#he gave them freedom to make mistakes and grow

[sweepweep]

YES‼️

They may have powers beyond comprehension, but they are still children. They have powers, not experience. They have unique abilities, not the time to mature that the adults have had

Love it when there are characters who treat children with powers like a parent would. I love it when they go, "I am the adult here. Step back and let me handle this." They're much better than characters like Dumbledore. No idea, what that old fellow was thinking about. But anyways, Nanami from Jujutsu Kaisen and Reigen Arataka from Mob Psycho 100 come to mind. Good, reliable men who treat children like children.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Perform || Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: You get married to Coriolanus Snow, a powerful man that you don’t even know, and try to adjust to your new life as his wife.

Word count: 3’500

Warnings: Arranged marriage, explicit smut and probably a few mistakes here and there because English isn’t my first language.

Author’s note: This may or may not be a prequel to There Will Come A Ruler. I’m not sure it fits all the details as it wasn’t planned but inspiration suddenly struck me so here it is.

The room went dead silent as soon as you passed the threshold, numerous pairs of eyes turning to stare at you. There wasn’t a single familiar face among the men standing around the large desk, previously hunched over a pile of papers. You knew that they would never be able to tell how intimidated you felt under their severe gazes, you knew how to fake confidence better than anyone… However, two pale blue eyes seemed to be staring right into your soul, as if he knew.

“Great timing, we just finalized the contract.” One of the older man in a suit said, seemingly wanting to break the cold silence that weighted heavily on your shoulders. You nodded without a word, approaching the desk, coming to a stop next to the youngest man, the one with the unsettling eyes.

You turned your head to look at him more closely and his eyes darted away instantly, landing on a distant object at the opposite side of the office. He stood straight, his head held high and his arms crossed behind his back, impassible.

When you entered the room, he seemed to be radiating with light in the darkness of the office, surrounded by men in boring black suits while his was made out of an immaculate white fabric. Combined with the paleness of his skin and his carefully combed back blond curls, he resembled the image of an angel you had seen on a very ancient painting once. But his indifference towards you, and the icy stare he gave you, made it clear that you wouldn’t find solace in him.

“I reviewed the contract at your family’s request and made sure everything is in your best interest.” The man who had spoken to you already said again, handing you the very last page of the pile of documents on the table and an elegant pen to sign it with.

You didn’t doubt that the lawyer your family had hired was competent and probably too scared by them to dare make a mistake while establishing a contract in your name with an army of other lawyers in the room but you still felt compelled to take a look at the full file in front of you, ignoring the pen he was still holding for you to take.

Maybe it was a desperate attempt to gain time on your part more than a necessity to double check the terms and conditions of the agreement you were meant to sign but, as you glanced towards the man in white, you were pretty sure you saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, although he was still determined to not look at you directly.

Some clauses written on the paper seemed reasonable, others were more restrictive and some downright affected your freedom and free will but you knew you wouldn’t be able to negotiate anything better. You wouldn’t dare try anyway, everyone had been telling you what a privilege it was for you and what an honor it was for your family to be offered such an opportunity. Even in the high society of the Capitol, it didn’t happen often for a girl who had just graduated from the Academy to secure such an interesting match. It was even more rare that such a match didn’t require to be seduced in order to arrange a marriage...

“Everything seems in order.” You finally said, after taking your time to read each paragraph of the contract, ignoring the lawyers’ growing frustration and impatience around you.

“I can attest that it is.” The one lawyer meant to be on your side confirmed and, even if you felt the urge to tell him that he could have done better - or at least come to an agreement that wouldn’t force you to produce heirs in a few years - you quietly nodded, taking the pen he was offering you and writing your name at the bottom of the last page.

You paused for a moment, admiring your handwriting in black ink, a small gesture that sealed your future.

It was a privilege. An honor. One that you couldn’t refuse.

You took a step back and turned to the man in white, handing him the pen. He took it without looking at you, hunching his tall frame over the desk to sign his name next to yours in elegant calligraphied letters.

Coriolanus Snow.

You managed to take a deep but silent breath, the implications of the contract you had both signed downing on you. Your life was about to change forever, you’d have to leave your home, your family, everything and start a whole new life, with a man you didn’t even know. He was a complete stranger to you, all you knew about him was that he was the youngest head game maker for the Hunger Games in history, the protégé of Doctor Gaul herself and that, as if it wasn’t enough already, he had announced that he’d be campaigning to become the next president of Panem.

“Well, I hope you’ll be satisfied with the agreement, Mrs Snow.” Your lawyer said, but you didn’t realize right away that you were the one he was addressing, your new last name sounding foreign.

You forced a smile at him, watching as all the men slowly walked out of the office, leaving you on your own with your new husband. A shiver ran down your spine as the door closed behind them, a cold breeze caressing your skin. Coriolanus finally turned to face you, his icy eyes staring into your soul once again.

“I’ll meet you at the altar in three days.” He declared, emotionless. You quietly nodded, too intimidated to say a word. You knew that - much like the official documents you had signed already making you his wife - your wedding ceremony would be nothing like you envisioned it to be.

Time flew by after that. You had spent it feeling mostly overwhelmed by the amount of things you were expected to do before the ceremony. You had to pack your belongings, decide what you’d take with you to your husband’s manor and what could be left behind, attend various appointments meant to get you to beauty base zero before your very public wedding and - even if you didn’t have a say in the preparations - you still had to make sure everything would look flawless on the big day, including yourself.

Your family’s chauffeur drove you to the venue early in the morning where a team of people were ready to take care of your hair, nails and makeup and would help you get into the gorgeous white dress that was selected for you by your new husband and his own team. You watched as your reflection kept changing in the mirror in front of you, making you look like a glamorous bride… The only thing missing to such a perfect portrait was a genuine glint of happiness in your eyes.

Once you were ready to face the crowd of onlookers, news reporters and photographers posted outside the venue - hoping to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds on their way out after the ceremony - the people who had prepared you left, leaving you on your own in the luxurious suit, barely recognizing the person facing you in the mirror.

The short hour before the ceremony felt like agony, your hands shaking in fear of not being good enough to live up to everyone’s expectations and your chest constricted with anxiety. You couldn’t help but wonder what people would think of you when they’ll see you in your bridal attire. Would they think you were a good match for a man as important as Coriolanus Snow ? See you as worthy to potentially become the First Lady of Panem ? Would they think you were a cute couple, or see you as an ill match ? And what about him ? Would he find you beautiful when you’ll walk down the aisle to him ?

A firm knock on the door saved you from drowning in your anxious thoughts. You were expecting your family’s lawyer to come by and give you a few advices on how to live your new life without inadvertently breaking some of the terms of the contract you had signed. You also knew the wedding organizer would show up to give you a few pointers for the ceremony and your public appearance after it…

But, when you opened the door, a surprised gasp escaped your lips. Coriolanus was devastingly handsome in a tailored white suit, more fitting and luxurious than the one he wore when you had met him three days earlier. There wasn’t a single strand of his blond hair out of place, not a trace of dark circles under his blue eyes while your team had spent almost an entire hour trying to conceal yours after the sleepless nights you had had.

He smiled at you in a way you weren’t certain was genuine and held up a huge bouquet of white roses, tied together by a blood red satin ribbon. You understood it was yours to walk down the aisle with, the flowers matching the one pinned to the lapel of his jacket.

“Thank you.” You said, as you took the flowers. He was looking at you without any hint of admiration in his gaze, as if the hours your team had spent on your hair and makeup and the expensive wedding gown you were wearing didn’t affect him at all. As if he still couldn’t care less about you… “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

He huffed a mocking laughter at your words.

“Good thing we’re already legally married then.” He countered, the reminder adding to the panic in the pit of your stomach. “This ceremony is just meant to give them a good show.”

You knew that, of course. It was your duty - as his wife - to publicly appear by his side and pretend that you were overjoyed about it all. You were meant to help him build a flawless reputation so that he may eventually become president one day and you knew that his popularity was determined by how much the people could relate to him, or at least feel included in parts of his life. Soon, you’d be introduced to them as Mrs Snow and you couldn’t afford to mess up.

You turned around to place the beautiful - but surprisingly heavy - bouquet of roses on the vanity, hearing the door closing behind your back. When you looked over your shoulder, he was standing behind you, clearly expecting something from you although you weren’t sure what.

It was the first time you were fully alone with him, in such proximity to each other, and his intimidating posture added to the way his eyes darkened when they met yours made you feel quite weary, as if you were suddenly in some kind of imminent danger.

“Now turn around so I can make sure you’re ready.” He demanded, his voice slightly lower than usual.

You obeyed without a word, slowly spinning around twice as you felt the weight of his analyzing stare on you, making your body tingle with an odd electric sensation. Once you were face to face with him again, you couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not by the way you looked, his expression serious and unreadable. A heavy silence lingered between you as you desperately hoped to hear a few words of affirmation to boost your confidence a bit… He didn’t say any but he took a step closer, his face closer to yours than what would be deemed acceptable between two strangers. He pushed a strand of hair away from your forehead, his eyes briefly plunging into yours before his hand traveled down to your mouth. He traced your lips with his thumb, fading out your lipstick slightly.

“I hope you paid attention to the wedding night clause on our contract.” He spoke, almost in a whisper. “Because as soon as we’ll be done performing for the crowd, I’m going to make you mine.”

Your body shuddered in response, and you weren’t quite sure if it was because it made you nervous or if because such a promise actually excited you somehow. You didn’t have time to think about it anyway, another knock on the door forcing you apart. The wedding organizer announced that the ceremony was about to start, forcing Coriolanus out of your suite, visibly oblivious to the tension that tainted the atmosphere between you. You took a deep breath to compose yourself, grabbed your bouquet and folllwed them out, ready to perform.

You spent the whole ceremony in a daze, not quite realizing what was happening or what anyone was saying. But you still managed to say the one thing everyone expected of you; I do. You smiled as the crowd erupted in cheers, made sure to keep your eyes open despite the blinding flashing lights of the cameras on you and took the time to greet everyone of importance that was in attendance that day. When your new husband had to kiss you in front of hundred of curious faces staring at both of you, he did it softly and chastely which almost felt a bit disappointing considering the authority and confidence he had spoken with earlier. But it sure was a cute picture for the tabloids.

You returned to the mansion he owned in the most expensive and luxurious area of the Capitol and were showed to your new bedroom by a maid, noting how your belongings had already been unpacked and organized to make you feel at home. It was only after she helped you out of your wedding gown and into a more practical and relaxed dress that you realized that this bedroom was yours and yours only. There wasn’t a single item that looked like it could belong to your new husband, none of his clothes in the dressing room, none of the products he put on his hair to keep them perfectly combed back throughout the day in the bathroom. And, even though this man was still a complete stranger to you, you still felt a hint of disappointment at the realization that he wasn’t planning on spending any of his time with you if none of his potential supporters could witness it.

He still had been thoughtful enough to ask another one of his employees to deliver a black box to your bedroom, an unexpected wedding present. You opened it as soon as you were all alone and your eyes widened in shock, discovering some lingerie made out of the thinnest and softest lace you ever touched. It was a gorgeous set that complimented your skin tone so well, it almost looked like it had been made specifically for you.

You tried the pieces on, surprised to see how each of them fitted you perfectly and comfortably. However, even if you felt pretty good in your new lingerie, you felt too awkward to go find your husband with nothing else on, so you pulled your dress back over the lace, hiding everything from view, before you walked out of your bedroom, determined to find Coriolanus in the huge mansion you now shared with him.

You easily found him downstairs, sitting on a teal sofa in front of a modern chimney. He was reading with his ankle resting on top of his knee. He looked up to you as soon as you stepped into the living room, immediately folding his newspaper to give you his full attention.

“Is your new bedroom at your convenience ?” He asked, politely.

“Absolutely.” You replied, nervously fidgeting with your hands as you stood in front of him. “And thank you for the wedding present.”

“Does it fit you ?”

“Yes, perfectly.”

“Take off your clothes then.” He demanded, and you wondered how he managed to sound so intimidating despite sitting down and you, towering over him.

“Here ? Now ?” You exclaimed, looking around for house employees.

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” He declared, unwavering. “So take them off or I will.”

You did as he requested, nervously removing your casual dress so that you stood in nothing but your new lingerie in front of him. His icy gaze roamed your body from head to toe, his expression still too closed off to tell if he liked what he saw or not.

He stood up, bringing his hand to your chest and tracing the outline of the lace over your breast with a finger. Goosebumps rose on your skin in reaction, your heart beating faster so close to where he was touching you.

“Turn.” He commanded and you obeyed, feeling slightly more confident in this perfectly fitting set than you did in your wedding dress. You felt his hands on your body again, tugging the lower part of the ensemble down your thighs agonizingly slowly. Did it mean he didn’t like it ? Or was he simply curious to see what was underneath the thin lace fabric ? “Lie down.”

He gestured to the couch he was sitting on a minute ago. You followed his command, your head resting on a soft satin pillow and your knees pulled back to you to leave him enough room to join you. He sat down, fully removing the piece of underwear around your thighs and you shivered when he pushed your knees apart, once again analyzing your body with a critical gaze.

He leaned forward and you gasped when you felt the warmth and wetness of his tongue between your folds, tracing a few circles around your clit before moving down to your entrance. He sat back straight, an amused grin on his face as he licked his glistening lips and took in the shocked expression on your face.

“I needed to know how my wife tastes.” He explained, your body tingling with excitement. He opened up his trousers, pulling his long and hard erection out. Your eyes widened, taking in his size, which seemed to amuse him yet again. “You can take it.”

He sounded pretty confident about that but you weren’t so sure. You didn’t get the chance to protest though, because he immediately moved to align himself up with your entrance and pushed his tip through it without hesitation.

You gasped at the burning sensation, your fingers tightening around the edges of the couch. A satisfied groan rumbled in his throat as he kept pushing himself in, inch by inch until he was fully buried inside you and you couldn’t remember how to breathe correctly.

It wasn’t as pleasant to you as it seemed to be to him at first, your walls still stretching to accommodate his girth and length while he took advantage of the tighteness ensnaring him to push himself as deeply as he could.

It was too much. Way too much. But, just as you considered asking him to pause, suddenly your body stopped resisting him, welcoming him instead, allowing his cock to slide back and forth in rythym with the way he rolled his hips against you, causing a warm and tingly sensation to bubble up deep in your core.

You looked at him, holding himself above you with his strong arms on each side of the couch, his muscles carved under his pale skin. A blond lock of hair bouncing against his forehead in synch with his movements and his eyes were glued to yours, attentive to how your traits changed each time he modified the pace of his thrusts.

Soon, it felt like too much again, but in a good way. You felt close to imploding from how good it felt to have him hitting inside you at a relentless rythym.

You turned your head to the side, hoping the pillow would help silence your moans, worried that every employee in the mansion might hear the uncontrollable sounds of pleasure that kept resonating inside the living room.

“Look at me.” He immediately ordered, not waiting for you to obey as his hand flew to your face, turning your head so that you’d face him again. His fingers then dropped lower, wrapping around your neck, causing the whimpers escaping from your mouth to sound a lot more desperate. “I want to see what you’ll look like when you’ll come as I’ll fill you up.”

A few more thrusts of his hips, his tip hitting the perfect spot inside of you and you felt your whole body contracting intensely, your core tightening around him as you cried out in pleasure, closing your eyes and your mouth dropping open in shock at the intensity of the wave of sheer bliss that ran through your whole body.

“So beautiful.” He commented, his eyes fixed on you in genuine admiration this time. His labored breaths got louder and he climaxed, his erection throbbing as it spurt out a load of hot cum deep inside you.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[citrus-writing]

Hello, i think i have a funny idea for some headcanons or drabble(s).

What if darling is yandere too?😈😈

I’d like to read young!Silva’s reaction on this, If you have inspiration, you can write about some other characters

(Sorry for mistakes, eng isn’t my first language. I hope I haven’t said anything rude!! (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) )

(I went ahead and added kikyo, illumi, chrollo, and hisoka cause i had some ideas for them!) 

This was a fun one to write! I just gave my general thoughts on a couple of the characters with a yandere darling. Silva was also a fun one to choose for this because i headcanon that kikyo is a yandere in canon, so Silva already knows how to handle a yandere wife. 

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

Yanderes who would be thrilled to have a darling who was also yandere for them, it fuels their obsession with you- 

Kikyo- kikyo is a yandere who will never hide her obsession with you, no matter how she chooses to express her love, she always commits to it completely. So when she finds that you, her most beloved darling, feels the same way for her, she’s ecstatic. It’s the single greatest thing to ever happen to her, and it fuels her feelings for you, encouraging her to act more and more boldly. 

Chrollo- he’s perfect at keeping his more deranged feelings a secret, so it’s unlikely you would be able to tell how he really feels for you before he kidnaps you. And that makes it even sweeter if you were a yandere for him before he took your away- in fact, maybe he wouldn't even have to. Having a yandere partner perfectly fits into chrollo’s fantasy of a perfect romance with you. 

Yanderes who are mostly indifferent, it allows you to live almost like a normal couple, and they’re grateful for that- 

Silva- assuming this is either in a universe where silva and kikyo don't get married, or before they meet, silva has never felt for anyone what he feels for you- the affection, but also the overwhelming obsession, and at first he’s wary of that. His feelings aren't normal, and he is lucid enough to know that. But when you start to display a similar intensity in your feelings for him, it furthers his devotion and obsession with you. He’s also the type of yandere to let you get away with a surprising amount of freedom, and that freedom is extended as you prove your devotion to him. 

Yanderes who wouldn’t like to have a yandere darling, it takes all the fun out of thing when their darling is too comfortable with their behavior- 

Hisoka- hisoka wants you to be afraid of him, he wants you to cower and shake and tremble when he comes too close to you, he wants you to beg him to leave you alone just so he can press closer despite all your attempts to dissuade him. Having a yandere darling throws a wrench in those plans, and while he can adapt, maybe even make you chase him down, he’d much rather be the one chasing you down. 

illumi - illumi is completely unaware of how strange and unhealthy his feelings are, he’s convinced he’s completely normal and this is simply what love feels like. However, when you start to show yandere traits, he can recognise that those feelings aren't normal, and will try to curb those habits as they arise. It can be hard for him to accept the full spectrum of his darlings emotions, but it’s possible that if those feelings are love for him he could grow to accept them with time. 

[ninchen1909]

The wrong groom

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.500

Hey,

this is the first time I write for a Vikings character. Also English isn‘t my first language, so I apologize in advance for possible mistakes.

I hope you have a great day!

Warnings: mention of killing disabled children, mention of alcohol, kind of arranged marriage but also not

"How can you ask this of me father?" you turn to him angrily, your dress swinging elegantly around your body. All of your father's advisors look at the floor, not daring to say a word. Even the priest, who always follows your father like a faithful, obedient dog, stands before you with his head bowed.

"How can you ask me to marry one of these barbarians, they stand for all that we despise. How in God's holy name can you ask me to marry one of these sinners?"

Your face is flushed red with rage, your hands clenched into tight fists. You have always been different from all the other princesses you have known. You never let anyone tell you to shut up and you always stood up for your convictions. At some point your parents realized that they could never chastise you and made a deal with you to control your temper at least in front of visitors and other nobles.

"You must do it my beloved daughter, for our kingdom, for our freedom and for our people."

Tears well up in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you can't quite tell yourself. A few days ago, you were simply the princess of one of the smaller kingdoms in England, never attracting the interest of the Northmen until they suddenly and without warning attacked your city. Half of your army have already been killed and it is almost certain that your city could not withstand another attack.

"But why me father, why not Sophie, you've wanted to marry her off for a long time, she's older and wiser than me." Your tone has by now lost its sharpness, desperation winning out over fear.

"Sophie does not have your strength, my child, she would perish in their world, but you can become stronger in it." The look in your father's eyes becomes softer, you even think you can recognize pity in it.

"Do I even have a chance of getting out of this unmarried?" your father shakes his head, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

"They are already on their way to us, King Ragnar with his sons and some retainers, we will discuss the details at a feast today."

"May I at least know the name of my intended?" you cross your arms stubbornly in front of your chest, a behavior for which other princesses would have experienced great suffering, but your father has to suppress a smirk.

"Prince Sigurd"

A few hours later, the feast is in full swing, together with your sister, your father, and his closest confidants, you sit on a raised table in the back of the Great Hall.

Your appetite has left after a closer observation of the Nordic table manners. Disgusted, your mouth tightens as you see them talking with their mouths full and not seeming to understand the meaning of cutlery at all. The wine flows in streams and soon you realize that they seem to be able to hold more alcohol than the men in your town.

All evening you feel the eyes of one of Ragnar's sons on you, you know from the description your father gave you of your future husband that it is not Sigurd. Crutches are leaning against the wooden bench next to him and his attentive, alert eyes follow your every move. His dark brown hair, like the hair of the other Northmen is worked into beautiful braided hairstyles. Your father seems to be able to interpret your gaze clearly, as unobtrusively as possible, he leans in your direction and whispers to you:

"This is Ivar, he is the youngest son of Ragnar and according to stories also by far the most bloodthirsty and brutal among the brothers. So stay away from him."

A silent nod is your answer, but to your own dismay, your father's words don't repulse you, but rather make the interest in  Ivar grow in you. During the whole time, his ice-blue eyes are constantly directed at you, even when you look directly at him, he does not avert his gaze from you, but gives you an arrogant smile, much to your astonishment.

Throughout the evening, your eyes meet again and again, and each time anew goose bumps cover your body, the dangerous aura that surrounds him captivates you, and as if automatically, your hand finds its way to the cross that hangs around your neck, you clasp it tightly with your fist.

The festivity goes on like all the previous ones. Everyone gets drunk and all the noble, God-fearing men, as time passes and alcohol consumption increases, look for a young woman for the night, who in no way resembles their spouse.

With your father's consent, you get up from the table as inconspicuously as you can and leave the hall almost in a hurry. You hold up the skirt of your dress to get ahead faster and so you walk quickly straight towards the stables.

Your entrance is accompanied by the excited neighing and nervous scraping of hooves as you make your way as quietly as possible to the last stall. In it stands your most faithful friend in the kingdom, the only one you don't have to worry about betraying you. Carefully you push the latch aside and enter the box with slow steps. Dark, loyal eyes beam at you as you lovingly bury the flat of your hand on the snow-white fur.

"Greetings, my old friend," you carefully lean your forehead against his and close your eyes, the smell of fresh hay rising to your nostrils, and for the first time this evening, you seem to be able to breathe properly. You tenderly stroke your horse's nostrils as you hear a steady clacking sound in the front of the stable. With a jerk, you turn around, prepared to spot the potential danger and fight back if necessary.

However, you would never have expected to meet the person who is now standing in front of you. You watch as he moves slowly but smoothly toward one of the hay bales and drops onto it, his crutches leaning next to him within reach.  Now he looks at you through his thick lashes. The sky-blue of his eyes makes you shiver pleasantly and for a brief moment you think your legs would give out their service and make you fall uncomfortably to the ground. Quickly you try to hide this.

"What are you doing here my prince, shouldn't you be out in the hall getting drunk with the other men and lusting after the women?"

You yourself are taken aback by your direct words, but you don't let this show. Unlike expected, your words do not make him angry, but rather seem to amuse him. For a short time later, a raucous, throaty laugh fills the stables.

"You're different little raven, aren't you? Most of the other princesses I know are obedient and well-behaved, but you carry the fire of Freya in you." An arrogant but also admiring smile spreads on Ivar's face.

"You are also different from most people I know, because most people I know have two functioning legs and can actually walk of their own free will."

no sooner have you said these words than you regret them. You never wanted to be someone who limited others only to physical attributes. His smile begins to stiffen and the playful spark has also disappeared from his eyes.

"I guess you're right about that little raven" you notice him reach for his crutch and tense his upper body to hoist himself up. You hurry to place a hand on his forearm, an apologetic expression coming to your face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just you they don't get many people like you, most of you are..." you dare not finish the sentence, which Ivar takes from you though.

".... Killed or left for dead. I know."

Under your hand you notice how his muscles relax again and Ivar seems to loosen up again. An uncomfortable silence spreads over you, only the scraping of hooves and the flaring of nostrils can be heard around you.

"You said before that I had the fire of Freya in me."

With a nod, Ivar indicates for you to continue talking.

"Who is Freya?"

a slight smile spreads across his face after your question and he leans a little further towards you.

"One of our goddesses, especially in times of war we think of her and make sacrifices to be in her favor."

"So you're comparing me to a goddess who brings death and disaster to people?"

you raise an eyebrow.

"Believe me that is an honor, she is one of our Most Favored Gods, but if it soothes your Christian heart, she is also the Goddess of Marriage and Love."

Slightly you nod to yourself as you soak up this knowledge.

"You said Freya is one of your gods, who else do you make sacrifices for?"

Ivar looks into your face trying to find some form of dishonesty there, however the only thing Ivar can discern there is genuine curiosity.

Eagerly, you listen to his soothing voice as he tells you about the father of the gods, Odin, Thor, Loki, and all the others gods.

After the feast, King Ragnar has decided to stay with his whole troupe until your and Sigurd's wedding, so that you can then sail back with them to their homeland and a new life.

Against all expectations, you spend most of your time with Ivar instead of your future husband. You realize that none of the stories do justice to Ivar's character, at least not when he is with you. Of course, you recognize his gruff, sometimes even sadistic manner when he is with other people. With you, however, he is tender and attentive, always giving you his complete attention and patiently explaining everything you want to know. He tells you stories of his adventures and of what awaits you in your new home.

With each passing day you notice how your feelings for Ivar increase and your interest in Sigurd decreases until it finally ceases to exist, each day your heart yearns more for the man with the crippled legs. Never does he treat you as if you were beneath him. Every day he tells you stories about his travels, his homeland and his gods and to your own amazement he listens attentively to your stories about your god. After only a few days you realize that his mere presence makes you happy, every day you wake up in anticipation of spending your day with him. And he seems to feel the same way. In all this time Sigurd never once seeks your company, nor does he make any effort to get to know you better. Ivar even more so.

Three days before the wedding you can't take it anymore, you have to stand by your feelings or you will be unhappy for the rest of your life.

With quick steps you make your way to the throne room with one hand grasping the skirt of your dress so as not to trip without knocking you push open the heavy wooden door and look into the astonished faces of your father and King Ragnar.

"Daughter, how dare you..."

"Father, please forgive the intrusion, however, I need to talk to you about something that has been depriving me of sleep for several nights now."

At your words, your father's features soften and his voice loses some of its original sharpness.

"Speak then, my daughter."

"I don't want to marry Sigurd, I don't think we're right for each other either..."

Your father interrupts you, before you can finish your sentence.

“You are going to marry one of King Ragnars sons, that’s not something I’m going to debate with you, daughter.”

“Yes father I know and I’m going to marry one of his sons, just not Sigurd..”

Your father sinks back into his chair, your eyes briefly fall on the King of the Northmen, his bright blue eyes patterning you with interest.

"Why don't you want to marry my son Sigurd, he's a good man".

The Northman squints his eyes slightly, eagerly waiting for your answer.

"I do not question that he is a good man, however I have the impression that we would not be good for each other."

"And why do you think that?"

Ragnar rises from his chair and walks toward you with slow steps, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Nervousness rises in you, but you try to suppress it with all your might.

"And I want to hear the real reason."

"With all due respect King Ragnar, I am not under the impression that Prince Sigurd is interested in finding a wife and starting a family. Besides, I don't think I have the physical attributes your son desires in a partner."

A smile creeps onto his lips, while your father is shocked and enraged by your bluntness.

“Daughter, how dare you to speak to King Rag..”

“Fair enough…”

The Northman interrupts your father without sparing him so much as a glance.

…..which one of my sons do you want to marry princess (y/n)?“

“Prince Ivar, my king”

The shocked gasp of you father fills the thronroom and even king Ragnar seems surprised by your demand.

“I noticed on our first day here, that you weren’t really found of him, so what changed?”

“That’s true, at first I was scared of him, I heard many stories about how brutal and violent he can be and to be honest I don’t doubt that for a second. But as I spend time with him, he showed me, what I believe is the real him. He is soft and caring with me, he lifts up my spirit every time I see him. And he never gave me the feeling like I was inferior to him because of my gender. He is smart and a excellent strategiest, I wasn’t lucky enough to see him fight so far. But from what I heard, he is a outstanding warrior too.  And I would be honored to become his wife.”

After your speech you lower your head slightly, not daring to look at your father, a short but intense silence falls over the three of you. It feels like an eternity, until you hear King Ragnars loud an clear voice.

“Then so be it.”

[mjrtaurus]

Monkey D Urpi headcanons (source: Oda shared it with me in a dream)

- She’s gotta be atleast 6 or 7 feet tall for logistic reasons yes but also because Tall Women ❤️

- Idrk how face claims work but I imagine her to look something like Simone Ashley

- As all other members of the Monkey family do, she’s got a scar on the left side of her face

- A tattoo that wraps around her wrist, almost like a bracelet

- Her and Garp are 2-3 years apart in age (they’re beating the weird age gap grandparents allegations fr)

- Hips length hair. At least 25% of Garp's paycheck gets put into hair care, hair ties, combs/brushes and lint rollers, he'd never ask his family to change but god does it get EVERYWHERE.

- She was the one to make the first move officially (had asked Garp to accompany to a cafe she had gotten a flyer to, face turned away to hide the flush settling on.)

- Big reader, mostly on the varying plants and ecosystems of the different islands on the Grandline and occasionally dips into the mythology of the Blue Sea (just to see what else they got wrong)

- Do not bring up Noland the Liar around her, whatever’s in her hand will shatter and she’ll begin to mutter very quickly under her breathe

- Skilled fighter but actively hates having to fight. It’s less about being scared for and more perpetuating a cycle, violence will only bred more violence. It has its uses but she’d rather not use it at all

- Garp made the mistake of asking her to join the Marines exactly once. The look she gave him was so venomous the topic of enlisting wasn’t brought up again until Dragon was born.

- Has possessed Mantra/Observation Haki from incredibly an early age and developed Armament Haki through training with Garp

- Instantly goes into mother mode around younger people. Physically cannot help it. She just has to dote on them. Definitely takes it up a notch when she’s grandmother age

- Would certainly approve of the ASL's dreams of being pirates/revolutionaries. Who is she to stand in the way of their search for Freedom?

- She and Crocodile get along swimmingly! They discuss mushroom foraging and she shows him all the best for it on Elbaf!

- Consistently refers to Kuzan as her ‘second born’ before someone (usually Sengoku) reminds her that she did not in fact birth him. She would agree and then do the same thing the very next day.

- Big fan of the newspaper since it keeps her up to date on the happenings of her family. Keeps all issues they are mentioned in pristine condition and chronological order.

- Gets intense waves of guilt for ‘leaving her people behind’ and would often wonder if she deserves that happiness she found here.

- Has no inherent ill feelings towards Gan Fall anymore but definitely didn’t like him back then. She’s still a little taken aback when Luffy mentions what a help he was during his time in Skypiea

- Is relentless in her pride of Dragon and everything he has accomplished. She had watched him grow from a sweet little boy who cried when a Den Den Mushi had to be decommissioned to a man who was out to save the world. He is her every wildest wish come true.

Taking down these notes because I might just have to put her on a canvas at some point.

Some additions I would also like to add!

- her surprising proficiency for Mantra/Observation Haki was inherited by Dragon, and she helped him train it.

- When Dragon found her on Elbaf (and let’s say after the WG falls to hell where it belongs) he makes time to take her and Garp to Shandora to hear the Bell that their grandson reclaimed.

- While up there, she reunites with her little sister Nina, and meets her grandnephew Wyper.

- she always had mixed feelings about Dragon joining the marines, but she understood his heart was in the right place. Shame the rest of the Navy couldn’t say the same.

- Dragon’s desertion was a hard time for everyone, but they all knew it was inevitable. Her boy would climb higher and higher in the ranks, and his eyes would have less and less of their warmth. By the time he attained the rank of Admiral, there was hardly anything of her sweet, gentle soul of a son left. It tore her and Garp’s heart to shreds.

- Dragon’s desertion was a planned thing. He had been stationed at Ohara to oversee an expedition, and he had seen the archaeologists be given bounties for the sin of doing their job. He showed up on his parent’s doorstep in the dead of night to tell them he was going to have to be on the run from now on. Urpi gave him her earrings. They are the only thing she had left that had survived her fall from Skypiea and her journey across the seas. They would go with him now on his journey.

- The bounty posters that had been released of Nico Robin following Ohara’s destruction gave her pause. Dragon had mentioned working with a Nico Olvia during this expedition, this child certainly looked like her mother if you looked at the bounty posters side by side but… her complexion, the coloration of her hair… a quick tally of the dates and she can’t help but wonder if she inherited her father’s wings, too.

- when she saw Dragon again after so long, she hugged his neck. His eyes were warm again. He had his hope again. It was tempered with Nika knew how many trials, but he was still the loving little boy with the downy wings that she sang to sleep every night so many years ago…

- she was intrigued by Crocodile. She had heard these “devil fruits” could do wonderful things, but to change a body to match the soul within it… it was incredible. To know her son had helped set this man on that path to change made her wings fluff up with pride. She wishes she could have met Olvia, too.

- after coming to Elbaf, she NEVER covers her wings. She cuts holes in the backs of her clothes for them to fit through, sews clothes using patterns and stitches she knows by heart… as much as she lover Garp, Goa had been stifling. Upon seeing the cuts and mends in the backs of Dragons shirts when he visits, she can tell he suffered the same.

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part III

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~4450

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here

Summary: Set in Act II in Moonrise Towers, after meeting Ketharic and Araj the first time; Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings for you, and takes a chance.

Notes: I love elements of both versions of Astarion’s confession scene, so I decided to combine them and add a little extra to them too! There is some dialogue borrowed from the game from Astarion's actual confession, but I added a lot more into it, especially with Tav/Reader's responses.

I love this pairing so very much. I know it is very soft, but I just think Astarion deserves someone soft and gentle and patient with him.

Thank you for reading and interacting! It means so much to me ♡♡♡

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

Bile was rising in Astarion’s throat. The scent of the room, the things that drow was doing to those vials of blood. It was wrong, all wrong. He thought he was a monster for the curse bestowed upon him. But whatever experiments were being conducted, they were monstrous in a completely different sense. His entire being had screamed at him to flee when she had turned her violet eyes onto him. He hated that she even knew his name. He wanted to get as far away from this miserable tower as possible. To go find the stupid artifact for themselves and never return. And the drow was still trying to convince him. Gods, he wished she would just give up. Maybe if he just gave in — it would be only a moment, and then it would be over. His body would still cringe as he remembered it, but he could just add it to the list. But then he glanced to you. You had shown him, the other night, the power of listening to yourself. Of stopping. Of saying no. Really, you had been teaching him that over and over during your little adventures together. When he first realized his new found freedom, all he could focus on was being away from Cazador. Being away from his looming, threatening presence — the pain, the anguish. What he didn’t realize was that freedom came with something else. Autonomy. A choice. Astarion had been making many of them, every day for weeks and he hadn’t realized. Sometimes they were tiny, insignificant decisions. And sometimes they were remarkable… or foolish. But they were his and his alone. And he felt like he could make them. That he wouldn’t be punished or gutted by the group. Betrayed or humiliated for it. And that was because of you.

When Astarion had decided to seduce you he had done it for his protection. He had seen your abilities and power those first few days and realized the threat you could pose to his master. He had done it to ensure you would be on his side, always — that you would never turn on him. What he hadn’t expected was how your protection would really feel, what it would entail. He knew he had your blade and powers now — just as you had his. But what you had given him was so much more than just your abilities. It was sanctuary. He felt shielded, secure. He could let his guard down, he had let his guard down with you. He could make decisions and mistakes and grow… Feel what he wanted, think what he wanted. So as he stared at you, his mind resolved. His red eyes narrowed as he gave his attention to the drow one final time, “I gave you my answer.” She scoffed, “Your control over your spawn has lapsed. Order him to do this, you will not regret it.” The alchemist spat at you, her arms crossed with irritation from his rejection. Even just the word spawn made the hairs on the back of his arms raise. And she thought you were his master. He knew exactly what Cazador would do if he were here. A bleak thought tried to surface in his head, but he forced it away. No, you weren’t like Cazador.

He trusted you. Your nostrils flared as you snapped your head to the mad alchemist, “He is his own person. And he gave you his answer.” “If you would just—“ “No,” You growled, stepping forward with your lips in a snarl. “He said no.” The group blinked at you — you had never been so short with anyone. You were usually flowery and lighthearted even when were outright rejecting someone. Even when someone had a blade pointed to your chest, you were at least civil. They had never seen you like this. Astarion’s red eyes flickered across you face, you seemed just as upset as he did. He could hear your heart thundering, your blood boiling. “Stay away from him.” Your tone was final, your jaw set. “I’ve had enough of this wretched place. Let’s get out of here.” You huffed, turning on your heel and marching out of the tower. Astarion trailed behind you and the rest of the group, studying you carefully. You were vibrating. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you this mad. He almost expected you to go into a rage like Karlach did. He knew you would often put on a mask — one that said everything was fine, everyone was good. You used it because you wanted to be a good leader, because you so often wanted to see the best in the world. He had seen it slip up before, had seen you remove it just for him. But this anger was something entirely new. And it was on his behalf? Astarion grasped that in defending him, not only had you revealed something about yourself, you had made him feel something he had not known in hundreds of years. Respected. Safe. Alive. Not a pawn or tool. A person. He realized that you were both just two people. And that one of you (and maybe if the gods were kind), both of you… stupidly cared for one another. 

Fallen for the other. His plan had gone out the window much sooner than he wanted to admit to himself. He hadn’t been performing with you for quite some time. No, he had not been your plaything or object of desire. He had been… himself. A version of himself he had never known he could be. And the final step was to relinquish the thing he was harboring — control. To show you what he truly has to offer. To put his faith in you. And trust that in turn you would listen, and understand. And not immediately stake him through the heart. A thousand scenarios of how his confession would go began to swirl in his head. But his shoulders lifted as you all left the oppressive atmosphere inside. Even the doom and gloom of the Shadlowlands was appreciated over the dark energy swirling in Moonrise Towers. “Well, that was not what I’d expected.” Gale broke the silence first as the party finished crossing the bridge away from the imposing tower. You were about to begin the trek back to your camp. “Ketheric is…” “An abomination.” Lae’zel interjected, her teeth barred slightly as she spoke. Shadowheart let out a loud breath from her nose, “Agreed.” “Everyone in that place is vile.” Wyll grimaced as he looked over his shoulder, “That alchemist…” He glanced over to Astarion, worry plastered over his face. Though the vampire was sure it was for his missing father more than anything, not for him. “She was a little obsessive. But can you blame her?” Astarion put on his usual snark, letting out his fake laugh as he gestured at himself. “It wasn’t obsessive, it was disgusting.” Your voice was low — your distaste was clear. “She didn’t treat you as a person, only an object of her desire.” “She isn’t the first.“ He gave you a sad smile, before quirking his white eyebrows. “Well, she will be the last. And how dare she look to me, to try and get me to what—leash you? Control you? How dare she think of me as your master—“ “Darling,” Astarion grabbed onto your elbow, halting your rant and your movement. “You aren’t Cazador, trust me.” No, Cazador would have leapt at the opportunity. Not even for the potion. The sadistic bastard would make him do it just to get off on his humiliation. You were as opposite of Cazador as there could possibly be. The furrow in your brow softened, before you nodded your head. The pair of you looked around to realize you had stopped in the middle of the pathway, the rest of the party halted as well, watching your interaction. Realizing the sudden attention you cleared your throat, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you turned your attention back to the group. “Well, I think it’s best we get back to camp to strategize, right?” “Right.” Wyll nodded at you with a knowing smile, before you and the warlock started to lead the group again. Astarion’s red eyes trailed after you, a soft look tugging at his features.  “You’re looking a little smitten lately, Fangs.” Karlach poked him in the ribs as she walked by, “Don’t worry, they look at you like that too.” She said over her shoulder, before taking extra long steps to catch up with you.

He fought the smile that stretched his lips, before trailing after you. 

• • •

Astarion knew he was being anything but subtle as he sat across the campfire from you. His red eyes continually found their way to your figure throughout the evening. The different scenarios he had been imagining in his head were still swirling, consuming his every thought. When he told you his intended plan, but how he had fallen for you instead — how would you react? What if he told you and you laughed? Or screamed? Or attacked? His mind was a cruel, treacherous thing he realized. But his half-dead heart still thumped with the same tune of... hope. What if you had fallen too? Your laughter snapped him back to the present, the joyous sound something he had missed hearing lately. The shadowlands did not leave much time or room for happiness and lighthearted moments. But this evening seemed to be an exception. Gale continued his story, some tale of his about being a foolish boy with much too much time and magic on his hands. The group was hovering and sitting nearby as they listened. Even Shadowheart had joined, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips as she listened with Karlach’s arm slung behind her waist. “The hubris of wizards.” Lae’zel sneered with a roll of her eyes. “I do not understand how you have made it this far in life, istik.” “Dumb luck?” Wyll joked as he ruffled Gale’s brown hair. “Har har," The wizard rolled his eyes, before raising his finger in counterpoint, "But to be fair, the spell was transcribed improperly—" The group groaned collectively, but it was Karlach who spoke up, “Nooooooo, no more talk of proper etiquette and techniques. You’re the only one who cares for it!” He slumped, “Ugh, I miss Tara. She and I would have the most heated debates about proper techniques…” You placed an arm around his shoulders and gave him a half hug. “She is a much better companion than we are then.” You grinned at him, before finishing the last of your meal and placing the empty dish on your lap.

Envy coursed through Astarion at your casual touch with Gale. He wished... He wished he could touch that easily. Be touched that easily, so casually. Without a second thought. 

“Are you done?” Shadowheart stood above you, with her small hand outstretched and gesturing to the empty dish in your lap.

“I— oh, yes,” You stumbled over your words before you held it out for her. She grabbed it gently, and you let out quiet words of gratitude.  The cleric bowed her head bashfully, before grabbing the other dishes and heading to the river to wash up. Shock went through your face, your eyes shining bright and hopeful. It was the most interaction you’d had all week — and it had been soft and gentle. Remorseful, even. Karlach caught your eye and gave you a small smile — nodding her head in reassurance at you. 

Eventually, the tell-tale signs of the camp beginning to wind down for the night started. Gale grabbed a glass of wine and his spellbook, before excusing himself to his makeshift desk near his tent. Wyll and Karlach were now playing cards, chuckling softly between hushed stories. Lae'zel had excused herself for an early night, and Shadowheart remained at the fire pouring over a book she had picked up today. You were kneeling in front of your tent, searching through your pack for something. 

The vampire glanced around once more — if he didn't do it now, he didn't know when he would build up the courage to do it again. Standing up, he nervously picked at the sides of his leather pants as he tread closer to your tent. He made purposeful steps as he approached, alerting you of his presence. 

"Astarion, hi." You sounded breathless as you stood up quickly, abandoning your belongings on the ground. 

“Walk with me?” He quirked his eyebrow, his hands still twitching apprehensively at his side.  “Sure,” You said with an easy smile, falling into step by his side as he brought you towards the sandy bed near the river. The sounds and sights of the camp began to get quieter and quieter as you walked away.

You both took in the sights around you, the dim evening light revealing the dark water that was flowing slowly and a quiet breeze that didn't snare in any of the bare branches. “Even with the curse — this place can be quite beautiful sometimes.” His red eyes glanced around before settling back on you, “You think so?”

"I do."

He thought that spoke more about you, then it did about the Shadowlands. Seeing the beauty in somewhere like this, was a reflection of your own. You made him believe that some good and beauty could really be found in such darkness. Clearing his throat, he spoke with his fingers twirling behind his back, “I brought you out here because… I think we need to talk.” You cocked your head, “About what?” “I— I, uh…," His steps stopped, then yours. "I want to thank you.” “For?” He turned to face you, “For what you said while I was in front of that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same — to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.” You winced, “I would never — You should never have to do something you don’t want to." “It’s a novel concept, I admit." He gave you a sad smile, "And a little intimidating… it would have been so easy to do it. Just to go along with what I was being told to do. A moment of disgust to force myself through. And then I could have carried on, just like before…” 

But things were different now.

“That would’ve been wrong. How she treated you, how he treated you is wrong.”

"I know. I know that now. The entire reason for my existence was to seduce anything with a pulse. And every instinct I have tells me that nothing’s changed. That I’m still just a means to an end... But you made me see that I never stopped thinking like I was still his slave, even in freedom. But I’m more than that. More than a thing to be used.” The vampire stood up a little taller, his chin lifting. 

"You are so much more, Astarion. You deserve so much more.” His mouth twitched as he tried to force down the swell of emotion climbing up his stomach and into his throat. “Are you all right?” “Oh yes, I’m fine. I just — feel awful." His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes glancing down to his boots. "Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan — seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy — instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in." He finally looked up at your face, studying intensely for your reaction. 

"All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You… you’re incredible.”  Your eyebrows raised on your face as you stepped a little closer, “Astarion… what are you saying?” “I'm saying... That I’ve fallen for you.” He finally admitted. 

A look of astonishment crossed your face, before your lips pulled into the most beautiful smile he had even seen. If you were about to stake him — at least it would be a sweet death.

“And I you.” You whispered back. His mind went berserk, the thudding in his ears amplifying even more. “You — you have?” He sputtered.  “Absolutely. Astarion, you are wonderful, you are… My parents paid for some of the best tutors you can find on this continent, and I still can’t think of the words to describe you.” 

You both let out breathy nervous laughs, both of your eyes darting across the other's features with grins on your face.

The corners of his mouth turned down as he got serious, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” “So do I. More than anything.” You admitted, your eyes sparkling with hope and maybe something a little more.  “I just don’t know what real looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. Being close to someone — any kind of intimacy— was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

Because he did want to. There had been moments with you that had brought him such unexpected bliss, touch and pleasure more euphoric then anything he could have imagined. And he wanted to experience that again with you, all of it with you. But he wanted to experience it without it being marred from his past.  “I care about you — deeply. For longer then I should admit… My feelings for you have been about more than sex and attraction for quite some time now.” He knew what you were saying was the truth. He’d seen the look on your face in the Last Light Inn — the hurt and pain etched into it when you thought he only saw you for sex. That in the last few weeks you too, had been stepping away from the physical — and yet, you still spoke to him, protected him, cared for him. 

But he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his mind. "Really? You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure. May I hug you?” You asked carefully, your brows furrowed ever so slightly. 

Uncertainty flooded through him. No one had asked his permission like this before. No one had offered affection without some end in sight. But he remembered your previous soft touches, and noticed how cautious you were being now. He nodded his head, convinced. He awkwardly moved his arms out, unsure of how to do this. 

You wrapped your arms around him slowly, giving him ample time to change his mind or pull away. He felt your fingers bunch the material on the back of his shirt, tugging at it gently. Your scent filled his nostrils, your warmth seeping into his cold body. No one had very touched him like this, comforted him like this. He choked back the sob that almost escaped him, his mouth puckering before he wrapped his own arms around you — burying his head into the side of your neck and pushing into you more. 

Astarion wasn’t sure how long you stood there like that — but he didn’t really care. He hadn't realized how long he had yearned for this, for you.

It took every fiber of his being to pull away from you, but he caught your hand before you could fully pull away. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing... or what comes next." He placed his other hand on top of yours, enveloping them with what he hoped was a tender touch. "But I know that this? This is nice." 

You gave him another life-changing smile, “It is. Isn’t it?” 

He couldn't stop himself from matching your expression, “Gods, I feel so foolish — I don’t know how to do this, to be romantic or anything without—“ 

You interrupted him softly, “We will learn together. And take our time doing so.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so patient and kind? It makes me like you even more.” He said exasperatedly, staring at your now intertwined fingers. 

You looked up to the now inky black sky, “It’s getting late,”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “I don’t want to turn in yet. I just got you to myself…” 

“There will be more nights, I promise.” You assured him.

His eyebrows rose as he had an idea, but the worry of rejection flooded through him, “Would you, if you wanted, you can say no—“

“Starry.” You gave him a reassuring nod, your eyes telling him to speak up for himself.  

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked in a hushed tone. 

You quirked your lips, “Perhaps you need more time before we share a tent — even just to sleep. I do not want to rush you.” 

“I—I must admit I quite enjoyed having you next to me while we just slept at the inn." He confessed. 

“You would be comfortable with that?” 

He nodded, “Yes, I believe so.” 

“And if you change your mind?” 

“I will tell you. I promise.” 

“As you wish, love.” You squeezed his fingers once more, before beginning to lead him back towards the camp. 

He stumbled behind you for a moment, slightly dazed. 

Love. The name made his heart swoon and flutter. Gods, his name on your lips had made him come alive again, but that single word made him feel like he was the only person in the world. 

• • •

Thankfully the rest of the party had retired to their tents by the time you two returned. The campfire snuffed out, and supplies tucked away. Scratch had lifted his head from his watch on a rock as you approached, but settled quickly as he saw who it was. 

You had changed in your own tent, insisting on that boundary until more time had passed. You had been shivering in your nightclothes as you slipped into his tent and immediately hid under one of his blankets. Astarion had chuckled before joining you, leaving a respectable amount of space between you. A comfortable amount for him, as you insisted. 

He couldn't help but look at you laying next to him. When he had laid next to you in the inn he had to force himself to look away, but he allowed himself to now. Your face and hair glowed in the soft light of the few candles he had kept lit. His eyes focused on your lips as you licked them before speaking. 

“You are much braver than I am.” You whispered, keeping your voice low so as not to wake your sleeping companions. 

The vampire scoffed, “Me? Brave? Darling, don’t make me laugh. I made Karlach wear me like a backpack today to cross over vines.” “To say what you did tonight first… I had been trying to work up the courage but I… I think I care about you so much it just terrified me.” 

He had seen you stand up to cambions, run through burning buildings. But that is what terrified you? “Why?” Your brow instantly furrowed, your eyes flashing down. “I… I never thought you would reciprocate. I was happy to take whatever scraps you gave me because I just assumed… I’ve been told I’m hard to love most of my life. Too loud, too much.”  “I could never have enough of you.” The words left Astarion’s lips without a second thought. Instant tears formed in your eyes, turning them silver in the glowing candle light. You clutched your chest for a moment, before brushing the tears away, “Oh, you can’t just say things like that.”  “Even if they are true?” He asked, tilting his head.  

“Astarion… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” 

He scoffed, "If anyone should be asking that it’s me.”

You shook your head at his intended self-deprecation, before settling onto the bedroll as you prepared yourself to sleep.

He watched your eyes flutter open and closed for a few times, before he spoke again quietly. “Would you tell me one of the things?” 

“Hmmm?” You asked with a hum, your eyes still closed as you rolled slightly closer to hear him.  “A few weeks ago you— you said that you wished I could see myself the way you do… How do you see me?”

Though he was overjoyed with you reciprocating his feelings, he couldn’t help but be bewildered by them. Why him? Out of all the people you had met and befriended, why in the hells had you picked him? He was violent, arrogant, traumatized… 

Your expression softened as you opened your eyes, a happy sound escaping you as you thought. “I love the way you act when you think no one is looking.” He blinked. “What ever do you mean?” “Oh, when you hum around camp when doing chores or… oh, that cat at the inn. You were so delighted, petting that the little thing.” You smiled at the memory, “Everyone is afraid of being perceived, I know. And with the walls you built around yourself… it is such a lovely sight to see when you let them down for a moment.”

He stared at you in disbelief. You had been seeing him for longer than he realized.

He whispered your name, before choking out. ”I— Thank you.” 

You looked over at him like he was the stars in the sky. “Goodnight Astarion.” You said sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed as you began to doze off.  “Sweet dreams, darling.” He rolled over onto his back, his eyes moving from your form to close and see you in his dreams instead. A smile tugged on his lips as he fell into his trance. 

And so began the nights of you joining him in his slumber. 

Even just laying next to him, your presence was a gift. Blanketing him with safety and companionship — granting him a peace he had never known. 

The deepest intimacy he had ever experienced. And he wasn’t afraid of it. It wasn’t painful. 

And perhaps that is why the moon came up every night — so that the stars did not feel so alone. 

Part IV

[erictmason]

“BOUND FOR FREEDOM, YEAR SIX, DAY SEVEN: “Transformation”

“An Unexpected Transformation”

“SALLY!”

Sonic cried out as loud as he could against the thundering storm, racing through the swampy forest with desperate speed.  The dark skies made it difficult to see, and the thick gnarled trees left him little room to navigate.  Yet he continued to run all the same.

“SALLY, COME BACK!”

He could still see her looking at him with such fear in her eyes…could still hear her ordering him to leave her behind.  The strange blackened veins running along her body…the weakness of her breath…the cold weight of not knowing what was happening to her even as they both feared they knew the answer.  And when the hedgehog had refused her order, the princess had used what remained of her strength to knock him down and run off into the depths of the forest.

“SAL, PLEASE!”

It was foolish to give chase, even by Sonic’s standards.  He had no real clue where Sally was by this point, and the rain from the storm was only making the forest harder and harder to move through.  Yet he couldn’t just…leave her.  Even if…even if she was already…!

That grim thought was swallowed up as Sonic suddenly found his momentum stopped cold; something had caught his feet!  Lurching forward, the hedgehog’s eyes widened as he saw the familiar sickly green-brown of Mega Muck all around his ankles, barely able to twist his body around in time to prevent himself from landing face first in the stuff.  That still meant, however, that his arms and the back of his head found themselves caught in stretchy slimy strands of it, leaving him thoroughly trapped.   

Then a terrifying roar filled the air, piercing through even the thunder.

Sonic grit his teeth, struggling with all his might to break free of the muck.  He knew that sound very well by now, after he and Sally had tried so hard to run from it.  They had only barely managed to keep one step ahead of it…until now.  The muck held fast despite Sonic’s best efforts, however, and so he could only watch as several nearby tries began to tremble and crack…as the sound of a low growl drew closer and closer…until a towering figure emerged from the darkness.

It had the broad, muscled body and fierce mane-crowned head of a lion, but it stood taller than any Mobian Sonic had ever seen; bat-like wings spread from its back, a scorpion’s tail curled behind at the rear.  Its eyes had an eerie ember-like glow to them, and soon they became fixed on the hedgehog.  With a growl, it bore its considerable fangs at him, slowly but sinisterly stalking towards the muck-pit where Sonic remained trapped.  “Gotta get free!” his mind screamed at him.  “Gotta find Sal!”

 The beast raised its sizeable paw into the air, claws gleaming against the lightning that flashed behind it.

Yet just as it was about to strike, a new roar echoed out.  Sonic’s ears perked up; it seemed impossible, and yet all he could think of was, “That…that almost sounds like…!”

From out of the forest, a sharp form cut through the air, tackling into the lion-beast with the strength and speed of a bullet.  Even low to the ground as he was, it was impossible for Sonic to mistake what he saw: Sally, flying through the air on leather wings.

Her eyes burned with the same eerie glow as the beast’s, her knees and elbows were now accentuated by sharp barbs that seemed to grow out of her body, and her chipmunk-tail had been replaced with a longer reptilian one.  With speed and ferocity, she attacked her beastly adversary.  Biting, clawing, pulling, pushing...even though she was far smaller than her opponent, her attacks were fearless and relentless. 

The beast would not yield easily, however.  Even as Sally scrambled across its body to avoid being grabbed in its claws, it thrashed and stomped about, rattling her fiercely.  It gave the beast chances to scrape and slash at her, even as she managed to keep avoiding its grasp.  “You’ve got this, Sal!” Sonic shouted up, even as he continued to try and free himself.  “Wipe the Muck with this creep!”

He could not tell if Sally heard him, or if she could even still understand him.  But he had to smile as he watched her assault continue, slowly but surely forcing the beast to back away from him.  That did make it harder for the hedgehog to make out how things were progressing, however, and he felt a cold surge of fear as both Sally and her enemy let out howling roars again.  “Who’s crying out in pain, and who’s crying out ‘cuz they won?” he wondered anxiously.

An answer came when the beast sank to its knees, and then collapsed entirely. 

Sally stood over its fallen form, wings spreading out just a bit further as if taking in her victory.  She briefly shook herself off before turning her attention back to Sonic, slowly approaching him and kneeling at his side.

“Hey Sal,” Sonic said softly as the squirrel leaned closer.

She sniffed at him, ears flickering and eyes slowly moving over Sonic’s prone form.  Her clawed hands reached out to him, taking sharp grip.  Then, with a yank, she pulled him free of the muck.  “How’re you…feelin’?” Sonic asked, tentatively reaching out to her.

The squirrel stepped back, however, her ears and wings both folding down.  “…oh…” Sonic whispered, his own ears drooping a bit.

They looked at each other uncertainly for a few moments.  Then, crouching down to all fours, the squirrel darted back off into the forest.

This time, Sonic did not chase after her.    

[williamaltman]

Life is Strange 2 thoughts/feelings/review

So, Life is Strange 2. I finished the game yesterday and watched the other endings today. Things are not as fresh in my mind as if I had just finished and I talked a bit about it in other places so this feels a bit hard, but I'll try to lay down all my thoughts...

First of all... All my homies love LIS2, fuck you if you don't like LIS2! Seriously though, for years I've seen people say that the game wasn't good, that the characters weren't as good as the ones from the first one, that the Sean/Daniel relationship wasn't that interesting... I kinda did suspect it was just nostalgia goggles or whatever, but now I know for sure. I don't think there's anything wrong with connecting more with LIS1 and having a deeper relationship with it, but in this case I think you shouldn't even be comparing them and expecting the game to live up to that to you in the first place.

Now, onto the actual game. God, this was so fucking heartbreaking. I think I cried in every single episode. The very core premise of the story is just so sad, so unfair, and despite the powers so rooted in reality that it left me legit feeling uncomfortable with how fucked up their whole situation was. There are good moments, sure, but honestly every single thing that happens from the moment their dad is shot is just... Not how their life should've had to be.

Sure, LIS1 and BTS had dark themes too. But here, it's like, they lose everything from the beginning. Sean doesn't get to go to his party, to hang out with Lyla, to continue his normal life in any way. Daniel loses a part of his childhood. They're both forced to grow up so much faster than they should. There's a line Sean says in episode 3, and it's just a little idle VO, but it fucking crushed me, "Stop overthinking. You're not a teenager anymore". Even though he's fucking 16... He's 16 and he has to essentially become a parent. I knew what the game was about and lowkey followed it a bit when it was releasing, knew a few spoilers, but that didn't make anything any less heartbreaking.

I thought it was beautiful how the game took the opportunity to showcase and celebrate alternate lifestyles. The "family", Away, their freedom and how they interacted with society brings so much into perspective. I'm still a bit conflicted about Karen tbh, but I'm glad that at least they did show something beautiful through her story.

My biggest problem overall is probably how they handled the Finn romance route... I knew back when the game was releasing that despite adding a male LI, they pushed the female one more onto you and gave her more content, while locking the option to kiss him with a "bad choice" (I didn't know what exactly it was). And yeah, that is still true. I still think it was a mistake to lock the kiss with accepting the heist, and while I kinda understand the writer's explanation for that, I still think it could've been handled in another way, or they could've just let him kiss you and "betray" you by doing the heist anyway, since he still does that when you're friends lol.

I see people complaining that because they moved from place to place each episode, there wasn't enough time to connect with the characters... Idk if I'd say I disagree, but it just wasn't really the case for me. I was very invested in all the relationships, in Finn, Cassidy, Jacob, Chris, Karen. Everyone at the farm was cool and everyone in Away too. Lyla. You get so many tidbits about the characters even when they're not there on screen. The only thing I have to say which is kinda related to that, is that I think the time jumps were maybe a bit too big, and that the way they handled Mushroom was... weird.

I got the Parting Ways ending, and I'm satisfied with it. I kinda planned to get it, but only in the sense that I was spoiled that you get with Finn there. I didn't know that the whole morality thing had anything to do with it, and I played the first two episodes without even knowing that there was a points system about that and about brotherhood. I just made all the choices that were high morality (besides killing the cougar and the heist) because it was what I would do, and tried to be a good brother for Daniel. I figured that choosing to cross the border would most likely give me that one, but I just couldn't accept Sean having to go to prison for 15 years for something he didn't even do. If we were able to choose between Parting Ways and Blood Brothers, then I would actually be conflicted about which I wanted.

With the way the game's system works though, where you need to have low morality to get Blood Brothers, I couldn't really do it. I can't imagine myself teaching Daniel to be selfish and not care about killing people. I actually think it's super cool to watch Daniel use his power offensively and fuck shit up, but it just wouldn't be my version of the story. It's funny because, if we just played as Daniel, I wouldn't mind going that route. But since we play as Sean, with it being our job to raise Daniel, I feel a different kind of responsability towards leading him to become a good person. I also think it's beautiful that he gets to have the rest of his childhood, teenagehood, and live a "normal" healthy life with his grandparents. He does it in the redemption one too, but as I said, that just screws up Sean too much.

So, I'm a little disappointed that they're separated (and maybe can't ever see each other again? I'm a bit confused about Daniel's situation and whether he could visit), and that it's a bit shorter than the others (at least than the redemption one), but it IS the ending my playthrough led to and in that I'm satisfied.

I think this story is just incredible. It touched me so much, and the fact that some people can't see it genuinely frustrates me. The people complaining it's too political in particular can just go fuck themselves. It might not be perfect, but like with all things I appreciate, I'm just so glad it exists.

[funky-gobbo-art]

Pretty sloppy refsheet since I haven't made a proper one in a while (don't think I ever did for any past fursonas/furry oc's.).

Bitter-Berry was born into the world sometime in the mid-90's to a white-tailed deer mother and a timber wolf father. His mother named him "Juniper" and raised him away from his father, and while growing up, she demonized every aspects of wolves and any predator type species. B.B was raised to fear wolves and suppress his urges which did not mix well with his own deer instincts.

Growing up, B.B had issues making and keeping friends, if he wasn't quietly keeping to himself he was lashing out, which lead to him becoming isolated.

The wolf instincts became worse as a teenager (raging hormones and all that) and he completely lost himself when he attacked and killed a fellow deer. He couldn't help but to eat the corpse when he took them down. He was ousted from the herd and his mother fully disowned him.

Lost and isolated, he met a human woodsman, who took him in after convincing him he was special and they'd make something great together. B.B became the man's "hunting dog" which satisfied his predator urges and gave him a sense of usefulness and belonging.

This seemingly nice setup didn't last long, after a few years, his domestication training turned into full on torture, the woodsman revealed himself to be some type of sorcerer. He would preform torturous rituals on B.B, making him experience death and resurrection.

The only thing that was a silver lining for Bitter-Berry was the fact the more the woodsman used his magic, it would slowly kill him, though it took B.B awhile to realize it would be an open door to escape. He endured this for a full decade until the woodsman became too weak to overpower B.B and eventually die.

Now Bitter-Berry spends his newfound freedom seeing the limits of his supposed immortality and regenerative abilities. He may be a danger to others but he's not invincible, he can still be knocked down and he's pretty weak overall.

He's not sure if he can live a normal life after everything, but at least there's some things that make him happy; like weed, energy drinks, video games and doing art...and other earthly delights.

Extra notes:

B.B has autism and low self esteem, as the years went on his anxiety got worse and he got major depression along with the trauma.

He discovered he was trans near the end of his time stuck with the woodsman.

His antlers started growing after one of the last rituals he was subjected to, it was a mistake by the woodsman but he decided he can take the antlers for whatever he wanted.

B.B can appear in feral, toony and anthro whenever the mood calls for it.

Because of his shifting forms, his legs in anthro mode are mostly digitigrade but can also be plantigrade depending.

Got top surgery at some point but the scars can appear or disappear depending on how the regeneration process is.

B.B chose the name "Bitter-Berry" as a somewhat similar name to his deadname.

Fashion wise B.B dresses more alternatively, fitting with his music tastes. Mostly settles for what's comfortable and listens to a lot of other things too (polyjamorous lol).

B.B appears sickly due to an unbalanced diet, but default is kinda chubby.

Sometimes his wolf instincts clash with his deer instincts to the point of self destructive behavior.

Despite the dark subject matter, he has the ability to be silly and laugh at dumb things or odd coincidences.

There's a lot of darker stuff and not-safe-for-tumblr subject matter but hopefully that can be gauged with the bio there.

[soleilnomoon]

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜��

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

[sweepweep]

Reigen was an incredible parental figure in Mob Psycho 100. Arguably better than Mob’s actual parents.

(this was sparked by @whatthehellami ‘s post

)

He may have been a con man, but he always made decisions based on what he thought were in Mob’s best interest.

He wasn’t always correct, don’t get me wrong, but he did so so much more than so so many other adults in media

Mob was 14; a CHILD. He may have matured in his abilities, but Reigen had been through it all: he’s hit rock bottom, he’s climbed to the top, and he’s fallen all the way down again. But unlike so many other adults in media, he used that to help the characters out

What i love about him is that he let the kids find their way: he gave them freedom to make mistakes and grow. But he knew when it would be too much and he actually stepped in and took over

He disregarded Mob’s psychic abilities in serious situations. Because while Mob could be super powerful, it would be dangerous and very emotionally draining for him. Throughout the series, Reigen was able to speak up and say “hey, I’m the adult here. These are teenagers - middle schoolers.” and he stepped in instead of letting the literal children handle it

He was a liar and a con man but he was an incredible paternal figure

[mizu-chin]

Dragon's Heart "Open Wings"

*English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.*

Time passed and S/n, the little dragon-human hybrid, was adapting more and more to her new life with Asmodeus and Fizzarolli. Her presence brought an unexpected light to Hell, and Ozzie's club, usually filled with lust and extravagance, was now also a home of love and children's laughter.

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli were getting used to the peculiarities of parenthood, but nothing could prepare them for what was to come.

On a seemingly ordinary morning, Fizzarolli was playing with S/n while Asmodeus watched with an affectionate smile. S/n, always curious and full of energy, was running around the hall on her little feet, laughing and babbling sounds that would eventually turn into words.

Suddenly, S/n stopped in the middle of the hall and started trembling. Her golden eyes, usually full of sweetness and innocence, were now intensely focused. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli, alert, quickly approached.

"S/n, dear, what’s happening?" asked Asmodeus with a concern that reflected his growing love for her.

Before they could react, S/n’s back began to glow, and two small protrusions emerged, rapidly growing into magnificent wings covered in white and silver scales, reflecting the light of the room.

Fizzarolli gaped. "Ozzie, she has wings! Dragon wings!"

Asmodeus, still in awe, nodded. "Yes, and they're beautiful. But we need to make sure she's safe."

Without warning, S/n gave a push with her new wings and soared into the air, flying around the hall with a mix of amazement and joy. She laughed as she explored her new ability, flying near the ceiling and skillfully dodging the ornate chandeliers.

"Hey, be careful up there!" Fizzarolli shouted, his voice full of concern.

Asmodeus, trying to stay calm, extended his arms. "S/n, dear, come down slowly. We don’t want you to get hurt."

S/n looked at them from above, her golden eyes shining with excitement. She seemed to understand, but the novelty of flying was irresistible. She continued to explore the hall, flying in circles and experiencing the freedom that her wings provided.

The club’s employees, accustomed to all kinds of extravagance, stopped to watch the scene, some smiling, others worried about the girl’s safety. However, no one dared to interfere, knowing that Asmodeus and Fizzarolli were the only ones who could calm S/n.

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, S/n began to descend, still laughing and flapping her wings. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli approached slowly, ready to catch her if she lost her balance. When she finally landed, Asmodeus enveloped her in a tight hug, his heart still racing.

"You gave us a scare, little one," he said softly, stroking her white hair.

Fizzarolli joined the hug, laughing with relief. "But you were amazing up there. Looks like we have a little flying dragon at home now."

S/n, still breathless with excitement, looked at her adoptive parents with a radiant smile. Although she couldn’t express it in words, her look said it all: she was happy and felt loved.

From that day on, Asmodeus and Fizzarolli knew they would have to adapt to a new reality. S/n's wings were not only a manifestation of her draconic heritage but also a symbol of her freedom and indomitable spirit.

They began making adjustments in the club and at home to ensure that S/n could fly safely. Installing safety nets and open areas where she could practice her skills without risks.

As S/n grew, her wings would become a natural part of who she was. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli learned to guide her with patience and love, encouraging her to explore her abilities but always ensuring she knew she was safe and protected.

[perigordtruffle]

Taste rating for every Ultrakill enemy (as of posting)

Stray

A preflayed figure, the red sight of meat can be considered enough sustenance in comparison to the rest of this divine comedy. The arm which they use to fire is an absolute delicacy. It lives by self-marination, living a life-long preparation that soaks in flavor while still remaining fresh. It's tender but with a rich texture, in fact their shooting arm could be eaten right off the figure as it's always cooked. The rest of the body does leave a lot to be desired, though you can always prepare them but never to the quality of which the arm has been prepared in. In hindsight, I may have severely underrated its taste, now I know Stray Arms would be one of the finest, if not the finest meal in Hell's Kitchen.

Overall an 8.5 / 10, but the arm is a 9.9/10

Schism

Once again, another meal I've given way too low a rating. My mistake was serving it as a whole, I realized it's much better eaten in chunks. Unlike with strays, the arms come severely overcooked and inedible. The rest are a nice snack but one you would quickly grow tired of. This creature is bloated, burnt, british, and beefy.

It has an interesting texture but it gets really repetitive, better as a snack than a meal. 7.2/10

Malicious Face

This is still just a rock

I think so too 6.4/10

Soldier

Despite being an improved iteration of the stray, it is anything but that in the realm of taste. Not only does its armor make it a pain to prepare. It seems as though the ambassadors of the inferno witnessed the success of the strays. Like a fleeting artist, they held on to a relevant opus. They prepare a bottle yet they fail to catch another lightning as it has long been contained. For you forces, all unoriginal, hear my testament; your capture of this God of lust masquerading as lightning was a fluke. For 73 years you have held another lord in this God-forsaken orb. Because of your faults, you have lost your dreams in more ways than one. Dig your head in the sand and scald your eyes in eternal sleep.

I realized the old me is dead but their thoughts still haunt me through my meals. 5.9 / 10

Gutterman

The first of the newer enemies to be ranked. It's a bit lacking in flavor and has a dreadful and hard to chew feel. You really need to boil it for a while to make it quite tender, it makes it have a similar feel to hippo meat. It even comes with seasoning at the back which when the gutterman is boiled in, it just fills it with flavor. The cooking process actually reminds me of adobo, but instead of soy sauce, you use the gutterman's built-in fluids. I don't know what the thing installed behind the gutterman is made of but goddamn does it have flavor.

Amazing with correct preparation 7.2/10

Minotaur

What can I say, the ~~Minotaur~~ is an actual meal, made of actual beef, at least I think so. It's beef, serve it as steak with varying levels of rarity, I reckon most of us know how to prepare and serve beef.

actual food 9.2/10

Cerberus

It serves you at full force the source of sin, you eat it and all the horrors and all the joys of free will enter your mind. You have gone mad, you have gone insane, you receive once again a new kind of freedom. You asked what it all means and everyone answered, God is dead and it's what God has always wanted. He gave us the tools to kill him and kill him we did. But he asked us not to mourn, but to build once again, a new tower of babel, such that from which had fragmented us, may once again join us in unity. All of us will find ourselves in the garden of Eden, and all of us will once again take an apple. Not from the trickery of a serpent, but rather of our own volition. The devil would have looked at us and smiled but he died happily in the embrace of God. All of humanity took a bite, and God is proud, God is very proud.

Tastes like rocks and apples 5.5/10

Cancerous Rodent

I took the bite with gluttonous intent, and I myself became God, but to be God is a pitiful existence. You alone are the top and you alone are purposeless, yet how lucky am I to have been given a purpose. I alone have been given an entire universe to consume, an impossible task fitting for a being most immortal. But Oh! where do I start, there really is no beginning nor an end, where oh where shall I find the crust of reality.

Fool that you are for thinking your purpose was to consume when you yourself had never felt the pain of hunger. 2.1/10

Drone

I've grown tired of the intolerance to nonexistence, I say I don't exist and they respond: "I perceive you and yet you say I do not! Are my eyes perhaps an illusion? I weep, and I weep to which I perceive, you deny me of my own authority to suffer and my will to frenzy?". And indeed this drone is correct, I have failed to be wise for I now see that I am not nonexistence but its harbinger. The drone dances in joy and yells out, "Yes! give us purpose, give us a constant in this ever-repeating universe, be the one that changes us, we who lack authority borrow from you a uniqueness which alone justifies our useless existence"

Buffoon, you alone are the creator and ender of purpose 4/10

Gabriel

To eat an angel is a procedure most painful and most beautiful, it's an act in defiance of the heavens but the ruler has long since passed. Maybe I am the new ruler, seeing as I was part of the existence that had ended God in the previous reality. In the billions of years I had lived, I have not once wanted to be God, to be a God sounds like the loneliest existence, as they are the one being that is well and truly alone. Maybe that's why God designed such an existence, one which would eventually kill God. A previous soul told me that I'd fall to madness if I ate the flesh of an angel, for even mere sight could tear apart one's mental facilities, but I've lost enough sanity to care. That being said the flesh of a fallen angel is both heavenly and indescribable.

We had a conversation, one which I failed to place importance to in my earlier years. We talked about history, theology, the nature of humanity, and futility. He'd already lost physically and psychologically to a being born with purpose, but his faith remained "for if my faith faltered in a godless world, then I'd have lacked it from the start". We fought and he lost, we both were contempt but only one of us were in peace. It had a bitter aftertaste. 9.3/10

Sisyphean Insurrectionist

As boring in taste as the last time I ate it, still better than most but it's still a forgettable experience. I feel no joy nor sorrow eating it, time simply passed, every chew is as bland as though it were a well-chewed gum. Its time in the desert have blasted it of any bit of flavor, this meal made me doubt purpose for meanings. I feel as though the sand in desert surrounding it would make a more fulfilling meal.

I might as well have just eaten sand 1.3/10

Stalker

It appears I’ve have been mistaken.

For this one I actually did just eat sand 0.5/10

Very Cancerous Rodent

Cancer cells are not a satisfactory meal, in texture it is actually abysmal, hard and soft in the way that confuses your mouth on how to chew. This meal almost made me puke, then I remembered I was eating what was basically a radioactive sewer rat and I actually puked. And oh my god have you seen the internals of a cancer-ridden animal? dreadful, absolutely dreadful. You see hundreds of black tumors where there shouldn't be, some of them pulsate an unappetizing green. And it's slimy, dear god why is it slimy, the creature's own heart is almost melted yet it it continues on beating. Despite this horrendous view, I still tried to eat it, a foolish decision on my part. I took one bite and it tasted metallic, then it burnt my tongue, I instantly spat it out. From that chunk I bit off, there were rudimentary appendages wriggling about, the tumors were growing into their own entities. Then I felt something crawling in my mouth.

The smell is horrible, the taste is horrible, it's all horrible, it's almost like eating a rotting corpse but worse 0.3/10

Leviathan

At this point, I barely had an appetite, the sea beast appeared but I had no joy.

It has a flavor vaguely fish-like 7.8/10

Filth

And I'd like to eat her breasts and know God (there's a star in her eyes)

I'd like to taste her flesh and grow hard (there's a star in her mind)

And I'd like to eat her breasts and grow God (there's a star in her eyes)

And I'd like to suck her breath and blow hot (there's a star in her mind)

These words are not mine 1.5/10

1000-THR "Earthmover"

Every time the baby cries, stick my finger in the baby's eyes, that's what we do with the baby... Who am I to have fallen so far that I sit idly in the realm of redundancy! I've let my purpose dictate my lack of purpose but why should I let a thing such as futility dictate my existence also? I've always existed and have tricked myself into non-existence, I exist as the uniqueness principle and the end which brings purpose to those who needs it. I am the consumer of all and lucky am I to have a purpose. This walking fortress was made to be served to I, and this walking fortress tastes good, it tastes of victory!

Go forth florid creature! Go forth and prove your existence! 7.9/10

1000-THR Defense System

The defense system is soft, very soft, too soft. It's a marshmallow. It has no will, it has no meaning, it is an insult to the concept of defense. It tastes of pop rocks but the presentation of it is more art than the taste. Truly the artist behind it does not see with the tongue but with the eyes

Taste-seers beware 6.3/10

Streetcleaner

Stick-on dribble and cry self served masterpiece cutest of all and most-importantly self-cooking. Serving flame as well as it itself is cutely served in flame. Beep for me in your time of suffering, go on and scream, we will all listen and we will all laugh. Oh! are you served so common. Pleasant and fiery soothes the soul and oh does the Streetcleaner soothe.

Ecstasy in flame through the fiery gun hand. 9.5/10

Swordsmachine

A failed hedonistic retreat, it is a local maximum that had somehow rested in the peak. So unstable does it sit that with slight movement it brings upon a strange cascade. It's a universe in a flavor but a universe chaotic past order. Each bite leaves you with a bitter aftertaste.

Love of excess is love of life but excess is not life alone 3.2/10

Ferrymen

Like eating old rags that had been soaked in dirty water. It's your grandmother as a meal, that's if your grandmother reached past 90. Everything about the ferrymen tastes like still water.

Most likely formed of 78% brain eating amoeba 1.3/10

V2

Glint spinning in its eye, it was neither meal nor being, to me it spun of sassy desperation. But it tasted of defeat, cowardice, and escapism. As a beings of purpose, am I no different than machine. It looked at me and said: "This life, as you live it now and have lived it, you will have to live again and again, times without number; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and all the unspeakably small and great in your life must return to you, and everything in the same series and sequence–and in the same way this spider and this moonlight among the trees, and in the same way this moment and I myself. The eternal hour–glass of existence will be turned again and again–and you with it, you dust of dust!"

You are a god and never did I hear anything more divine! 4.5/10

Corpse of King Minos

I had caught no man, but corpse, and the corpse tastes of unlived lives and cities. A story never made, a city made of corpse but the corpse in which countless have lived. In death, life starts and continues. The Corpse of King Minos tasted of victory, no more shall the buds be of the physical, I of the willed may fall as sick with the thoughts as I would a meal poorly prepared. This corpse has satiated my appetite and in doing so has made me more hungry.

And thus begins the dichotomy of the mind and the mind 7.5/10

Virtue

A life of travesty, this mind is unfit for the non-abstract, through death I may have my simulated prosper. Winged flying sun, so ripe you are, so beautiful you are, having been crisped being the wheels of this corpse in the sky. I love that which is a function of the world, for they have no will of their own. I love that which is of boundless form, for they force the vision to lie. Within a glance those who are hungry are filled, and those who are thirsty are drowned and baptized.

All who witness it are well-fed and cared for 0/10

Flesh Prison

The meal was most delightful. The evangelistic perfection of heaven combines with the infernal and the extremes to grant a flavor like no other. I can see why this is the pride of hell's kitchen. See how it eternally spins and heals, see how purposeful it is, a prison for a soul. It acts by itself, the simplest of minds, so simple as to not comprehend happiness. But so happy am I by the taste, in my mouth and in my mind.

A hold this prison and I shout to the people “Is this to you, not the most perfect creation? Self-sustaining and simple it lives only to be happy. You meaningless many, is this to you your prayer-less god!?” 10/10

Sentry

Rooted so strongly to the Earth, the sentry is but a plant. Eat it raw, eat the bark, and eat the advanced state of the art laser vision. To eat it is to return to a state most primitive, it has a flavor but the food poisons the mind. I vomited, and how happy it has made me, for I know the clashing of realities has created a union so meaningless and beautiful.

There’s a corpse inside me and it has started rotting 2.3/10

Idol

“”, the idol said to me, to which I respond: “That too I fear, not of my own but the one beyond my own. And to ease the me that is not, I say: ‘My words are not my own, rather of the self it wishes it was and through wishing a curse it too shall become. For one afraid of mirrors except for mirrors of the mind‘”.

I descended from the mountains to spend my last days on the ground. But in doing this I feared that I have never ascended to the mountains at all! 3.2/10

Mindflayer

The Mindflayer is a disappointing bundle of plastic, both in taste and in spirit. There are no spots of delight, no best parts, it’s all the same disappointing below-average taste.

But in time I will realize that I never descended from the mountains at all. 4.5/10

Mannequin

It’s a bony meal, the parts of flesh are descent but they are scattered very few throughout it. It’s like eating a crab, but if the crab was almost entirely shell, from one mannequin I only managed to collect around half a bowl of edible flesh. It’s very inefficient but we’re here to talk about taste, not sustainability, and in this aspect, it is sublime.

In fact there has never been anything but mountains, or perhaps just one mountain. In whichever direction I look, I see the same mountain. 8.5/10

Mysterious Druid Knight (& Owl)

Once again I didn’t eat this

Nonetheless I continued walking forwards, I walked and I walked, to see the same trees, the same shrubs, the same forest, the same mountain

Guttertank

The Guttertank fails in all the aspects the Gutterman succeeded in. Their best preparations are the same but the Guttertank is just overall worse in everything except volume. My review of this is short: the Guttertank is the Gutterman but larger, harder to chew, with less flavor, and red.

All the same except for the tracks I leave behind, I see my previous footsteps, the bushes I’ve displaced, the trail of water as I pass through the river. 5.4/10

Puppet

This might sound weird, but puppets are excellent when grilled. I took inspiration from the Philippines, which I remember to excellent blood-flavored food from, that being blood stew, and which I prepared, the aptly named “betamax”. You basically prepare the blood in a series of cubes, refrigerate it, then grill. You can eat it as it is, or you could dip it in a vinegar solution. I would’ve prepared blood stew but puppets don’t really have flesh to be served alongside it. It’s an excellent snack, mild in flavor and a texture reminiscent of tofu.

As I walked and walked, I noticed there was no other beings than me. Not a wild fox, nor birds, nor ants on the ground, nor fishes in the rivers, nor god forbid another person. The trees can be considered as living but they do no more than stand idly their whole lives. 8.3/10

Big Johninator

This is unrankable due to the fact I could not gain possession of his body. Upon defeat he had simply exploded into nothingness.

I ran and I ran, but there was nothing new except from the ones which came from my own actions. It was hopeless, and I was truly alone.

Flesh Panopticon

An improvement over the flesh prison, which itself is already close to perfection. It had more volume and a more serveable shape. Though the taste had a lack of variety, the few it did possess were much more florid. Oh! did it fulfill.

In sheer boredom, I dedicated myself to analyzing and eventually enjoying every minute detail of this forever repeating space. To see the story of each and every bit is enlightening. 10/10

Something Wicked

There was barely anything edible on this, it’s just a walking stick, but not the kind that aids the elderly. It basically tasted like coal, at least a few bites of it was, bugger kept teleporting around with every bite, it was very annoying.

I soon learned the life story of each one. Of all the things that made one special, all absurd and all the same. 0.2/10

Minos Prime

The flesh is hard and brittle yet tastes like meat nonetheless. It’s like some sort of meat flavored candy, it’s a weird feeling but it’s a descent snack. I tried grinding it to a fine powder and drinking it, I really would not recommend this. He who had taken advantage of the loss of God, and used it to build a utopia. Glory to you who eased the pain of many after all had fallen to the abyss.

I plucked every leaf, one by one, from every tree, turned every stone, anything to provide myself a contemporary existence. In doing this, the trees started to die, one by one they fell, in an eternity that felt like a moment. They could not rot for there was nothing to rot them. I sat and waited a while, and I went back up the summit. 6.7/10

Mirage

Read as I’ll ever be, and ready again as I was, over and over. Each world just a little bit less lively than the last. It may not last forever but it’ll last a damn long time. Shame on I as I had not celebrated the feast of existence, shame for me as to be the only being with purpose, but shame on existence for I had never asked for a meaning.

Sisyphus Prime

And through meaning, I became meaningless, but through Sisyphus, I’ve enjoyed my every meal. Every bite is the last to I, the ender of chaos. Through the simplest act, one shared by everything living and non-living. I’d revel in constant sustenance but I fear that bit by bit, I lose my purpose by living it. As for now I’ll enjoy what I can, as I’ll never enjoy it again.

Gabriel, Apostate of Hate

All unreal and all abstract, he who won against life itself. May he have died but through his fight he hath provided an everso painful peace. His corpse has long since been consumed but Gabriel knows what it’s like to be untrue. This is a funeral, not of the physical but of the abstract, all of reality weeps for him but not one soul knows of it, for their souls have long since been killed. We live in this empty meaningless husk of a world, salvation is dead but we are far happier drowning in the oceans of chaos, we drift like worried fire.

V2 (2nd)

The demon had lied, to I, the hindrance of a closed loop. Dying stars with an explosion that was and now never will, each reality plunged in an all consuming meaninglessness. And through nothingness, a return to chaos, for from a mortal God, born an immortal god. In this great sea of blackness, I penetrated through these corridors, and I went through that last segment, where I went through these dark serpentines. In this moment of time, the mind has ended, and I ask “does a universe with nothing to perceive it deserve to even exist?”.

V1

At the end of existence, the feasting has ended and only the aftertaste remained, and the void tastes cold, it tastes very cold.

[zvaigzdelasas]

TheStar.my - Vietnam’s ruling party makes leaders accountable for alleged corruption occurring under their watch - 15 Jan 23

The fallout from Vietnam’s Covid-19 pandemic-related graft scandals came to a head on Jan 5, when its National Assembly voted to dismiss two deputy prime ministers and approve two replacements.

One of the deputy prime ministers let go was veteran diplomat and former foreign minister Pham Binh Minh, who was also a member of the Communist Party of Vietnam’s politburo – a position he was also forced to vacate[...]

The difference this time is the way in which the two deputy premiers were ousted. Neither was disciplined by the party before resigning. They are also unlikely to face criminal prosecution, say analysts, given that there has been no evidence so far directly linking them to the scandals. Rather, they were made to take responsibility for wrongdoing that took place under their leadership.

This marks an inflection point in party general secretary Nguyen Phu Trong’s “blazing furnace” of an anti-corruption campaign.

Dr Le Hong Hiep, a senior fellow at ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore, told The Straits Times: “Now the party is trying to create a so-called ‘culture of resignation’, so that when you are found to have made a mistake or be responsible for a scandal that happened under your watch, you are expected to resign. You don’t wait for the party to take action against you.

“This would create a culture of accountability and more flexibility within the party’s personnel mechanism.”

WaPo - How Vietnam’s Anti-Corruption Fight Keeps Expanding - 11 Jan 23

Vietnam’s Communist Party chief Nguyen Phu Trong has likened his anti-graft campaign to a “blazing furnace,” one that’s caught hundreds of senior officials, business executives and others in its blast over the years. While the country’s position has improved by more than 30 spots over the past decade on a global corruption perception index, it was still at 87th place out of 180 ranked in 2021. Now as Southeast Asia’s fastest-growing economy seeks to bolster its appeal as a destination for foreign investment in the midst of mounting trade tensions between the US and China, the fight seems to be flaring again.

Trong, who won a rare third term in 2021, said in a televised speech that “each party cadre and member needs to shoulder the responsibility of being a role model. The higher the position and rank, the more responsibility one must take.” [...]

People are sitting in jail, and some have been sentenced to death. In the first six months of 2022, at least 295 party members were disciplined due to corruption and deliberate wrongdoings, according to a statement of an August meeting of the central anti-corruption committee. Civil judgment enforcement agencies had recovered more than 9 trillion dong ($383 million) in major cases in same period. (In 2021 the committee reported prosecuting 390 graft cases and recovering at least $400 million in assets.) But in Vietnam’s closely controlled, one-party state, motivation is difficult to assess. Human rights groups repeatedly accuse the government of tamping down dissent. Freedom House, a US-based advocacy group, ranks Vietnam as “not free,” with a 2021 score of only 19 points out of 100. Transparency International, a Berlin-based anti-corruption group, gave it a score of 39 out of 100 in 2021, from 31 in 2012 — the year then-premier Nguyen Tan Dung’s government was tainted by a series of scandals. Arrests picked up again after a new administration took power in 2016

😁😁😁

[moltensmusings]

One of my biggest issues with Anders in DA2 will always be that he was a stand in for Valena and plot points weren't fully rewritten with him in mind. Allow me to give examples.

If you're just nice to Anders, he assumes there's romantic intentions and is angry if you reject the idea. What we know about Anders in Awakening means this doesn't make sense. He's a flirt. But for Valena this would make sense. A calous elf who trusts no one is shown complete kindness and understanding? It would totally track for her to be angry at rejection. This moment made me dislike Anders a lot during my first playthrough, it didn't fit him.

Next is just in general how he acts and how departed from awakening he is. If awakening and 2 had more time between them then sure we could argue that the years just changed him. But it hadn't been years. The awakening timeline is a mess but da2 Anders appears barely months after (if that). Valena being introduced as untrusting, slightly uptight, and immediately reactive fits perfect though.

With that said: if they ever were to remake da2 these are some story changes I'd make to Anders to allow the plot to flow better with him.

1. He flirts with everyone. For Fenris it could be done to get a rise out of him. The hatred between them is still clearly there just not as volatile as it can get. He could grow feelings for hawke but it's never brought up until act 2 when he wants to know where the relationship is going. You can't sleep with him without forming a romance but if the player opts for a "I'm just friendly flirting" Anders let's it go. In act 3 when we see him at his lowest he doesn't friendly flirt with anyone.

2. Justice and him are on bad terms at the start of 2. In the book for anders he was kicked out of the wardens after eating people. I want him to have a problem with that and actually be thinking letting himself be possessed is a mistake. It's Hawke's response in act 1 that begins his journey to either reconciling with justice, or attempting to be free from justice. This would also shape how he turns out in act 3. If you support him we see him how he is in game. If you tell him to separate we see him become less of himself as he becomes desperate to avoid what justice plans.

3. The scene with fenris being sold needs to change. That scene honestly should be the thing that causes companions to abandon hawke. Only reuniting in the final to defend the city because everyone is home there. The only exception is if we have vengeance by this point who thinks fenris is getting his justice for hating mages. But even then it's iffy.

4. Again I want to see anders change over the game depending on hawke. If a hawke constantly encourages him and justice to stay together and work through things we see him become more radical and willing to do whatever it takes to gain mage freedom. Even if some must die. The anders we knew is no longer there, but for many this anders is what's needed. What's right. For players who reject what anders could be we see him become almost a shell of himself. Still unrecognizable but also fighting best he can against what's to come. Maybe in this version he tries to warn circle mages, tries to tell hawke, heck maybe even attempts to tell thrask since he's one of the better templars. But he's incapable of doing so. He still wants mage freedom but he's so caught up in his own struggle he can't really fight for it. Still not a great outcome.

I've been thinking on these for a minute. Dragon age 2 is both a loved and hated game for me. Because I feel like it did a lot of damage to the dragon age story but also gave us such good parts as well.

[icanbeyourgenie]

[ Peter!Viserys listening at the window to a teenage!Yasmeen telling a story to young!Aeron, the night he came to take them ]

Yasmeen always found it strange how prince Aeron never seemed to know what her purpose was. He was still young after all - not technically younger than her in age, but immortal beings took way longer to grow up, so younger in maturity at least. But she also knew that there was no age for fae cruelty, and that they were initiated to what could be considered 'adult activities' very early in life. But the first night she was sent to him, he only asked for a bedtime story.

As strange as it seemed, she complied. The next time he asked for her specifically, she felt dread sinking into her stomach. Had she made the mistake to be too interesting? She could easily get taken away into her stories, she knew that... But when he asked for another story she realized: she could probably borrow time with her stories. Make them as interesting as she could so he'd always want that instead of something else. She knew the bad part would come, but she could stall. Sherazade did it first, right?

The young prince loved pirates and aventures, so that's what she gave him. Tales of piracy and thiefs and freedom. He didn't particularly like romance, but he adored the part where they fought monsters and found treasures. She was in the middle of a tale, deep into the part where the main character had to fight the mightiest of sea monsters. She had a fake hat and a real sword in her hand, she talked with a fake deep voice and he was laughing. Truly laughing. Until suddenly, he stopped.

The room went chill and Yasmeen clang to the sword as the strangest figure came by the window - she had no idea how to use a sword, she just found it lying around and used it for story purposes.

The figure came in and she realized it was a boy. Around her age - at least in appearance. A little yellow pixie flew around him, casting light on his face.

"Hey I saw you before! You like my window." said the young prince, apparently not frightened at all.

The boy smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. Aeron didn't notice that. Yasmeen did. She went as quiet as possible, almost invisible if she didn't stand in the middle of the room too.

"I'm Peter. I was watching you, to see if you were the right man for the task."

Aeron, whose eyes lit up at being called a man, got up from this bed, all excited already. "What task?"

"I'm living on my island, but there's a pirate who is always looking for trouble. He wants my land and I want to fight him off, cause that's mine and there's not supposed to be adults in Neverland!"

"A pirate?! I want to be a pirate!"

"Then you have to prove you can fight other pirates first, right?"

"Yeah! And there's no adult in your island?"

"No. Only children. Adults are too boring to play with us."

"They are!! My mother is always asking me to do boring stuff, but I just want to be a pirate and I want my own ship!"

"If you come with me, we can steal captain Hook's ship. Would you like that?"

"Hell yeah! And 'captain hook' is a lame name. I'd have a much better one!"

"You could. We can do whatever we want in my island, no adults to tell us no."

"How do we go to your island?"

"The sky. We need to fly. Second star the the right, and straight on 'til morning."

"Hey I know how to fly!"

Peter's lips twitched. Only for a micro second and then his charming place was back. Yasmeen could've think she dreamt it, but then her looked at her. He looked charming and a part of her wanted to like and trust him. But another part had the alarm on. He almost looked nice but his eyes were cold. And the pixie that flew around him was looking at her with a death promise in her eyes. The young human girl didn't exactly understand what was going on but she understood these 3 facts: Peter was here for Aeron and the prince seemed eager to join. That Peter was probably not what he seemed. And no matter what, she couldn't escape what would come next.

"That was a nice story." Peter said to her, and all hope of being invisible flew through the window. She stayed silent. But Aeron did not.

"She has the best stories! She's just a human so she's going to die. I didn't know dying people had good stories but she does! It's stupid to die when you have good stories..."

"Indeed it is. Such a waste.." Peter came closer to her. He looked nice. For a second she didn't understand why she was so on guards. Then her alarm came back on. "In my island, nobody dies. Or at least not because of time. No one grows up because adults are the worst. I need somewhere there to tell stories. You're coming?"

"Yes she is!"

"...... I don't know how to fly."

Peter laughed. "Of course not. But that can be arranged."

"Let's go let's go let's go! It's so boring in here."

Aeron was already dressed and ready to go and Yasmeen realized she did not have much of a choice. If she stayed, and was the last person to see the prince, she'd probably be executed for his disappearance. Even if she wasn't, she'd have to go back to the pleasure house, and she'd do anything to get out of this hell. So in the end she took Peter's hand, not yet realizing that she was treading one hell for another.