#he has to ‘say his line’ before the trial and then dressing him up so he looks semi conscious

[slaygentford]

the “your beloved ringleader” promo makes so much sense now that armand gave claudia his freaky fucking little handmade automaton flea circus…… his i could not prevent it ass is not beating the could have prevented it allegations

[damian-lil-babybat]

DAMIAN WAYNE IS A GREEK TRAGEDY

When I say Damian al Ghul Wayne has almost all the ingredients of a classical Greek Tragedy, it is not an empty claim.

1. Tragic Hero: The hero facing his destiny with dignity. His virtuous character forms a bond with the audience, while his tragic flaw results in the audience’s fear for him, and his terrible punishment reveals a sense of pity.

Damian is the hero of his own story. In his mind, he was given a destiny, a standard to live up to. It came from his grandfather, as Hafid al Ghul, son of the Demon. It came from his mother, as her Alexander, with Talia deluding herself as Olympias. It came from his father, as the son of Batman.

He thought himself perfect on all those role, mighty ones they might be, heavy and overwhelming even, but he persevered in ways that should be impossible and ultimately achieved the pinnacle of a perfect heir for all of them.

2. Tragic Flaw: The human limitations of the hero or an error in judgement leading to the downfall. He attempts to escape from his destiny; however, he unknowingly runs toward it. His attempt leads him to his “damnation”.

But what he thought was perfection, was his downfall. For even if he was designed and raised to be perfect, those roles are fashioned by imperfect mortals. As the son of the Batman, he was all too much of a monster to even be treated as child, let alone a son. As the son of the Demon, he was too soft, kind, and all too human, to sit upon the al Ghul's immortal throne. As the great Alexander, he was deemed as a mere pawn, a victim of circumstance, and not a victor of his own fate.

He was set up for failure before his story even began.

3. Catastrophe: The horrible ending of the play: death, suicide, ruin etc. Upon the truth being revealed about Oedipus’ origin, Queen Jocasta commits suicide by hanging herself, Oedipus stabs his eyes with the pin on Jocasta’s dress and pleads to be exiled from the city.

And just like all tragedies, it ends up in death...so many deaths and sacrifices. Repeat and rinse, the cycle continues with each redeeming arc punctuated by his death or ruin.

And just like Sisyphus, one must imagine him to be happy. For how else could he endure these unending trials?

4. Central Belief of Destiny: The belief of the fact that the actions were preordained by the gods and the flaw was inevitable. Even though Oedipus attempts to flee from his preordained destiny, the belief in inevitable destiny becomes the reason for his destruction.

How else could he keep harking on to his destiny? Desperately clinging to it like a promise gold once he touched it like Midas' cursed hands? But no, everything he touches turns to dust, every height he scale would be pushed down reverting him back to his old bare bones of an unwanted worthless child from both side of his parents, even how much he tries to make things right. Every person or thing he treasured is another ammunition for plot purposes to make him more tragic than he already was.

Damian had tried to flee before, but fate always brings him back. Because Batman needs a Robin. But Bruce already has a Robin, doesn't he? Because Damian needs to be Robin? Just cause, who would he be then? When all those titles he earned has been discarded and thrashed in the light of Batman's justice?

And the only one title he could be proud of is always threatened to be taken away if he just as much cross an invisible line that keep on changing depending on whims of the doomed narrative.

5. The Chorus: Approximately twelve masked men, forming a specific group, make comments on the ongoing play by singing and dancing.

Due to its form of media, Damian has no twelve singing and dancing masked men. XD

BUT If I have a say on this, I'll give Damian his own set of bardic troupe narrating his life story, and maybe somehow DC writers would finally admit he was loved and wanted, and was never alone and actually have family, companions and friends along the way!

https://www.byarcadia.org/post/ancient-greek-tragedy-101-the-introduction

AND THAT IS WHY it makes more sense for writers to like and, or dare I say, even love Damian's character.

A lot of great fanfictioners in AO3 actually root for this little guy. So it's nice ✌️

[minispidey]

03: Barbie and the Giftshopist.

Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.

03. Everyday she wears pink.

(A/n: your feedback on the last chapter about me writing the moon knight system is so amazing tysm! i referenced mpgis here and more legally blonde. i wanna note that reader has been a lawyer for a couple years now and amazing at it 🤸‍♀️ btw update tags are open!)

warnings: mention of cock, swearing and cursing, mention of blood.

the cock line is from my bubs @ominoose ily

"This isn't just a date. This is a date!" You told yourself as you threw random articles of clothing behind you as you hunted for a specific dress.

You thought maybe you shouldn't wear pink. Maybe you have a pretty dress he hasn't seen you in.

You barely slept due to excitement.

The way he talked and looked at you made you swoon over him. Just thinking about makes you-

You squealed as your leg involuntarily kicked up. You blinked twice in confusion "That is so weird..."

Maybe you were horny.

"Oh gosh, not again. Bad leg!" you scolded your beautiful leg as it kicks up again "Down girl, down! No nasty thoughts about... about... about the hot neighbor across us- no!"

You almost moaned at the though of his lips against yours... You shuddered as you kept remembering the way he looked at you. You laid down in the pool of clothing as you imagined how your little lunch date will go.

As usual, you two walked out of your flat at the same time, discussing where the two of you were going for lunch.

"Wetherspoons..." you parked your pink corvette outside, looking at the flowers decorating the place. Your high heels clicked on the pavement as you walked inside, still in your pink work suit despite planning on changing.

It was a busier day than you thought, but of course lunch time is important.

Your eyes lit up as you spotted Steven, sitting up rather stiff "Stevie!" you smiled as you walked over to his table "Hi, so sorry I'm a bit late. Traffic and all."

But Steven looked back at you with such a loving look in his eyes "It's alright, love. I haven't been waiting long."

The truth is, he thought you weren't gonna show up.

"Have you ordered yet? Gosh, you must be starved." you opened the menu and browsed.

"I haven't." he shook his head, opening his menu as well.

"Cross examination was a success." you smiled "Next week's the next trial with the witness."

Steven didn't know what you were talking about, it was out of context "That's great!" he responded.

"So then he was like no and I was like, you are. Then he was like no but then I was like you are! And he was like, I kinda am. So long story short he's like, totally gay." you said as you looked at your compact mirror.

"Thank gosh I figured it out, because no way can he say my Chanel is so last season when his shirt is so last year. My client was totally bugging, but we figured it out and I, like, totally won that. How about you, Stevie? How's your day?"

Steven smiled back at you "T'was alright, love. Just the usual." he says sarcastically "Donna's been a real-"

"Excuse my language— Bitch? Cunt? Pain in the ass?"

He chuckles "Yes. A pain in the arse, love."

"She always sounds like she's giving you a hard time. You sure you don't want me to talk to her?"

"I don't think it's lawyer-worthy. It's really alright, love." Steven shakes his head "Just another typical day."

"Yeah, which can be classified as workplace abuse."

"Really. I'm fine."

You press your glossy lips into a thin line before sighing "Alright. But if you need someone to represent you in court, I'm your girl." you playfully winked at him.

Steven blushed before nodding "I'll keep you in mind then." a waiter comes up to the two of you and he began to order "-and a cocktail. Uh, how about you?"

"Um, I'll have the Soup of the Day with half a baguette, and Pasta Pomodoro with salmon. And— wait did you say a cocktail?" you blinked twice at Steven "I'll have a cocktail too, thank you."

You smiled at the waiter as he repeated the order to you two before walking away.

"Jeez, Stevie. It's only lunchtime." you giggled at him.

"I-I just wanted something strong."

"Work's really stressful, huh?"

"It really is." he sighed "Working late again tonight. But this uh lunch date is really cheering me up."

Your cheeks felt hot, making you smile "That's so sweet... tell you what, I'll pick you up from work tonight again. I'm working late too anyways."

It was Steven's turn to blush. His hand shakes with his head "You're way too nice. I don't wanna bother you. It's quite overwhelming too." even his ears turned red.

"Steven, you shouldn't turn away blessings." you winked as you giggled. Your cocktails were served just a few minutes later.

"I haven't had a cock in a while."

Steven felt his drink rush to his nose and he quickly grabbed a napkin. He coughs a few times before looking up at you.

"Oopsies, I meant a cocktail." you covered your mouth, smiling "Well, I mean... I haven't had that in a while either."

You took a sip of the drink and Steven stared at the lipstick mark left on the edge of the glass. You always wore a certain shade of lipstick, and it always drove him crazy.

There were times he'd imagine smudging your lipstick... in more ways than one.

After lunch, the two of you laughed as you drove to the museum. Steven just kept falling more and more into your wonderland of pink and diamonds. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, listening to every word you said.

The thing about Steven is that he loves to ramble and talk a lot, and so do you. He knew you were perfect.

"-and I was like, thank gosh I talked her out of buying an orange chiffon scarf. It doesn't suit her spring tones at all! There's a fine line between terracotta and brown."

That evening, your pink corvette was parked outside of the museum, waiting patiently for Steven after a long day of reading case papers. You puckered out your lips to reapply some lipstick before popping and smiling at your reflection.

Your freshly manicured nails tapped on the steering wheel while humming a small tune.

Then suddenly someone knocks on your window.

"Steven?"

He looked like he was roughed up, red staining his clothes, but it's not his blood. It didn't even look like the same clothes he was wearing during your lunch date.

"Oh my gosh, Steven-"

...but that's actually not your main concern.

"-I told you, blue and black as a combo is a total crime against fashion. If it were me, I'd make it law." you groaned, opening the locks of your car "Get in."

His eyes widened but he doesn't respond, only taking the passenger's seat like you commanded.

"Oh, you have a little stain there." you pat the patch of blood using a pink handkerchief with lace trim and your name embroidered on the corner.

He continued to stare at you as you took his hand and placing your handkerchief on his palm "Here. You can give it back to me some other time because I seriously I need to take you shopping this weekend."

You thought maybe he's always tired after work, that's why he's so quiet, like yesterday.

"Maybe I can figure out your color palette so I know what looks best on you. Your shirts are cute, I'd have to admit, but some of them are... meh. No offense but some prints are worse than the last. OH! I know, we'll do a whole shopping day on the weekend. An hour or so won't cut it. I know it's your weekend off, but trust me when I say when your pretty neighbor's a fashionista, your life is gonna change."

Steven looks at you from the mirror's reflection before shifting his eyes towards the body— Jake. Unlike Marc's creepy silent behavior from the night before, Jake actually looks at you as you went on and on.

He even responds with small nods.

"Can we not make this a habit? First it's Marc pretending to be me in front of her, now it's you. I don't need your help with her. Can I please go in my own pace?" Steven tells Jake, but Jake shook his head in a not now kind of motion.

As Jake entered the apartment after waving goodnight to you, he's met with a poor attempt of a glare from Steven "Don't look at me like that, you wanted the girl so I gave it a push."

"I want to do this on my own. Marc doesn't want me to, I don't know about you, but I don't need help. Can I please do it my way? It's all I ask."

"Can you ask her out?"

Steven pressed his lips into a line before letting out a sigh "Give me the body. I'll... try."

"Alright, alright. You go on ahead."

Steven, now in control of the body, swung open the door and he sees you struggling to find your keys. You blinked twice before smiling at him "Hi again, Stevie. My keys are just- ugh, a lot." your keychains jingle as you tried to find the right key.

"Can we go on a date after shopping this weekend?" he blurts out quickly. Steven was red as a tomato "D-Dinner date."

Your eyes lit up and you felt the butterflies in your stomach again "I'd love that! I'll just- oh! I found my key!"

And you also found the key to your locked-up heart.

UP NEXT: the best weekend ever! a date with steven and a little breaking and entering 💅

tags: @red-hydra @monsterroonio @pastelpinkpilatesprincess @letmehavemyfictionalmen @uncle-eggy @superduckmilkshake @3zae-zae3

[bullet-prooflove]

19. So whatcha say we cancel our plans?

Tonight I'm only gonna be your man

With Nicholas Baxter 💕 please

Tagging: @kmc1989@burningpeachpuppy@est1887 @wabi-sabi1090 @mini-bee-bee

The Romantic - Nick has always been a romantic when it comes to you.

Distraction - You distract Nick from work.

Symphony (NSFW) - Nick welcomes you home in his own special way.

Come Back To Bed - Nick tries to coax you back to bed.

How High - You say jump, Nick asks how high.

Nick doesn’t tell you he’s tired. In fact he actively tries to hide it because he’s promised to take you out tonight to make up for the other two dinners he had to cancel and he doesn’t want to disappoint you.

“I just need a quick shower.” He tells you as he hurtles through the front door an hour late because his trial overran. He slips off his shoes and hangs up his coat on the rack before he pokes his head into the living room.

You’re already dressed up in a pretty black dress with purple irises embroidered into it and your hair pinned back with a silver hairclip. You look stunning, and an ache hits him in the chest because lately you always seem to be waiting on him.

“I promise I’ll be fifteen minutes, max.” He tells you and you smile and pick up your book, folding your legs underneath you on the couch.

It’s forty five minutes later that you realise that you haven’t heard any movement from upstairs. You sigh picking up the phone to cancel your reservation before ordering take out instead. When you enter the bedroom, you find Nick still clad in his court clothes sleep on the bed.

He wakes up to the feel of your lips brushing over his forehead and he opens his eyes to see you standing over him, your hair falling loose across your features, your face freshly scrubbed of makeup. The dress is gone and you’re clad in leggings and your old bobbled t-shirt from Julliard.

“Fuck what time…” He checks the watch on this wrist and his heart just sinks because the reservation you had that was over an hour ago.  “Rosie I…”

You silence him with a kiss, it’s nothing more than a tender brush of the lips but to Nick it’s everything because he understands that he’s forgiven, that you’re not mad at him for this.

“I’ve cancelled our plans for the night, ordered dinner.” You tell him as you draw away, your fingertips ghosting along the line of his jaw. “You’re wearing yourself out Nick, you need to stop and take a breath.”

“It’s this case…” He tells as he shuffles into a sitting position, his back coming to rest against the headboard. “…it’s taking up all my time, all my energy.”

“I know.” You say, climbing into his lap and cradling his face between his hands. “That’s why you’ve got to communicate with me, tell me if you’re struggling.”

He sighs then because acknowledging his own limitations, it doesn’t come easily to him. His job doesn’t allow him to show weakness and it’s hard to take off that armour sometimes when he steps through the door.

“I’ll try Rosie.” He tells you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “I promise you’ll try.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

and also just to add one thing my last point:

i think the toxic canon thing really forms a basis for the foundational problems of the series - narrative. its one of the reasons i believe feyre often gets dubbed an 'unreliable narrator.

because in theory - feyre is not made purposely to be unreliable. honestly - the problem is that the story makes feyre's thoughts declarative for the series as whole. feyre tells us one thing, and the story shows us another.

for example: when the story tells us 'tamlin didn't fight for me,' - its implying that tamlin has the tools to do so. bc the story establishes an entirely difference scenario. we learn that (1) amarantha is madly obsessed with tamlin, so she keeps him next to her every night and (2) tamlin doesn't really have skills to navigate utm. what im saying is - feyre says these things about tamlin which are dubbed 'canon' but they don't actually reflect the reality of the situation. the story gives us to no solutions as to how tamlin could have actually helped feyre under the mountain. and i should also add that feyre couldnt have left ANYWAY -- she made a bargain. had she not did her part, the trials, her life would have just been forfeit.

and then on the flip side - we get told that rhys had to bring feyre to those parties and drug her so would forget (which is dubbed canon) but the reality of the scenario doesn't reflect that. rhysand never had to make feyre dance or embarrass her infront of everybody.

why? let's look at the established information:

rhysand disables the guards through his daemati abilities, so feyre is safe in her cell:

“No more household chores, no more tasks,” he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. “Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?”Dazed, numb nods, then they blinked and straightened. I hid my trembling. Glamour, mind control—whatever it was he had done, it worked. They beckoned—but didn’t dare touch me. Rhysand smiled at me. “You’re welcome,” he purred as I walked out.”

2. feyre is given a hot meal in her cell everyday - which again, establishes her cell as a relatively safe place:

“From that point on, each morning and evening, a fresh, hot meal appeared in my cell. I gobbled it down but cursed Rhysand’s name anyway. Stuck in the cell, I had nothing to do but ponder Amarantha’s riddle—usually only to wind up with a pounding headache. I recited it again and again and again, but to no avail.”

and even after she has to dance every night, this does not change:

“I awoke ill and exhausted each morning, and though Rhysand’s order to the guards had indeed held, the nightly activities left me thoroughly drained.”

so - the whole point of taking feyre out of cell is instantly negated, as her cell was never a place of torture. if anything - the only person actually making her cell a place of horror was rhysand. when he drugs her, she becomes so sick that she can't keep the food down; he leaves her essentially naked in her cell, so she's cold and shivering, and her leaves her so exhausted that she can't even think about the solving the riddle.

3. nuala and cerridwen have the ability to walk through walls and actually usher feyre through utm without ever being seen or caught:

“a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone.”

so when we get this line in maf:

“So we endured it. I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain.”

or his explanation in tar:

“Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool’s bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm … Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.” I didn’t want to think much about his abilities. “Who’s to say he won’t splatter you as well?” “Perhaps he’ll try—but I have a feeling he’ll kill Amarantha first. That’s what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he’ll kill her tomorrow,”

none it actually make sense. we are offered several solutions to how rhys could have respectively helped feyre without sexually assaulting her. like for (1) if he wanted her to forget, he could have given her the wine in her cell (2) he didn't have to bring feyre to those parties. amarantha doesn't even remember feyre is there until rhys brings her, and she never finds out about the food or the guards. (3) nuala and cerridwen can actually walk through walls and veil feyre, so whose to say they couldn't have sneaked feyre from utm (4) rhys can mindspeak which means he could have always just talked to feyre without visiting her cell. (3) his plan of 'making tamlin angry makes no sense as the book already established that amarantha was warded against physical attacks, hence why it makes no sense for the story to demonize tamlin for not fighting back as there's no established canon way he could have. it also makes rhysand's display of fighting amarantha pretty much pointless as if he could have just killed her, he would have just done it earlier. its also why i don't forgive the kiss bc the only valid motivation was rhysand's jealousy which literally is why i can never forgive the kiss. he (and tam) put her in the situation by bringing her there in the first place and putting the paint all over her body (and he literally prove that he could altered the paint at any time so it served no benefit but to dehumanize feyre.

soooooo that's what i mean when i say people take canon without factoring into the story as a whole. if the story doesn't actually have things that back up declarative 'canon' statements, its not useful.

[thedailydescent]

underrated claudia moments?

Soooo many. These are just from the top of my head:

2x01:

-When Louis starts shouting at Dreamstat and Claudia barely looks up, like "Oh Louis is Louis-ying again whatevs". Bonus points when she dumps the bags into his hands afterwards.

-When she's so excited about finding a vamp she doesn't even care that Louis hurts her while setting her shoulder, and jumps up swinging the arm around while stumbling around him still talking. She's so excited and optimistic in this scene in a way we haven't seen since 1x04. I can picture Delainey joyfully narrating in 1x04 while trying to discover as much as she possibly can.

2x02:

-When Louis and Claudia are talking about getting a "hard meal", and we cut to Louis and Claudia walking towards their new flat. In the previous scene she was wearing boots, and in this scene, she's in the exact same outfit but in heels instead, clearly stolen from her "hard meal". I like that in this season she's trying to find a look that works for her and is experimenting, as you can see in her fashion drawings she keeps above her coffin. And I believe this is the only time in the series we see her in heels? (tap dancing shoes don't count). From a Doylist perspective I can understand: they want to keep Claudia looking as small as possible so the actress can still look like a child, but from a Watsonian perspective I think that while Claudia is stylish, she is also practical and realistic. She can't travel, explore, and protect herself as well wearing the form-fitting dresses and heel lengths of the period.

-When she throws down the man in the murder mansion scene and shouts "Yes!" It makes me so happy for some reason :)

2x03: "What do they know about Cincinnati?"

2x04:

-Claudia was openly sarcastic in this episode which was both great and sad. "Birdie looooves the breeze" (I can never watch that awful performance again but I remember that line delivery) There's also "Still dressing your windows for your German tourists?", "Sounds like a line", "Tell me again how Sam licks the stage after every show, and I'll tell you a job I'd rather do", and "Tuan could play the part".

-I hate the scene for how upsetting it is, but when Armand shoves her into the wall you can see her clasping his wrist while numbly looking down before looking up and widening her eyes in shock at the treatment. It's a nice bit of acting from Delainey- like there's this automatic tendency to check out whenever someone puts their hands on her, but her realization that it's coming from Armand of all people, the one she thought herself safe from what with him being with Louis and by I'm guessing not showing any violent behaviour until now. Despite the warnings from Santiago and Sam about Armand, it's still a shock.

2x06:

-The way she just stabbed that girl through the neck into the wall with scissors lol. Almost a nice callback to 1x07 when she stabbed Antoinette through the heart (I think?) into the floor. You team up with awful men as a woman to attack women, you're getting stabbed with a sharp implement.

-Her reading "How to Win Friends" while Madeleine's reading her diaries. Then insecurely looking up from said book to say her younger writing may come off shallow and uninsightful. Claudia she's reading your victim's last words lol.

-"Pull up a chair. Let's start again." The way she says it too how many times has Claudia had to be the grown-up here??

-That look she gives Louis that says a thousand words after he says, "Does it matter? Got the result".

2x07:

I'm not ready to rewatch that episode yet (or ever), but I loved Claudia's manic, disbelieving laugh when Lestat says some bs about her "being an artful predator, just like me". I also loved how she kept glancing at Madeleine every so often during the trial to see how she was doing, and I liked when she put her head on her shoulder after she gave that speech about it never being about her :(

[feyhunter78]

Trials of a Tribute pt. 5

Description: You have a chat with the Dowager Queen, and Aemond fears you regret marrying a monster such as him, unknowing that you are still unaware the two of you have been married.

Previous part here, Next part here

You sat across from the Dowager Queen Alicent, clutching your teacup for dear life as she inspected you. Her brown eyes filled with sorrow swept over you, as she sipped her own tea.

“I do feel for you, dear girl. Being traded like an object is a cruel fate that we as women often find ourselves suffering.” She said, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, unsure of what to truly say, Aemond hadn’t been cruel to you, nor had he forced himself upon you. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it could’ve been far, far worse.

“Drink up, lest you fall pregnant within your first moon here.” The Dowager Queen urged; her lips pressed into a tight line.

Your eyes widened as you realized exactly what kind of tea this was. “Your Grace, King Aemond has not bedded me.”

Her entire body relaxed. “Thank the Seven, he is still my son.”

You assumed she feared Aemond had taken on the traits of his father and brother now that he had become king, and couldn’t blame her for it. You yourself still feared he would one day soon act upon the Targaryen need for depravity.

“His Majesty, has been very respectful, a true gentleman.” You don’t tell her of how you woke up today with your body half atop Aemond’s, his fingers splayed on your lower back possessively, the smell of parchment and eucalyptus surrounding you.

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, a small smile on her face. “My Aemond has always been a man of honor.” Then her eyes go to your hand and her eyebrows furrow. “Did you injure yourself?”

You had worn a gown with extra long sleeves, more of a winter dress than was appropriate for the season, with the intention to hide your injury, but obviously your efforts have failed.

You held your hand close to your chest. “No, Your Grace, it’s from the Valyrian ritual.” At her look of confusion, you continued. “With the septon, and the dagger? King Aemond and I mixed our blood together. He said it was common ritual in House Targaryen.”

 The dowager queen was silent for a moment, then she nodded, plastering a smile on her face. “Ah, yes, there are so many rituals, I forget them from time to time.” She glanced at Sir Criston who avoided her frantic eyes. "Sir Cole, escort Lady y/n back to her chambers, then fetch Aemond and tell him I wish to speak to him.”

You stood and took Sir Criston’s arm. “A pleasure to speak with you, Queen Alicent.”

“You as well, dear.” She called as Sir Criston all but strong-armed you from the room.

“Sir Criston, did I do something to upset the dowager queen?” You asked, as he led you down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Why do you ask that?”

“She ended our tea so abruptly, and she simply seemed to be troubled by something.”

He stopped you in front of a door you didn’t recognize. “The queen mother has many things on her mind, but I can assure you her anger sits not with you.”

 You followed him into a barren room. “These are your quarters; I’d advise you to stay out of sight. We had many noblemen attempting to bring their daughters as tribute, and they are quite angry at being turned away.”

Dowager Queen Alicent had pulled you away from Aemond, leaving him to accept tributes alone, as she kindly but thoroughly interrogated you on every aspect of your life.

You bid the night a farewell and looked around the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it had a lovely view of the gardens.

 Pushing open the window, you carefully sat on the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air. You gazed down at the meticulously planted flowers, imagining how happy your sisters would be to see such a sight.

You didn’t know how long you sat there before the door slammed open, and you jumped, scooting backward, further into the room, suddenly afraid of the distance between you and the ground.

Two strong arms pulled you from the windowsill, caging you against a hard chest, the silver hair that brushed your shoulders made you relax.

“Aemond? Is everything alright?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

His shoulders were tense, his eye filled with a frantic fear and rage. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” You said, letting out a small noise of surprise when he threw you onto the nearby bed and quickly hovered over you. Caging you in with his arms, his hair falling forward and shielding your faces.

“You were going to jump, because you couldn’t stand to be married to such a monster, but your life is mine, prūmia. No one, not even the Stranger himself, will take you from me. I care not if you call him yourself, or another attempts to, no one will separate us.” He seethed, his eye burning into yours, his voice was low and rolled across your skin like a storm, the hairs on your skin standing upright in response.

“I wasn’t trying to take my own life; I was merely admiring the gardens.” You explained, before your mind fully processed his words. “Wait, married?”

“I’m aware that my mother informed you of the true nature of what occurred last night.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No, she said nothing. Aemond, are we married? You shouldn’t have—” You were cut off by Aemond’s warm lips brushing down your neck, stopping at your pulse point when you let out a small whimper.

 His acknowledging hum vibrated against the sensitive skin. “You’re mine, I told you that. As of last night it was made true, the septon bore witness to our union, so did Sir Criston.”

“But I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew.” You protested lightly, still afraid to upset Aemond.

“Because you don’t wish to be married to a monster, I know.” He snapped, pulling back to glare at you.

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all, I don’t think you’re a monster, nor do I have any personal qualms about marrying you but, it’s not truly up to me.”

“You’re correct, it’s not up to you, it’s up to me, and I wished to marry you.” He spoke his words into your skin before he attached his lips to your sensitive spot, nipping and sucking until a red mark bloomed, its sting soothed by his tongue.

“But you shouldn’t have, I’m from a small house, there are much better options and oh…” Your voice dissolved into nothing as Aemond continued his ministrations, his fingers running through your hair, his lips latched onto every bit of exposed skin they can find.

“I’m king of the Seven Realms, I will marry who I wish.” He said firmly, his eye flickering up to yours as his lips made their way to the swell of your breasts.

Your face burned once more, and you attempted to push him away. “Aemond, please, this is not proper.”

He stopped and sat up, a distant look on his face. “You’re right.”

You sat up as well, smoothing down your hair. “Thank you, now we really must get this marriage business straightened out.”

He frowned. “Do you not wish to be queen?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t think I have the education to be a good queen.”

This series masterlist here!!!

Tag list: @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon

Strikethrough means I couldn't tag you for some reason!

[tomorrowusa]

Donald Trump has a gag order placed on him by the judge in his Stormy Daniels hush money trial. So to get around the gag order various Trump lickspittles make pilgrimages to the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse to say stuff to the media which Trump himself is not allowed to say. Past Trump mouthpieces have included pseudo-hillbilly fascist Sen. J.D. Vance and House Speaker "MAGA Mike" Johnson.

Monday's Trump mouthpieces were a quintet of MAGA C-listers: Rep. Andrew Clyde (R-GA-09), ex-NYC police commissioner Bernie Kerik, South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson, Trump campaign aide Jason Miller (not related to Stephen Miller), and Kash Patel - a onetime deputy director of the Office of the Director of National Intelligence.

While Trump has been beseeching his followers to show up outside the courthouse to demonstrate support for their Dear Leader, on Monday it was pro-democracy Trump opponents who were there in greater numbers.

A cadre of MAGA loyalists who had gathered to show their support for Donald Trump during his hush-money trial was shouted down by a bevy of cowbell-clanging anti-Trump protesters on Monday when they tried to speak outside of a lower Manhattan courthouse. [ ... ] The group that flanked the twice-impeached ex-president this time around included South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson, former New York police commissioner Bernie Kerik, ex-Trump administration official Kash Patel, Trump senior advisor Jason Miller, and Rep. Andrew Clyde (R-GA). All but Patel, meanwhile, were customarily decked out in Trump’s standard red tie and navy suit combo.

Yep, four of the five designated Trump lickspittles were dressed in Trump uniforms. Did he dress them himself over at Trump Tower?

Alan Wilson got an earful when he tried to spew the Trump line.

With boos raining down on Wilson, one demonstrator could be heard shouting “go home you carpetbagging fools.” Another protester who camped out behind the pro-Trump speakers with a large “Bootlickers” sign relentlessly blew a whistle while ringing a cowbell. According to independent reporter Jacqueline Sweet, the man was given a citation by law enforcement for “too much cowbell.” Patel, who is expected to take a senior White House role if Trump returns to power, portrayed the ex-president as a victim of an “unconstitutional weaponization of justice.” It was difficult to hear what he had to say as the crowd chanted: “Kash Patel, Go To Hell!” Kerik was also subjected to targeted insults when he spoke, with protesters calling him a “bald-headed bigot” throughout his comments. According to New York Magazine correspondent Oliva Nuzzi, the Trump-hating crowd also took aim at the speakers for dressing just like the former president, prompting them to call the MAGA group “red tie terrorists.” She added that the demonstrators even got a laugh from Miller, who chuckled when one protester wondered if they had bought their suits at “Dictators R Us.”

To use a favorite Trump word, Monday's Trump mouthpieces were real losers.

Rep. Andrew Clyde's rise to fame in Georgia was as a prominent gun store owner. One wonders how many of his guns make it up to NYC to be used illegally.

Bernie Kerik is a convicted felon for tax fraud who was later pardoned by Trump. He served several years behind bars for his crimes.

Alan Wilson has made false election fraud claims even before the Trump presidency and is a serial litigator for far right causes.

Kash Patel once served as an aide to Devin Nunes – the former House member who unsuccessfully sued a cartoon cow.

Jason Miller admitted to hiring prostitutes and having extramarital affairs with two campaign staffers. Republican family values – just like Trump.

Meidas Touch has a video report on Monday's scene outside the courthouse. (never mind the plant commercial in the middle).

If you're anywhere near NYC, visit the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse area on a day that the hush money trial is in session. There's a lunch break starting roughly at 11:30 AM and court is recessed for the day in the afternoon before the building closes at 5:00 PM. Bring your own cow bell and sign.

Court is in session this week on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Next Monday court is closed for Memorial Day but should be in session on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. The case may go to the jury sometime late next week.

The Manhattan courthouse is at 100 Centre Street; take the 4, 5, or 6 subway trains to the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall station and walk about four blocks north. The crowds and the Trump bootlickers seem to be directly across the street from the courthouse at Collect Pond Park.

EDIT: If Trump toadies had a bad day outside the courtroom, the one and only defense witness for Trump seems to have had an even worse one in court.

[lunar-years]

How’s the arm?

Tentative footsteps patter over the hardwood floor, inching closer; but it’s Jamie’s voice that reaches him first: “How’s the arm?”

Roy immediately bristles, unable to stop his voice from rising several decibels as he snaps, “I’ve already told you half a fucking dozen times in the past hour, Jamie, it’s the exact fucking same as it was twenty minutes ago, and yes I’m fucking fine, and I’ll kindly remind you again that you fucking promised me you’d stop fucking asking—” he stops mid-sentence, registering what exactly Jamie said at the same time the man crosses into his line of vision, letting Roy spot the shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He blinks, momentarily thrown. Arm?

Jamie shrugs, and even that small motion is somehow made exuberant under his determinedly bright demeanor. His face breaks into a gleeful smile, ear-to-ear, right pleased with himself. 

Fucking hell. Roy has no idea how the prick has managed to stay this damn cheerful all day, considering he’s spent the whole of it waiting on his temporarily useless, opposite-of-cheerful boyfriend hand and foot. Keeping him confined to the miserable prison of his living room sofa, flipping through the sport channels with a commendable level of steady enthusiasm—even though the best they’ve had on offer were the bloody table tennis Olympic trials that ended an hour again—and fretting, every single second of every blasted minute, over Roy and his knee. Whether the pillow under Roy’s knee is fluffed enough, and whether Roy's morning brew has gone cold and could do for urgent replacement, and whether Roy needs help getting to the toilet before he pisses down his own leg. Jamie’s there all right, for all of it, and he’s bloody relentless. 

Roy appreciates it. Truly, he does. It’s also driving him completely up the fucking wall, just a little. Two things can be true. 

Jamie keeps right on smiling. “What?” he says innocently, sitting down next to Roy and handing over his latest freshly-warmed mug of tea, “I’m not having you on, it was a real question. Since you’re going to be a bit out of commission on the really agile shit for a while and all,” here he nods sympathetically in the direction of Roy’s mangled up, patchworked knee, the frankensteinish surgery scar thankfully covered up by fresh dressings (also courtesy of Jamie) and tucked atop Keeley’s fluffiest pillow. “Sorry,” he continues in a stage-whisper, hands going up like Roy's a feral cat he's trying not to set off, “know you want me to pretend like this ain’t happening, and I’m trying, swear down! But, well. Me point is, so long as your arm’s still in working form...we can at least exchange handies!” He beams at him again with great pride, like mutual handjobs are the certifiable cure to Roy’s every ailment, and Jamie’s the dutiful nurse who gets to present the good news and administer the necessary dosage.

(And well, a wank’s a wank, so. Roy’s willing to give it a shot.)

Instead of saying that, he chucks the pillow behind his back at his boyfriend's head and rolls his eyes in Jamie's direction, faking a pout. “All you care about is my cock,” he accuses half-heartedly. 

“Yes, poor, hard-done Roy, with a dead sexy boyfriend who wants him for his body as much as his mind,” Jamie grins, leaning in to give him a kiss. With lips practically still brushing Roy’s own, he adds, gentler, “I also thought, um. It might help, you know? With what you were saying earlier. I’m really sorry I made you feel like that.” 

Roy brow furrows. He wades back amongst all the day's many horrors to figure out which one in particular Jamie could be referring to. It must’ve been the last time, when he was snapping at the pair of them to stop bloody asking about his knee all the time. You’re both making me feel like a fucking pensioner. Then, to Jamie specifically, I’m not actually your fucking grandad, you know. You don’t have to treat me like I’m two steps from the care home. It was around that time Keeley excused herself for a drive to the pharmacy, bristling at him with intense displeasure and that familiar get yourself together look in her eyes on her way out. Soon after, after an comfortable stretch of moody silence, Jamie muttered something about more tea, and disappeared into the kitchen for far longer than it took to whip up a new brew. 

So yeah, he owes them both an apology, clearly. Again.

He looks at his boyfriend, now aching with guilt on top of everything else, most pressingly the persistent sting that seems to extend his whole leg, making it very hard to focus on anything good, even his very good boyfriend. His very good boyfriend who’s only trying to help him. Fuck. 

Jamie’s still got his eyes locked on his, searching his face for reassurance. Hesitant, like he’s half expecting Roy to get angry and snap at him again for bringing it up. It’s so sincere it slices Roy smoothly in half.

“I,” he starts. Shuts his mouth. Starts again, “I’m sorry for that, babe. Look, I won't pretend I didn't mean some of it. I do feel…I dunno. Not even old, just…useless? I guess. But you’re not the one making me feel like that, it’s my own shit. I never should have said that to you, or to Keeley. I likehow you take care of me.” He threads his fingers through Jamie’s and gives them a squeeze. “It’s just…hard for me to let you.” He chokes over the last part a bit, from the clumsy embarrassment of his own feelings. Immediately redirects his gaze onto their locked palms.

But Jamie responds without hesitation, his shoulders already relaxing as he says briskly, “You’re forgiven.” Like it’s simple. Like Roy’s someone easy to forgive. Fuck, he still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Jamie leans back, smile softer now, more natural. It takes on a cheeky edge as he adds, “And I know a way you can make it up to me, yeah?” with a wink and a crude hand gesture. Right back around to where they started.

Roy rolls his eyes again, filled with adoration for this ridiculous man. “We can’t fix everything with sex.” 

“We can make a brave go of trying, though," he offers solemnly, lips quirked.

Roy laughs despite himself, but it’s cut off by a sharp sting to his knee, making him wince before he can help it. His boyfriend’s face droops immediately. This time though, Jamie keeps his hands forcibly pinned to his sides, trying so hard not to hover, not to be too much. It makes Roy crack open even further. He really fucked this up.

“Can we wait for Keeley to get back first?” he suggests carefully, eyes meeting Jamie’s as his fingers brush circles on the back of his hand. “Ought to apologize to her, too.” 

“Definitely. Also, she’ll definitely enjoy this. Vulnerability really does it for her.” Jamie waggles his eyebrows playfully, seemingly resigned to brushing over the moment of tension, but Roy doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger for a second too long over Roy’s features, as if trying to catch the slightest grimace that could help him suss out Roy's pain level. Jamie needs him to be honest here; Roy forces himself to let him in. 

“I think I need my meds, first,” he admits. “Knee really fucking hurts. Got worse just now. And maybe, um…you could, with the pillow?” 

Jamie, perfect as he is, needs no further instruction. His hands fly towards the cushion, readjusting it carefully into a more supportive position. “Anything else, babe?” he asks as he fluffs, focus entirely on the pillow. 

“Jay.” 

His boyfriend’s head snaps up again, and Roy gestures him to slow down, and sit back. As soon as Jamie’s back’s against the sofa cushion again, Roy tosses his arm around him and tugs him in as close as possible. “I just want you,” he whispers. Then he lets himself shut his eyes and sink into the calm, knowing Jamie's got him. 

[drconstellation]

Chiastic Structure of S2

The post preceding this is Chiastic Structure of S1.

S1 was neat, tidy and simple compared to S2.

S2 was...difficult. I have a feeling this is because of the missing minisodes. There felt like there were "holes" in places, where there was a strong scene with no corresponding pair, and yet in others there were single lines matching up.

You will also notice its quite...skewed? The hinging midpoint is right at the end of Ep4, which means the last two episodes mirror the preceding the four! So there are gaps. For example, the conversation in the pub in Ep2 doesn't match with anything specific.

One of the things I hoped it might shed some light on was the purpose of the trip to Edinburgh, which seems like a bit of a dead end. It does, in a way - I will discuss it a bit further below, along with some other parallels that didn't fit the structure.

A: Before the Beginning B: Aziraphale meets Crowley C: "How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"  D: "I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favourite things." E: Gabriel: "I love you, you're funny" F: Argument about helping the other G: Crowley offered Duke of Hell position H: Crowley apologizes to Aziraphale I: Hiding of Gabriel - 25 Lazurii miracle J: Shax threatens Crowley K: Jobs children are turned into geckos M: Aziraphale's Trial by Temptation N: Aziracrow see God talking to Job: AZIRAPHALE: I don't suppose he's getting any answers. O: AZIRAPHALE: That sounds, um…CRAWLEY: Lonely? P: An angel asks permission for entry to the bookshop Q: Aziraphale makes unauthorized changes to the Bentley R: CROWLEY: Oh, come on, Mr. Dalrymple, it's not brain surgery! S: BARTENDER: You'll be one of those investigative reporters, no doubt? T: Aziraphale goes back to offer assistance to Elspeth and wee Morag U: Aziraphale stalls on saving wee Morag, says he doesn't have permission V: The laudanum toast to wee Morag W: AZIRAPHALE: Will you get into trouble? X: Crowley does Operation Lovebirds - Calls tempest Y: CROWLEY: "What are we talking about now?" GABRIEL: "Who am I? What's happened to me?" Z: Crowley confronts Gabriel about Aziraphale - Its always too late AA: Shax saying to Aziraphale she heard Aziracrow were an item 90 years ago BB: Zombies kill - 1st brain eaten CC: Crowley talks Aziraphale into performing a bigger magic act DD: Aziracrow shake on deal to do more miracles if needed EE: Zombies kill - 2nd Brain Eaten FF: The Staging of the Bullet Catch GG: Aziraphale gives permission for Furfur to enter the dressing room HH: Furfur says to expect a legion to come for Crowley in the morning II: Furfur's audience with the Dark Council, is treated condescendingly 

● SHADES OF GREY  - you said "TRUST ME."

II: Shax is stopped by Demon Josh, is treated condescendingly HH: Shax wants a legion to storm the bookshop GG: Beez asks if Shax has permission to enter the bookshop FF: AZIRAPHALE: I can guarantee you it will be a night to remember! EE: Shax wants killers, 10,000 demons DD: Deal for Dr Who Annual with Mr Arnold CC: AZIRAPHALE: Maggie and Nina are depending on me BB: 70 demons and a malignant and creeping sense of unease AA: Nina asks Crowley about how long he and Aziraphale have been together Z: Crowley confronts Gabriel about Aziraphale - stops him before its too late Y: Nina: "I’m going mad" - is spoken to by all the people at the Ball X: Aziraphale does Operation Lovebirds - Maggie asks Nina to dance W: AZIRAPHALE: I think you're overestimating how much trouble we're actually in. V: SHAX:… they are toast. T-O-S-T E. Toast. Now! U: Crowley stalls Shax on attacking humans, asks if she has permission T: Crowley says he's coming back, won't leave Aziraphale on his own. S: CROWLEY: Officer, I need to report a crime. R: Aziraphale: It all looks so simple in Jane Austen… the brains behind the 1810 Clerkenwell diamond robbery. Q: An unauthorized demon enters Heaven, changes P: Maggie gives permission for the demons to enter the bookshop O: MURIEL: It's a bit lonely. N: Aziraphale opens the portal to Heaven: GABRIEL: I told you you could ask. However, I am the only First-Order archangel in the room, or, you know, the Universe, so I'm not gonna answer so much. M: Gabriel's Trial K: Gabriel puts himself into the fly J: Aziraphale declares war on Hell I: Reveal of Gabriel - memories restored H: Gabriel apologizes to Beelzebub G: Aziraphale offered Supreme Archangel position F: Argument about helping the other E: The Big Damn Kiss D: "I forgive you" C: "Always asking damn fool questions, too."  B: Aziraphale leaves Crowley A: Beginning of  the End – Learn of Second Coming

Discussion on parallels that didn't fit the structure:

1. Crowley is given permission to destroy all of Job's possessions /  Gabriel refuses to give permission to destroy the Earth aka Armageddon II

There is a repeat emphasis on licenses, permits and authority throughout S2, so I really thought Crowley's permit to destroy of Job's possessions would have a match. It did, but it didn't fit the structure! If you look closely some of the other permits and authority lines do slot in. I'm planning some metas on these topics in the near future, as the use of language around these concepts is quite interesting, and there is some history to throw into the mix as well.

2. Crowley deceives the archangels with the help of an angel

This pair is a reference to Crowley and Aziraphale teaming up in the Job minisode to restore Job's children, and then Muriel aiding Crowley to sneak into Heaven. I'd just like to point out that Crowley could have gone to Heaven on his own - remember Eric went up with the hellfire in S1E6 - but he doesn't know where to go and get Gabriel's file, that is what he needs Muriel for.

3.  Popping up to Edinburgh

Ah, the trip to Edinburgh! Why? WHY!!! Why go all that way for ... nothing?

Guess what - it's a parallel sequence to Crowley popping up to Heaven.

I was going to write a companion piece to this but...my to do list is getting a bit long at the moment. Let me know if you want me to expand on it.

4. Ignoring messages

So this one started as "Nina gets txt messages from Lindsay, Mrs Sandwich says not to look at them," at the start of Ep3, then during the Ball Crowley is trying to lead the humans out of the bookshop and Shax confronts him with another bundle of mail. Crowley is succeeding in ignoring his messages from Hell, but Nina isn't.

5. Muriel and The Interrupted Tea Ceremony

In S2 it noticeable that everyone except Crowley needs permission to enter the bookshop, whereas in S1 they could just walk in. Originally I made a comment elsewhere that I thought this part matched with a sub-story to the Ball, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and hospitality to angels, but then I came back and had another look and saw that there was a surface match - but I'm still going to do another post about the "cupperty" because it keeps getting lost in all the noise!

6. Threats and Declarations of War

Shax makes a number of threats throughout the series, to hunt Crowley down and to declare war on Aziraphale. So when Aziraphale inadvertently declares war on Hell with the halo toss, you'd think there would be a matching pair. There is, but not with a declaration of war, just a threat to Crowley. This is probably one of the weaker pairs.

7. Mysteriosity, audacity, ferocity and dangerocity

The Marvelous Mr Fell and his Mysteriosity has a pair with Shax's speech to her fellow demons about the unprecedented audacity of the attack on the bookshop, and how their lack of numbers will be made up for with their ferocity and...dangerocity. It should have fit, but it didn't.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

President Biden is not playing. He came out Friday and delivered what even the awful NY Times dubbed a “fiery” speech before a boisterous crowd in Michigan where thousands cheered: “Don’t you quit!” and “We’ve got your back!” The audience laughed at Biden’s barbs about Trump’s failed businesses, declaring Trump “even went bankrupt running a casino – I didn’t think that was even possible. Doesn’t the house always win in a casino?!” And when Biden touched on Trump being a convicted felon, the crowd organically chanted, “Lock him up!” But it was Biden’s line rightfully calling Trump a “rapist” that needs to be repeated by Democrats to force the media to cover this fact so that it becomes a visible part of the 2024 election. And that was Biden’s very point, as he called out the corporate media’s failure to cover so much about Trump while instead dissecting every syllable uttered by the President.

As Biden correctly told the excited crowd, the media has been holding him to a different standard by ignoring Trump’s crimes, etc. But Biden defiantly declared that was going to end now: “No more free passes!” Biden continued, “Today we’re going to shine a spotlight on Donald Trump. We’re going to do what the press so far hasn’t” adding, “We’re going to say who he is.” That is when Biden leaned into Trump being found liable for rape in the civil case brought by journalist E. Jean Carroll.  Biden told his throngs of supporters: “Donald Trump was found liable for sexual assault by a judge, who told us not to be fooled by Trump brushing it off.” The President continued, “Here’s what the judge wrote. Quote, the judge in that case wrote, quote, ‘Mr. Trump attempted to minimize sexual abuse, finding it frivolous. Mr. Trump raped her.’ That’s the judge’s language, not mine.” Adding, “Raped her, as many people understand the word rape.” That is correct and it deserves far more coverage. Donald Trump is a rapist as a federal judge determined after reviewing the evidence and jury verdict.

As a quick reminder, E. Jean Carroll had stated that Trump had sexually assaulted her in 1996 while she was in a dressing room in an upscale department store.  Carroll sued Trump in this case for both the attack and for defamation because he called her a liar, publicly ridiculed her as making up the story to sell books and more causing damage to her reputation and inflicting emotional distress. In May 2023, a federal jury unanimously found that Trump—who was represented by well-known lawyers in the trial—had “sexually abused” Carroll and did defame her, thus, awarding her $5 million. The jury did not, however, find that Trump had “raped” her in the narrow definition of the NY Penal law, but this was not a criminal trial, only a civil one seeking damages. (You can read the actual jury verdict form here.)

What Biden was referring to as Trump being adjudicated a rapist comes from what the federal judge presiding over the case, Lewis A. Kaplan, ruled in July 2023 in response to Trump’s motion to set aside the verdict. Judge Kaplan wrote in his decision (which you can read here) that what Trump did was in fact rape, as commonly understood. As the judge explained, “Carroll failed to prove that she was “raped” within the meaning of the New York Penal Law does not mean that she failed to prove that Mr. Trump “raped” her as many people commonly understand the word “rape.” Indeed, as the evidence at trial recounted below makes clear, the jury found that Mr. Trump in fact did exactly that.”

President Biden is right to call Donald Trump a rapist.

[targaryen-jpg]

like real people do — ch. 7

part seven: so scarlet it was maroon

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight

pairing: aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc

summary: aemond and adria's plans are put in jeopardy by the small council.

notes: part seven!! this was originally going to be longer but it got so long that i decided to split it up!! as always, thank y'all for reading and for all the love <<3 lrpd wouldn't be here without you! tw: mentions of attempted sa

“oh, my sweet girl.”

the queen mother was stationed outside the entrance to the small council chambers, fingering the seven-pointed star that hung on a chain around her neck.. as adria drew closer, she closed the distance and wrapped her in a warm embrace. she smelt of peonies and warm vanilla.

“good morrow, your grace,” adria said softly.

alicent stepped back, holding adria’s shoulders as she eyed the deep bruises peeking over the collar of her dress. her jaw set, a cool mask over her anger, “i am so terribly sorry about what happened, adria.”

adria smiled weakly before she glanced to the door, “is that why i’m here?”

the summons had arrived early that morning, requesting her presence before the small council. adria had no doubt that every person who witnessed what had happened had proceeded to tell the tale to as many people as they could. instead of spending her morning resting, she barely had time to find a dress with a suitably high neckline before ser arryk had arrived to escort her. she silently thanked the queen for sending a guard she at least knew.

alicent clasped adria’s hands, “in part. but that has been dealt with — what is more concerning are rumors i have heard about yourself and prince aemond.”

adria’s stomach lurched and her cheeks burned, “your grace, i—”

“you are not on trial, my dear,” the queen smiled fondly, “my son has always been headstrong. whatever the truth may be, i doubt you are at fault..”

the queen’s gaze shifted over her shoulder. by the twitch of her lip, adria knew who it was before she even glanced back. aemond was striding towards them, jaw set. the sight of him sent a flush across her body.

alicent gave her a pointed look, “the small council awaits.”

the door swung open to reveal the members already assembled. adria moved to follow the queen inside, but felt aemond’s hand came to rest on her lower back.

without a word, he pulled adria out of the doorway and against the wall, away from view.

“what are you—,” she whispered, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

“i only have a moment,” he murmured, reaching into his pocket, “this is for you.”

he produced an ornate ring, set with a gleaming sapphire. adria’s gaze shot up and found a small smile playing on his lips, “aemond…”

“i don’t care what they have to say in there,” his voice was low as gently picked up her left hand, “we will be married. this… is just a reminder.”

he tenderly slid the ring on and pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles.

from his touch spread a seeping warmth that made her heart feel like it could burst. he was a hardened warrior and a serious man, all hard lines and angles. but this was so warm and soft and tender.

when he looked up from her hand, adria grabbed him by the collar and pulled herself up to slam their lips together. they stumbled slightly, and aemond’s hands grabbed her hips gently. he wasted no time in returning the kiss, meeting her with equal fervor.

it was desperate and messy and adria could feel the fire burning just beneath the surface.

they separated with a gasp, but aemond still held her close. 

“they’re waiting on us,” adria whispered.

“let them,” aemond’s voice was low as his hands came up to cup her face tenderly. he kissed her once more, slowly and purposefully. but all too soon, it was over.

he held out his arm, and adria placed her hand on it. as they entered, the low hum of chatter stopped, heads turned and chairs creaked.

she surveyed the men assembled, and realized in horror that even aegon was there.

his distaste for the business of ruling was no secret, and his presence at the small council was rare. nonexistent, even. but he was here for this — for them.

“lady adria,” otto hightower began, standing, “welcome. the council wishes you to know we are all deeply sorry for the… incident yesterday.”

aemond and adria stopped at the foot of the table, directly opposite of aegon. all looked to her, but it was aemond who spoke next.

“bold words, grandsire,” he called, “from the man who ordered the attack.”

the hand shot him a pointed look, “there was a great misunderstanding. and a terrible accident.”

“if that was a misunderstanding,” adria offered, cocking her head, “then what was your intent, my lord hand?”

“i’m sure my grandson has told you of the letter we received from your mother — certain precautions had to be taken. we couldn’t have a traitor to the crown wandering around court, now could we?”

aemond’s hand slid to rest protectively on the small of her back.

“did you tell them to rape me as well?” adria jabbed before she could think better of it. she felt her neck flush but held his gaze.

“no,” the hand’s voice was slow, as if he was talking to a child, “good heavens, why would i order the rape of a lady of the court? no, their orders were only to detain you until we could ascertain your loyalty. what those men did to you was a terrible thing — ser dayne has paid with his life, ser alden is already on his way to the wall.”

“and have you?” adria snapped, “ascertained my loyalty?”

“it appears my brother’s already done that,” aegon snickered into his goblet.

the words were barely out of his mouth before aemond’s hand was on his knife, “are you questioning lady adria’s virtue? my honor?”

“no, no, brother,” aegon waved him away, “i would never. it’s quite a sudden engagement, that’s all. and an interesting choice of bride.”

“and that brings us to the matter at hand,” alicent interjected, giving aemond a cutting look before he could remove his knife further, “there will be no engagement. aemond is to marry one of lord borros’ daughters.”

adria’s heart dropped, and the putrid feeling of jealousy sunk low in her stomach.

aemond’s voice was deathly quiet, “no.” 

otto laughed ruefully, “i beg your pardon? my prince, this is not a matter you simply get to say no to.”

aemond’s jaw clenched, his free hand itching to reach for his blade, “it is, and i will.”

alicent clasped her hands atop the table, “this is not up for discussion, aemond. a marriage is the best way to secure our alliance with lord borros.”

“then find another way,” aemond glared at otto before turning back to his mother, “i have played the dutiful son all my life. i have trained and studied and done everything required of a prince. i have lived my life for you, and my brother, and our legacy. this is the one thing i ask you for.”

alicent’s voice was sharp, “he has four daughters, aemond. i’m sure you can find one you like well enough. leave lady adria out of your schemes and ambitions — she has her own offers to consider.”

adria was taken aback “i do?” as the knot in her stomach twisted itself further.

the queen nodded, “several, in fact. i’m sure there is one to your liking.”

“cregan stark,” otto began, “lord reyne, prince qyle martell. there will be others, i’m sure. you are a beautiful girl with a good name, you will have your choice of the seven kingdoms.”

“i don’t want it,” adria breathed in realization, “i don’t want anywhere else. anyone else.”

aemond’s chest heaved as he met her gaze.

“my brother desires a love match,” aegon mused, “you, who’s scoffed at notions of romance your entire life? the only women you’ve ever loved are our mother and vhagar. and adria has been the bane of your existence for years. gods, i can scarcely go a day without hearing what slights she has committed against you.”

it was lord larys who spoke next, “it was the impression of the court that the prince wished to… forgive my language, but, use the lady adria to further his own ambitions. or that some… unbecoming… activities had taken place. the consequences of which required a marriage.”

“well?” the queen questioned, sitting back in her chair, “which is it? do you love her?”

aemond’s lips parted as he took in adria, hand gently squeezing her waist. his gaze landed on the gleaming ring, and he murmured, “i do.”

“and adria?” aegon raised an eyebrow. she could see the gleam of mischief in his eyes. he followed aemond’s gaze to the sapphire and raised his eyebrows in knowing. the prick was enjoying this.

“your grace, there have been times when i wanted nothing more than to stab prince aemond with his own knife. he has vexed and tormented me more than anyone else, yet, i —,” her breath hitched as she looked back up at the man beside her, “i would do anything to keep him from harm. despite everything, because of everything, i do. i love him.”

“that is all good and well,” otto hightower’s voice was hard, “but it does not change the fact that the prince is not free to marry.”

aemond looked a split second from either calling vhagar to take them to essos or murdering the hand. adria would have been fine with either.

“have i taken any vows? has any formal agreement been drawn?” he shot otto a hard look, “i think you’ll find that i am free. and make no mistake, we will marry. whether it is in the sept of baelor or the summer isles is your choice to make.”

“your grace,” adria’s voice was thick with emotion as she addressed alicent, “the red keep is my home. what my mother and brother have done is beyond my knowledge. for eight years, i have done nothing but my duty to the crown. my loyalties lie with king aegon — and aemond.”

“no—” the hand started.

“very well,” queen alicent cut the hand off, sending a scathing look his way.  “perhaps we will have daeron wed one of the baratheon girls when he returns. lady adria, aemond. the crown gives you permission to marry. and i give my blessing.”

“and mine,” aegon called, lifting his cup, “brother, i am delighted you have found a woman who does not run screaming from you. and adria, i commend your bravery.”

the queen sighed and rubbed her temple.

“lord borros will not be happy. neither will rhaenyra,” tyland lannister pointed out.

“a royal wedding is good for the people. and it further cements our position as the true heirs. perhaps it will even bring the tyrells back over to us,” alicent looked pointedly at her father, who only scoffed and marched out of the room.

“well,” lord wylde interjected, “i do believe congratulations are in order.”

“yes, yes,” the grand maester agreed, raising his cup.

“to aemond and adria!” aegon joined in the toast, grinning widely.

aemond had never looked so pleased with himself as he did when he pressed a tender kiss to adria's cheek.

taglist: @bubblebuttwade @kittykylax @fix5idiots @signyvenetia @stillinracooncity @queenofshinigamis @criesinsagitarius @crispmarshmallow @missusnora @bekky06 @augustslippedavvay @hauntedcafeteria @doe-inluv @feiwelinchen @caspianobsessed

comment to be added!

next part ->

[kiwikipedia]

I decided that I better post the first and second ascensions before I went insane and did the third fully. Circe’s staff is a placeholder, but once I have all three I’ll post this again lol

Anyways, did you know that there’s almost zero muscular guys with their legs showing fully? I worked with Caligula but it was still a bit of a trial. There’s a lot more of guys who wear armor and leg coverings than you’d think!

I used and edited assets from Summer Robin Hood, Summer Blackbeard, and Waver (shirt), Rider Da Vinci (ponytail... hair not uh, horse tail), Summer Marie, Kiara, and Kiyohime (hat and flowers) , Caligula (as stated above), Summer Costume and Alter Emiya (Torso and cooler), and Lancer Arturia Alter (horse ears). Saddle bag and towel were hand done and everything else was taken and edited from Chiron’s own assets.

Not including the Draft Layers, Two Ascensions end up close to 400 Layers which seems like a lot but when you factor in the combination of color, lineart, shading and the shirt’s texturing, its a lot. Fate’s sprites are all cut up so you gotta make sure it all fits, yeah?

Anyways (again), I have a general plot line for the Summer Event with Caster Summer Chiron (tentatively called Eternal Summer Stage / Lost Summer Stage) and also the individual sets below the cut as well as the taglist

In general, I’m thinking that kinda like the Hawai’i event, this one takes place in Greece, but things are really different — either the nation’s been condensed or it’s impossible to tell where you are in Greece, even for the Greeks.

The premise is that something or someone is creating an influx of energy there, causing an unbalance or some shit but while the threat level is low, allowing for you to take your time (as all Summer events do), it still needs to be dealt with.

Chiron is your main companion Servant though he’s not the welfare one. He, alongside of a rather enthusiastic Li Shuwen and unmasked Berserker Lancelot— both of which are also Summer Servants for the first half wave (Li being either Saber or Berserker) and Lancelot being a Lancer but still Berserker’s more mellowed and gloomy character.

(Costume dress Servants are still up in the air but I’m weighing more on Hans Christian Biggerson and Geronimo, with the long overdue Hawai’i Cu, and Medusa)

Upon arrival, there’s all sorts of plays and performances going on up and down the coast and further inland where there’s a large village up against a Mountain. Both myth and man are mingling, to which Medusa and Chiron both note to be something much out of an ancient sort of tale (hence why Chiron can take his true form and no one cares).

The first half of the event is mostly solving the mystery of what this influx of energy even is— which is where you meet the second Summer Servants for the first half. Technically not Summer in terms of Class change, Ching Shih is the first you meet, dressed in that event’s other Costume Dress for her summer look. She’s happy to help, though there seems to be something a bit off about how easily things start to pop up after that. Plays pertaining to [    ] and other tales, along with even more heroic legends being spun and told. At night, you often run into an unknown woman who sits and chats with you about things as well.

All the while, Chiron seems to become more and more troubled as time goes on.

One night, however, you wander outside the inn because you can’t sleep only to get attacked by rouge Servants. This is when the second meeting happens— and it’s the “Dark fellow” that Ching Shih has been talking about. None other than Sir Agravain of Iron is here.

Though he recognizes you, he doesn’t say much on the matter, simply defeating the rouge Servants and sending them back to the Throne mercilessly. Post fight, Chiron arrives with Ching Shih and Li Shuwen and Agravain is formally introduced.

(There’s an entire thing about him wearing black armor and then you get his costume dress for free)

After that, the reveal that there’s all sorts of half-phantom-half-servants or rouge servants hiding about is finally confirmed though you’ve been fighting shadows and monsters before, the real task is at hand.

In general throughout the farming periods, the Servants will state that they are splitting up to investigate the area, kinda like the very first summer event where each location is a little bit of a sub story (Lancer-lot and Cu are at the shore investigating traces of magical energy with Geronimo, Li Shuwen and Medusa are investigating the plays and performances with Ching Shih, Biggerson and Agravain are in the town investigating there) so that’s there to get the rest of the costume dresses in the shop (Ching Shih, Cu, Medusa, Biggerson, Gero, etc)

The second half has much more to do with Chiron than the first, though he’s your companion for the first half.

Achilles joins the group, though like Ching Shih, he seems a bit odd, but he arrives and arrives with startling news which kicks off the second half of the event— the mountain against the town is Mount Pelion, the Birthplace of Greek Heroes.

This, of Course, has Chiron absolutely of kilter because suddenly he’s home. Ching Shih admits that she feels like a majority of the Singularity’s power is coming from the Mountain but didn’t want to risk going there because it’s crawling with phantom-servants— which only spurs Chiron to restate that he should still go to investigate there.

Everyone decides to go after that, because Chiron clearly isnt about to just up and let it go.

As you go through the mountain you learn a bit more about it from Chiron and Achilles, and Medusa inputs some that she knows. Agravain and Lancelot get into a minor fight, but it’s settled by Hans mostly, the usually in-between stuff.

Oh and did I mention that during this time there’s also cutscenes and non battle story from an unknown person’s POV within another space? Because there is.

In general, I’m still working out the middle chunks, but the ending is pretty much the arrival at Chiron’s Cave, only to be met by the mysterious woman who you’ve been talking to at night. It turns out that she’s Chariclo and she admits— or seems to admit— that she’s been summoning Servants from between the lines of history and Servants that normally have been gotten overlooked for some reason or another due to either being seen as not heroic enough, prejudiced factors, or they’ve simply been forgotten.

Some other stuff happens, and right when she’s about to say something pretty important you’re interrupted... by you.

Another version of you has arrived and it turns out that while Chariclo has been summoning and maintaining Servants, it wasn’t her choice. The other You has been having her do so in order to find [     ] and you know who that is— how could you not?

An argument breaks out, the other You is convinced that Chariclo has already summoned That Man, and while she doesn’t deny it, she states she can’t let the Other You into the Cave because it’ll ruin things. the Other You is determined, and perhaps a bit irrational with obsession to see That Man again and orders the Shadows to attack.

While almost every Servant is there for support, Achilles is not, and when the battles are done you realize why as Achilles stands by the Other You.

Chariclo is firm, continuing to refuse entry into the cave, and the Other You has had enough. Achilles is revealed to have not been Chaldea’s Achilles and apologizes before he’s ordered to kill Chariclo. Obviously, Chiron’s not about that, and takes the blow, severely wounding him.

Of course, this causes a chain reaction, as Li Shuwen and Agravain immoderately go for the kill on Achilles— the Other You makes a move for the Cave, you intercept Yourself because even though Chariclo might not have been a full alley, she had protected the Cave vehemently, Medusa and the others hold off the others are still fighting the shadows, before the mountain shakes.

While not dead, Chiron’s blood on Chariclo’s hands is enough to pull her from her passive state and forge a temporary contract with you. In combination, you and Chariclo stop the Other You and there’s a long conversation about grief and letting go before You and the shadows leave— either fading away or just leaving.

Once gone, Chariclo immediately has you bring Chiron into the cave so she can start healing him.

This is where you meet your welfare— none other than Romani Archaman himself. He’s weak, of course, but there and its a big reunion moment only to be interrupted by the Singularity destabilizing now that the Other You is gone.

There’s conflict, of course. Chariclo wasn’t lying when she said that Romani was too unstable to bring back. Similarly, the only reason she was able to appear, that she knows of, is because they are at Mount Pelion meaning she too is too unstable to follow a Rayshift. Unless a Holy Grail is used.

A choice is presented that you have to make, but all your choices are Romani, no matter how much you or Chiron want to bring Chariclo back as well. When you make your choice, Chariclo will present you a Grail and admit she didn’t use it on Romani at first because she was terrified what the Other You would do when Romani was stable.

With Romani Stabilized, everyone moves to head back down the Mountain for a rayshift back, but Chiron lingers. There’s grief, of course, but the two must say goodbye once more.

... Only, upon arriving in Chaldea, it turns out to not be the case.

Upon Chiron’s injury, Chariclo’s Noble Phantasm, “Lifeblood of Pelion”, quite literally used Chiron’s blood as fuel upon it being soaked into the ground. While they’re not the same as Ryoma and Oryou, as they’re separate Servants, Chiron and Chariclo’s origins linked and allowed for her to exist in Chaldea as another Caster. it’s a bittersweet ending, as Ching Shih and Agravain did not follow— but it’s no worry. Ching Shih stated that she’d see you again, and Agravain, while he didn’t say so, simply nodded in response.

( * Basically Ching Shih and Agravain are added to the permanent summon pool with Ching Shih being a 5* Rider and Agravain a 3* Assassin )

Chaldea Achilles remains extremely put out that he had been the one to harm Chariclo in the Singularity— and also annoyed he couldn’t go because he was busy making sure that Herc didn’t go off the rails.

Post event, the usual collection of the other 4 copies for the np5 welfare are unlocked along with a costume dress for Romani. Who is a Shielder class Servant.

So yeah. That’s basically the bare-bones of the idea. I don’t quite remember where the Shielder Romani idea came from but I saw a post on it and filed it away in my brain forever. The only reason Medusa, Cu, and Gero aren’t full servants is because I really couldn’t think of good classes for them. The only ones I can really think of for Gero is Avenger, and Medusa has alts for lancer and avenger, and Cu has alts for saber caster and berseker... also there’s the Servant pool of Ching Shih, Agravain, Chariclo, Chiron, and Li Shuwen, which is a hefty number even if the first two are perma summon.

If Third Asc Chiron doesn’t obliterate my soul then I’m probably going to work on Summer Li Shuwen next, or the Costume Dress trio of Gero, Medusa, and Cu. Then we’ll see about making those sprites where there’s no character base to use at all.. I might die (jk)

But when I do post the third ascension I’m going to include hatless Chiron because he’s got a lil bow hair tie and the horse ears are CUTE as hell

Anyways, Tag list below. Good god if you made it this far congratulations I know I ramble and make zero sense half the time

Taglist Form or feel free to ask me to get tagged (just DM!):

@jedifisto​​ @spaceydragons​​ @purgetrooperfox​​ @spacerocksarethebestrocks​ @insanelytomato @babygirljoelmiller​ @certified-anakinfucker​ @d3epfriedanger​ @genifer-championofpaldea​​ @thecodyagenda​ @babygirl-leon-kennedy​ @txtalnyx​ @jawajawas​

Please tell me if you want to be taken off of the list as this is no longer just Star Wars art

Additional Tags for those who have been interested in Summer Chiron the past few days (i hope you dont mind):

@300iqprower​ @bitterrosebrokenspear​ @random-senpai​

[sailtomarina]

We're roommates

Of all the weekends to be sent on a remote assignment, it had to be the weekend of Hermione’s birthday.

There wasn’t any particular reason why she wanted to stay home. Previous years hadn’t included anything special other than the hastily planned dinners while she and Ron had dated, a brief and truthfully forgettable period of time. Harry and Ginny were too wrapped up in the chaos of raising their children, a task she did not at all begrudge them. Hell, if she were a mother, Hermione was sure she’d need to hire Hagrid to control the little beasts who would no doubt inherit her hair.

No, what Hermione dreaded this year was that she’d be spending her birthday weekend with Draco Malfoy.

She had to admit after working with the wizard that he was a natural at slithering his way around outdated Ministry policies. She hadn’t really appreciated his brains when they were students, but now in a department rife with imbeciles hired by connections rather than abilities, she was thankful for him. It felt odd saying that, knowing that in another reality Malfoy could have easily bought his way into any department and position—that is, if he would have even deigned to enter the workforce, much less work for the government. Instead, he was her subordinate at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures thanks to the Wizengamot’s ruling after his trial and had been for several years. He might roll his eyes at her ongoing support for magical beings, but he nevertheless did the thorough research she needed.

They worked so well together that the head of their department deemed them a necessary unit for this job. Hermione had inwardly fumed despite taking on the task without protest. If Malfoy immediately accepted, then she certainly could and would…except the git had gone and made a huge mistake.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

The front desk clerk of the hotel didn’t even bat an eyelash at her sharp tone. Staring Hermione back dead in the eye, she repeated herself, “You have one room. There are no other available rooms for the rest of the weekend.”

“C’mon Granger, it can’t be that bad. Let’s at least go take a look.” He had the audacity to swipe the hair back from his eyes without a care in the world, completely ignoring the glare she sent him.

She grumbled the entire way from the walk to the lift, up eight floors, and down to their doorway at the end of the hall. She stamped her foot in frustration as the ward accepted Malfoy’s wand. She shoved her way in first and proceeded to let loose a string of profanities that would have made the Weasley boys proud. Finally, she pointed her wand threateningly from Malfoy to the nearby couch.

“You will sleep on the couch.”

“I will not sleep on the couch.”

“Well, I certainly won’t. This was your mistake!”

“You won’t have to. We can share the bed like the self-controlled adults that we are.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a king-sized bed. It’s large enough to line the middle with pillows if you’re that terrified of assaulting me in my sleep.” He smirked at her in his usual infuriating way, before plopping down on the side closest to the door with his arms cushioning his head.

“Me assault you?” Hermione barked out a laugh in disbelief. She refused to tell him that he was lying on her usual side of the bed.

“Of course. I know how irresistible I look, especially when I’m dressed down for the evening.” The muscles in his biceps flexed as if agreeing with the ridiculous claim.

She couldn’t even dignify that with a response, mouth gaping then snapping shut multiple times as words failed her. She had to deal with this for three whole days? She wasn’t even sure he’d survive until the end of the night if things continued as they currently were.

“Come now, Granger, let’s see if this sad excuse for a town has anything resembling good food.”

He bounced up from the mattress and swatted her on the arse with a pillow.

“Malfoy!”

Where had this playful side even come from? He grinned down at her with a strangely relaxed drape to his frame she wasn’t used to seeing. Was this how he always was outside of the workplace?

“We’re roommates now, so we might as well make the best of it.” With a casual flick of his wand in a blatant display of silent magic, he popped open his luggage and sent its interiors soaring into the closet and nearby drawers. His toiletries zipped over the bathroom with another swivel of his wrist.

“I will sleep with you—no, not like that—on one condition.”

“Name your price, witch.” He waggled his eyebrows at the slip of her tongue.

“Teach me that spell you just used.”

He repeated his earlier movements on her own luggage.

“Wait, Malfoy, that’s not what I asked—” Her voice cut off as one particular item stopped mid-flight and flew into his hand.

“Granger, care to tell me why you not only have a Falmouth jersey,” he paused to turn the offending item around before continuing, “but one with Flint’s name on it?”

She could not, would not, look at him. The jersey was one of the softest shirts she owned and her favorite to sleep in. She coughed delicately into her fist and tried to shuffle around him towards the exit.

“We might have…dated…a bit.”

He caught her on the arm before she could completely pass him.

“How did you two even meet?” The curious tone to his voice, not at all judgmental as she had initially expected, encouraged her to finally look up at him. He held her gaze, completely earnest in his question. Hermione was tempted to brush the hair that had fallen into his eyes back into place.

“He, um, had his teeth fixed a while ago by my parents.”

Understanding dawned on his face as he recalled the last time he’d seen Marcus. “So that’s what happened. I wondered who he went to.”

Glancing back down at the jersey, he finally let go and allowed it to join the rest of her shirts in the drawer.

“I’ll show you the details of the spell after dinner as long as you join me.”

He remained serious, smirk nowhere in sight and one hand still warm where it wrapped around her upper arm. She had a feeling she could say no and that he’d accept without a protest. She didn’t need to know the spell—Hermione was fairly certain she could suss out the incantations given enough time and practice. There was just something particularly intriguing about the way that he was looking at her and the entire scenario in which they’d found themselves.

He’d accepted their assignment immediately and booked their accommodation before she’d asked him to. He hadn’t corrected the desk clerk when she announced their rooming situation. Instead, he insisted they share the bed. Now, he was withholding knowledge, which he knew she passionately pursued, with dinner as a requirement.

Hermione was intelligent, but sometimes she had to admit she could be a little dense at times.

“Okay, Malfoy. Let’s go eat.”

Any doubts she might have had about accepting his offer were banished at the sight of the smile that lit up his entire face. The slight squeeze on her arm before he let go and rushed for the door sent a pulse through her body she recognized as want. She hadn’t felt that since…well, since Marcus, which was over a year ago.

Maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

WC 1283

Even though this is obviously a Dramione, I've revealed a bit of my Flintmione interests. What can I say? I can't resist Slytherin boys in Quidditch uniforms.

My parents are in town driving me batty with usual parent things. Someone HELP ME!

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

[wordstro]

[2:24 PM] + hero/villain au + "are you happy?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

masterlist

a/n: 4k words, no one asked for this at all but I read over this fic and felt it needed something more definitive i guess? so here is a more conclusive ending to this fic!!

-

there is an irony to your new living arrangements, you think. yeosang, san and yourself sharing a three bedroom apartment.

you'd been arrested after wooyoung, handcuffs suppressing your powers wrapped around your wrists and a blindfold over your eyes, and after weeks sitting in a prison cell alone awaiting your fate, you'd been called into court. hongjoong sat in the witness stand, dressed in a suit, his hair a different color and an eyepatch over one eye.

you could not get used to how different he looked. how much older he was. the soft lines in his face were harder, and his eyes were ancient, as if he'd seen too much, and you did not dare ask anyone how much time had passed. you hadn't gotten the chance, anyway, since you'd been locked up the entire time.

hongjoong explained to the court that you'd been brainwashed. the serum. the research from the labs. the gaps in your memories. brain scans of how the serum affected you. the doctors had already told you how it affected your hippocampus and how they weren't sure how your short term memory would be affected. he hadn't looked at you the entire time he spoke. you hadn't had the chance to speak with him either.

the judge and jury ruled that you would be on house arrest for fifteen months, and you would need to do community service afterwards. you were banned from using your powers for two years.

you didn't think that was punishment enough, really, but you did not say anything. there would be enough outcry on the internet anyway, after the trial results were released.

that night, the government officials handling your case drove you up to an apartment building at the edge of town, and hongjoong did not look at you then either.

you'd had weeks to think about the aftermath of wooyoung surrendering. you'd let the armed officers cuff you, and only yunho stayed with you during it. you'd sat on the ground, with your hands behind your back, a flimsy piece of metal wrapped around your wrists, and hongjoong had appeared before you, a bloody scar running over his eye, and his chest heaving, and he crouched in front of you that day and held you tight. you were taken into government custody with his blood on your shirt, mixing with wooyoung's.

while in captivity and isolation, you knew you'd done too many despicable things, serum or no serum, to not be punished. even then, wooyoung was right.

that night, you stood in front of a red apartment door, and the government officials reminded you once more of the court's stipulations before they left you with hongjoong. you were given a bracelet on each wrist, so tight it made the skin around the bracelets tender, that rendered your powers completely useless. for the first time in your life, you did not have enhanced strength.

hongjoong looked at you then, for the first time in weeks, and you asked then, "how long has it been?"

"seven years," he said, his voice soft, his hard expression crumbling into something sad. his good eye flickered over your face.

"oh." you could not believe you were seven years older and you missed all those years. not only did wooyoung steal your autonomy, but he also stole years from you. you wanted to hate him for it, a part of you did. a part of you will never, though, and that's the worst part.

hongjoong held out his arms, and you'd blinked at him, and he said, "i'm sorry we couldn't figure out a way to get you out sooner. i told you you wouldn't have to do it alone again, but you did."

you shook your head, "that isn't your fault."

hongjoong let out a small laugh, shaking his head, his arms falling to his side.

you stepped into his limp embrace anyway. you hadn't had anyone hold you since yunho, and you needed it, despite everything.

he seemed surprised, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you, and he said, "i'm sorry."

you just shook your head, and hongjoong held you for a long moment before turning to the door.

when he opened the door to the apartment, yeosang and san were curled on the couch. they'd turned off the news as soon as they realized you'd walked in, but you'd still caught a glimpse of your face walking out of the courtroom.

"we thought it best you stay with some of us during your house arrest," hongjoong said.

yeosang had a burn across his face, a puckered scar that marred his pretty face, his dark hair pulled back from his face in a messy bun. he had scars on his arms, too, that ran all the way up. it wasn't there before. san's hair was short, and his eyes were harder as he looked at you. wary. they both looked so different from how you remembered them, especially when all you've seen of them these past few years were the memories in your head that kept you sane in the serum's liminal space.

you'd wondered briefly why san and yeosang had been chosen, but before you could ask, san explained, "you can't punch me easily and yeosang can...yeosang understands. you've also hurt us less than mingi or yunho or -"

he cut himself off, and his gaze flickered to hongjoong. you'd frowned. hongjoong sighed, but he just pat your back, and said, "i'm down two floors. you can't leave the building, but you can visit if you'd like."

then hongjoong left, disappearing into thin air.

the irony of it was not lost on either of you. three of the people who loved wooyoung most, learning to cope in a tiny three bedroom apartment together. it was not lost on you, when you'd be in the kitchen reaching for a wooden spoon or a plate or a pan or if you stretched your arms over your head while watching television, and san would flinch slightly at your movements. it was not lost on yeosang when he'd open his mouth to say something, raising his voice slightly, and you'd close your eyes, fear running up your spine. he swore he wouldn't use his powers on any of you again, but he made the same promise back then. that was the only thought that ran through your head at those times. it was not lost on either of them when you'd try to open a jar or lift something heavy, and you couldn't do it because of the damned bracelets, and you'd hide in your room for hours trying to ignore the way the thought of being so vulnerable reminded you of when wooyoung ordered yeosang to keep your hands in place, or the fact that all your life you were supposed to be strong and that guaranteed you at least a modicum of safety. if san and yeosang noticed your red eyes or the tear streaks the next morning while you maneuvered around each other in the small kitchen, neither said a thing. none of you ever mentioned the small moments of fear or sadness you'd noticed. you'd figured it was because things have changed between you all. at least between yourself and them.

it was worse when mingi or yunho would visit, and they'd flinch at your movements too. or hesitate to touch you. or treat you as if you were this fragile, weak thing they should handle with care.

it didn't help that you were stuck in the apartment building. there were only so many times you could go to the small apartment gym before you lost your mind. yeosang and san had a job, and you wanted to help with rebuilding as well, but you couldn't leave. the bracelets would electrocute you, hongjoong had said once, and you'd stared in horror as hongjoong shrugged and patted your shoulder gently. you couldn't even visit hongjoong because he was barely home in his apartment. the other patrons of the building avoided you completely, and you couldn't blame them for it.

you only knew a bit of what happened to jongho and seonghwa. they were in prison apparently, but their sentences were much shorter than wooyoung's due to a plea deal worked out when seonghwa had decided to spy for hongjoong, feeding information back to them and even helping yeosang and a few others escape. a light sentence for jongho was a part of seonghwa's plea deal.

you'd avoided the news as often as you could, and san and yeosang always changed the channel. it was strange, trying to figure out how to navigate living again alongside san and yeosang. the three of you didn't always get along. especially san and you, but that had always been your dynamic, even when you first joined the team. you would be an idiot to think everything would be normal between you three. the tiptoeing and awkward silences were enough of a testament to that. you noticed often that san's bed would be untouched, the mornings you woke up early to get some quiet time to yourself, and the door to yeosang's bedroom would be shut, soft music drifting out from beneath the door. perhaps before everything, you would have felt comfortable teasing them for it. now, you weren't sure where your dynamics stood, and what you could and could not tease them about. it made you sad.

the tension did not entirely dissipate for a while. not until one evening where you'd flipped through numerous channels, landing briefly on a news channel. your phone buzzed, san's name lighting up.

i'm bringing pizza home, by the way. with y/n's favorite toppings.

he'd been doing that more often lately, and you wondered often why. he never really asked what you wanted for dinner the times he brought anything home, but the past week he'd gone out of his way to bring home your favorites. even yeosang brought you desserts from various bakeries without you having to ask.

yeosang responded with a cute smiley emoji and a, can't wait! i'll be home in a bit too

you'd smiled at the previews, turning to change the channel, when you'd realized what the broadcast was about.

the eighth anniversary of the siege of seoul. the footage was devastating. you'd stared in horror as you saw wooyoung rise from the ashes, like a phoenix. as you saw yourself tearing through buildings. cctvs devolved into static. the footage was blurry. but it was you. you'd done that. and afterwards, there was a memorial. seven hundred and sixty two died civilians died that day.

"y/n."

you'd jumped at the voice, the remote falling from your hands. it clattered on the floor, and the sound of it made you jump again.

you craned your neck to look behind you in the direction of the voice, and san was placing the pizza on the kitchen bar counter as his gaze flickered between you and the television. yeosang was right behind him.

you'd blinked at them both.

your chest felt tight, and your vision blurred, but you said, "is this why you're being nice?"

san blinked rapidly, taken aback. he said, "what do you mean?"

"for the past week," your voice sounded tight, pitched, even to your own ears, "you've both been so much nicer. is this why? is it because...i did that?"

you didn't know why you were asking. you did do that. even if you didn't remember. even if you were brainwashed. you killed those people. you killed a lot of people.

"because i don't remember it," you gestured at the television still broadcasting the memorial, and your hands shook as you said, "i don't remember anything. and so...so if you're trying to make me feel better i don't think i deserve it."

"don't say that," yeosang said, tone soft, and brows furrowed.

"i killed people, and i don't remember it." your voice cracked then, and you couldn't help the way your eyes stung. you said, "what kind of horrible person can't remember that?"

"none of it was your fault," san's voice was firm, even as he approached you, as he crouched in front of you on the couch and turned off the television.

"then why does it feel like it is?" you blinked back the tears, "i don't know where i stand anymore with any of you. i don't even know what fucking year it is. but i know that that was me, and i did unimaginable things. to innocent people. to you and yun-yunho and mingi and joong, and i got off with a slap to the wrist. i told wo - i told him i hoped he'd die with the guilt, but i think i'm going to die with it first."

"i was the one that took you, y/n. i was the one who started all this," yeosang's voice rang through the apartment, a soft thing that filled you up, up, up. you looked to him, and the guilt in his expression made the tears spill down your cheek. "i've been distant because of it, but i didn't think you'd notice...or care. i just...i'm sorry, y/n."

he trailed off, and you shook your head as you said, "you didn't know how this would turn out."

"why do you do that?" san asked, even as he placed a hand on your cheek and wiped at your tears, "why do you forgive him so easily when you won't even forgive yourself?"

you'd blinked, frowning, "do you want me to be mad at yeosang?"

"i want you to stop crying," san wiped away all your tears before pressing his palms to your cheeks. "most importantly, i want you to stop tiptoeing around us."

"i'm not the only one. why do you flinch around me then?" your voice is louder as you frown at san.

"you've beat the shit out of us for years. i'm getting used to the peace. forgive me if a month hasn't fixed it." he'd rolled his eyes, "still doesn't mean i'm scared of you."

you let out a small laugh at the indignant tone, at the way san still held your face between his palms. his smile turned soft as he observed you.

you glanced sideways at yeosang, "i'm not scared of you either, yeo. i just...didn't know if you hated me."

"i don't hate you," yeosang said, gently. you held out a hand anyway, gesturing for him to take it. he relented after a moment, letting you squeeze his hand.

it was quiet for a long, long moment, before san murmured, "he really fucked us up, didn't he?"

san didn't have to say his name for you to know who he was talking about. san dropped his hands from your cheeks as he sat across from you on the couch. yeosang leaned over the back, leaning his chin against his hands. you dropped your hands to your lap. yeosang hummed, but his brows were furrowed, his expression troubled.

you observed the puckered burn scar on yeosang's face as you wiped your face of your tears.

you asked, "what's happened to him?"

you didn't want to ask, but you wanted to know. you would always want to know.

"death sentence, and solitary confinement in a maximum security containment center until then," san said, quietly. "we all agreed he should live with the guilt. he's technically on death row, but he'll probably die of old age before the state carries through with it."

you watched san's eyes glisten as he spoke.

"do you think he feels guilty at all?"

san only shrugged, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

yeosang said, "i think he does. he always did."

"you think so?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scar on yeosang's face, the skin rough under your touch. you dropped your hand as you said, "even after this."

"he cried after," yeosang murmured, his eyes faraway. "isn't that fucked up? he cried, and he asked me if i wanted to leave that night."

yeosang laughed, but it sounded hollow.

he said, "you were there."

you'd nodded, but your heart lodged in your throat. you said, "i think i was always there."

"you were," san said quietly. "he never let you leave his side. he let yeosang leave, but he...he never let you leave."

you took that in. the few times you'd woken up, it was beside him. of course it was. of course he didn't. san reached over and thread his fingers through yeosang's limp hand, his thumb drawing circles along the back of yeosang's hand.

yeosang asked after a moment, "do you think we'll be okay?"

"we can try." you murmured. "we have to try."

san nodded and nodded, and yeosang brought the box of pizza and a bottle of wine to the table, changing the channel on the television without another word.

~.~.~.~.~

years later, too many years to count, you find yourself standing on the other side of the glass.

wooyoung sits in a chair in a white room, every wall made of glass. his hair is overgrown, and his tanned skin paler than usual without the sun. he has the same demeanor as he always does, an easy nonchalant façade that you don't think will ever go away.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, no doubt a text from yunho or mingi or hongjoong.

they said they'd be waiting outside. yunho, mingi, and hongjoong agreed to pick you up for dinner afterwards. yeosang, san, seonghwa, and jongho would meet you both there.

the first time you met seonghwa again, he'd crumbled to the ground, holding your hand in his cold hands, and he repeated apologies like he was praying. jongho cried. it took a while, as it did with everyone else, to rebuild what you had. even then, you didn't think it was entirely there. it was certainly different.

his voice is full of static.

"i didn't think you'd visit," wooyoung says, and his voice is rough from disuse.

hearing him talk, seeing him, it made your heart feel heavy. the anger you felt towards him, every time you couldn't remember something that you could have before he put the serum in you, every time you saw the scars over your heart, every time you were reminded of what you did for him, every time yunho or mingi or san or hongjoong flinched, every time you went to the doctors to check if the serum was fully out of your system and the trigger words no longer worked, returned tenfold as you looked at him. you thought you'd come to terms with it. you thought you were okay enough for this. maybe you were wrong.

you said, "i didn't want to."

"then why are you here?"

"i wanted to ask you something," you say, wooyoung's gaze flickering over you.

wooyoung smiles. it reminds you of Before. you shake that thought from your head.

you say, "do you regret it?"

wooyoung's eyes flickers between yours. his voice is a soft, crackly thing, "sometimes."

you stare at his admission.

wooyoung laughs, "i've had a lot of time to think. if there's one thing i've come to terms with, it's that i ruin everything i love."

"you do," you say, thinking of yourself, and san and yeosang and hongjoong and yunho and mingi, even jongho and seonghwa.

a beat of silence, before wooyoung says, "can i ask you something?"

the guard knocks on the door, signaling that your visit is almost over.

you nod.

he asks, "are you happy?"

wooyoung's eyes are soft, sad, and you find that the part of you that will always love him, despite everything, curls in on itself. however, the part of you that is always angry, that despises him for admitting his feelings for you only to take seven years from you while you forcing you to do the most despicable things, wants to scream at him. wants to hurt him. wishes the glass wasn't there so you could kill him the way you'd wanted to years ago. you will always resent him for his choices. he knows that. he nods as if he can hear your thoughts.

you say, "happier than i've ever been."

he nods, but his eyes are a glassy thing. the guilt in his expression is clear then, and you find it satisfying more than anything.

"and everyone else?"

you want to say, the happiest they've ever been.

but you choke. you can't say it. you can hurt him using yourself, but using your friends? you can't do it, despite everything.

they weren't the happiest they've ever been without wooyoung. you've seen them try to move on with the heavy burden of jung wooyoung on their shoulders. he would always remain a hole in their hearts, and in their groups, in their group chats and dinners and conversations. in fact, when you told hongjoong you wanted to visit, he hadn't argued, only looked as if he would cry - something you've never seen from him in all the years you've known him.

"why did you do it? was it really worth losing everything? was..." you frown, "was losing us worth it?"

wooyoung was always one to stand by his resolutions, but perhaps years alone has changed him more than any of you could have.

he murmurs, "i have to believe it was."

the guard knocks on the door, opening it. the creaking hinges echo in the room.

"goodbye, wooyoung," you say, knowing damn well you don't think you'll ever return.

wooyoung smiles as if he can tell.

"goodbye," he says.

[givemeanaccountalready]

Haruka Sakurai: Breakdown of a Soggy, Blue Blorbo (2/2)

On the previous post, I did a play by play of “Weakness” and highlighting what I thought was important. Then, I introduced my theory that the girl in the pink dress that we see in “Weakness” is Haruka’s younger sister, and that something happened to her during the night of the fireworks.

So, I gave my theory, but what else proves my theory because it is built on the straws I grasped. I mean, in the Trial 1, (written) Interrogation Question 7, Haruka states that his family only includes his father, his mother, and himself. There is no mention of a little sister. If his sister didn’t die the night of the fireworks (and I’m leaning towards she survived that night), then I think she is the person who Haruka killed before he went to Milgram. And when you have a deceased family member, especially an immediate family member, there is the rather painful question of whether or not to include them in your list of family members.

The reason I’m still so dang hung up on the idea of the Girl being Haruka’s sister? Haruka’s jealousy. There’s your parent comparing you to the neighbor’s kid who eats all their vegetables and does their homework without complaint, and then there’s Haruka going “you would get angry with me and say ‘You’re hopeless’ / … / It’s fine, it’s all my fault right? It’s enough, I am a disappointment” like there’s a golden child-scapegoat situation and Haruka is the scapegoat. He isn’t a reliable narrator, but he’s what we got. And it’s easier to hold the scapegoat stay down if their golden child sibling is ‘perfect’ and doesn’t have the same issues as them despite having the same parent(s). “All-Knowing All Agony” kicks off Haruka stealing his mother’s necklace to these lines, which imply that he is competing with someone:

“You were always comparing me to someone else / You were always so generous, except to me / I will definitely make you love me again”

It’s probably not his dad. Haruka’s dad is absent. I can say that much with certainty. We are two music videos in, and haven’t seen hide nor hair of his father. In Trial 1, Interrogation Question 5, Haruka states that, “I disappointed him,” and in Trial 2, Interrogation Question 6, Haruka writes that, “He’s not that interested in me. I guess?” His father isn’t one of the people he wants to see, and he placed Es as his mother figure, not father or the more gender neutral parental figure. Any daddy issues about not having an involved dad pale in comparison to the Norman Bates level mommy issues that Haruka has due to her revoking her love for him.

Then there are the damn flowers. If I was right about the yellow flowers in “Weakness” being yellow camellia in my previous post, we know Haruka is longing for (unconditional) love. Haruka is looking at the girl, not his mom when the flowers first appear. Was his sister the first person to unconditionally love him? Does he long for the happy days they used to have when they were kids, back before the night of fireworks happened?

In the odd chance that they were yellow carnations, then the meaning is rejection. Haruka was rejected by his mother in favor of his sister. There’s the disappointment undertone, highlighted by the remarks that he’s hopeless and crazy and a disappointment. In “All Knowing All Agony” one line in the chorus was “If with one click, and I can reset everything / Can I be your favorite next?” And then that line changes at the end to be “I want to be your favorite next” These lyrics could be directed towards the audience, but if I’m right or have half a point with my theory here, he could be asking his mother if he can be her favorite child next. And I just want to say, in his Trial 2, Interrogation Question 20, (Do you hate the person you killed?) Haruka writes, “I wonder… I think I was envious of them.”

And here’s the girl we see him choking:

Does that hairstyle look familiar?

You gotta love animation. People may get haircuts but they need to keep their identifiable features present when they change their looks. It is hard to tell, but the Girl from “Weakness” has a face-framing hair just off of her temple. It’s hard to see on the ground of “All-Knowing All Agony” but it looks like the girl Haruka is strangling has a thick braid, just like the young girl from “Weakness”.

Interestingly, despite all his talk in his first trial song about wanting to be weak and pitiable so he can be loved again, in the Trial 2, Interrogation Question 15, Haruka states that if he had one wish, “[he’d] want to become a strong, smart, and interesting person.” I think the reason why he was obsessed with being perceived as weak and pitiable goes a bit deeper than him remembering being loved as a weak, little boy. This is speculation, but if your younger sibling gets hurt when you were supposed to be watching them, there’s a good chance your parents will come down hard on you for letting it happen. Because they were your responsibility, why didn’t you take care of them? Kazui pointed it out in his interrogation question. A part of growing up is taking up responsibility (something kids can get away with ignoring) and that can be terrifying. If Haruka’s first taste of what happens when you neglect your responsibility (watch your sister) is his sister being seriously injured and the consequences go beyond just disappointing your father to now causing your mother to take back her love, and you’d be a wreck over growing up too. As an older brother, Haruka is supposed to play the protector role. You need to be stronger and smarter than the threat but you weren’t and now everyone hates you. But you were loved when you were still seen as too weak to protect yourself, let alone your younger sibling. Can’t you go back to that?

I could see that being twisted into Haruka loathing his sister as the mental wounds fester. He can’t go back in time and change the past. But if his sister never existed, or ceased to exist, then his mother would have to love him again right? Everything would be reset. Look, his mother certainly wasn’t taking him to therapy and now he has an appointment scheduled at Arkham when Milgram is done with him.

Another reason he could be obsessed with being weak and pitiable is that a chronically unwell sibling tends to attract the caregivers’ attention. Haruka probably saw his mother dote on his sister while rejecting the strong, healthy him and made the conclusion that only the weak are loved.

To summarize:

To sum up what I’ve written so far: I think that the Girl from “Weakness” is Haruka’s younger sister and first human kill. I don’t think he killed her on the night of the fireworks, but I do think he either saw someone hurt her and blamed himself for it (which his mother and father possibly confirmed in their actions to him), or he was the one to (accidentally) hurt her and he wasn’t allowed or able to forgive himself for it, regardless of what his sister thought. Haruka’s obsession with being weak and pitiable so he can be loved probably stemmed from the attention and care his sister received from their parent(a) while recuperating from her injuries. Or his jealousy led him to think that he needed to be the weakest by default and he killed his sister.

Side note: I think there might also be a chance of Muu being his second chance at being a ‘better’ big brother and ‘protecting’ her. She’s around the estimated age for Haruka’s sister, and would not do well a physical encounter with injured Mahiru, let alone survive Kotoko and her steel-toed boots.

Tell me, what do y’all think?