholed into presenting and behaving like a human Victorian man to make his customers feel "better"). Even without his professional life, he would probably do so anyway.

-Tamara likes to present femininely, except according to Varchaasi social norms. The clothing she wears in London often has feminine styles and fabrics, but follows Varchaasi silhouettes (closely-tailored, and bifurcated garments, to not cast shadows), adapted to London's climate. If she wears skirts, they will exclusively be tied up and tucked into her waistband/belted (though only if the weather allows/with warm stockings... though it's sometimes not worth the scandal it draws).

-Roberts and Nite dress in menswear and have no GNC tendencies. Nite's experimented on principle, then promptly checked cross-dressing off of his list as not for him.

So basically, there are very few skirts or dresses in the collective closets of my OCs, all for very different reasons. I didn't mean for this to happen, but here we are.

[aimwigs]

i love ur dadwig writings sm 🤧

THANK YOU!!!! you sent this a while ago but here's a little more ft middle aged lud dealing with teenagers

“Mr. Ahgren, we’re calling because your daughter has been suspended and we need you to come to the school to meet with the dean regarding her behavior.”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shit.

“I’ll be right there,” he says before asking for any details. Unfortunately, he doesn’t need them.

During the drive over, he ponders what the fuck Lucy could have done to get suspended. She’s always been pretty spirited and combined with ADHD that they’re struggling to get formally diagnosed due to this stupid notion that girls don’t get it as much, the school hasn't let them forget how much of a distraction she is in the classroom, with afternoon and Saturday detentions for shit as simple as repeated tardies and cracking jokes that aren’t quite appropriate for school. He blames himself for the latter, honestly, because it’s something he would do.

Still, he has no fucking clue what she would do to warrant getting suspended. You have to do some serious shit to get suspended, and nothing Lucy has done has ever warranted even a warning about that.

Except, when he meets QT at the school and they find Ryan’s best friend, Marie, sitting outside the office with her parents with an ice pack on her face and tissues shoved up her nose, they seem to realize in unison that this is not what either of them fucking expected at all.

“They should have told us the specifics,” QT hisses as she knocks on the door to the office, a look of panic in her eyes. “I’m not fucking prepared for this shit!”

The door opens, revealing the dean standing there with a grim look on his face and Ryan sitting in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over her chest and gaze firmly fixed toward the window.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He shakes each of their hands and they do introductions before sitting down with Ryan between them. Since Ludwig is sitting closer to the window, he can see now that her eyes are rimmed in red. He knocks their knees together and gives her a half-hearted smile in an attempt to cheer her up, earning a glare from QT. Right. She punched another girl in the face.

The story they’re told is very one-sided. Apparently, Ryan came up to Marie during the passing period and decked her so hard that she broke her nose. Lucky for Marie, the nurse was able to realign it and she probably won’t need surgery. Lucky for Ryan, Marie and her parents aren’t pressing charges.

The dean doesn’t explain any reason for why the fight might have happened, which makes sense because Ryan hasn’t opened her mouth once since she got here. He has a feeling that she wasn’t feeling particularly talkative before and if Marie did do something to warrant getting punched, it’s not like she’d going to speak up and tell people she deserved it.

The dean tells them that she’s lucky she didn’t get expelled and that if it weren’t for her impeccable record, there would be more than a two-week suspension on the table. He also reminds them that while UC Berkeley probably won’t rescind her admission, another offense like this one may make them reconsider. At that last part, Ryan does bristle a bit.

The dean offers to reduce her suspension to a week if she apologizes to Marie but she tilts her chin defiantly and keeps her mouth shut. Ludwig wishes that she would at least have it in her to lie for her own good.

When they leave the office, QT is fucking fuming. Rightfully so, honestly. She tells her that she she needs to control her temper and try to maintain some level of peace, and reminds her that neither of them can help her if she doesn’t tell them anything. She reaches out for her car keys and says that she and Slime will pick it up tonight and that she’ll be going home with Ludwig today since she has meetings this afternoon. Then she kisses the top of her head and tells her that she loves her for good measure.

They walk toward the car in silence and he ponders what approach to take with this. He’s been a parent for more than 18 years now and he still has no fucking clue what he’s doing. His instinct is always to be nice but it’s definitely not fair to make QT the bad guy when this is a serious fucking situation that probably necessitates a firm hand.

“You’re lucky they didn’t press charges,” he finally says as he pulls his car out of the school parking lot. “You’re an adult, Ryan. You could go to jail.”

Just like that, the levee breaks and she starts sobbing, face falling into her hands as she tries to turn away from him.

He winces a little as he glances over at her, reaching out to pat her arm lightly. He can’t be firm about this if she’s crying. To be fair, he thinks that QT would probably soften up if she was here too.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“No.”

He sighs. “Ryan, your mom is right. There’s nothing we can do for you if you don’t tell us what happened.”

She wipes at her face with her arm but still doesn’t meet his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do for me anyway.”

Even though she’s probably right, he could at least provide some comfort. “Let me try?”

Ryan lets out a bitter laugh. “If you can go back in time and stop Marie from kissing Damian behind my back then sure, I guess you can help.”

He frowns. Damian is Ryan’s boyfriend of three months whom every single adult in her life has been pretending not to hate the entire time. He’s rude, ditches her constantly, and in Slime’s words is “a serious fucking rat but not in a based way.” Even Aiden can’t stand him, and he’s Aiden. So him cheating isn’t exactly surprising. It being with Ryan’s best friend since kindergarten is.

“Did she kiss him or did he kiss her?”

The glare she gives him is enough to tell him that the distinction isn’t something that matters.

He nods. “Well, that’s a shitty thing to do but the reaction isn’t appropriate. You two have been tight since you were five. You should have tried to talk it out, even if she fucking sucks for doing that to you. I hope you dumped Damian, by the way.”

“Obviously, I fucking dumped him,” she crosses her arms and turns toward the window. “I don’t regret punching her, though. She’s a fucking bitch.”

Considering that she knowingly kissed his daughter’s boyfriend, he isn’t totally inclined to disagree even though she’s previously been a pretty nice girl.

“That doesn’t mean you resort to violence.” This he firmly believes. Sue him, he’s always been a lover and a forgiver, even if that makes him naïve.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it, considering you used to fuck around on Mom.”

He’s so taken aback that he nearly slams on the brakes in the middle of the highway. That’s out of fucking nowhere and not strictly true, though not strictly false either. Shit was complicated in his twenties, and he never slept with anyone but her then.

“Did she tell you that?” Her saying that about him would be completely out of character. Weirdly enough, he feels like he has a better relationship with QT now than he did when they were dating.

Ryan scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Your life is public record, Dad. Everyone knows that you were kissing your current husband when you were still with Mom because you said it.”

“That was different,” he tells her even though he knows that isn’t the complete truth. He knew he liked kissing Aiden and he knew QT didn’t like it, he was just convincing himself it was fine because it didn’t really mean anything even though it clearly did, based on the gold band wrapped around his finger.

“I’m sure.”

He pauses for a moment, taking in her line of logic. “Do you think it would have helped anything if your mom punched Aiden in the face for kissing me instead of having a conversation with me about it?”

She shrugs. “Maybe it would have saved her a few years.”

“You and your sister literally would not be alive,” he reminds her, knowing that she can’t argue otherwise. “And considering that your mom seems to love you guys a lot, I doubt she thinks of our time together as a total waste.”

Ryan slumps down in her seat and doesn’t reply.

“Look, kid, I’m not exactly proud of how that went down. Your mom and I had a massive fight over it and I was inadvertently leading Aiden on when I wasn’t ready to be with him yet. I fucked up. But all three of us get along pretty damn well today, and I guarantee you that a violent altercation would probably mean that our lives look very different now for a lot of reasons. You’re right when you say your mom would probably be easier to talk about this shit because I know she keyed some girl’s car for the same reason but I also know she regrets it. Using your words is always the best option to sort out this kind of thing and if that’s not working, you get the fuck out of there.”

She inhales sharply. “I just don’t get why she’d fucking kiss him.”

“I don’t either. But maybe you should ask her. Fuck, if she doesn’t regret it already, she will. You guys are best fucking friends. Don’t let some fucking loser boy ruin that for you.”

“But what if I love him?”

Ludwig grips the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Well, you could try talking things out with him too.” He can’t keep his tone from becoming stilted despite being pretty damn practiced at controlling his reactions in front of an audience.

Ryan smiles slightly. “I’m messing with you, Dad. I was gonna dump him after prom anyway. He only ever talks about himself. Guess I’ll just have to find a new date now. Honestly, I was more pissed at Marie for the principle of it than caring about Damian himself. Is that dumb?”

“That’s not dumb. She betrayed your trust.” He meets her eyes through the mirror. “But that doesn’t mean that you punch her in the face.”

She snorts. “Got it, Dad.”

“You’ll talk to her?”

“I’ll talk to her,” she promises. “But I’m not fucking apologizing until she does.”

He laughs. “That sounds fair enough.”

And maybe parenting teenagers is about twice as hard as parenting younger kids but he thinks that he handled this pretty well, especially a few weeks later, when he has the privilege of taking pictures of her and Marie side by side at prom, whatever beef between them squashed.

[thestalwartheart]

Ahhhh. 21 or 27 for the domestic prompt! Thank you! :)

Hi @theexistencegame! Both of these prompts were wonderful, but I went with 27: fixing their hair/clothes just before they rush out the door.

You can read it below or on AO3.

Enjoy! 💖

tie.

Q looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. It doesn’t matter that he’s verging on running late; he can’t go out looking like this.

Has his hair always…and were those bags under his eyes new, or…and oh, Christ, why on earth had he gone with a red tie? It’s a bit much, surely. Too eccentric for the evening planned. Or is it? Perhaps it might—no. Definitely too eccentric.

With a flick of his wrist and a tut at his watch, where the minute hand of time is flying by far too fast, Q tugs his tie off and frantically searches his already unkempt drawers for an alternative. He’s got an aubergine one somewhere that will pair nicely with his navy suit. It’s a basketweave tie, so not quite as formal as the sleek silk of his red one, but it’s a better colour. Red. For dinner. Honestly, what had he been thinking?

He retrieves the new tie and its accompanying pocket square, nearly shutting his fingers in the drawer in haste to move things along. Those same fingers tremble as he fumbles his way through a four-in-hand knot. He’s got neither the time nor the patience for a Windsor this evening, having spent too much time choosing his shirt and fixing his hair. The latter is utterly unsalvageable. He can only hope it looks deliberate. A ‘bedhead’ look, as Eve might say. He’s tempted to send her a selfie to check, but that would be utter madness.

For heaven’s sake, he thinks. Stop this. You’re going ‘round the bend. It’s not like you’ve never met the man.

But he hasn’t, really. Met him, that is. Not this side of him, the side that sits down for dinner rather than picking at it in Q Branch over paperwork or a mission. Not the Saturday night side that picks Q up at the front door of his house. Not the suave, indulgent side that he usually keeps out of Q’s office; the side that promises pleasure before, during and after dinner.

Q has seen it before, of course, but it’s never been directed at him. He hadn’t even known it could be directed at a man at all, not until Tuesday’s proposition which was as careful and bafflingly self-conscious as it was charming in all the usual ways. It was so irresistible that Q had felt compelled to say yes if only to get to know another facet of the man he wanted to know above all others.

Q fixes his pocket square and takes another good look in the mirror. The overall picture seems much better now, and he hums in satisfaction. Still, it’s not all perfect. There’s simply nothing to be done about the bags under his eyes. Even if he owned concealer, which he doesn’t, he’d probably end up with it all over the place like this, and—

The doorbell rings. Q straightens his tie knot for a final time and brushes at his suit like he still owns cats with hair, then marches to meet his fate.

Bond looks exceptional in his steel grey suit. It’s no surprise that he’d dress himself to the nines for a dinner date, and yet it is still vastly overwhelming to take in. Q is no stranger to good-looking men, but this is…

Well. He’s a very lucky man, isn’t he? Even if his luck might only last an evening.

“James.” The first name slips out more easily than Q thought it might.

“Q.”

“Come in, I’m just—” just nothing, actually. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s on about. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Bond smiles as he enters and clicks the door shut behind him. He looks Q up and down appreciatively before a lopsided smile forms.

“Lovely socks.”

Q looks down, mortified, to see he’s still wearing the pair he’s been wearing all day. They’re all black, save for the pink, yellow-eyed cat face that peeks out from the toes.

“Oh, shit. I’ll—”

His oncoming ramble is silenced by Bond’s warm hand tilting Q’s chin up. They’re of a height, and Q has never been more thankful for that than now. It puts him back on even footing, even as the up-close view of Bond’s eyes threatens to undo him all over again.

“Relax,” murmurs Bond. His hand moves to cup Q’s cheek. “You look incredible. Perfect.”

“Right.” Q is momentarily stunned into speechlessness. He’s never been any good at taking a compliment, least of all one as expertly delivered as that. “As do you. You look…” He lets out a long breath, still unsure that this isn’t a hallucination. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you how you look.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Very sharp,” rasps Q. Bond huffs an amused little laugh in response.

They seem to stand like that for an age, not that it matters. Q forgets about his watch entirely, happily ignoring the idea of dinner plans for the new thought that he might drag Bond upstairs immediately and strip him of that fine suit. It would mean hours longer in bed tonight. They could go fast, then slow. Then, perhaps, fast again if they can both summon enough zeal to work against their bodies’ limits. At the sight of the man in front of him, Q thinks he might easily go all night.

“Shall we?” Bond asks.

He has a strange look in his eye. Feeling slightly contrite, Q comes back down to earth and reminds himself of the stakes here, and of that cautiousness with which Bond has approached this whole evening. Q likes to think he knows his agents. He certainly knows Bond well enough to know if all he wanted was sex, Q would be sprawled out naked on his own bed already.

Besides, does he really want to miss the opportunity to watch Bond eat and drink in pleasure over candlelight? To tease him? To talk at length in all the small and deep ways one does on a date? To feel the weight of Bond’s eyes fixed solely on Q in a room full of beautiful people?

No, Q doesn’t want to miss any of it.

He smiles and takes Bond’s hand in his own. “Yes, let’s.”

[phandomtaleweaver]

“Chien de Garde”

No parings, fluff, humor, 700+ words

New to the team, Finka always get the feeling she’s being watched when she talks to Doc, Monty might be able to tell her why

(Please don’t come at me for my French or Russian, I used google translate)

Only a week after the team had returned from Truth and Consequences, Finka visited Doc in the med bay for the first time. The conversation had been innocuous, some follow up about the Chimera Virus. The doctor had been working in the main area of the med bay, rather than his office. After leaving Lera couldn’t shake the feeling that she and the doctor were being watched. Nothing terribly sinister, just the simple feeling of being observed. Thinking back, Finka didn’t remember seeing anyone else in there, as Jäger, the only patient, had moved back to his own room, where he was far more comfortable.

Over the next couple of weeks Lera noticed the same feeling, but only when she was talking to Doctor Kateb. She thought about asking him about it, or Oliver, except the latter might start a fight. Finally, after three weeks, Lera had had enough, so she approached the next closest person to Gustave to see if he knew anything: Gilles “Montagne” Toures.

She approached him one quiet evening in the common room. Most other operators were doing their own things elsewhere or had gone out to the pub for a pint and Lera and Gilles were virtually alone in the common area. Gilles sat on a couch reading a book titled Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. She sat on a chair catty corner to him and he looked up.

“Um, hello, Toures, I hope I’m not interrupting your reading.”

The older man chuckled, a rich, warm sound and shook his head. He then inclined his head for her to continue.

“I have an odd question, but one I don’t know who else to ask,” she watched his face for any adverse reaction, but none came. He merely maintained his previous warm expression, waiting patiently for her to continue. “Do you ever feel like you're being watched when you talk to Doctor Kateb?”

The Frenchman looked incredulous then seemed to think for a moment. “Non,” he finally responded. “But I may know what you are-” he paused searching for the word “-signifier, oh, what you mean.” He stopped speaking, realizing his faulty English was probably hard to understand. “I know, what the feeling you have, I understand it. You are aware of Gustave’s “Chien de Garde”. His, uh, guard dog.”

“His guard dog?”

“Oui, I can introduce you.”

“Why not?” Lera chuckled, still slightly confused.

Gilles stood and beckoned for her to follow him, “Viens.”

The two walked to the med bay together in companionable silence, and a bit of anticipation on Lera’s part. Upon arriving Lera saw the med bay looked empty, aside from the doctor organizing something. The minute they were fully in the room, the CBRN specialist felt like she was being watched.

“Bonsoir, Docteur,” Gilles greeted.

“Salut, vieil ami. добрый вечер, Lera. What brings the two of you here so late? Not an injury I hope.”

“Non,” Gilles smiled, with just the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Lera wanted to meet your Chien de Garde.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He is in my office if you wish to speak with him.” He turned back to what he was doing.

“Not any more,” a voice said from the doorway of the aforementioned office. Lera looked and there stood Dominic Brunsmeir. Lera had never met the man formally, but he had been waiting for the team when they had returned from T&C, only to remain at Jager’s side till he was released back to his own room. She had heard jokes and whispers about him possibly being a drug dealer, though she doubted that. She realized in that moment that his intense blue eyes observing her was the feeling she had felt all those times talking with the doctor.

“I don’t see why you find it necessary to terrorize everyone, Dom,” Gustave sighed, breaking the silence.

“I'm not terrorizing anyone, artz, just keeping you company,” the German smiled, attempting to look innocent and failing.

“You are as good at keeping me company as Tania would be, you just like to lurk,” the doctor shot him a faux glare. Then turning to Lera he continued. “He hangs around me to make sure no one bullies me, though I don't need it. I think he just likes to scare people, hence the nickname Gilles and Julien have given him: Chien de Garde.”

[good-wine-and-cheese]

first of all, in typing I just realized they all have one (except tenma technically but he does have closure with eva) but you think if Grimmer/Lunge ever ran into their ex-wife again they'd speak to them?

Oh, that's a fun question! I'm going to run with the assumption here that they are aware of the presence of their ex-wife but have not actually made contact yet and the ex-wife has not seen them, since I think if the question was "would they talk to them if they actually ran into each other" it would be an easy yes. But under these conditions...

I would say definitely yes for Lunge. While things ended very badly between himself and his ex-wife, and even his daughter, we do see closure with the latter wherein he's started to communicate with her via email. I think that it's meant to hint at him wanting to repair things with her and, if not have what he once did, at least be a part of her life. As far as his ex-wife goes, I think Lunge knows that wasn't working out and would not want to pursue mending things in the same way, but rather if he saw her, he would want at the very least to know how things are going in her life, and for her to know how his life is going. For him, it's a sort of formality in their separation. After that, though, I don't know that he would want to communicate with her. It would feel improper to him when they've finally put to rest the fact that things are over and their chapters together have finished. Lunge has always seemed to be the sort of person who, if someone is "out" of his life, can easily let go of them.

For Grimmer, it's a little complicated. I actually see him as a sort of strange inversion of how Lunge would act, in that it would be more difficult to get him to actually reach out to her, but if he did, he would be more inclined to hold onto her as someone in his life - maybe not through prolonged communication, but as someone he thinks about. I think with Grimmer, what would hold him back from ever communicating with her is the fact that he feels he ruined her life. He married her because it was the "right" thing to do for his job as a spy - something that hurt her terribly because she could never get the love that she wanted. I honestly think that Grimmer might feel she would be better off never seeing him again. Trying to come back from that, even with his newfound access to his emotions, would only hurt her - and he wouldn't want to drag that back to the surface for her. Even more so if she's remarried and seems to be happy. Now, if he saw her and she looks miserable, I do think he would readily approach her. He doesn't want to be liked by her at all, but as a more empathetic person than he was at the time, I think he would want to try to help her feel better, if possible. And if she wants nothing to do with him and continues to hold a grudge, well...she's allowed, and he won't ever bother her again.

In the end I think they both want closure with their exes - it's just that for Lunge that closure would be very much final, and allow him to no longer think on her in the future, whereas for Grimmer she would become yet another lens through whom he can contextualize his personhood. And if she responds positively to him, then the potential of becoming a friend is something he would entertain.

[helgabatwrittings]

Metamorphosis

I'm back! And I've graduated med school, yayyy!

Anyway, I was not happy with the ending of season 5. I believe that Adrien should be told the truth about himself and about who Shadowmoth really is. Anyway, I still hope that the next season will give us that, but here's my take on the aftermath of all the events. Hope you enjoy it, and leave a comment, I love reading your opinions! There's the AO3 link if you prefer to read there.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

His father was a hero, they told him. When Ladybug was alone and on the brink of being ultimately defeated, he took on the mantle of Chat Noir and sacrificed his life to save hers. His father was not a good person Adrien thought sometimes, when his image was used against his will, or when his father threatened him to remove him from school for the minor slip, or even when he terrified him with his outbursts, making Adrien freeze in place and never daring to go against his wishes. But how can his father be a hero and a bad person at the same time? That’s impossible!

Something feels wrong...

--‐-------------------------------------------------------------------

Something feels wrong. Adrien suddenly drops his fork at the Dupain-Cheng’s dining table eliciting strange looks from everyone in the room.

“Is everything okay?” Nathalie asks him in concern, sitting right in front of him, and Adrien can’t stop thinking about how odd that fact is, even though she has always been seated there at least once a week, for the past twelve months.

Marinette’s light touch on his leg snaps him out of his thoughts, their gazes making contact for a brief second, just enough to distract him from whatever was fogging his mind.

“Yes, my fork just slipped from my hand”. He hears a soft and loving chuckle coming from his side and everyone returns to their conversation. Something about the most recent measures Mayor Bustier has approved for Paris.  Adrien looks around the lively room. Nathalie is sitting in front of him, laughing at something Monsieur Dupain has said. Monsieur Dupain has told him many times to just treat him as Tom, however, but abandoning such a formality seems to be almost impossible for Adrien. Amelie is sitting right next to Nathalie, she is looking adoringly at Felix, while the latter is seemingly hypnotised by whatever Kagami is telling him. They seem to be lost in their own little universe. Madame Dupain-Cheng has gone to the kitchen to make some final touches on the desserts, and Marinette is sitting at his right, her leg is constantly grazing his own leg, and even after all this time, he still feels an exciting warmth spreading through his body every time they touch.

Everyone seems to be having a good time, as per usual at the Dupain-Cheng’s residency.

Their home provides a cozy and safe space Adrien has missed for so many years. His own cold manor, where he felt like a living statue for so long represented a stark contrast from this scene. A sharp pain suddenly stabs his brain, causing him to wince quietly. No one seems to have noticed his discomfort, except for Marinette, who silently expresses her concern. He smiles at her in an attempt to dissipate her attention and she smiles back at him. He loves how effortlessly they can communicate with each other, without muttering a single word.

               “… The preparations for the one-year anniversary of Shadowmoth’s defeat next week are running without any incidents…”. Everyone rapidly goes quiet as Nadia Chamack updates her viewers of all the details for the parade celebrating the end of Shadowmoth’s terror. It has been one year since that incident. Since his father took on what was supposed to be Adrien’s responsibility and traded his life for the safety of every Parisian citizen. Adrien thought that the guilt would fade away with time, but that was never the case. In fact, it only seemed to grow every day, and more so as they approached the fatidical date.

               His father was a hero, they told him. When Ladybug was alone and on the brink of being ultimately defeated, he took on the mantle of Chat Noir and sacrificed his life to save hers. His father was not a good person Adrien thought sometimes, when his image was used against his will, or when his father threatened him to remove him from school for the minor slip, or even when he terrified him with his outbursts, making Adrien freeze in place and never daring to go against his wishes. But how can his father be a hero and a bad person at the same time? That’s impossible!

His headache is getting worse. Adrien regrets ever thinking that low about the man who sacrificed so much for him, it only adds to the guilt he has been feeling. His father was only protecting him. He was trying his best to make sure Adrien has the best possible future, and Adrien understands that now.

               He feels a rush of air as Marinette shoots up from her seat. “May I be excused? I need to go to the toilet!”. There’s an urgent tone in her voice and a stiffness that doesn’t match with a simple urgency to go to the bathroom. He makes a mental note to check on her later. She always acts a bit strange every time this subject arises. Adrien never really understood the reason, perhaps she just feels guilty for having both her parents around and he doesn’t. She has mentioned before that she doesn’t want to make him feel as if she’s rubbing that fact on his face by having him over all the time to hang out at her house, and although in some moments of irrational jealousy, back when the loss of both his parents was still fresh, he might have briefly felt that way, he knows for a fact that that was never her intention.

               As Marinette runs upstairs, he feels Felix’s brief glances at him. Nathalie and Amelie are also looking at each other in visible discomfort, but all this strange air in the room vanishes as Madame Cheng brings the decadent chocolate mousse decorated with raspberries and Monsieur Dupain quickly turns off the TV.

Once again, everyone breaks out from whatever spell they were trapped in, and dinner goes back to its usual cheerful mood. Marinette climbs down the stairs and joins them once again. Adrien too engages in the general conversation, but something inside him keeps tugging at his subconscious. Something feels wrong…  

[velnica]

Lv. 58 — A Saint of Song (part 1)

Here we go again! Timeline wise, Ysayle has quelled the brief unrest, but here is a time stretch between apprising Edmont and Aymeric and the latter running off to confront Thordan. This one happens in that stretch.

Oh Sanson if only you knew that Guydelot has been keeping an eye on you this entire time...

I can't believe he's agreeing with Guydelot. The Sanson from two quests ago would have baulked at the possibility lol.

He looks so excited uttering this line but I didn't catch his animation in time RIP.

It's still 50/50 to me whether the Twelveswood Moogles reveal themselves to Sanson because they could sense that he believes in song, or whether he pestered them enough because he believed in song and they gave up hiding. I think the latter is funnier, and that the Moogles were pleasantly surprised that Sanson chased them down because he fervently believes in the power of song that they resolved to help him from that point on.

These elusive denizens of the Black Shroud are skilled in the manipulation of aether, their arcane arts allowing them to remain undetected by all but the most determined or gifted of seekers. In the course of recent events, Eorzeans have also become aware of a second moogle clan dwelling in the Churning Mists of Dravania. — Encyclopædia Eorzea vol 1, page 256

The way he looks so dejected here yet still holding out hope for Guydelot to return... And he knows that Guydelot now also believes in the Ballad so he's keeping that little fact close to him as comfort.

If Guydelot runs away to conceal his feelings, Sanson just keeps advancing, because stopping might mean having to confront the fact that Guydelot isn't there.

In my headcanon I think he does at least say his goodbye to Sylviel at this point, but of course he doesn't linger long. The only way to go from here is onward, else he would be failing the Adders, failing Guydelot and also failing himself.

SURPRISE!!! (not really, this man is kinda Tsundere at this point that he HAS to stay around lol)

Oh babyboy don't worry, big sis is here to knock some sense into your head.

Sylviel absolutely and totally knows what's happening here.

LMAO the way Guydelot petulantly turns around; cheeks aflame, no doubt.

Love it when WoL has been through some fantastical journeys that not even contemporary scholar actually knows what's happening lol. We making history!

I am curious how many times has Guydelot needled Sylviel about his meetings with Sanson by this point, because Sylviel's chastise has this fond exasperation laced through it. He's probably shaking his head at these two youngins who just refuse to confront their feelings head on.

Reminder that Guydelot is canonically a 22 year old country boy; he may have a swagger about him, but he's inexperienced though he might not want to admit it some days. Guydelot eschews formal authority, but he is not above asking for a trusted friend's counsel. I'm sure he's asked Jehantel for many pointers too!

Fjora doesn't like mincing her words, it's what's worked for her and by the Woods she will make it work for this boy.

Stubborn, stubborn little brother...

OC note: Fjora really does latch onto Guydelot because she can see in him something of Cora. Except for the fact that Guydelot is endlessly stubborn while Cora is more go with the flow kind of person.

A towering edifice, creatures beyond the dream of a Gridanian country boy and still Sanson is stuck in his books... But for a different reason this time 🥺

The complete change of reason here to record what he sees is so... IS SO...

THEY BELONG TOGETHER YOUR HONOUR!

It's not enough that Sanson trusts Guydelot's skill, here he practically admits that he wants to hear Guydelot write a song about Anyx Trine is just... my heart...

And now he lets you lead! He's realised that he needs to take a step back, to listen to those who have better ideas about what to do next instead of strong-arming his way into getting information. And guess what, it's working wonders.

Speaking of going up to Sohm Al, it is a goddamn dangerous climb, despite Tioman being gone. I can just imagine Guydelot sticking real close by—to Fjora's exasperation—so that he can safely follow them. And I think I've written this in Breathe In, but I can also see him pause at moments to play his harp, out of earshot, to soothe the dying dragons in Mourn.

Also Fjora would have to have introduced Sanson to Vidofnir in Anyx Trine too. Imagine, meeting dragons! But Guydelot isn't there to share his awe. Oh well, Sanson will just have to record everything in great details so that Guydelot feels like he was there too.

Reminder that the Churning Mists is way up there around that giant floating rock. Moghome is attached to it but the rest of the area (Zenith, etc) are floating islands.

Ugh, the pining...

It's not IF, but WHEN. He is sad that the bard doesn't get to see this view first hand but by the Matron he will try his best to let Guydelot experience it in however small way he could. He's recording this all down specifically for that reason and that reason only; Sanson wants desperately for Guydelot to be here.

For the love of the Matron, Guydelot, JUST TALK TO HIM

You stubborn, pining fools... the both of you...

You're absolutely right, Sanson.

[Continued in Part 2]