#i don't understand why it so seldom is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

idyllcy · 7 months ago

Text

every time i look at you, i keep turning red

word count: 7.0k || inspo: The Dismemberment of Zagreus

warnings: nsfw, smut

summary: shade or not shade? minor goddess or goddess?

Past the gates of Hades and the river Styx, Elysium sits. An endless paradise of homes and greenery in a seemingly desolate land. It was always Zagreus' third stop. He hadn't paid much attention there, Asphodel previously wearing him out. Zagreus wonders not much about the land itself. The prince needed to get past it, avoiding traps he's lived through too many times to count and fighting past foes. He stops occasionally at safe spaces of people he's talked to and always leaves nectar behind as he knows he's going to return. He never makes it that far into the temple. It takes trials through hell and back to escape. It takes time, he finds. So sometimes, he rests in the fields, in a place he knows is far away from whatever traps of death within the realm of Hades himself may await him. A place where no dirt can cut into his skin and damage it.

It was a strange place. The shades wound him, though they didn't pierce the skin of the shades. Skin? The body. The souls, perhaps. The realm of Elysium was never meant to reside in as a godling for long. Though, he had seen multiple souls retain their human form here. It was amusing to him. It had been the closest he had ever been to talking to living people. He wonders if there are any new ones. It was weary, meeting the same people over and over again in the realm. He seldom sees people end up here anymore.

A sigh slips past his lips as he lays down in the green.

He resides in a paradise built for only the best of the best; people whom the gods favored heavily. Since the first three times he had visited his mother, he hadn't stopped to breathe in order to get back up. He fought, raced, and hurled in order to get to where he needed to be. He had to see his mother once more. She hadn't returned with him, and he had unanswered questions he needed answers to. Yet, as he finished with Asphodel, he supposes a quick rest in the grass could not kill him. Well, he wasn't exactly alive either. And, if failed, he would simply return to where he started. It was a cycle he had grown used to, though he fought tooth and nail to make it upward each time.

Zagreus is not expecting to meet someone new on the fourth.

He spots you in the distance, white chiton draping over your shoulders, wrapping snugly around your figure.

A young maiden. You looked no older than him.

He wonders by whom you were favored, but he pauses at the sight of the familiar color. It seemed you had received a blessing in the form of your hair. The streaks of color remind him of his own mother, and he wonders just what you've done to please the Queen of the Underworld so much. You don't notice his stare, but you notice the sword stuck to the dirt, reaching to pull one out of the ground. He wonders if you'll get cut by one. His eyes trail over your hands, and he takes note of how rough your hands seemed to be. They resemble those of his mother's. Perhaps you had been a farmer who worshipped his mother especially much.

The blade doesn't cut you, but you fail to pull it out. He watches newfound determination paint over your features, and his lips part at the sight. You pull the weapon out in two tugs, falling onto the ground as you do. The red on the surface of the blade cracks into green as you pry the sword out with your bare hands. Zagreus can only observe in a mixture of fear and awe. You, a dainty maiden, had pried a weapon out of the sod as though it were a pomegranate. You sat there, staring at the craftsmanship, enthralled by its beauty as he were enthralled with yours. You hear him shuffle, and he leans back into the grass.

Zagreus doesn't understand why you don't approach him nor run away, but he takes it as a greeting. He might see you more often. Perhaps he'll see you on his next quest upward. When he hears you shuffle out of range, he stands up, the wounds on his body healed to some extent. His exhaustion is rested, and he sets off to meet his mother again. Perhaps he'd ask her about you. It was strange to see hair that reminded him so much of his own mother. He wondered if the color had the same texture as his mother's. Ah, but it wouldn't be so kind to compare you to his mother, now would it? Perhaps he missed his mother. That's why he had stayed a little longer to pay attention to you. It would leave him with his next death. There was no other reason.

When Zagreus reaches the surface, his mother shakes her head at his questions. She had no favored child. There must've been something wrong. Perhaps he had seen things while hurt from battle. As Zagreus falls back into the Styx, he wonders if you really had been a desperate hallucination. It had been years since his father had ruled anyone into Elysium. If not blessed, then what was it? Perhaps you had done something during the time that you were alive.

You were a mortal goddess. One of healing, he supposes. He closes his eyes and hears someone shuffle toward him, pressing cold hands onto his skin, and a cooling sensation flowing through his body. When he opens his eyes again, the figure is gone, the wounds on his body mended. There's no ache in his body, and he notices the ambrosia left next to him. It was strange. Had you really been a goddess, you wouldn't be able to die. Perhaps you had fallen out of worship and grown forgotten by the people who once served you.

Zagreus keeps the ambrosia in his pockets. Maybe he'll give you one once he returns.

The fifth time he lies in the field, he doesn't have as many wounds, but he closes his eyes anyways. Perhaps he could catch you. When he feels as though he's waiting an eternity, he hears the grass rustle. Once the footsteps stop next to him, he grabs the hand that's pressed to his back. "Got you," He smiles. You struggle in his grip, and he can feel you grow warmer. "I won't hurt you," He sits up, keeping your wrist in his hand, taking note of how dainty you were compared to him. Your wrist seems small in comparison to his hand.

You blink at him owlishly, fear visible in your eyes. "Prince. M-my apologies. I didn't want to wake you, though I was worried the wounds would cause problems if left alone. Please don't send me to Tartarus..."

Zagreus sputters. "I assure you, fair maiden, that is not the case. I simply wanted to meet my savior. Perhaps you are a godling as I?"

You shake your head. "I am not. The blessing of Apollo's healing was simply placed on me. I am but a minor deity compared to the Olympians."

"So you fell out of worship?" Zagreus loosens his grip on your wrist. You don't seem like you'll leave if he does.

"No," You shake your head. "My mortal body was destroyed in a fit of rage from my father... My prince, how is it that you're able to touch me? I thought shades could not be touched."

"Elysium is a little different from such rules," He mumbles. "Thank you, for the ambrosia, fair maiden."

"It was but something expected," You mumble, standing back up. "My apologies for holding you back, my prince. I heard you are on your way to Olympus."

"That's not entirely correct," He stands up with you, towering over you almost. "But thank you for your healing, fair goddess."

"The Olympians wouldn't be happy with that title you call me," You mumble shyly as he presses a kiss to your hand. "Go on, my prince. May you continue on your journey with the blessing of a minor deity such as I."

Zagreus smiles gently. "I thank you for the blessing, little goddess."

Zagreus climbs back to the overworld for the fifth time.

On the sixth, he has no injury. He's growing better at climbing, yet he still stops by the meadow where you reside. He wants to see you again. Of the few shades that could touch him, he seemed to like you the best. Your fingers were cool against his skin, and he liked the way you warmed when he complimented you. He likes the way you turn dark from his touch. You were tiny compared to him. He was already short compared to both his parents, but you were even smaller. It seemed you were an even lesser goddess compared to him. He liked the feeling of your hand in his. Ah. He'd have to ask mother what that feeling was. His chest was warmer than the gates of the underworld.

"Lovely maiden," Zagreus presses your hand to his cheek, relishing in the cold of your fingers. You feel divine on his skin. As though Nyx herself had blessed you, your skin was cold as his foster mother's. He liked the feeling of your skin on his.

"My prince," you mumble. "What time is this? I feel as though you've climbed for centuries by now."

"Maiden," He whispers. "That is simply because there is no morning here."

"Ah," you mumble. "The days feel long, even in a paradise such as Elysium."

"I can see that," Zagreus smiles. "Well, I shall be on my way now."

"Yes, my prince," You bow. "Please stay safe. May the blessings of a minor deity as I assist you along the way."

"Thank you, little goddess," He presses your fingers to his lips. "I shall see you in my next run."

Zagreus finds himself heavily wounded on his seventh run. His mother had told him to consider talking to his father properly, and he had fallen dead to the overworld again. Ah, he had forgotten to inquire about the warmth from you. He recalls the words of his mentor, though, wondering if that was how his father felt around his mother. Would he have to move you forcibly to his room? No. That would make him the same as his father. He wouldn't like it.

Neither of you speak while he's injured, and you press your palm to his skin. The cold that spreads through his abdomen stings, though it brings him comfort as well. He has grown used to the cold from your hands, and he wonders if you could press it to his hands to heal them as well. Calluses and rough patches of skin from handling weapons have long plagued his fingers and palms. It was a strange feeling, though it has grown to be welcomed. There is something about your touch specifically. His hand reaches for your face as you start pulling away.

"Goddess," He mumbles, pressing his fingers to your cheek.

"Tis your seventh run, yes?" You mumble, leaning into his touch.

"Yes," He breathes, his breath catching in his throat.

"How many more, my prince?"

"I don't know," he presses his thumb on your bottom lip, swiping across it. Your lip seems small compared to his thumb, he can only imagine how small you would be compared to his hands once he lifts you. Ah. No. He couldn't afford such thoughts. He had barely known you, yet he held such affection for you. Perhaps you had treated him just as you treated everyone else. He didn't know a dead heart could race so fast. "Until my mother returns." He purses his lips. "Though it will only be temporary rest. I don't feel as though I belong here, you see."

"Mm," you hum gently, lashes fluttering to get a better look at the prince. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my prince."

"I do," He smiles. "And I get to see you, my fair goddess, each time."

"How flirtatious of you, prince," You mumble, skin warm again.

"Only with you, my fair goddess," He smiles. "This is for you to take," He places a bottle of ambrosia in your hands. "Until I meet you next time, goddess."

Your skin warms from his ministrations. "May the blessings of a minor goddess as myself keep you safe on your journey."

"A kiss, perhaps?" He smiles, cocking his head to the side gently. "If you don't desire it, then it is fine."

"If the prince desires it," you mumble, using his shoulder as leverage to pull yourself to his cheek. You press your lips to his neck for a moment, and Zagreus finds his skin growing red. He turns to stare at you, the blush visible on his skin. You stare up at him, doe-eyed and smiling. "Then I shall fulfill it."

Zagreus wants to defile you.

The thought comes up suddenly as he stares down at you, and his heart shakes erratically in his chest. Maybe it wasn't a heart. Perhaps it was the blood rushing to his head. Yet, as he watches you fulfill whatever he desired, he couldn't help but wonder if you'd give yourself to him. His hand reaches for your lip again, brushing the bottom lip. You stare at him, staring quietly. Ah. He's been staring for too long. Hopefully, you don't mind it.

"My apologies, little goddess," Zagreus lets go of your face gently. "I shall be on my way."

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I protect you along the way," You bow, and Zagreus heads out to his mother again.

Zagreus pauses while in the colosseum, a recurring thought plaguing his mind. It would be nice to find you after the fights, though he would have to return again. He wonders how far your healing properties can go. Perhaps he could find you once he climbs the next time. He still needed to convince his mother to return to the underworld with him. Once he does such, he'd be able to leave much easier. His father being distracted would also permit him to spend more time with you while he climbed to the surface. Perhaps he could somehow convince his mother to let you roam around the underworld with him while he traveled upward. A companion along his way would be nice. You could heal him when he needed it as well. He'll talk with mother on the matter.

While on the surface, his mother follows him with more questions. Zagreus wonders if it would be possible to remain on the surface for longer. Perhaps he'd build up an immunity to the sun, and he'd be able to stay out for longer. He should bring you up sometime. Though, it seems you didn't exactly die, so you'd undoubtedly be capable of escaping from the underworld. His father would be greatly angered at such a thought. Letting a goddess that fell out of worship escape the underworld? How foolish of a thought.

"My prince," You stare at him as he steps toward you.

"Goddess," He smiles. "I've come to seek advice, since you seem to have seen more than I."

"A lie," You hum. "But let us see if I shall be of assistance to you."

"My father's chambers," Zagreus swallows, and he pauses. Should he be telling you of such a vulnerable room? No. Even if he were to keep it a secret, he wouldn't know the answer until his mother responded to him. "Do you know of the former queen? My mother?"

"The goddess Persephone?" You tilt your head. "It had been a legend, as many of the people believed you were the son of Nyx, but I suppose you wouldn't be escaping to leave if your mother were here."

"So you do know," He mumbles. "My father has a portrait of my mother hung up in his room, still. After so many years."

You tilt your head to hear more.

"I do not understand why."

"It is love," You smile. "For one does not go so far or so to keep a fragment of someone unless they are in love."

"Is that so," Zagreus mumbles. "Would you like to meet mother?"

"My body is supposedly bound to Elysian," You smile. "Unless the prince was considering abducting me?"

"I do not see why not," He shrugs. "Tis tradition in this house." He smiles cheekily. "As my father had abducted my mother."

"But you do not love me," You watch him as he presses the back of your hand to your lips. "As your father loves your mother."

"I would move you to the office of Hades myself if I could," Zagreus nods, and you press two fingers to his head.

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I keep you safe on your journey once more," You bow as he steps off.

"Ah," He turns around. "Before I forget." He steps over to you, handing you a bottle of ambrosia. "Would you be willing to move to my chambers if I could move you?"

"We shall talk about that once the chance of such an event occurs," You smile, and Zagreus watches the faux wind brush your hair.

"Of course. Thank you, little goddess," He returns to the arena once more.

In such a way, he supposes Asterius and Theseus have grown tired of his attempts at escaping, though they go no easier on him than they always have. The metal of his weapons clashes against theirs, and he does wonder if his proposal to you could ever go beyond a fleeting thought. Though, as he defeats the heroes once more, he stands and stares at the drops. Perhaps he could bring that up once his mother returns. His father's mood might soften if that were to occur. But alas, pointless thoughts are worth nothing until they follow through.

Zagreus talks to his mother, questioning as to why his father would even begin to keep a portrait of his mother with him. His mother's response is the same as yours, and he pauses at the realization. His mother seems to catch on, and he curses himself as he falls to the river Styx again. He's wasting his time thinking about you while on the surface. His mother is considering it, sure, but gods, he's about ready to steal you for himself. He's sure you'd look much prettier under the sun. He's nearly jealous of your worshippers. Though, he wonders how a foolish thought as such could even plague his mind.

"I have been told," You start, fiddling with your fingers. "That this is not your ninth run, but perhaps your hundredth, my prince."

"That is an overstatement," He hums. "I have lost count as death is not new to me."

"It would seem so," You mumble. "For death is foreign to me."

"You had not passed?"

"The sleep reincarnate had quite the time trying to find my name," You smile. "Hades himself had to welcome me into Elysium since he could not send me back to the overworld."

"Would you like to join me?" He traces circles on your hand. "Since you are not bound there."

"I will be of no help in the arena with Asterius and Theseus. I shall simply wait for your next climb." You shake your head.

"No warrior experience?" He finds it almost baffling. "None?"

"I have fought," You swallow. "But I do not enjoy it, my prince."

"I see," He mumbles, staring at your robes. "Then I shall come find you in my next run."

"I see," You smile. "Please convey my words to your mother. I feel as though the underworld misses their queen, my prince."

"I see," He nods.

"May the blessing of a minor goddess as I," You grab his hand, pressing your lips to his knuckles. "keep you safe on your journey once more, my prince."

Persephone entertains the idea of possibly returning to the underworld. The last words she leaves Zagreus with make his heart flutter at the possibility of his mother returning home with him. He's elated. Once he does, he's sure he'll be able to have her meet you and possibly move you around with him. The idea brings a smile to his face as he talks to Hypnos. The sleep incarnate grimaces and sends him on his way, napping once more as a result. Zagreus doesn't understand why his heart races as he opens his arms for you.

You crash into his chest gently, sighing gently at the feeling of his arms around you. Zagreus thinks you're a little cold, but it's a welcome contrast to his warm skin. His fingers press against your back, and you smile softly. It doesn't reach your eyes, but your body relaxes in his touch, and Zagreus can't help but wonder if something had occurred for you to touch him so willingly. He lets you rest on his chest, and he presses his fingers to the back of your neck. You squirm at the sensation, and he smiles. "Did you miss me, little goddess?"

"Yes," You mumble. "You took time this run, you see, my prince."

"My apologies," He presses a kiss to your hair, and you giggle.

"How was seeing your mother?" You peel yourself from him, lashes fluttering up at him.

"It was nice," He hums, letting go of you. "Are you still willing to reside with me in the main castle?"

"Perhaps once you accomplish your goal on the surface of the earth," You tap his chest mindlessly. "Will the queen return?"

"Perhaps," He closes his eyes, pulling your palm to his cheek. "Will you meet her with me this time?"

"Perhaps," You mumble. "Though, I can not return to the surface with you. It will be of no help."

"I do not mind bringing luggage with me," He lifts you from the ground, grinning as you yelp. You sit on his right shoulder as he rushes to the arena. "If you do not wish to fight, then there is no need for you to."

"I can fight," You swallow, the blade on your thigh.

"But you do not like it," He hums, pulling you to the side. "Just watch me and heal from the sidelines. Please, little goddess." He brushes your hair to the side, and your breath catches in your throat.

"If that is what you will, my prince." You mumble as he carries you off to the arena. A part of you were terrified of Hades's booming voice as the first time, yet Zagreus' arms keep you secure. He couldn't pass with you around. You hadn't passed away, and the healing you provided raised his defenses. You prayed that he would survive with you as luggage. The mere thought of having to battle on your own terrified you. The sight of blood was already a tightrope to walk on.

Your prince fights valiantly, the battle long engrained into his muscles, and he finishes his job with precision. The blood on his skin does not belong to him, but rather his opponents, and the good shade cheers. Your fingers drum against your skin nervously as the gate to the Temple of the Styx opens. The prince offers you his hand, and you follow him. You fear for your life. There were rumors that the gate to the surface was guarded by Lord Hades himself, and you did not wish to meet the god again.

Zagreus passes with you on his shoulder, and he finds that you are much lighter than he thinks. It was as though your bones could break at any moment. He didn't like it, though he was glad you hadn't complained about how quickly he was rushing through. He wanted to meet his mother. Perhaps he'd get his father's blessing along the way, though, he would most likely attempt to send you back to Elysium. He wouldn't let him. It wasn't any more of an act of defiance compared to escaping to meet his mother.

Zagreus reaches the gates to the surface with you still on his shoulder, and his father pauses at the sight. His son has a shade on his shoulder, and he contemplates letting his son out even at all. Though, he recognized the shade. It wasn't a shade, it had been a goddess who had just floated down the River Styx. He supposes letting him go would not hurt, though it would definitely cause a hit to the reputation of the underworld.

"Zagreus," Hades' voice bellows. "What is with the shade?"

"She is not a shade," Zagreus swallows, and he presses his hand to your trembling thigh. "She is a goddess."

"Goddess or not," The king of the underworld roars. "I can not let her escape."

"I am taking her to meet mother," Zagreus grumbles. "If you do not let me pass, we will fight as we always have."

You avert your eyes from the King, and Zagreus' grip on you assures you of your safety. You had not thought he would be so honest with his words. The heat creeps up your cheeks, and you attempt to tune out the King and Prince's conversation. You can feel the heat from frustration radiating off of his body, and you press your palm to the back of the prince's neck. You hope that'll calm him down to some extent. It works, and the prince starts negotiating. The heat at the gate lowers, and you whimper as Zagreus finally rushes out with you.

The overworld is much colder than the underworld. You had forgotten it was near winter, and you tap the prince for him to let you down.

"I promised father to bring you back," He mumbles, holding onto your hand instead. "So you must stay attached to me."

"Of course, my prince," You mumble, stepping onto the grass. "How long do you have?"

"Until I pass," He smiles. "You must return from the styx with me, though."

"I can return through the gates," You follow him as he rushes through the hill to his mother's abode. The snow crunches under your feet, and you glance at the burnt grass from Zagreus' feet. You hadn't paid much attention to the prince, yet it came as a surprise that his feet left ashes in the green. Perhaps his mother had cast a spell in her garden? You try not to think much as the prince leads you to his mother's home. You were undeniably a little worried for meeting the queen of the underworld.

"Mother," Zagreus lets go of your hand, and you stand there, glancing around the garden.

You space out for much of the conversation, rocking on your heels, staring around at the overworld. It has not changed much. You wonder how your people are doing, though they are far from the gates of the underworld. Your eyes linger at the edge of the cliff, and Zagreus' voice cuts you out of your trance. "Mother, this is a minor goddess that ended up in the river Styx," Zagreus pulls you to his mother, warm hands on your shoulder as you smile awkwardly.

"It's... a pleasure to meet you, goddess," You bow.

"Well, there are no need for formalities as such," The goddess smiles. "I remember you. I had visited your temple once."

"I am honored, your highness," You bow in embarrassment. "That you had received the help of a minor goddess as I."

"There is no minor nor major," The queen helps you up, and she smiles. "For we all take care of people."

You flush with embarrassment. "Thank you, my queen."

Your skin warms as the two of them help you onto Charon's boat, and you listen curiously to the sounds of Orpheus and Euridice. The boat rocks rhythmically as you stare at the passing scenery. The green of Elysium is familiar to you, though the lands of Asphodel and Tartarus are foreign to your eyes. You note the screams, and you stare almost longingly at the ever-fading sunlight. Zagreus takes note of it, though he wonders if there were ever a chance you could remain in the overworld. Both of you know that is just foolish wishing.

As the boat stops at the gates of Hell itself, you pause to stare at the gates. They're a terrifying height to you, and as the queen of the underworld herself bellows for the opening of the gates. Zagreus squeezes your shoulder assuringly as he presses his palm to your back. You trail through the gates, next to the prince, swallowing unconsciously as Hades greets his wife and son. You reach for Zagreus' hand instinctually, shaking slightly as his hand clasps you. He rubs gentle circles on the back of your hand as you space out, thinking about your home in Elysium. Though, it seems as though Zagreus does not wish for you to return. Even as you return to the main hall with him, Zagreus does not let go of your hand.

"Goddess," He mumbles. "We shall be throwing a banquet for the olympians. Would you like to join?"

"There is no need," You mumble. "When shall I be returning to Elysium?"

"Do you wish to return to early?" The prince whispers sadly, and you whimper.

"I am worried that Lord Hades will grow angry," You try and explain yourself.

"If he does not, will you stay with me?"

"If it is my prince's will," You avert your eyes, and the prince smiles.

"Then by royal order, you are to stay next to me at all times."

"Even while my prince escapes?" You fiddle with your fingers, letting go of his hand.

"Even while I escape," He presses his hand to your hair and runs it down your back. "You are to stay with me."

"Yes, my prince," You don't know how to feel about it. Though, it seems to be an issue that only you worry about. The preparations for the party are done by Lady Persephone and you, adjusting the tablecloth and food. You help pick the wines, the queen herself growing the grapes, and the underworld quickly hurries to vitalize. It feels very alive, a place that seemed to be no more than death itself. You had never seen Hades work so much on things other than dealing with shades. You're almost impressed.

Zagreus helps his mother adjust the tables in the dining room, and the amount of preparation that goes into the welcoming of the Olympians is baffling. You help around when you can, organizing plates and tasting the food. Zagreus stops you from having a sip of ambrosia while preparing. You bat your lashes at him, and he shakes his head. "There is alcohol mixed into it, fair goddess." You listen, setting it onto the table as he rushes off to help his mother. You smile at the two; after all, he was a mother's boy. You wonder if you had parents of your own, but you brush the thought off. It did not matter.

Once the party ends, you don't complain as you clean up with the other servants, and you don't complain as you wash dishes in River Styx. You find it amusing that you were washing dishes in the river of the dead. The boon of Lady Persephone herself keeps you from decaying, and Zagreus helps you out, drying tableware as you finish the last of the mess. The rest of the castle is restored, and you collapse onto Zagreus' recliner, exhaustion worming through your body. You curl in the cushions, the exhaustion knocking you out. You could worry about other things later once you wake up.

The prince of the underworld steps back into his room, frowning when he couldn't find you after you rushed off to the kitchen. He wonders if you had been sent back to Elysium or attempted to flee. After all, you had looked sad when you boarded the boat to return. He's glad that isn't the case when he finds you on his bed. Your chest rises and falls, the fabric of your chiton barely doing anything to cover your body. It slides down your shoulder, and Zagreus bites his tongue as he shifts it back up your shoulder, covering you. He lifts you from the recliner, placing you in bed gently, as if scared you would break from his touch. Your skin is cool against his as he wraps his arms around you hesitantly, and he closes his eyes. It had been a while since he had fallen asleep.

You wake to warmth pressed against your back and a sweaty body. You don't recall Zagreus' room being so hot. Was Tartarus burning all of a sudden? Perhaps Asphodel had overflowed once more. Yet, as your eyes open and you stretch your arms, you find that you're in the arms of the prince, his head pressed into your shoulder. You pause mid-stretch, and you lower your arms, shuffling to face him. The sheets rustle as you press your ear to his chest, eyes closing again at the sound of his heart. Huh. You didn't know dead people had heartbeats in the underworld.

Zagreus wakes again, sighing at the coolness of your skin. He glances at your new position, and he lies there, staring up at the ceiling. His mind wanders as you lie on him, and he brushes your hair to the side. You look pretty in his arms, and you were all his. You stir in your rest, and you blink drowsily at the male. "Zag?"

"Good morning, goddess," He smiles. "Did you rest well?"

"Very much so," You mumble, tapping his chest gently. His eyes meet yours, and his lips pull into a grin. You look dazzling. He moves his hand to your cheek, tracing the bags of your eyes. Your lips part, leaning into his touch. You contemplate your words for a moment, the prince hanging on the apprehension. Your next words cause his smile to broaden."May... I have a kiss?"

"Yes, goddess," He whispers, lowering himself to press one to your lips lovingly. You wrap your arms around his neck, whimpering at the heat from his hands. His eyes stay half-lidded, and his tongue swipes your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting him press his tongue to yours, sticking closer to him. Zagreus leans further into you, heart ringing in his ears. He whimpers as you move your hands to press to his chest, and he pulls away, the coolness of your skin burning his. He pants, staring at you through his lashes. "What's wrong?"

"I want more," You whimper, squirming as he presses his hands to your waist. Zagreus' face lights up. You seldom asked for more. You must be tired, his pretty goddess. He'll take care of you properly. Anything for you, after all. He pulls the blanket from your shoulders and lifts you into his lap.

"On top or on the bottom, darling," He mumbles, and you reach for his wrist.

"Bottom, please, Zag."

The prince spreads you on the bed, pulling your thighs apart as you ease into the pillows. You chew your bottom lip nervously as he presses his fingers into your legs. You grow embarrassed from his actions, skin flushing.

"Don't do that," You whisper.

"What's wrong?"

"It's embarrassing," You hide your face, and the prince smiles.

"There is no embarrassment," He pulls you to his face by the thigh, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your leg. "You are the lover of the prince of the underworld. There is no shame in a place as this." He lifts the cloth from your legs, scrunching it up. "I'll make sure that you are aware of this, goddess." His fingers trace the outer lip of your labia, thumb meeting your clit to get you wet. You grip the sheets, desperate to cum not squirm. Zagreus is making it increasingly hard for you, your breath quickening as he slides a finger into you. Your thighs squirm to close, and he uses his arms to keep you open. Your struggling falls on deaf ears. He stares in curiosity at the way you coat his fingers. "You're gorgeous, darling." He mumbles, kissing your clit gently. You flush with embarrassment.

"That's embarrassing," You whine again.

"I told you, darling," Zagreus presses his lips to your pussy, pulling his fingers out to keep your legs apart forcibly. "There is no embarrassment to being my lover." He can't see you, but he drinks in the sounds you make as he goes down on you. The room fills up with your gasps, and he moans lightly as your fingers thread through his hair. He presses his tongue flat again, and you whimper as he bites on your clit. You're not sure what happens next, but as the prince goes back down on you in a blur, your legs are tightening around his head, your orgasm crashing down on you. Your lips part, a silent sob slipping past your lips as Zagreus pulls from you. He swipes his fingers across his chin, collecting the slick from your cunt.

"Still embarrassed?," His face drops, and he leans into your face.

You whimper. "N-no."

"Do you want to go all the way?" He stares at the mess on the sheets, and you whimper.

"Yes," You whisper. "I... feel as though I've made you wait long enough."

"Do not think that you are required to satisfy me," He whispers, staring into your eyes. "Never. This is about your comfort."

"I am sure, my prince," You mumble, fingers pressing onto his chest again.

Zagreus pulls his robes to the side, and he gives you one last stare, only pulling you to him as you nod. You're nervous, understandably so, and the prince eases into you, lashes fluttering to stare at you while you stare at where he was sliding into you. He's glad you're wet enough, and he pauses once he's inside of you, rubbing comforting circles onto your waist as you reach for his hand. He entwines his fingers with yours, letting you play with his fingers as you adjust to his size.

You're full. You feel yourself filled to the brim, stretched beyond how you've ever felt with your fingers alone. You fiddle with the prince's hand, the heat from his body warming yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to feel closer to him, and he leans onto you, hands caging you to keep his body weight off of you. You take the moment to stare at his arms and pecs, biting your bottom lip as he shifts himself in you. You exhale, curling upward to his collar, biting quietly. The prince cocks his neck to the side to give you more access, and you bite down, the male moaning. You suck quietly. You wonder if you could ask him to play with his chest another day. He might think it's too much for the first time.

Your lips let go of his neck, and you lower yourself back onto the mattress. "You can move now, my prince."

Zagreus moves slowly, worried that he would break you if he were to move roughly. You can feel him with every drag, sweating. "You're, hah, so dazzling, goddess," The male moans, hissing at the feeling of your nails rake down his skin. You whimper as he drags himself inside of you again, and your eyes are glazed over with tears. Zagreus finds that you look divine like this. The mixture of sweat and spit on the two of you causes your skin to glisten, and his half-lidded eyes flick over your body. You look ethereal. Ah, not even the skies of the overworld could rival your beauty. He can't believe he gets to have you like this.

You gasp and writhe under him, broken sobs cracking out of your throat as he thrusts into your repeatedly. You feel his sweat build up under your nails, yet you don't mind. Every inch of your body is on fire, and you whimper at how full you feel. You feel every inch of him drag through you at each thrust, and your toes curl behind him. It's drunkening. Your body is a mess from him, the cum staining his sheets, yet Zagreus doesn't stop. Your arms fall above your head, Zagreus entwining his hand with one of yours. You feel embarrassed, trying to muffle your voice in his pillows. "Zag... Zag... Ah, Zahg" You gasp as he presses his chest to yours, forcing your eyes to meet his. "I'm going to... hah... cum... please..."

Zagreus presses a kiss to your collar, his thumb moving down to meet your clit. You were calling his name so sweetly, how could he not comply? Your back hits the bedding again, nails digging into his shoulders. You moan and babble incoherently as he speeds up, and you cry as your orgasm hits. It jolts down your spine, your pussy clenching on him, causing the prince to curse on your skin, fucking you through your orgasm. You cry from the overstimulation, and the prince strings apologies into your ears as he chases his own orgasm. "Zahg... nn," You cry. "It feels weird... a-ah," Zagreus presses his lips to yours, finally feeling himself cum as your nails dig back into his skin. He doesn't think much as he forces himself into you deeper so that his cum stays, and you finally relax onto the pillows, tear stains visible on your cheeks.

"Sorry, darling," He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, licking the salt curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," You whimper as he pulls out. "I'm fine. Thank you, my prince."

"Rest again, my goddess." He mumbles, kissing your forehead. "I shall take care of you."

"I'm sorry," Your eyes shut. "My prince."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for," He pulls the covers over you once more, and you drift off.

#this is two years old. no i will not elaborate #☾.nsfw #hades game #zagreus x reader #reader insert #☾.fics #hades game x reader #beeeeg sigh. no more tags other than that this one is staying HIDDEN #oh my god why is the tag trending this is EVILLL NOO DON'T PERCEIVE MEEE :(

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transmutationisms · 11 months ago

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from a non-academic, i find parts of comphet to be useful (heterosexuality becomes compulsory when you’re raised in a heterosexual society) but the foundations . suck. what do we do with theories like this, that have touched on a truth but also carry a lot of garbage? can we separate the truth from the founder?

i have to be slightly pedantic and say that i don't think rich's essay is an example of this phenomenon. my central issue with her formulation is its bioessentialist assumptions about human sex and therefore also sexuality. if i say "capitalism includes economic mechanisms that enforce heterosexual behaviour and exclude other possibilities", then what i mean by "heterosexual" is plainly not the same as what rich means—and for this reason i would seldom formulate the statement this way, without clarifying that i am talking about the enforcement of heterosexuality as a part of the creation and defence of sex/gender categories themselves. so rich and i do not actually agree on the very fundamental premises of this paper! rich was not the first or only person to point out that economic mechanisms as well as resultant social norms enforce heterosexual pairings; i actually don't even think the essay does a very clear job of interrogating the relationship between labour, economy, and the creation of sex/gender; she means something different and essentialist to what i mean by sex and sexuality; and i think her proposed responses to the phenomenon she identifies as 'compulsory heterosexuality' are uninteresting because they mainly propose psychological answers to a problem arising from conditions of political economy. so, in regards to this specific paper, i am actually totally comfortable just saying that it's not a useful formulation, and i don't feel a need to rescue elements of it.

in general, i do know what you're talking about, and i think there's a false dichotomy here: as though we must either discard an idea entirely if it has elements we dislike, or we accept it on the condition that we can plausibly claim these elements and their author are irrelevant. these are not comprehensive options. instead, i would posit that every theory, hypothesis, or idea is laden with context, including values held and assumptions made by their progenitors. the point is not to find a mythical 'objective' truth unburdened by human bias or mistakes; this is impossible. instead, i think we need to take seriously the elements of an idea that we object to. why are they there? what sorts of assumptions or arguments motivate them, and are those actually separable from whatever we like in the idea? if so, can we be clear about which aspects of the theory are still useful or applicable, and where it is that the objectionable elements arise? and if we can identify these points, then what might we propose instead? this is all much more useful, imo, than either waiting for a perfect morally unimpeachable theory or trying to 'accept' a theory without grappling with its origins (political, social, intellectual).

a recent example that you might find interesting as a kind of case study is j lorand matory's book the fetish revisited, which argues that the 'fetish' concept in freud's and marx's work drew from their respective understandings of afro-atlantic gods. in other words, when marx said capitalists "fetishise" commodities or freud spoke about sexual "fetishism", they were each claiming that viewing an object as agentive, meaning-laden in itself (ie, devoid of the context of human meaning-making as a social and political activity) was comparable to 'primitive' and delusory religious practices.

matory's point here isn't that we should reject marx's entire contribution to political economy because he was racist, nor is it that we can somehow accept parts of what marx said by just excising any racist bits. rather, matory asks us to grapple seriously with the role that marx's anthropologically inflected racism plays in his ideas, and what limitations it imposes on them. why is it that marx could identify the commodity as being discursively abstracted and 'fetishised', but did not apply this understanding to other ideas and objects in a consistent way? and how is his understanding of this process of 'fetishisation' shaped by his beliefs about afro-atlantic peoples, and their 'intelligence' or civilisational achievements in comparison to northwestern europeans'? by this critique matory is able to nuance the fetish concept, and to argue that marx's formulation of it was both reductive and inconsistently applied (analogously to how freud viewed only some sexuality as 'fetishistic'). it is true in some sense that capital and the commodity are reified and abstracted in a manner comparable to the creation of a metaphysical entity, but what we get from matory is both a better, more nuanced understanding of this process of meaning-making (incl. a challenge to the racist idea of afro-atlantic gods as simply a result of inferior intelligence or cultural development), and the critical point that if this is fetishism, then we must understand a lot more human discourse and activity as hinging on fetishisation.

the answer of what we do with the shitty or poorly formulated parts of a theory won't always be the same, obviously; this is a dialogue we probably need to have (and then have again) every time we evaluate an idea or theory. but i hope this gives you some jumping-off points to consider, and an idea of what it might look like to grapple with ideas as things inherently shaped by people—and our biases and assumptions and failings—without assuming that means we can or should just discard them any time those failings show through. the point is not to waste time trying to find something objective, but to understand the subjective in its context and with its strengths and limitations, and then to decide from there what use we can or should make of it.

#marx #adrienne rich

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save-the-villainous-cat · 4 months ago

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Helloo! Thought of a prompt, thought you could fulfil!

Stoic Hero doesn't like anyone knowing what they went through. Villain finds out anyway?

(So specific, Ikr?)

Most of the time, the villain tried not to act like a total idiot around the hero. It wasn't necessarily because they feared judgement. It was mostly the fact that despite all, they wanted to stay professional.

But looking back, this probably counted as idiotic behaviour.

"If you're mad at me, I can live with that," the villain said. Their eyes were on the hero in the hospital bed and slowly, it dawned on them that they themselves hadn't eaten in hours.

"You shouldn't be here," the hero croaked in response. With their black eye and their arm in a sling, they looked miserable enough to make the villain's stomach turn. Usually, the hero wasn't one to use many words and the villain had seldom actually argued with them but considering all circumstances, the villain was ready for a lecture.

Hospitals had always been a no on both sides. Identities being revealed and civilians getting involved was something both had agreed on to avoid.

But the villain had panicked. They had seen the blood and the broken bones. The hero hadn't responded.

Of course, they had called an ambulance. Of course, they had tried everything in their power to make sure the hero was alive.

"Honestly, if you're mad at me, that's fine. I understand. I just need you to know this wasn't on purpose. The medical staff isn't allowed to leak any personal information and nobody treated you any differently from other patients. It should be safe for you to be here."

The hero closed their eyes and leaned back against the mattress.

"Did anyone see you?"

"…I hid when the ambulance arrived. And then I showed up at the hospital and said we are dating.”

The hero let out a pathetic laugh.

It made the villain truly uncomfortable to see their nemesis like this. They barely moved, almost as if it was too painful to even lift a finger.

The exhaustion carved itself into the hero's face and their usually calm and perfect expression was similar to a tortured angel's.

The hero took in a deep breath.

"Why are you here?" they asked. Their voice was weak.

"I couldn't just...leave."

"Because we sleep with each other?"

The villain frowned. No, they didn't think it was because of that. If this had happened two months ago, they wouldn't have left either.

They wanted to take the hero's hand but they didn't find the courage.

"You've mentioned that a few times before and I'll say it again if you want me to: I don't care about you because you are good in bed. I care about you because I respect you and I think what you're doing is impressive."

"We are enemies," the hero reminded them.

"Enemies with benefits."

"You could have left after the ambulance arrived. You didn't have to stay and watch. You didn’t have to go to the hospital and say we are a couple," the hero argued and the villain came to the conclusion that the hero truly didn't comprehend how anyone could ever care about them.

It wasn't easy for the villain either; to accept that there was something between them, some unspoken thing that lingered in the air when they looked at each other.

Some horrible silent truth. Because, at the end, "I care about you because I respect you" was a horrible excuse for something that reached a little deeper.

Maybe that was also the reason as for why the villain was so satisfied after a night with the hero.

They couldn't imagine having someone else in their arms and if they were to find out that the hero had other lovers, the villain feared that would break them.

"It's okay that you are angry," the villain said. "I am just not sure if you are angry at me for staying or…?"

"No…no, I…I am not angry at you, it's just…I am scared of what we have." The hero's eyes found the villain's and to the villain's surprise, their serious hero let actual sadness go over their face. It looked like it didn't take much for their tears to drop.

The villain took their hand.

"What do you mean?"

"What if you use me?" the hero whispered. Their bottom lip was shaking. "What if this is a big act and you…you're trying to get information out of me or some day you will lock me up when I am asleep next to you and you will torture me and I will still love you and-"

"Listen, that is actually sick and cruel. I did do some questionable things in the past but nothing ever came close to that," the villain said. "Why would you even think I…?"

And then it dawned on the villain that it wasn't just a fear but a memory. Something the hero had experienced.

Why are you here? Because we sleep together?

The hero thought the only reason as for why the villain was here was because the villain didn't want to lose their fuck buddy.

Holy shit.

The villain could only guess what had happened to the hero in the past and how they'd been used by someone they had loved.

“Okay, please listen. I like what we have and…perhaps we could be more if you want to. I have never really been in a relationship before and I am too dumb to manipulate you. I…I don't really know what to say, I just…I am here. I am here because of you. I don't have any other motivation or desire right now. All I want is for you to be alright."

"I think I need time." They squeezed the villain's hand weakly.

"Take all the time you need," the villain said but they felt like throwing up after hearing all this.

They had thought the hero would curse them for bringing them to a hospital.

It turned out this was only the tip of the iceberg and the villain truly wasn't ready for the entire truth.

#not proofread cuz it’s 1 AM #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #an answer for an ask #enemies with benefits #angst

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minimomoe · 3 months ago

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Hi just wanted to let you know I LOVEDDD Not Just Neighbors but I have a question does reader know about Logan and variant reader in his past universe and if she doesn’t then who would tell her and how would she react?would she be understanding?or would she feel like Logan’s only with her to fill in variant readers place? (I don’t know if your requests are open so you can ignore this if not or if you don’t feel comfortable answering :D)

For the sake of keeping it a short (I tried my hardest but ik it's long lol) oneshot reader understands that she might have meant something to Logan in his universe but doesn't press on it since he seldom talks about his past. I kinda wrote that whole story on a whim so I didn't think too hard about it. Since you asked so nicely, here's an alternate excerpt of how that realization could've went: wrd ct: 1.9k tags: a little angsty but that's all

Not a Replacement

"Wade you gotta tell me. We're on better terms now, but why did Logan hate me so much? I hardly ever talked to him but when he sees me his face scrunches up like he smells shit. Do I smell like shit? Be honest."

Wade's nose went straight to the crook of your neck and you rolled your eyes before shoving him away. "What?! You said to be honest. You smell great though," he shrugged.

"Okay, so what was it?"

"What is what?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your patience was running thin and you didn't have time for Wade's games. "What was the reason? He's your roommate, you gotta know something."

You were sitting at Wade's dining table and you saw the food in his mouth slow to snail speed. His eyes darted to you for only a second but it was all you needed.

"Wade," you said in a warning tone. "Do you know something?"

"I know a lot of things. For instance, I know that you are the best damn cook in this whole apartment building, you're insanely gorgeous, you hate when people keep secrets, and did I mention how really fucking pretty you are?"

"You better tell me or so help me god every plate I bring you will be under seasoned and burnt to a crisp."

"Okay fine!" He dropped his sandwich onto his plate and crossed his arms over his chest. You scooched your chair in closer, finally ready to hear an explanation. "You better not tell anyone you found out from me or steak knives is gonna cut my dick off again."

"Again?" You gave him a concerned look.

"Don't try to change the subject, missy. The truth of the matter is that our resident honey badger might like you a lot more than he lets on. I am risking so much by telling you this."

"From my understanding you can't die, so how much are you really risking?"

"You don't live with him, smartass," he grumbled. Wade scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a lot more serious than you usually see him and he looked almost... apologetic. You straightened up when he hesitantly opened his mouth again. "I explained the different timelines, right? Logan isn't from our time line, I plucked from a different one and tricked him into helping me. The thing is, these timelines can be very similar to each other."

You understood it well, or as much as you could, from the first time Wade explained it to you. Time traveling, anchor beings, Paradox and Cassandra Nova all seemed too ridiculous to be true, but you knew Wade wouldn't lie about such a thing. Plus you know about mutants and Wade's regenerative powers. Of course crazier things existed.

"I'm picking up what you're putting down. What does this have to do with Logan's apprehension towards me?"

Wade sighed, running his hand over his face. "It's not apprehension, okay? Look, I noticed it too. The way that he acted like he might explode if you come too close. He knew you, and I mean knew you, personally— intimately, before and now you don't even recognize his face. I know that feels fucking horrible."

Wade stared down at his sandwich somberly like he was speaking from experience. You fell silent, ruminating on his words.

Intimately. You have never met anyone like Logan before, but he already knew you. There was nothing you could even compare this to. You slowly got up from your seat and patted Wade on the shoulder. Your mood was dampening at the new information.

"Uh, thanks man."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you. I don't blame you but you're all weird now," he groaned. "You're not a replacement. She could've been entirely different. She could've be Catholic."

He was expecting a smirk from you at the very least but got nothing. "That doesn't really help."

Wade watched you slump out of his apartment to head back to yours without another word. He could literally see the cloud of gloom forming over your head and he groaned dramatically.

"Canadians are supposed to be nice people. I should know! Leave it to the Australian to ruin that for us."

---*---

Logan could smell the difference in your mood around him. You were on edge, giving him sneaking side eyes when you thought he wasn't looking and nervously biting on your thumbnail. Something was bothering you, something pertaining to him, and you didn't know how to bring it up.

It would be hypocritical of him to drag out the issue with you, but he never played fair before.

"If you stare at me any harder bub, you're gonna put a hole in my head."

He offered to take you out to get dinner instead of staying in. It was nothing fancy, just a small Indian restaurant that he found on a whim, but he remembered you saying that it was one of your favorite ethnic foods to eat. The short walk back to home was just to kill more time to spend with you, but you were hardly saying anything.

You pinched your bottom lip between your two fingers, rolling it over slowly. "It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all."

The dismissive answer did nothing for Logan. He gave you a hard stare that you didn't return. Instead you walked a few paces ahead of him, leaving him behind.

"Hey!" Logan called out to you, grabbing your arm. You reeled back, shaking him off and pursed your lips together. The sudden coldness wafting off of you made him panic internally. Did he say something he shouldn't have? Did you suddenly get tired of keeping things friendly. Was he reading you all wrong? All those questions burned the back of his throat but he rather ask the obvious one.

"I've seen you tired and this ain't it. What's the problem?"

Finally you returned his gaze with an cautionary look. "What really happened between us Logan? In the past, or a different timeline, or whatever the fuck. How much history is between us?"

The question knocked Logan over like a mack truck. This was not the type of conversation he wanted to have with you in the middle of the street with cars honking and passersby brushing past, but you were standing your ground. Logan ran a weary hand through his hair then rested it on his hip. If he wanted to make this work with you, he'd have to be honest with himself.

“Did Wilson run his mouth—“

“Forget about him. I’m asking you.”

He stared at you dead on, looking into your eyes that were uncertain of him. "You left me.”

You stiffened up, the statement making you falter.

"And I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. You gave me chance after chance to get my shit together and I didn't. I was breaking your heart and you didn't want to stick around to watch me crash."

Logan sat down on the nearest street bench. The headlights of oncoming traffic blinded his visage with a pure bright white before turning. He could hear your pleas from time's past, your dissapointed tone. He could hear the screams of his x-men, his family that he left behind.

"You visited me after they... after the humans killed the x-men. You saw the damage that was done and you hated me for it."

Logan felt the thud of you sitting on the other side of the bench. He didn't look at you, now taken with his memories, but you were no longer on the run. You wanted to hear his side that he never got to tell anyone.

"They were like family to you too. Ororo, Charles, Jean, Scott. You loved them, so when you found out that they were gone and I was still alive..." Logan's voice trailed off and his head hung low. "I was never a hero. Or a good guy. I was a selfish asshole who left when things got tough. I couldn't save my relationship with you, or save the people I owe my life to because the only thing I'm good at is destroying things. Then I come to this world and you givin' me this bright eyed, hopeful look and I couldn't handle it."

New York City has never been known as a quiet city but there was an eerie silence that ensued. It was like everybody was holding their breath, silently listening to Logan’s darkest confessions.

"I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. What I did before keeps me up at night, eats me from inside. But being around you again... shit, it reminds me that I didn't lose everything.”

A long beat of silence stretched after Logan's words. You stared into on coming traffic too, unable to form words. You held your arms together, the cool breeze of the night chilling your bones.

“Fuck,” you sighed, a wave a guilt washing over you. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

He shook his head. “You have the right to know.”

“I just made you spill your guts out on this public bench because I was worried that I was some freaky look a like for somebody that you used to know.” You put your head in your hands and groaned. “I can’t speak for past me because she isn’t me… but I am glad to have you here in this timeline, Logan. If it’s any consolation, it seems like we were always supposed to find each other.”

Logan couldn’t be more grateful for that fact. He never sought out to use you to fix some broken piece in him. It just happened that if given the chance, he would choose to love you every single time. Given all his mistakes, loving you was never a wrong choice.

You scooted closer to Logan’s still body, closing the distance until your thigh was pressed against his. You leaned over until your head was resting on his shoulder, soaking up his body heat. Neither of you said anything for a while. You didn’t need to.

Logan’s voice travelled through your body when he spoke again. It was gruff, making him clear his throat before starting over. “They had a nickname for me according to the TVA. They called me 'the Worst Logan'.”

“Do you believe that?” You peered up at him. It was that same look that made him want to run for the hills. You were disarming without even trying. He felt naked, unable to hide his beating heart that you held in your hands. After a thick swallow he was able to answer.

“Not as much. I’m better than before.”

You nodded, content with his response. “And you’ll keep on getting better. The TVA doesn’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

You slipped your hand under Logan’s that rested on his thigh and he quickly squeezed it like a lifeline.

“I’m not subbing you in for anyone, bub. Plus, past you was never this sappy,” he joked.

“Oh fuck off,” you chuckled. “But thank you. For telling me everything.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” he shrugged.

You and Logan remained on the bench for a little while longer. The sleepless city continued to hum along, cars honking and people talking, and you sat there absorbing it all, hands still entwined together.

thank you so much for the request! sorry it took so long, I was trying to balance angst and good ending. Check out Not Just Neighbors ("the worst" Logan x Reader) for more context! I'd love to hear y'all thoughts xx!!

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#minimoe #x black reader #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett #wade wilson #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #logan angst #deadpool is a silly little guy #dp3 #mimi answers #mimi speaks

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two-red-butterflies · 1 year ago

Text

the bravest soldier | m33

Description: Max Verstappen and his girlfriend go inside a taxi (not knowing that it's a prank set up for him) in which, their relationship is made public.

Pairing: max verstappen/model!leclerc!reader

yournameleclerc1 he loves himself ladies and gentlemen 💙

tagged: max verstappen

239 comments 123,210 likes

user19: UMM??? Y/N??? baramram3: i smell y/n x max 😳 maxverstappen1: 😆

"It's more of a red and orange day," he explained, moving his arms around and placing the cap on his head. He fancied himself a fashion connoisseur at home, even helping you pick out outfits for work - but when he was out with friends and the media? The same cap was on his head - the same polo, and it was frustrating.

"I actually feel proud 'cuz I forced you to wear white," you chuckled as he opened the taxi door. "Don't be too cocky, liefde." he rolled his eyes - helping you carry the luggage inside the car.

"Maybe I'll get you to wear red soon," you add - and he gently nudges you inside. "The day that pigs fly - maybe." he laughed, settling his hand on your thigh. The taxi driver in front of you looked familiar - but you couldn't remember where you saw him.

"Oi! Are you Max Verstappen?" the man rudely asks and your boyfriend nods his head. His grip on your thigh tightens - praying to the gods that he wouldn't recognize you. "Yes," he answered politely, playing with the straps of your seatbelt. He was a professional driver but seldom wore it in the passenger seat.

"Very nice eh? Must be the dream." the man complimented, moving his car away from a section of the airport. "We'll be going to ******," your boyfriend informs while fastening the seatbelt around your waist. "If you don't mind - I don't use those digital map thingies. I think that if you wanna be a taxi driver, you gotta know the roads." the man rambled, and your boyfriend continued smiling.

"Yeah, I guess that's the best way to get around things." he replied while playing with his phone. He couldn't believe that the both of you were unlucky enough to score a chatty driver. "How about the girl beside you? Is she your sister?" the man asks intrusively, and a nervous chuckle escapes both of your lips.

"No, she's uhh - my girlfriend." Max confirmed proudly, wrapping his free hand around you. "That very nice," the man nodded his head - trying to get out of a conversation that he started.

leclercuniverse16: ya'll...check channel 4 💀

arthurleclercsupporter1192: YA'LL CHANNEL 4 IS LIVE??? HOW DID REDBULL APPROVE THIS?? HOW DID MAX VERSTAPPEN'S PR TEAM APPROVE THIS??? HOW DID Y/N LECLERC'S PR TEAM APPROVE THIS?? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

charles16ismydaddy: what is going on? i don't have ch 4 - arthurleclercsupporter1192: they were doing one of those gags where they prank celebrities and MAX VERSTAPPEN went inside the taxi with Y/N LECLERC AND HE SAID "No she's my gf" LIKE

LandoNorris

"Y/n what was that?"

Y/N:

landaurrnorris12: lando wtf is this 😭 - LandoNorris: had to jump on it before charles finds out

bellawherehaveubeenloca: TELL CARLOS TO TELL CHARLES - LandoNorris: I think Checo would appreciate having a teammate that's alive ✌🏼

"I'm sorry, I think I took the wrong turn." the taxi driver apologizes, quickly pulling up a paper map from his pocket. "It's totally fine," you smiled at him, playing Helix Jump on your cellphone. He begins driving towards an empty field - to the right place.

"I'm sorry but I got to take a wee," the man apologizes again and your boyfriend agrees; mumbling something along the lines that he understands. Once the taxi driver was out of the car, Max began to panic. "Where are you going?" you ask and he opens the door.

"I think we should get out," he informed you, taking your seatbelt off. "Why?" you inquire - caught in headlights in the sight of danger. "There might be a bomb here," he explained and your eyebrows merged into each other. "Like assassins sent by Ferrari or something," you attempt to lighten the situation but ultimately - the both of you exit the vehicle.

Wildunchartedwatteers

Charles getting out of his car to find Max and Y/N

Y/NL/NWORLDGOSSIP

"Assasins sent by ferrari" Nooooo the enemy (Max Emillian Verstappen) has brainwashed you!!

After a long ride - you finally reached your destination. Max made sure that you were the first person to exit the car. "What's with the cameras?" the man asked while helping your boyfriend take a few of the remaining luggage inside the car. "Umm I don't know - probably something about a documentary," he shrugged, telling the cameras to leave you out of the frame.

"Wait really? Really?" the man repeated the question while taking his disguise off. An amused chuckle exits your lips - he was one of the interviewers for the sports channel. "Fucking hell mate," Max laughed, realizing that it was a setup. "I thought that you were some creep," he grinned while scratching the back of his head.

"He was prepared to run away," you say from behind the camera. "I hope it's fine that I exposed your relationship," the man apologized - quickly telling Max that it wasn't part of the plan. "Nah, you're fine mate - we've been meaning to tell the public anyways." he comforted - freezing once he sees the faint figure of your brother running towards the both of you.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen au #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen blurb #dad!max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #Max Verstappen fanfic

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feminismisstillahatemovement · 4 months ago

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Saw that Daisy Ridley's new movie, Young Woman and The Sea, has come out, and I got curious about it as it seemed to have a high IMDB score, and then I clicked on the reviews, and among all the "wonderfuls", "outstandings", "poignants" and "masterpieces" - most of which come from bot accounts with not a single other review - was this:

So it turns out it's yet another made-up bit of ahistorical revisionist propaganda like that Aeronauts one in 2019 and so many others, that the corrupt critics have to mandatorily praise for ideological reasons, and thousands of women leave theaters believing to be true.

---------

It often strikes me that women's approach to, and understanding of, art is most often a kind of emotional voyeurism: Female-created works seldom scratch much deeper into the human condition or the nature of truth or the flow of history or any of the most longstanding questions of life, the universe and everything than the subjective feelings of a single female protagonist, and the majority of female audiences seem to be perfectly happy with the plot or facts or internal logic of a story making no sense whatsoever, just as long as they can get that emotional hit of feeling outrage or "empowerment" or a flood of sugary comfort and well-being.

This is why it disturbs me to see so many catastrophically bad female-created fantasy TV shows being churned out today like The Acolyte, Ms Marvel, She-Hulk and Thelma, all of which are simply very badly written first-time fan-fictions, ideological propaganda and self-insert revenge fantasies. The women making them don't need - indeed, are not even capable of envisioning - anything more than that, and the dwindling female audience that gobbles them up and incoherently defends them can't even see and don't even care that they are being lied to and manipulated in any way. All that matters is the feelings: to them, truth and greatness and genius itself are simply nice feeling-provoking noises, with no further weight or significance, that can be applied to any lumpy bowel movement you drop off on the red carpet of any awards show.

There are women artists possessed of genius - not many, but some - but feminism erases their achievements by relentlessly elevating mediocrity and making their possession of a set of ovaries the only thing of interest about them. By denying and rejecting any objective set of criteria to judge the worth of any works of art, feminism destroys beauty, history, truth and the greatness of human spirit.

#lies #propaganda #art

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rey-jake-therapist · 26 days ago

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If Sauron just wanted an "assistant" and a "figurehead" who would let him do everything he wanted while happily doing his bidding, Mirdania was a much better pick than Galadriel.

I mean, It's always about what "Sauron wanted", but it's never "how Galadriel would have reacted". If he seriously believed that Galadriel would have been okay with being a powerless puppet, then he was even more delulu than I thought lmao Unlike him, Galadriel's not a follower. If she had taken his offer in season 1, she would have fought to get what he promised, I have no doubt about that !

Mirdania, on the other hand, was so easy to manipulate. That's why I wonder if he didn't consider making her, probably not his queen, but what Charlie said : his assistant/PR/figurehead... We all saw him manipulate her to isolate Celebrimbor and make him more vulnerable to his abusive techniques, which was definitely what Sauron was doing with her, partly at least.

Yet, before Mirdania put on the ring and passed in the Unseen world, he didn't care at all about her. She was trying to be friendly with him, and he just stood like... "Is this an insect on my back ?"

But after Celebrimbor put the ring off her finger, that was his reaction when she said what she saw :

Ohh suddenly Mirdania became interesting to him. Because she had been there. Suddenly, he was all over her, even a little too much over her (get your hands off her you creepo!!) :

I think there were many things in this gesture, which is weird even by his own standards; Sauron's a man of words, he seldom touches people to manipulate them.

1st meaning : he was manipulating her : the most obvious meaning. But he had already gotten into her pants when he compared her to "the lady Galadriel", there was no real need to touch her like that.

2nd meaning : he was thinking of Galadriel : ship or don't ship Haladriel, but Mirdania was totally meant to be Galadriel's stand-in: she was blond, with an identical hairstyle, and she wore an almost identical green dress to the one Gal wore in Eregion. And Sauron immediatly noticed it when she came to meet him the first time. Look at how he's looking at her from feet to head, then start immediatly flirting with her :

So, Sauron likely got carried away by his obsession for Galadriel when he touched Mirdania's hair, here.

3rd meaning : maybe, maybe, he started thinking that Mirdania could indeed provide a replacement for Galadriel, in his plans.

Then there was this scene :

Another unnecessary touching. An intimate one that is, look at what he's doing ! We never saw him touch anyone like this before, not even for manipulation sake. It felt like he was trying to feel something. Something in relation to his obsession for Galadriel, again : if he couldn't get Galadriel, maybe Mirdania could do ? But then his face looked like... Not convinced. Not convinced at all.

Later in that same episode, Sauron created an illusion for Celebrimbor where Eregion was doing fine so he would go back to work. After Celebrimbor left (so the illusion was no longer needed), this scene involving a Galadriel lookalike and a faceless man (likely to be a self-insert) telling her these words took place, and caught his attention :

I think it's when he realized that there could be no replacement for Galadriel. He didn't want a pretty submissive Elf girl who would be only perfect for the PR and the paperwork, he wanted the fiery Galadriel who wanted his death.

I mean, it makes Mirdania and Sauron's last interaction easier to understand; he was back at being cold and uncaring, while he was not done with Celebrimbor yet ! He could have still needed to manipulate her, and yet he just looked annoyed when she reached for his hand :

I don't know about you, but the moment I saw the way he looked at her I thought, "oh Mirdania dear, you're so dead". I think it's the moment he decided she was disposable, because whatever project he had for her was cancelled. This cold cynical bastard even told her she would be "duly rewarded".

We all know what came next :

(R.I.P. Mirdania, sorry, really)

#mirdania #sauron #annatar #trop 2x06 #trop 2x07 #galadriel #haladriel #saurondriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #the rings of power #trop meta #trop

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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 6 months ago

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unsaid

how gn!reader and spencer handle deeper feelings with each other- or how they don't handle them.

angsty fluff? some hard feelings? idk WHAT this is word count: 1258 warnings & tags & stuff: I was picturing mid seasons spence for this, brief mention of a spider?, insecure reader, ugh they're SO in love but also so quiet about it, ignoring problems, happyish ending author's note: first piece of writing on here! this is actually so bad but my brain is ROTTED from spencer fluff and honestly him in general, he's all i can think about so obviously i have to contribute to the epidemic

“HELP!”

You hear footsteps bounding towards you and the door to the kitchen slam open. Spencer’s head swivels as he assesses the situation: you, backed into a corner, clutching a glass, looking directly at a point across the room with a terrified look in your eyes. Spencer’s face immediately relaxes and he moves over to take the glass from you.

“Where is it?” He asks calmly. You point, and the spider is quickly dealt with and brought outside. Spencer walks back into your apartment and you look at him, blushing a little, heart still pounding.

“Thanks,” you say, self-effacingly, taking the glass back from him and setting it in the sink. “I'm sorry for bothering you, I know you were in the middle of doing some work, and I know that my reaction was completely irrational, it’s just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, reaching out to trace your arm lightly. “It's alright. It’s actually completely justifiable. Our brain is wired to be afraid of spiders because they were a larger threat to our ancestors. Today, although we seldom encounter spiders and they are not a constant threat to us, we still have this fear because it’s ingrained in our DNA,” he explains, trying to calm your anxiety. “I’m also around 80 percent done with my report. So I can finish it later in the week. I'm all yours.” He peers down at you, a small smile playing on his face. You admire his smile for a second or two before his words actually register and you squint disbelievingly.

“I don't know how I feel about that. I shouldn't be taking you from your…duties,” you say, tilting your head.

“My duties?” he asks, matching the angle of your head, laughing a little. You shrug, giving him a slight giggle too.

“Okay, duties are the wrong word. But you do do important work that I should recognise has to take priority sometimes. I bet Hotch would rather you finish your report tonight.” He nods quietly, and you know he agrees. He beckons his head, a signal you’ve come to know means ‘come closer and hug me’. You do so, hugging him tightly and letting his arms wrap around you. You back away after a bit and give him a signal of your own- standing on your tiptoes and looking at him expectantly. He bends down and kisses you firmly, arms still wrapped around you.

Your entire relationship is built off of signals like these. You two just seem to know when the other wants something, whether it be a hug or a kiss, or something more. It made things easy.

So you were also sure that Spencer knew that this kiss was making your heart literally melt. It’s like he can reach in through your sternum and hold your heart until it dissolves in his hands. You can feel it dripping through the cracks into your bloodstream until your legs are jelly and your head is spinning.

You pull away for air and rest your head on his chest.

“How about we compromise and I do it tomorrow?” He asks softly.

Your mouth creates an uncomfortable line. “I know I’m obviously not the boss of you, so feel free to do whatever it is you want…” You pause, trying to find the words. “I just feel like it’s important for me to not take you away from your work at all.”

It wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t completely askew from what you meant to say.

The real, slightly more selfish truth was that you felt like it was easier to send Spencer off to do his work than to try and understand why he wouldn't always want to. You constantly felt so raw and open around him. Like he could always see you and your melting heart. It was insanely scary and new, and not easy at all.

That was not something you were willing to admit today, not right now.

“No, you're not the boss of me, but I do think you have opinions worth listening to and considering.” He kisses the top of your head. He pushes your hair back and looks you directly in the eye. “But I also really don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me for things. Being in the BAU requires a sort of responsibility. Not to just do my work by the time it’s needed, but to also take breaks and spend time with the people I want to be around. Whether it’s to catch spiders or to give her kisses. Okay?” He checks.

“Okay,” you say quietly. He looks at you patiently, knowing that you had more feelings in your heart but also knowing that it was hard to come out and say it. It was a topic for another night, a braver night. He dips his head down to you, and smiles, almost excitedly.

“Ice cream?” You smile too at the change of topic, and nod.

“Can we get changed first?”

In your bedroom, you throw on a massive white T-shirt that you may or may not have stolen from Spencer many weeks ago, along with a pair of shorts. You turn your head over your shoulder to where Spencer was digging around in his bag. “Did you pack comfy clothes? I know we didn’t discuss sleeping over or anything,” you ask.

“Uh, yeah, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” he responds, not looking up. You dig through your drawers and toss him one of his own shirts, this one Dr. Who themed and navy blue. It lands on his face and he swats it away. “Hey, I was wondering where this went!” He exclaims, looking up at you, offended. He takes notice of your shirt, and stands up straight and moves toward you, feeling your shirt between his fingers. “This too. Theft is in fact a crime.” You blush bashfully in response.

“I like your shirts. They’re cuter than mine,” you argue. He shakes his head, smiling. Soon enough, you're on the couch, working on a pint of Tonight Dough.

Your legs are intertwined and you’re laying on his chest, trying to get to the ice cream he was teasing you with, moving away as you chase it with the spoon. “Stop it,” you giggle. He wrestles the spoon from your grip and digs it in the ice cream.

“Open,” he says quietly. You do so, savoring the taste.

You stay like that for a good while longer, just holding each other, until you break the silence.

“Thanks for making time for me tonight,” you whisper, giving him a soft kiss on his chin. He looks at you and gives you a kiss on your forehead. A meaningful one. One that said a few things that were too scary to say.

It was nice, knowing that you had time to figure out your emotions, that there was no hurry. Your problems and insecurities would still be there tomorrow. You could choose to ignore them for a bit. You could look away from the fact that you weren’t exactly sure why Spencer picked you out of all the other girls. Spencer could ignore the fact that going to work was the most terrifying thing because he finally had something to lose. You could just stay like that, intertwined, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

You let the rest of the ice cream melt on the couch side table, not unlike your heart, neither of you strong enough to get up and put it back in the freezer.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #piper’s works

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tamamita · 6 months ago

Note

What did you think of the woman life freedom movement in Iran? (Writing this it's like...what a name, if one says they're against it they are against women life and freedom? Lol) Not sure if it was western from the start or got coopted, I just know I saw a protest in support once by accident in US and people had the flag with the lion so. 🙃

The thing is that they are unorganized, heck there's seldom a leader or political figure to lead these groups. These movements are never structured or organized which is why IRCG keeps cracking down on those protests. The Iranian Revolution was largely successful owing to the Tudeh Marxists, because of their understanding of theory, until ultimately betrayed by the reactionary clerical establishment. Since the revolution up till today, Iran has been a deeply fragmeneted society where people have various ideologies. You got principlists, reformists, marxists, liberals, upper-class elites, pahlavists, anti-VeF Shi'as, MEKs, anarchists, feminists, socdems, opportunists and various other groups that oppose the government, but ultimately lack any theory. For such a reason, these protests turn out to be highly inefficient and counterproductive, since there's like no... strategy other than to remove the Hijab as some form of protest or gesture. That's great and all, but that's not gonna stop the government from cracking down on you, and appealing to the west for some symbolic gesture is not gonna do any good, since they don't give a shit, unless it serves their geopolitical interests and imperialist ambitions.

Learn from previous revolutionary and resistance movements if you wish to succeed.

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rxzennia · 29 days ago

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echoes from afar

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 your friends… they call for you. this was from a few version updates ago, but i've been mad busy and unmotivated these days… :( lore with a sprinkle of aventurine. a very, very tiny sprinkle. so i thought i could get this up last week. i am a clown. also, samsung's one ui 6 is so ugly (edit: i got used to the ugly ui. still doesn't quite like it, though. but i got used to it enough to tolerate it).

→ part ii (wip? deciding. lmk if a sequel sounds cool.)

you didn't think you'd hear your own species ever again. oroboros is somewhere in the universe, qlipoth was probably keeping them out of where civilizations are, and the rest are all either dead or scattered. but here you are, hearing distant screeches from a star system lightyears away from yours, the sound slowly getting closer, closer, closer.

the war between aeons seems inevitable now that you've walked the land amongst mortals, seen their strife, and tasted the ever-so-familiar touch of entwining paths heralding the conflict. the longer you spend living, masquerading as someone who will someday die, you see the violent undercurrents under every calm ocean, as if everything is running on a countdown.

of course, you will never truly understand any of that; time has never been a limited resource for you.

you can almost hear the screeches of your own kin right by your ear

but you know, clear as day, that there's only you on the balcony right now

you're alone on the balcony of aventurine's bedroom, your boss snoring away comfortably cuddled up to his cats

you haven't been able to sleep for a while

not since you've heard the first cry of a leviathan in literally ages

leviathans seldom communicate with one another, so why would they suddenly reach out now?

and you were fairly certain that oroboros is the only other one left

well, the only one that's still actively doing who-knows-what somewhere, anyways

either what you're hearing is the lingering cries of those who are already gone

or you're delusional and you're hallucinating

aventurine doesn't seem to notice your absence, probably because of his abundance of things to cuddle with apart from your person. a good thing, you suppose, because your chronically stressed boss needs his beauty sleep.

you don't intend to drag anyone into your worries. it's nothing you can't handle alone – or, rather, it's not something mortals can handle, even with an organization as robust as the ipc. your existence, your true descent of a dusk leviathan, your connection to the aeon of voracity, none of which are burdens your companions should bear.

it's these quiet moments when your kin raises their voices and sing in your ears

no, scrap that poetic shit, more like screech in your ears

they recognize prey, they recognize a hunting ground, a free-for-all

it's only natural, you suppose, lest predators start to devour each other in hunger

they're trying to locate you, the sound echoing, bouncing back, as they seek out food

"i'd strongly advise against doing that," you mumble, patting your scarf idly, as if you can't be bothered to care

they're not too far from where your true form slumbers, it seems, and it's easier than a cakewalk to force them into submission

and yet, you cannot locate them

you have their general location, but you can't pinpoint their exact coordinates

you try again, and again, until you come to a realization

they're dead a long time ago; there is nothing for you to find

their wails echo into nothingness, a void that is even more empty than oroboros's stomach

by the time you realize the purpose of these ancient cries, your true form is already stirring from its slumber. in all its majesty, its maw parting to split heaven and hell, until it swallows the carcasses of your kin, until it slithers through the stars, seeking out its next meal.

for the first time in the entire two thousand amber eras of your "existence", you feel hungry. famished, even, and it is a strange feeling.

have you gotten too accustomed to the mundane?

have you been domesticated?

quite some good questions, actually

how long has it been since you've actually allowed yourself the pleasure of devouring planets?

far too long

but it's wrong to eat civilizations

it's wrong to put an end to so many histories and futures because you were feeling peckish

it doesn't even actually "fill" you, so that's just triple the wrong

well, by the textbook definition of wrong, anyways

you don't really understand, but you know the general consensus of "eating people bad"

but your stomach yearns for the familiar feeling of life in its void

you turn around to take a peek at the peacefully sleeping man in the bed, safely tucked away in the blankets

a perfect prey right there, defenseless and unsuspecting

it would be so easy to just gobble him up without anyone noticing

and you could slip away just as easily

your entire profile is fabricated – you can always just make another "you" elsewhere

but you find yourself extremely reluctant to even wake your extension coiled around the oddly-shaped cats

you find the trust that mortals impart upon you a gift of most intrigue

it is such a fragile, precious thing, and yet they offer it to you freely

especially this man who you serve as an assistant…

aventurine.

it isn't even his real name, but you find yourself mouthing the syllables again and again. this man who is bestowed the title of a gemstone, wielding the power of the amber lord who strives to protect mortals from your kind like you're some sort of eldritch horror, yet also the one who has you wrapped around his finger.

and you're one of the select few he holds close to his heart. against all odds, he had let you into his heart, see his wounds and scars, and trusts you with all of them. he might act the way he does, but you know how delicate he is underneath all that bravado.

out of curiosity, you try to move the leviathan amongst the pile of limbs, sheets, and felines

as you expected, it doesn't want to answer

it seems that your body doesn't want to act on any malicious intents

you really did get domesticated…

oh, aeons, it'll come back and bite you in the ass someday, won't it?

even if you have no qualms about eating anything that's not intelligent

like monsters and stuff

but still

you shouldn't have developed aversion to devouring entire persons

…

it is what it is, you suppose

but holy fuck, those screeches from galaxies away just would not stop

"fucking oroboros, shut the hell up already," you groan, pulling up your scarf to muffle your complaints, "i'm not eating anyone here."

if there was someone behind all this pestering, you definitely would've gone and beaten them up. but. but. there's no one behind this. none that you can think of.

unless it really is oroboros themselves, which you'll have an even bigger problem on your hands. you really hope it isn't.

the noises clear up into words, whispering into your ears

consume. devour. feed. destroy.

cast them into the void. let them be your sustenance. take their power as your own.

you are a predator. why are you among prey?

they are many but fragile. why do you still hesitate?

no.

no, they are not fragile.

they are not prey.

they are not sustenance.

do not speak of them as if they are nothing but food.

what do you know of the people inhabiting the countless planets in the cosmos?

what do you know of the storms they have weathered?

humanity is stronger than you would ever know.

tonight will be a long night, it seems. you can only hope that this doesn't manifest as some sort of personality disorder. come morning, these thoughts will go away as your mind becomes occupied with work.

there are four system hours until then.

a leviathan like you, a monster of the cosmos…

shut up. shut up. shut up. shut up. shut up.

be quiet already.

wish as you may, they will continue to torment you.

why? because they seek answers.

how long will you keep wearing the skin of sheep?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales #aventurine

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seyaryminamoto · 9 months ago

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Azula's most overlooked characterization element

Why, hello there.

It is I.

And I'm back on my bullshit.

I didn't WANT to be. But a bunch of factors pulled me back in.

For the record: I'm not here to start any fights or light the fuse of arguments that I most likely won't have time or interest in responding to. What I AM here for... is to prove that there's something out there a bunch of people are delighted to sleep on because acknowledging it would render maaaany simplistic interpretations entirely invalid...

That group of people includes the fandom, of course. And the original show's staff. And the liveaction's staff, to a fault. Surely the TTRPG ones too. And absolutely, the comic book writers.

Hell, I'll even include MYSELF in that group, even though I'm making this post right now.

I found it really curious that I very recently saw this element mentioned in a pretty neat blog I follow, @atla-lore-archive, I absolutely advise anyone who hasn't checked out said archive to do it if you wish to understand a lot of the "extra lore" the fandom had access to, back in the old days when the turbonick ATLA site still existed and used to be the only source of deeper knowledge about the fandom besides the occasional interview that most people didn't even know where to track down.

But the funny thing is that the post I'm talking about proved that even Turbonick forgot about the people this post is about :')

And that would beeeeeeee...

*cue drumroll*

Lo and Li!

What makes Lo and Li an important subject to discuss?

Why, a lot of things. Among them, the fact that almost nobody brings them into the core focus of any analysis made about Azula's character. I've personally mentioned them once or twice I believe, mostly as negatives, there's but ONE positive aspect I've ever found of them: them being non-benders MIGHT be a reason why Azula isn't shown as being quite so obsessive with firebending supremacy as Zuko was supposed to be.

But that's very much the sole good thing I can think to say about them and it's completely subjective, as good as a headcanon, because we don't even KNOW if they influenced Azula in that sense!

Why do they seem to get overlooked quite as much? Why... let's start thinking about it, shall we?

Lo and Li are Azula's firebending teachers. As far as anyone can tell, they're also her advisors. These two people should be an essential part of Azula's life... but ironically, we seldom see them with her. Most times, Azula isn't around these two. Whenever she is? It doesn't usually look like she's having a good time.

And that's no surprise, considering her first scene with those two very much puts forward a dynamic of cold distance between Azula and her mentors: Azula is bending LIGHTNING. We have not heard of other lightningbenders until that point, and once the full show wraps up, there's only THREE (Azula, Ozai, Iroh). Out of those three? Only one is a fourteen-year-old girl. It's very easy to assume Azula's lightning is actually a skill she mastered unusually early in life, perhaps relatively recently, hence the practicing... but she's pulling it off. She's succeeding. She's doing something that genuinely catches a first-time viewer off-guard!

And Lo and Li's entire opinion of what she did is: "Almost perfect. One hair out of place."

This tells you the Fire Nation's idea of "imperfection" is... insane. Strict. Imposing. Unyielding. Unforgiving. Azula's reaction isn't to get angry at Lo and Li for saying what they did: it's to get angry at herself and try again.

But... that's not the only instance where we see Azula getting angry around Lo and Li.

The next few times Azula is around them, she doesn't seem to have much of an emotional reaction (one is when they tell her to find other allies, the other when they herald her as a great hero who returned home from Ba Sing Se). In the second of these scenes, Lo and Li are praising Azula as incredible, beautiful, all sorts of grand things...! And Azula smiles. She smiles at the crowd. She's not smiling at the old ladies who are praising her... she's mostly just happy to know her people are welcoming her as a hero indeed! Most the fandom would go "true! what an ungrateful bitch! She should've been happy that Lo and Li complimented her that way!!" Me? I wouldn't say that at all. Not just because I love Azula to pieces? But because the only information we have of Azula's dynamics with these two... doesn't seem compatible with the idea that what Lo and Li are saying here is for AZULA'S benefit.

Anyone who's had a hypocritical parent/caretaker/teacher must have endured awkward, horrible, unpleasant moments where this adult figure treats you like shit in private but in public holds you as this grand example, and a perfect child, and they never seem to stop saying they're soooo proud of you even though you NEVER felt that what they're saying is true. Maybe the first few times, you're naive enough to believe it. By the tenth time of incongruent messages? You start to realize they're talking you up as a way to make themselves look better. They're trying to show they're doing their job at raising you/training you, be it whatever it may. The praises are not FOR you... they're for a third person to hear and think "Oh, this adult's so cool, saying nice things about this kid they're responsible for! Nice!"

... You're starting to get the picture now, I'm sure.

Lo and Li reappear in the Beach. Azula is notably chill, enjoying the ride, talking casually with Ty Lee, telling Zuko to lighten up and to stop taking Ozai's choices personally, right? She seems... content. Relaxed.

Then, everything changed when Lo and Li attacked.

We don't even see why Azula is making this face at first. But she does it AT ONCE when their ship reaches the dock.

Who is there indeed...?

The stars of our post! :') if it isn't our elderly twin ladies... who brought Azula to a very disappoting beach house. And when Azula sees the house in question, she makes THIS face.

Judge however you may... even Ty Lee is weirded out by the beach house, going by that expression. Zuko and Mai aren't impressed either. But Azula? The look on her face isn't merely disappointment if you ask me... part of it looks a bit like embarrassment too? This isn't at all what she was expecting when she arrived (she has her old beach house for standards, which makes this extra underwhelming, I'm sure). She counts on Lo and Li to provide them with a place to stay, it goes implicit... and then this is what they do. It most likely isn't what she promised the other three in terms of where they'd stay, hence, I'd dare say there's a component of embarrassment here.

Shortly afterwards, we have our well known scene with Azula being utterly unconcerned with Lo and Li's apparent wisdom to the point of yawning over it. This, too, tells you she's just not interested in whatever those two have to say or bring to the table. Then, they show up again at mealtime and I think Azula just ignores them the whole scene.

After this? Lo and Li vanish until the finale. And what do they do in the finale? Why... it's the first time anyone expresses a verbal concern over Azula's wellbeing! Ah! A sign that Lo and Li have SOME affection for Azula! This time, you pesky Azula fans, you CAN'T twist this into a bad thing! For sure!

... Can't we, tho? :')

What IS Azula's reaction to: "We are concerned for your wellbeing"?

"My father asked you to come here and talk to me, didn't he‌? He thinks I can't handle the responsibility of being Fire Lord. But I will be the greatest leader in Fire Nation history."

And here, my friends, is when we have finally hit the jackpot.

Lo and Li could have been Azula's Irohs. She could've had TWO of him! Then you'd say: "hey! Ozai is such a dick he let Azula have two elderly wise ladies guiding her but only gave one old wise dude to Zuko! Rude!" and it would be further proof of Ozai's favoritism of Azula, right?

... But actually?

Lo and Li are no such thing. Lo and Li aren't moral compasses for Azula in the least. Lo and Li are not beacons of wisdom that genuinely help her sort her way through life. Worth noting: THEY COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN THAT WAY. They're not. They're not part of mysterious secret societies, they don't help Azula in any objective, significant, tangible way... there's very much nothing to say they EVER fulfilled the role Iroh did for Zuko. What role, then, were they fulfilling instead?

Why... I think we ought to listen to Azula, shouldn't we?

My take: Lo and Li are OZAI'S STAND-INS.

Someone's going to say "hey why would you assume that when Azula said this in the middle of a breakdown?? Surely she was just DELUSIONAL and PARANOID and ashdgkadhsgkjgh...!"

... Let me counter that one with a fun little analysis excercise:

WHY are Lo and Li Azula's firebending teachers and advisors?

The finale very directly tells us these two are not benders. We could've assumed they were! They're not: Azula's teachers are non-benders.

Has a single person out there ever asked themselves WHY this is the case?

How the hell is Azula, prodigy of the blue fire, epic lightning, cruel and powerful and precise and deadly bending... training under two elderly nonbenders?

Bringing this to a real-life example: do you remember what it was like when you were in P.E. classes and your teacher told you to spend 20 minutes jogging, and if you ever stopped you had to do 20 crunches and then get back to the jogging, and every time you stopped he'd tell you the same thing and you'd want that guy to vanish from the face of the planet? I don't know if that was only my experience, but I rather doubt it.

What did kids typically think/say when that happened?

"I wanna see that old fart doing the same shit he's making us do..."

It's a headcanon indeed to say that this is how Azula must have felt over Lo and Li, but it's VERY likely to be the case. But I'd dare say, in Azula's case, it's even worse because, to put it in another way? It's like taking programming lessons from someone who's never learned a programming language. They'll tell you you're getting things wrong without knowing how to help you get them right because they just DON'T KNOW what you're doing, and are outright INCAPABLE of what you're trying to achieve. They can't offer good guidance based on experience because they have ZERO experience on that subject! And yet they want PERFECTION from you! They expect it!

Lo and Li are these teachers for Azula. We only see them in one scene? And yet everything in the rest of the show suggests that they bring nothing important to the table for Azula, be it professionally, be it personally, be it emotionally... not in any aspect of life.

And this, if you ask me, is why the OG show barely ever brings them into scenes. Why the comics flat-out forgot they existed and even featured people like Sozin and Azulon in Azula's beach hallucinations but NOT the two ladies who looked after her and trained her. Why the live-action didn't even FEATURE them.

And us? The fandom? The fic writers?

I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I READ A FIC THAT HAD LO AND LI INVOLVED IN IT.

I'm not even saying as main characters, I don't even know if that exists, frankly: I mean as minor, or background characters. I have NOT seen those two be used in basically ANY fics I've read. I've scarcely used them in mine! In fact, I PURPOSEFULLY got rid of them early on in Gladiator because I didn't want them to sabotage and get in the way of Azula's progress as a character and I believed they'd do exactly that. They were an obstacle rather than anything useful, so I did away with them and then realized they could still occasionally serve some purpose in certain situations: I even had Azula visit them once and they were actually helpful! Fancy that! But... that's it. That's as far as I could go with them. I can't do MORE with those two because they're not characters one particularly feels compelled to work with.

And from what I've seen? That's the case for everyone.

So, I ask again:

WHY ARE THEY THERE?

WHAT IS THEIR ROLE?

WHAT IS THE POINT OF AZULA HAVING NON-BENDING TEACHERS?

Let's go further and further into logical thinking here, shall we?

Azula is a child. Fourteen years of age at the time she's introduced in the OG show.

Azula has no power over many things around her, particularly, her upbringing. That's in the hands of the adults around her. Her mother, up until she vanished, had some hand in it, then, it all falls to Ozai.

Ozai has been Azula's sole parental figure since Ursa left.

Ozai is the one who would reasonably call the shots regarding Azula's education, as all parents are wont to do... ESPECIALLY when he's a king with absolute power over his children.

... so, Lo and Li? Ozai either gave them the position as Azula's teachers personally, or someone else (Ursa) did, and Ozai either didn't WANT to remove them from the role (cue "Ozai being sentimental over Ursa" theories), or Ozai didn't give a flying fuck about who was training his daughter (cue "Ozai is an abusive dick without a heart or a brain" theories).

Anyone, of course, would likely interject here to say surely Ozai ALSO trained Azula himself because that's what he'd do with his favorite kid, right? See. I don't even disagree with that notion.

BUT IT'S A HEADCANON.

We have zero evidence that Ozai trained her! None! I totally will write that into Azula's backstory in many of my stories, but there's NOTHING in canon to suggest this actually happened and that Ozai was genuinely, actively, frequently involved in her progress as a firebender. Assuming he HAD to be is, still, a headcanon. You can't say that with any more certainty than mine when I say I believe Azula loves spicy foods. Does it seem to be something that would fit with her character? I think so! But if eventually canon goes "AZULA CAN'T STAND SPICY FOODS LOL JOKE'S ON YOU!" I... can't even say a thing about it. People's food tastes aren't reflective of their personalities. They really could do whatever they want in that respect. And that's the case for ANYTHING that isn't part of the show's storytelling or the character backgrounds or any texts we consider canon!

POINT BEING: Ozai, regardless of what you want to headcanon, had Lo and Li as Azula's teachers. HIS FAVORITE CHILD... and her only official instructors are two non-benders. Yang added Kunyo as an old instructor of Azula's when she was young, sure! But Kunyo was sooooo qualified that baby Azula was already kicking his ass. So, for that matter? He doesn't really seem to have been a cornerstone of her firebending development and the only other known teachers for Azula are Lo and Li.

For the last time: Azula's teachers are NON-BENDERS. AS CHOSEN, SANCTIONED, APPROVED AND ACCEPTED BY OZAI.

And with those two remarking on absolutely STUPID stuff like "one hair out of place"? Azula still became the incredible firebender she was.

Cue, now, the irony where Zuko was stuck in the basics 3 years after setting out of the Fire Nation... WITH IROH ACTIVELY SERVING AS HIS MENTOR.

You're not gonna tell me that Lo and Li would EVER be better instructors than Iroh, or are you? Because that makes no sense. Full-stop. Iroh is supposed to be the most profound and complete firebender thorughout the show because he's spiritually enlightened even though I admit I think that's bullshit and he doesn't just teach Zuko how to set things on fire, he actually makes him learn theory and spirituality and his teachings are more profound than just "ONE HAIR OUT OF PLACE".

So.

Banished as he is, disgraced and seen as trash by Ozai, Zuko STILL has a better teacher than Azula does.

... Is this LOGICAL? Is this NORMAL? Does this make SENSE?

If you think Ozai's favoritism of Azula takes the shape of "I'll give you every little thing you ask for, sweetheart, I love you very much, here, have ten million doll houses so you can set them on fire, and all the ponies you ask for and on your next birthday I'll buy you a baby dragon and you'll get your own region of the Fire Nation to govern and a fancy title..."?

Then Lo and Li, unfortunately, are right here to be a HUGE contradiction with your interpretation of Ozai and Azula's relationship.

Azula should have THE BEST teachers. Azula does not. Azula doesn't even LIKE them. Azula is openly shown to dislike them! To be annoyed around them, ANGRY when they're teaching her, she feels they're here to keep tabs on her for her father! In a sense, they're Ozai's SPIES on her! :')

Hence? Ozai's favoritism of Azula MIGHT not be what everyone keeps pretending it is. Maybe Ozai didn't do everything to make Azula get things EASILY... and to be fair? That's not what Zuko said anyway. People interpreted it that way... but that's not REALLY what he says:

"Everything always came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. "

Every line in this statement is absolutely questionable and all of it sounds like buuuuullshit to me. This is ZUKO'S perspective. And sorry not sorry, but it's tell-don't-show. People swear by his opinion of Azula and pretend he's absolutely objective about it. He's not.

But "Everything always came easy to her," does not mean "EVERYTHING WAS ALWAYS HANDED OVER TO HER ON A SILVER PLATTER." And yet this is what the fandom has constantly interpreted it as.

Azula might just be a prodigy. Maybe she started out ten steps ahead of her brother: this does not mean she needs no guidance, no training, no help. She's seen training herself over perfectionism in her very second scene of Book 2. And the guidance she gets in order to achieve perfection is actually, objectively, stupid.

This is what Ozai chose for her. This is an OBSTACLE for her growth, just as much as Lo and Li were obstacles for me when I was starting with Gladiator! Azula doesn't have it EASY: she just works herself so damn hard that even shit that should HINDER her does NOT do that. And even when her brother objectively has spent THREE YEARS with an advantage in the shape of being trained by one of the VERY BEST firebenders out there? Azula is still beating Zuko at it. With two non-benders as her teachers.

Where am I going with all this?

To the fact that Lo and Li are overlooked in just about every instance of the fandom.

To the fact that nobody includes them, and their influence on Azula, in their analyses of who Azula is.

I've seen a shitstorm rising over the Netflix characterization of Azula: SHE'S TOO ANGRY, they say. Non-stop. She's sooooo hysterical, all the time! She's just pissed perpetually!

Well. I haven't finished the show yet. But the scenes I've seen Azula in so far? They don't fit the fandom's view of Azula because...

... they're not taking Lo and Li into account.

As usual.

:')

Azula's reactions around Lo and Li being frustration, anger, irritation EVEN in scenes like The Beach, where Azula was FINE until she sees them? That shit is storytelling that went over sooooooo many heads, EVEN MINE! When I saw people going on about how canon Azula is... not insecure? Not angry? Has no frustrations and was only ever smirking 24/7? I... didn't feel that was right. I knew it wasn't right. And when I thought about it hard enough? I realized that one reason why this interpretation of Azula is IMMEDIATELY dismissable is because of Lo and Li: those two constantly made Azula angry. Even if that wasn't their intent, it's nonetheless the effect they'd have on her. And Azula didn't like having them around. She CLEARLY didn't appreciate them the way Zuko does Iroh, for instance! And this could be taken as a flaw on Azula's part... if we EVER saw evidence that these two ladies actually love Azula as a grandchild, or so. If we had any evidence that they actually have cared for her in ways nobody else ever did. If maybe the ones Zuko talks about, upon saying "EVERYONE LOVES AZULA" were these two! And maybe he was jealous of them! Maybe he wanted two old ladies to watch his every move and tell him his every flaw!

... Clearly I'm joking about that last thing, but anyway...

There's nothing to tell us Lo and Li were anything but Ozai's assigned watchdogs to keep control and tabs over Azula. That Azula's immediate reaction upon hearing that someone cares about her is "Oh fuck off, my dad sent you here because he doesn't trust me!" is... telling. It's not just paranoia speaking, even if it sure can be read that way! It's actually Azula's perception of those two, which is 100% supported by what we saw of the twins throughout the show, WHENEVER we did see them: their roles in Azula's life are indeed to keep tabs on her, to keep her under control, to pressure her into perfection, AS OZAI'S AGENTS! Seen this way, it MAKES SENSE for Azula to disregard their concern and immediately assume it's FAKE. She isn't even shown to doubt it, never questions that MAYBE they did care about her! She assumes they don't...

... And considering that, as far as I know, the official concept is that they BOTH LEFT when Azula banished one of them only? That they didn't contest her command, staying to look after her even if she only wanted one? I mean, clearly Azula can't tell them apart, so they could've taken turns: one watches over Azula for 12 hours and the other for the next 12 hours, I don't goddamn know! But they didn't do that. They LEFT. And if they left? It means they don't care remotely as much as they say they do. Not to the point where they'd challenge Azula's orders and help her when they KNOW she's not okay.

And all of this further supports my point.

When we see Azula in the liveaction being angry, bitter, irritable at Ozai's choices?

I see a reflection of the same dynamics that the OG too subtly weaved into Azula's relationship with Lo and Li. I see Azula reacting against Ozai's control over her because she feels it's DISTRUST. She feels it means her father STILL needs to be convinced that she's competent, powerful, ready to do his bidding. It isn't a case where Azula's irritation comes from wanting to rebel against her father... it's Azula wanting her father to UNDERSTAND that she's 100% his supporter and will put everything on the line to serve him and the Fire Nation.

And it's very damn easy to read that exact same thing into Azula's dynamics with Lo and Li as it is to see it EXPLICITLY STATED in the liveaction.

My point?

What the liveaction did is not nearly as much of a distant characterization choice as people think it is.

Ozai is Azula's Achilles' Heel. Everything she became, everything she grew up to be, was for his sake. He molded her to become those things and simply didn't give a shit about raising a daughter, he treated her as a weapon, and absolutely pitted his children against each other, just as much as OTHER adults in their lives did. But the impact of Ozai on Azula in the OG is easy to ignore. Why? Because we SELDOM see them interacting. Because we don't get that side of Azula's character fully explored. Because they didn't want to explore Ozai's character either! They were as cheap as they could be with all these aspects and so, only the people who really got into analyzing things on a deeper level would be able to say, without a doubt, that Ozai abused Azula emotionally with all the expectations and demands he put on his own child. Through the golden child-scapegoat dynamic that people have been bringing up non-stop in the past years.

So, proving herself to her father is what Azula wants to do, more than anything. Proving worthy of his favor, of his approval, is the closest thing she can get to feeling loved. Which is depressing as fuck. Azula gets zero affection: it's not even conditional affection, there's NOTHING for her besides approving words if she gets anything right. And this show's work with Azula's character? It was meant to make these things less invisible to all the fans who like to pretend none of it exists. And yes, I've seen them, crawling all over Twitter shitting themselves in fits of rage because how dare that show pretend Azula EVER had a bad time in her perfect flawless life!!

Well, the irony is that the OG gives you a smidge of evidence -- and yet that's enough -- to show that Ozai was doing very similar things to Azula in ATLA, and her reactions to it?

Huh. No smirks for Lo and Li.

No smirks for the symbols of Ozai's control over her life.

It's almost like the confidence, the smirks, the apparent ease with which she handles everything? Is a front that crumbles easily whenever it concerns the ONE PERSON with power over her life.

I don't believe, worth noting, that Azula's power comes from rage. I've seen people say that in fandom in the past and I find it a completely absurd take when Iroh himself spells out that her bending is about control, about precision, and it's Azula's FURY that makes her a sloppy mess in the finale. It's even INTENTIONAL that when she shoots lightning a second time, in her second establishing scene, THAT SAME HAIR FALLS OUT OF PLACE. She's still angry. She didn't get it "right" this time either. She's imperfect and she's trying NOT to be, but she cannot succeed. And upon bending lightning with emotions (rage/frustration)? That hair falls YET AGAIN out of place. Proof that she's not going to achieve the perfection she's being FORCED (indeed, by her father and the people who are here to represent him, Lo and Li) to strive for.

The liveaction had Ozai pushing Azula for a perfection she couldn't attain either. She's perfectly content in her cruelty at Ozai's side, right until she hears the Avatar was found and that Zuko has a shot at taking away the privileges she's been basking in so far. That she WASN'T nervous about this in canon is pretty damn obvious: OZAI SENT HER TO HUNT ZUKO DOWN FOR BEING A FAILURE. We never saw her reaction to learning that the Avatar was out and about. We have noooo idea what was canonically going on with her back then. The first time we see her besides the flashback is Azula receiving a mission that tells her she's STILL #1 and Zuko is no threat to her because Ozai thinks he's a failure. Thus? She had nothing to fear. Here? Ozai is actively using Zuko as bait to pressure Azula further. And if you're so confident in Ozai's good parenting skills as to believe he somehow WOULDN'T do that? Sounds like you don't understand the very basic and simplistic Fire Lord Ozai from ATLA, and that's not something to be proud of. So probably stop screaming your bad takes at the top of your lungs, because being incapable of understanding Ozai in canon is not a badge of pride, just saying...

FINAL POINT...

This post is not written expressly in the defense of the liveaction and its characterization of Azula. To this point, what I've seen of it doesn't feel WRONG or OFF unless you're the kind of person who thinks Azula is only capable of smirking and if she stops doing that she stops existing or something. Only people who cannot understand the depth, nuance, subtleties in Azula's story would ever be claiming that Azula's relationship with Ozai COUDLN'T be like this, or that Azula couldn't possibly be frustrated with her father or his choices when it's soooo clear what Ozai is going for, and why it's working. But in order to read Azula as a character capable of this range of emotion, frustration and ambition, all at once? You have to be able to treat this character, be it in the liveaction or the OG show, as a human being.

And that's what most the people criticizing this specific change are determined not to do. It's what makes them uncomfy. It's what rustles their jimmies.

Yes. I'm saying it in this very demeaning way because I actually find it quite ridiculous to be this insecure over the portrayal of a fictional 14yo in two TV shows. Whether the liveaction sticks the landing or fails catastrophically, I do not know... but I do know that if it's forcing a bunch of people to rethink Azula's character, and making them panic at the idea that she could EVER have human emotions, even if they're AWFUL human emotions?

Then I'm afraid you're only convincing me that, as bad as that show could ever get? It's getting SOMETHING right. I do love to see misinterpretations of Azula getting slammed in the face by the reality that all those beliefs, headcanons and takes in bad faith are actively, categorically untrue: none of which makes Azula a fundamentally good person, worth noting! But it makes it very clear that reading her as a one-dimensional basic villain, which is what the anti-Azula-redemption crowd actively does, is literally only possible if you overlook, ignore and fail to understand her character and her complexities, be it in the liveaction or in the original show.

There. I said my piece.

Another post, regarding the rest of the liveaction, is bound to come later. I'd say stay tuned but it might take me a while to write it at all. So... wait around and maybe you'll see it someday!

#azula #atla #natla #yep :')#I'm doing it #because I know the bad takes are everywhere so #let's see if mine actually gets any visibility this way #can of worms here we goooooooooo #(this is a bad idea I know it is I'm having a leave of my senses)#(but sometimes you just gotta watch the world burn and this has been... a complicated sad day)#also sorry if anyone saw it without the read more oops I thought I'd put it there #so either tumblr ate it or I forgot yikes #but now it's theeeere #sorryyyyyyyy

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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I have an honest question and I don't want to sound rude or anything at all but what's so interesting about CNC. Like I see people hype it up but to me it just feels like romanticizing r4pe..I'm not really into CNC so I can't talk bad or downplay whatever they do but I'm just asking because I want to understand it better.

A question I, by no means, can answer perfectly. However, in the spirit of philosophy and amateur psychology, I will lay unto you, ye who have keen ears, my theories.

Now, I am in no way a psychiatrist. However, as I am a woman who does a great deal of fantasizing and further thinking of what I fantasize about, I thought I might assume the role of a sexologist as it is no protected title.

I’ve long wondered why we (women) fantasize about things that would appall us if manifested in reality. It makes little sense that an act so ruining in practice should make us feel fulfilled when the mere thought of it is humored.

In the vast complexities of psychology, no matter how much I drink of its depths, I can’t seem to get my fill enough to understand it. Trying to figure out female arousal is like pulling hair from a clogged gutter and trying to undo all the knots. It’s a web of contradictions.

However…

First theory – there are cultural reasons. If we accept the inbuilt instincts of old and the instincts we adopt through media while growing up – all in all, the great history of aggressive men dominating passive women – we are conditioned to accept that this is what romance looks like.

Second theory – there are the emotional reasons. The "Beauty and the Beast" motif – featuring classic co-dependency. Women submit to abuse because we have an inbuilt need to nurture others – so when we love men who require to abuse and own us in order to love us, we somehow forget to protect ourselves in favor of loving them, which in this case means allowing them to abuse and own us. It's warped.

Third theory – there are psychological reasons. In fantasies and writing or viewing, we get to reframe traumatic experiences in a positive light or rework traumatic experiences in a safe environment – a form of psychological self-defense, much like Stockholm Syndrome or a type of self-inflicted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Fourth theory – research has also been conducted regarding physiological reasons. Here, we have another inbuilt self-defense mechanism – a seldom talked-about phenomenon – which shows that women tend to become physically aroused when they sense any possibility of sexual aggression in their environment – in order to lower their chance of injury if they are raped.

Through all this, I believe one can narrow fantasies of rough or non-consensual sex into something as paradoxical and polar as having a wish for control and a wish to relent oneself of it. And coming to this conclusion, I realized that such is the pursuit of many, even in endeavors not of the erotic kind.

Humans wish to have control just as much as humans disdain having control. This is why BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, masochism) kinks and fetishes are found in some shape or form in nearly every romantic or sexual relationship in existence. You’ll have the dominant partner wishing to achieve control over a submissive partner wishing to relinquish control through such means of domination, humiliation, pain, and pleasure.

But it’s more complex than that, isn’t it?

Yes. Because, contradictory – a submissive partner may wish for control, and a dominant partner may wish to lose it. Human beings are an unyielding paradox where we flex across contrasting aims with no means to an end.

Yes, we wish for control, yet disdain having it. Perhaps we find the answer to this paradox in maintaining control by losing it?

Moreover… how does this relate to nonconsensual sex fantasies?

Here, we get a fifth theory containing the ego – a spin-off of a kind from the third theory. Here we find the wish for control, where, in the lustful fantasy realm, non-consensual sex bolsters a woman's feelings of seductiveness and desirability in the way it has the power to make a man lose his decency and self-control, driving him to commit crimes of passion despite ill consequences of losing his pride and honor as a man – also, ultimately, risking getting sent to prison.

Put simply, some women enjoy the idea of being irresistible enough to drive even a good man crazy. The thought of being attractive enough to make a man love-sick and the power and control that follows it is, in this case, a turn-on.

A sixth theory – another spin-off from the third theory – is that fantasies of rape allow women to reduce the distress associated with sex, as they are not, in this scenario, responsible for what occurs. Moreover, the logic here states that when one is forced into something, they’ll have a lesser need to feel guilt or shame about acting out their own sexual desires.

Put simply, some women wish to maintain their innocence despite having carnal desires only satiated by means of sinful acts.

This begs another question.

Is this a lingering feeling of guilt and shame around female sexuality?

Of course! Women are constantly met with disdain when open about their sluttiness.

So, are fantasies of nonconsensual sex a type of projection they do because of this?

In some cases, yes!

Transferring our own sexual desires unto another gives us permission to act them out without feeling guilty or dirty – because, inside this fantasy, it isn’t us committing the indecencies.

... Okay then...

Summing up theories five and six:

Control. To feel wanted, lusted for, obsessed over, and coveted by others. The power of driving someone to lovesick desire, a frenzied state, where they would do anything, even illegal, to have you. Additionally, despite such harsh cases of ego, wanting none of the responsibility for it, wanting to be free of sin, to maintain innocence and purity in light of such dark desires.

Or is there a seventh theory? One found in our idyllic construct of freedom – this aimless goal of ours to make ourselves appreciate breathing – done by balancing the electric powerline between having and losing control.

Is it this act of switching places, the attraction and pull, the stimuli and response, the attack and retaliation? In the chaos of contradictions and uncertainty, we find a thrill that occupies our otherwise hibernating minds – bored to the degree that we become machines in our daily programs.

Is it simply that we need a little extremity as a remedy for our dull lives?

Do we fall in love with illegal things simply because we are denied them? Simply because they’re illegal? Self-harm, drug use, gambling, murder, rape…

Are these things a part of us? And are we, without them, left feeling unfulfilled? Is The Purge perhaps onto something vitally important? A cure for boredom, this mediocrity that leaves us feeling so blue?

I think, if I were to find a comparison, it’s quite similar to the blind bounds of excitement others ascend to in the midst of playing violent video games. The rush of falling in and out of enemy territory, of danger and safety, from being a predator to becoming the prey, of victory and defeat, of chasing death only to be comforted by one’s remaining life – because in reality, you're safe and sound in front of a screen.

Also, in other cases - rollercoasters, horror movies, extreme sports, etc...

Yes, the wish to trip in and out of control isn’t limited to the realm of lust but is present in most aspects of life. We find it in extreme cases such as drugs, gambling, gaming, relationships, and in other subtle cases of professions and work.

If you don’t like it, that’s your business, and I wish you the best of luck in lust elsewhere.

On another note – and such another warning and disclaimer – I want you not to accept my tales of lust as love stories. Personally, I think hints of toxic displays such as jealousy, obsession, and possession in a partner are natural – but – a difference is made when such feelings become restricting to a degree you no longer feel free. I implore you to make such distinctions for yourself when regarding yourself – and, in extreme cases, when regarding others.

In said regard, I do not condone the events nor the actions of the characters in my stories – neither offender nor victim. Don’t allow yourself to fall prey to toxic partners! The signs are always there – keep a weathered eye out for them.

And no, I’m not blaming those who’ve allowed themselves to stay in toxic relationships. I, myself, am guilty of that. But I won’t excuse my poor judgment either. You know when something doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t blur the lines of right and wrong in the name of love – or whatever else we may lend our self-control to – such as religion, culture, family, societal pressure, etc...

You are in control. Don’t forget it. And don’t allow anything else to become the case.

#nightmare rambles #discussion

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 3 months ago

Text

Place your gilded crown upon my head (and carve your home into my chest)

Day 6 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader (gn) x oikawa tooru

length: 8.3k

genre: medieval royalty au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: arranged marriage but they fall in looove, some vague talk of war, also some very vague talk of prostitution, guys this is as close as I'll get to writing smut ever so soak it up

a/n: tell me you can't tell how in love I am with hanamaki and how badly I wanted to make this abt him

tags: @love-and-lore

Tooru thinks, at first, that he must have misunderstood the words directed at him, that there's no crisis he could come across that would cause Hajime to cast him aside like this. But when he blinks and stares, his eyes boring into the knight until he repeats himself, Tooru knows it to be true.

The betrayal that coils in his gut when he realizes that is painful in a way that Hajime had always protected him from. He'd forgotten what he was capable of, really, having seldom been on the receiving end of Hajime's sharp tongue. But it is there, nonetheless.

He supposes, though, that Hajime was always capable of it, and he can see it when he really considers the man in front of him. The two of them had grown up together, afternoons as children spent with wooden toy swords and sand castles morphing into long nights pouring over treaties and battle strategies, a shining sword strapped to Hajime's hip and a gilded crown perched atop Tooru's head.

There is a reason he chose to keep Hajime by his side, a reason he relies on his sharp wit and firm resolve. He just hadn't thought that he would ever have to pay the price… not like this, at least.

"We both knew this day would come, Your Highness," Hajime's voice rings through Tooru as he watches the prince lean, keeling over a bit to brace himself on the table between them, staring at the map of his nation. "Arranged marriages like this are… unavoidable."

"But not yet," Tooru snaps, his hands gripping the stone edge of the table. "We have… we had time. We still have time. This doesn't have to happen yet."

"You Highness," Hajime says it kindly, with a love that feels like a knife twisting in Tooru's ribs. "This is the best decision. A civil war in a neighbouring nation is dangerous. An allegiance like this will bring us the promise of peace no matter the outcome of the war on our borders."

"There's another way," Tooru says stubbornly, but his eyes flit over the maps in front of him desperately. "We don't need to do this. You - you don't need to ask this of me. We'll find another way." Hajime's sigh is almost imperceivable as he steps towards the Prince.

"Tooru," he says gently. "This is the decision that must be made. Go to your father. Tell him what's been decided."

"My father is ill and bedridden," Tooru snaps. "And he doesn't - he doesn't know what's best for me or this country anymore. He will say yes no matter what I ask of him."

"I know, Your Highness," Hajime says firmly. "Which is why I will only ever present him with what is necessary… and right." Tooru's eyes, when he finally looks up at Hajime, are big and glassy, plush bottom lip quivering.

"This is not right," he chokes out. One of the knights by the entryway shifts on his feet, restless as he pretends not to look on.

"It is," Hajime insists,

"There is another way."

"Your Highness, this is-"

"You will find another way." There's a desperate tilt to Tooru's voice, a hysteria that threatens to break through that has Hajime turning his gaze sharply to the men on either side of the door.

"Matsukawa," he barks. The knight turns and stares. "Watch outside. No one is to enter." Matsukawa salutes to his captain as he leaves, slipping out and leaving just one other to look on as the scene unfolds, as Tooru crosses his arms and glares.

"Do you understand how much I love you?" Hajime says simply. Tooru straightens.

"You have told me."

"Then please, my love, remember that it is true. Everything that I do here… I do for you. I must ask this of you… I would be a coward not to." Tooru scoffs at his words and looks away, blinking the tears back from his eyes.

"You could never be a coward," he says weakly.

"I would be if I didn't guide you towards this decision. If I let my love for you cloud my devotion to you… there is no greater sin to me. I will not abandon my prince in his moment of need." Hajime's words are final, and when Tooru stares at him, he can't help but feel a bit of guilt swirling in his gut. How could he think that Hajime was ever doing this to cast him aside, to forsake this forbidden love that they share? Iwaizumi Hajime loves through loyalty, and it is not so often that Tooru forgets this. In this moment, Hajime bending to kneel before him, his head bowed, Tooru wonders how he ever thought his lover would abandon him.

"Please," says the knight, like a blade bowing before its master. "Let me love you in the only way that I know how. Let me keep you safe." And Tooru… well, he is often powerless in the face of his love, he finds. And this is no different.

"It will be done, then," he says simply. And in that moment, his fate is sealed.

"What if I am unwanted?" Tooru muses, a servant brushing through his hair as another smooths the silks that he wears. He watches Hajime through the reflection in his vanity mirror, the knight standing dutifully by the door of his chambers.

"Have the people not told you enough, Your Highness? You are beloved by all - there is no one who could not want you," he says honestly, but a glance towards the servants has Hajime clearing his throat and breaking eye contact with the prince, choosing to stare straight ahead, instead.

"What do you think?" Tooru asks the servant in front of him, the one who's just stepped back to admire their work. He blinks when he's spoken to, a nervousness hazing the air around him.

"Me, Your Highness? Well… it is true, of course. Your strength and beauty are known by all," the servant says politely. Tooru hums thoughtfully.

"And my fiance?" He asks bitterly, a sour look passing over his face. Hajime doesn't look at him this time, though, too aware of the watchful eyes of those attending to his beloved.

"It is as discussed, Your Highness. Your betrothed will be here shortly - a portion of your guard has been sent to… retrieve them and ensure safe travels. You will meet your fiance soon."

"Well," Tooru sighs with all the weight of a boy being adorned in a golden crown. "I suppose we'd better get on with this, then."

But as he stands and straightens his shoulders and walks past Hajime out into the long corridors of a place he once called home, Tooru can't help but feel the shackles of this life tightening around his wrists and ankles every step of the way. Hajime is dutiful as always, three paces behind him and never straying further, but with every moment Tooru feels the gap between them growing. He bears the weight of the crown on his head and wonders, in a sharp, stabbing sort of way, if Hajime feels the weight of the shield on his back and the sword on his hip, as well.

More likely, Tooru thinks bitterly as they approach the castle entrance, Hajime bears this weight better than Tooru ever could. As the commotion of a series of carriages pulling up outside clouds his thoughts, he thinks that perhaps Hajime has just always been a bit better at all of this than him.

But Hajime wonders, just for a moment, if this really was the right decision when you step out of the carriage in front of them and come face-to-face with your future husband. Your bow is… minimal, the action of someone who's grown up close enough to the throne to think it to be theirs. And as you're introduced by one of the attendees you've brought with you, Hajime takes note of you - of the way you speak, sharp and quick and clever.

Your eyes, most of all, are what startles him as they sweep across the people in front of you, settling on him for just a moment before returning to the Prince. There's a sort of hunger in them, a lust for power that he's often seen in royals. As Tooru glances towards him, Hajime knows that they're both wondering the same thing. Why would you willingly give up the war for the throne in your home nation, stepping down and allowing your siblings to continue the struggle without you, when you are so clearly hungry for that power?

"This is Iwaizumi," Tooru's voice pulls Hajime out of whatever trance he was in as he turns and bows to you while he's introduced. "He's the captain of my royal guard. He will… be yours now, as well. Your safety is in his hands. " Tooru stumbles a bit as he speaks, the reality of it all slamming into him a bit too harshly. Hajime is… no longer his alone. You are to be his spouse, his partner. His guard will be shared, his secrets will be… well, he tries not to think about it. Not yet, at least.

But his worries follow him into the evening, trailing after him as they curl into the long shadows cast by the torches on the stone walls. When he speaks to Hajime in hushed tones in his chambers after everyone's settled, you secluded to your pre-marital suite in a separate part of the castle, these worries of his seem to only grow.

"This was a bad idea," Tooru hisses. "We're going to get caught. It's - they don't seem like someone you can get a secret past, do they?"

"This is good," Hajime argues back patiently, settling Tooru with a calmness that the prince wishes he could share. "You chose well. Remember, we needed this to secure an alliance with whoever siezes the throne in their nation. They're quick and sharp, yes - but that's good. That's helpful to us, my love."

"But what if we're discovered?" Tooru says desperately, a cracking pain heard in his voice that has Hajime moving towards him where he sits on his bed. He kneels before the prince, reaching to gently unfurl Tooru's clenched fists and release the silk bedding from his grip so that he can hold onto his hands instead, pressing kisses across his knuckles.

"We will not be," Hajime says firmly. "I promise, my love. I will not let anything happen to you."

Promises such as that, however, are often difficult to keep - secrets becoming harder to bury under the weight of watchful eyes. As the days pass, you remain much the same as you were when you first arrived, quick and observant and upright, but… silent. Proper and polite with that razor-sharp edge of yours. It's when you and Tooru are in one of his many sitting rooms, a myriad of people having come and gone throughout the morning to speak to you about wedding preparations, that it begins to wear on the prince a bit too much.

You're… quiet, throughout the whole thing, always looking to your fiance to answer, always letting his preferences take precedence. Tooru, for what it's worth, is trying desperately to figure out why - to try to decipher the intent behind your sharp gaze and politely folded hands. It unsettles him, eventually prompting him to huff and slouch in his chair and wave everyone away until it's just the two of you, Hajime standing where he always does by the door, always watchful, always present.

"Is something troubling you, Your Highness?" You ask as the last servant scurries out of the room and the door is shut once more. Tooru doesn't really try to hide his scowl at your words, but a sharp look from Hajime over your shoulder has him catching himself as he remembers the knight's words - as he remembers his lover begging on his knees to find some way to make this work.

"You have to at least try," he'd said. "This is your future spouse. Perhaps they are not so awful as they seem." Tooru sighs at the memory, at the way Hajime had kissed him and held him and coaxed him into agreeing. So, the prince tries.

"We'll have everything moved during the ceremony and wedding festivities," he says instead of answering your question. "So that the process doesn't disturb you."

"Moved, Your Highness?"

"Into my chambers," Tooru explains, his brows furrowing as he wonders how you're confused. "Your things will be moved into my suite when we're married because… you'll be moved in then." You look at him for a long moment then before you roll your shoulders back just a fraction, a split second of your perfect facade cracking. It's a moment of understanding, almost, as he sees the instant you show how heavily this weighs on your shoulders, as well. But it's gone as soon as it happens and Tooru's left with his lips downturned as he watches you again.

"May I speak candidly?" You ask. Tooru's frown deepens.

"We are to be married. I'm not sure why you wouldn't."

"Well," you begin carefully. "I'm not sure why we would alter our current arrangement. This is a diplomatic marriage - nothing more. There's no need for us to pretend that it's anything other than that." Tooru gapes at you as you speak, shock crossing over his face before anger burns through him. Hajime, where he stands behind you, turns and lets his gaze fall on you. You, who's come into his nation, inserted yourself into his life and his love, you cannot stand him enough to even live with him.

"We will be married," he repeats, his words a bit more venomous than perhaps is warranted, something he's reminded of when Hajime frowns pointedly at him over your head. "We could at least pretend to be able to stand one another." You straighten back up at that, any moment of softness that had seeped into you slipping away at Tooru's outburst.

"Your Highness," you say firmly. "I have no plans to chain you to me in any way that you do not wish. I am saying this for your benefit. I see no reason for you to cease living the way you please just because I'm here." Tooru sort of freezes at that, his gaze flitting to Hajime as the knight stands still, holding his breath at your words.

"What… do you mean?" Tooru curses himself for the way his voice wavers. But, in response, you almost smile, a quick upturn of your lips.

"The working girls employed by the royal families are famed across our nations' lines. I am not so ignorant as to be unaware of them," you say simply. Tooru almost chokes at that.

"I - I beg your pardon?" He splutters.

"What I'm saying, Your Highness," you sigh, apparently tired of him feigning ignorance. "Is that I understand how difficult it would become to continue having these visitors to your chambers, as I'm sure you do now, if I were to be here with you. I'd rather not be sent away in the evenings to bide my time elsewhere. I'd rather… well, my moving into your chambers is not a necessary part of this agreement."

You're quiet after you speak, turning your gaze to the window, to the summer sun that shines in and the sheer white curtains that blow in the breeze. You look… trapped, helpless and longing in a way that you hadn't before. Or perhaps, Tooru thinks rather painfully, he'd just never noticed.

You, with your endless pride and self-respect, who holds your head so high and your spine so straight - Tooru can't understand how you think so lowly of yourself that you expected him to keep you away from him, in a separate part of the castle alone, so that he could have affairs and live a life of his choosing so far from you.

When he reaches for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours despite your shock, Tooru feels like he's looking at you for the first time. Your hands, soft and gentle and trembling ever so slightly. Your eyes, soft and hurt in a way that only comes from fleeing a civil war. Tooru finds himself wishing he could apologize, wishing he could take back his cold, sullen gaze as you look at him.

"I would not do that to you," is what he says instead. "I hold too much respect for you to treat you in such a way."

"You needn't have any respect for me, Your Highness," you say simply. "That was not part of this agreement." Tooru squeezes your hand gently.

"I am to be your husband. That is reason enough for me." Tooru says it like it's simple, like it's a fact written in the stars that you should already know. You stare at him unwaveringly, though, when he speaks, an uncertainty twisting in you.

"I'm not sure," he goes on. "Why you would think anything other than that. You hold onto your righteousness so tightly, I wouldn't think you'd be so willing to sacrifice your marriage like this." Tooru looks down at your hands as he speaks, at the way he twists his fingers with yours and the way that you so easily let him.

"It is all I have," you say quietly.

"Hm?"

"My righteousness. It is all I have. I have lost my nation to the war of my brothers. I have lost my home and been sent somewhere with customs different from mine, with food and weather and clothes that I barely know… all to marry a man who will barely speak to me. I have nothing left, Your Highness."

If Tooru hadn't been so shocked by your words, if a guilt and a selfishness had not burned through him, perhaps you wouldn't have been able to slip your hands from his grip so easily and stand before him. He looks up at you, all the same, his face twisted with regret. You take no notice.

"If you'll excuse me now, Your Highness, I'd like to retire to my chambers." You bow then, a proper and humble thing that has Tooru standing and putting his hands on your shoulders as you rise. You, royalty in your own right, stand before him and wait for his permission to leave.

"Why are you treating me as if I am crowned and you are not?" Tooru asks and his hands tighten on your shoulders. He wants to shake you, just a bit, just enough to rattle his panic out of himself.

"I am not anymore," you say, and you're not sure who flinches more at the waver in your voice, the flutter of your eyelids over glossy, tear-filled eyes. "I am marrying you. Your titles, your throne, your life will be mine." Tooru takes his hands off of you at that, stepping back to bow to you, ignoring the sharp, little inhale of your breath at the action.

When he rises, he glances at Hajime, and the knight straightens at the attention.

"Iwaizumi will accompany you," he explains firmly.

"It's simply a walk to the other side of the castle."

"And your safety is my utmost priority. I've put my life in his hands many times. There is no one better to watch over you."

"He is your guard. You already gave me Hanamaki," you point out stubbornly, but Tooru just shakes his head.

"He is as much yours now as he is mine… all of this is," he says earnestly. You wonder, as you sweep out of the room with Hajime following dutifully behind, how truthful Tooru was being - how willing he will be to follow through with his promises.

Hajime, for what it's worth, is also reeling from the interaction, following swiftly behind you as you walk through the corridors as if they're your own. Although, if Tooru is to be believed, they really will be your own soon enough. He assumes, then, that you know your way around well enough to know that you are not, in fact, heading back to your rooms at all. Instead, you veer left, away from the stone walls and arched ceilings and out towards the castle gardens.

"Your Highness," Hajime says gently. You stop slowly, a resigned sort of look passing over your face as you turn to him, like you knew this moment was coming.

"Am I to go back to my rooms?" You ask. Hajime blanches at the insinuation that he could order you to go anywhere at all. Hanamaki, where he's been trailing after the two of you, snorts at the look on his captain's face.

"No, Your Highness," Hajime says patiently, reeling himself in from the shock. "You are to go wherever you please. I merely wish to make sure you are confident in your direction." You tilt your head at that, eyeing him up and down for a moment before turning on your heel and continuing on your way.

"I am often confident, Iwaizumi," you call over your shoulder. "It is a small comfort amidst all of this." Needless to say, neither Hajime nor Hanamaki questions you beyond that as they follow you out to the gardens, dutifully walking three paces behind you as you wander endlessly through paths of flowers and around fountains and under great statues, the sun pouring and endless, golden glow onto the three of you.

Hajime is impressed, he finds, at how long you walk and wonder and move before you finally give in to rest. The bench that you've found is shrouded by the shade of a weeping willow, a dozen or so of them scattered across this section of the garden and holding the sky's great light at bay. Hajime takes the time to look around while you sit - and pretends not to notice the way you slip your feet out of your shoes for just a moment to ease the ache that he's sure has set in. You're deep enough into the gardens that he has difficulty even remembering this place.

Hanamaki, to Hajime's firm approval, takes up residence a few feet from your bench, standing at attention solidly despite the heat and the sun shining down on his armour. As you sit, you tip your head back to look up at the tree, at the way the breeze slowly sways the branches and bathes you in shadow. The endlessness of the sprawling, open gardens and the distant horizon beyond, you learn, cannot find you here, and there is a peace to be found in this small solitude.

"I didn't know there were trees like this here," you say softly, keeping your head tipped back.

"They are not native to this area. The climate makes it difficult for them to grow here - it's only thanks to the dedication and skill of the groundskeepers that they are able to survive. But this is not their home." Hajime regrets adding that as soon as the words have left his mouth, pointedly looking away as Hanamaki tilts his head to scowl at him when he sees you clench your fists in your lap and bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"They grow everywhere back home," you say quietly, in a voice that's so soft it's almost missed by the two of them. But then, you begin to weep, shuttering sobs leaving you as you sit quietly, trying desperately to keep the outburst at bay. "I would like to be alone for a while," you say, keeping your eyes trained down to the ground.

"I am sorry, Your Highness." And Hajime does mean it. "You have been left in my care and I cannot leave you unattended here. However… privacy is something I can always offer you." With that, Hajime turns sharply to Hanamkai, who's already watching him, waiting for a command that he knows will come.

"The bridge we passed under that marks the entryway to this section - remain there. No one is to enter until you hear from me. Understood?" Hanamaki's response to his captain's command is firm, his departure from the two of you swift. Hajime, in turn, moves to stand just in front of the bench that you're seated on, off to the side so as to not obstruct your view of the surrounding gardens. He keeps his gaze trained forward, away from you and unable to look on without you noticing.

When you weep then, there is a part of you that cries for the kindness of it all, for the steady, reliable solidness that is Hajime as he stands dutifully. The loyalty that he shows - it feels a bit too much like love, and that's something that you've found yourself desperate for since coming here.

Hajime stands for hours as you sob and sniffle and then breathe deeply to calm yourself. Through it all, he does not move, does not waver, does not look. When you clear your throat and stand, smoothing down your hair and patting your face, he does not move.

It's not until you stand in front of him and speak that he looks at you.

"I would like to go back now… to my chambers, please," you say quietly, the solidness that he's learned to be so familiar with finding its way back into your voice.

"As you wish, Your Highness," is his response as he dips his head to bow. He does not mention the flush of your face, the redness of your eyes and nose and the way you quietly sniffle during the walk back. He offers his arm silently when you sigh, your feet aching as you begin the long trek. He does not complain when you lean a bit too much weight on him. Hajime loves through loyalty, through a constraint steadiness, and you find yourself understanding quickly why Tooru values him so much.

That value, you learn over time, is something more than the loyalty of a knight to a prince. The pre-marital chambers that you'd been given are lavish, tall ceilings and velvet couches, the bed piled with silk sheets and cushions and woven blankets. Despite that, however, sleep evades you on the night before your wedding.

As you roll over again, having tossed and turned the whole night, you wonder if you could make it to the ground floor from your window, if you could tie your sheets together and fling them out as some sort of line to climb down, a way out of this life and this love.

But there is nothing out there for you, just as there is nothing here. And Hanamaki stands guard just outside your door, tall and sturdy and… caring, if you're honest, trailing after you throughout your days and looking on. You can only begin to imagine his captain's punishment for him if he learned that the Crown Prince's betrothed flung themself out a window in the night.

So, instead, you rise, the sun just barely brushing over the vast horizon and giving you enough light to slip on layers of robes, the fabric laying heavily on your shoulders as you leave your chambers.

"Your Highness?" Comes Hanamaki's questioning voice as he dutifully falls into step behind you. You pause long enough to turn and look at him, at his wide, concerned eyes.

"Does sleep ever come on nights like these, do you think?" You ask. Something in him softens.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know, Your Highness, but there's not much the willow trees can't fix," he says kindly. You smile a bit, then, something that feels far off and foreign to you these days, and begin to make your way out towards the castle gardens.

As you pass the prince's chambers, however, your footsteps come to a stuttering halt. Matsukawa stands on guard outside the doors, stoically staring ahead so as not to intervene in the scene unfolding before him. Hajime stands in the doorway, having just slipped out from Tooru's rooms. He's dishevelled, his shirt untucked and his hair tousled. He looks like he's been caught, and there's a static in the air as you straighten, confirmation of the lingering theory that had been taking root in your heart making itself known.

"Iwaizumi," you say sternly. He straightens and bows.

"Your Highness," he says it quickly, but he does not move, does not rise.

"Take a walk with me… clean yourself up first. I trust you'll be able to catch up." With that, you sweep past him, robes billowing as he remains still, waiting until you're out of sight to chastise Matsukawa for not warning him while the knight helps Hajime sort himself back into his armour.

Sure enough, you're merely entering the gardens when Hajime falls into step beside you, his shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You say nothing, merely continuing your stroll until the summer sun rises, the light peaking over the trees and illuminating the two of you, shining into the endless, open sky above.

"Tooru is kinder than he lets on when I'm near," you say honestly, continuing to stare ahead as you walk. Hajime, dutiful as always, follows your lead, walking and looking forward, beyond the flowerbeds and towards the endless, golden horizon. "And he is good - as a ruler, that is. I'm not sure our feelings for one another matter much beyond that."

Hajime bites his tongue at your words, at his urge to tell you that you're wrong, that Tooru spends his evenings speaking of you, of the wild lavender in your perfume and the sharp fire in your eyes. But Hajime knows that sometimes love is silent, and he lets this moment be whatever it is that you need. If you need to punish him for this, then so be it.

"It is a lonely life that he and I lead," you continue. "If someone were to find some kind of… companionship, something genuine and private, I…" You trail off then, just for a moment, staring out at the way the sun bathes the gardens, the way the light shines through the branches of the willow trees. "I would not take that from him - from anyone. Tooru deserves a love that is honest and real. I will not be what stands in the way of that. You have nothing to worry about."

Hajime, in a rare moment of emotion, turns to stare at you, struck by your words as he looks on at the way you blink to fight back the dampness pooling in your eyes. Something painful lurches in his heart at the sight.

"Your Highness -" he begins.

"That is all," you say firmly, your voice wavering. "You may go back to him now. You are his… more than either of you could ever be mine." All that Hajime can do in that moment, then, is bow deeply before making a hasty exit, away from the shining light that floats around you like a halo and back through the tangled maze of castle corridors, the stone dark and cool and arching overhead.

Matsukawa is still standing guard outside of Tooru's chambers, and he stares at Hajime as he approaches, eyes searching his captain's face for any sign of pain, of the suffering that he's sure would follow a confrontation from you.

But Hajime is quiet, sullen in a way that isn't like him as he nods in acknowledgement and slips back in through the doors. Tooru, when he enters, sits up with a frown. It's not often that Hajime will come back like this after a night in his bed and Tooru knows that something must be wrong.

"Your fiance is kinder than we could've known," Hajime says softly, sitting on the edge of Tooru's great bed to stroke a hand through his hair slowly.

"What are you talking about?" Tooru's voice is breathy, his words rushed in his anxiety. Hajime just smiles, a sad, remorseful sort of thing.

"We've been caught," he says simply. When Tooru tenses, preparing to rip himself from bed in his panic, Hajime latches his arms around him to pull the prince against his chest and shush him softly. "It's alright, my love. Let me explain. And then… and then let me have their belongings moved in here with yours. Let your future have this."

"My future?" Tooru says quietly, slowly letting himself relax against Hajime's chest as the knight relays his conversation with you to him.

"Your future," he finishes with. "Perhaps it is time we stop fighting fate and let this life of ours take its course." Tooru tilts his head up at Hajime's words to look at him softly, reaching up to card a hand through his unruly hair.

"As long as it is our life, still," he says quietly. Hajime presses a kiss to his forehead.

"It always will be, my Prince."

The wedding ceremony is, naturally, the biggest event in the nation, the spectacle of it all overwhelming even to the two of you, something that you realize as you stand at the alter looking up into Tooru's eyes, his hands gripping yours firmly as they tremble slightly. You're not sure if it's your nerves or his that are ricocheting around, but either way, the moment that your vows are spoken, it all seems to… calm, just a bit.

When the two of you lean forward to press your lips together gently, you wonder if this was ever really so bad. The way that Tooru tangles a hand in your hair confirms that he's thinking the same thing. The polite ahem of the bishop and the joyous cheering of the crowd, however, has the two of you breaking apart, and as you stare up at him, you wonder if the nation has ever seen their future king flushed to his ears like this. You wonder if you'll ever have the privilege of seeing it again.

That, of course, brings you back down to earth - the thought of your cold, quiet chambers secluded away from him and the endless nights that you'll spend there begin to loom in front of you. As the two of you walk through the crowds of people, accepting well wishes and blessings and having flowers thrown at your feet, Tooru squeezes your hand in concern as your arm is slotted through his. He looks down at you with furrowed brows, but you smile in return, a painted-on sort of thing crafted for the masses of people in front of you.

"Smile, Your Highness," you say lowly to him, the display of him bending so that you can whisper something private in his ear an endearing one to the spectators. "Make them believe it, or this will all be for nothing." Tooru wishes desperately to tell you how wrong you are, but the facade continues through the exiting of the ceremony and all the way through to the feast that night, the hall of the castle filled with noise and cheer and festivities.

There are fireworks somewhere outside, and you turn in your chair at the head table, as if somehow you'll be able to catch them through the window, but you catch Hajime's eye, instead, and turn back abruptly.

"We can have more," Tooru says easily.

"Your Highness?" You prompt questioningly.

"My name is still Tooru. We can have more fireworks if you wish to see them. Every evening for a fortnight in celebration." You click your tongue disapprovingly at his words.

"The people will think us too lavish," you say as you look out towards the crowds of people.

"The people will thank us for any reason to celebrate," Tooru says easily as he shrugs. But then he looks at you and it has you straightening, the way his eyes bore into you, big and honest and empathetic.

"There is no war here, my love," he says gently. "There is no reason not to live the way we do." You clear your throat and turn to sip your wine, anything to break his stare, to rid your mind of the words that roll off his tongue. My love.

"Perhaps," is all you say in response.

"Speaking of," he continues, reaching for your hand to tangle his fingers with yours. "Everything should be moved into my chambers by the time we're ready to retire tonight."

"Your Highness?" You question again.

"Tooru," he corrects gently. "Your belongings. They're being moved into my chambers."

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't be doing that, Your Highness," you say pointedly, your voice a hushed whisper.

"It's Tooru," he repeats. "You suggested that, yes, but I disagreed." When Tooru looks at you then, you find yourself unable to look away. His eyes, boring into yours, are filled with something akin to passion, something gentle and loving and hungry swirling in them as he looks to you. "I would be a fool," he continues softly. "To keep someone like you away from me."

"Your Highness," you say desperately, shaking your head slightly as if to rid the heat from your cheeks. Tooru takes your intertwined hands to his mouth so that he can press kisses across your knuckles. Somewhere in the distance, onlookers cheer at the display, but you can't hear them past the blood pumping in your veins.

"It's Tooru," he says patiently. "And there is no part of me that wants you cast aside… tonight or any other night. If you are to be mine, then you shall be mine. And I shall be yours, in return."

"Tooru," you say firmly, your eyes wide at his sudden display. But he merely grins at his name finally passing your lips and pulls you to him gently, a hand on the back of your head as he kisses you.

This time, there is no bishop commanding it, no nation relying on it, no war held at bay by it. This time, Tooru kisses you just to kiss you, and you cannot help but let him. You cannot help but feel loved through it.

But it is when the two of you break away that you fianlly look at him with concern. He pouts in response, a "what's wrong, my love," leaving his lips softly as you turn from him to look behind you. Hajime, standing dutifully in his place just out of reach of the two of you, looks on subtly. You expect, of course, to see some kind of sorrow in him, some sort of jealousy or loneliness painting his face.

When he looks at you, though, his pupils blown and shoulders tense, the concealed lust in his eyes has you turning back in shock, leaning towards Tooru as he laughs and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Forgive me, my love, but you've been discussed," he says honestly.

"Clearly," you respond weakly, but you can't help but look back one more time, catching Hajime's gaze for just a moment.

"Well," you say quietly, Tooru tilting his head so that you can whisper in his ear once more. "It's a good thing the Crown Prince has such a large bed." At that, Tooru really laughs, a loud, honest sort of sound ringing through the hall as you smile at him, swirling the wine in your cup and hoping that everyone blames that for the flush of your cheeks and your husband's giddy smile.

When that laughter continues on throughout the night, into the privacy of Tooru's chambers and then his bed, you're sure that it's not the wine that's done it. You're sure that it has something more to do with the way you tug Hajime into the room after the two of you, his palm warm and calloused against yours.

"What about Matsukawa?" You whisper as Tooru huffs somewhere behind you, the layers of your wedding robes thick and intricate against his wandering hands. Hajime stands before you, pressing kisses first to your intertwined hands and then up your arm, pausing after he places a final kiss on your shoulder, now bare thanks to Tooru's quick fingers.

"Matsukawa's loyal as a dog. He has protected Tooru and I from being found out for many years. He will protect you, as well," Hajime says softly, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder and up your neck.

"And Hanamaki?" You ask, the breathiness of your voice peaking Tooru's attention as he smiles against your neck where he skims his lips across your skin.

"He is your private guard now, my love," Tooru reminds you gently. "Your fate is his own - your successes, your downfalls… he will not turn his back on you. Not for something like this."

"He and Matsukawa will entertain themselves in the hall. I wouldn't worry about it," Hajime says dryly. You laugh at that, an honest, real sound ringing through the room, and the two men on either side of you soften, arms reaching out to tug you closer and into bed.

You wonder, somewhere distant in the back of your mind, how you ever sat in the darkness of your chambers, separate from the light and love that shines through Tooru's rooms. You wonder, throughout the night, why you'd spent those evenings like that, why you'd wept and longed for home when home is right here with you, in bed next to you.

But loneliness is a stubborn, fickle thing, and it has you rolling over some hours later, poking Hajime's side gently and being met with a responding grunt.

"Is this really alright with you?" You ask him suddenly. On the other side of you, Tooru laughs, pulling the blankets further up your naked shoulder and pressing a kiss to your arm while Hajime grabs your other hand - the one that's smoothed itself over his abs and exposed stomach. He kisses across your knuckles as he watches you, your kiss-bruised lips and hair splayed across your pillow.

"I have no envy for this life of yours," he says honestly. Tooru's hand trails up and down your side under the blanket and you shudder at the touch, at the way his fingers brush over your exposed skin. "This tightrope that the two of you walk, filled with politics and customs and endless ceremony. I am content to stand right here by your side, keeping the two of you safe while you navigate this life."

Your eyes, wide and solemn at Hajime's words, grow damp as you blink up at him.

"Hajime…" you say softly as you reach for him. He lets you, of course, lets you wrap your arms around him and press your lips desperately to his for a moment before you bury your face in his neck. Tooru laughs from somewhere behind you, leaning over you to lay a series of kisses across Hajime's face.

"I know," he coos. "Hajime's always like that. I'm afraid there's no getting used to it." Hajime, for what it's worth, looks thoroughly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, a dusting of pink covering his cheeks up to his ears as he murmurs something about how it's just the truth. When you laugh and poke his cheek gently in mocking sympathy, he snaps at it playfully with his teeth before rolling you onto your back and making both you and Tooru forget whatever it was that you were laughing at in the first place.

It's early morning, then, when you're woken up, the faintest bit of sun peeking over the hills and through the windows, bathing Tooru in a halo of gold as he sleeps next to you. The source of your waking moves on the other side of you, Hajime leaning to press twin kisses to your foreheads - one to yours and one to Tooru's.

You watch as he clambers out of bed and begins picking up his clothes, donning layers of fabric and then armour, building himself back into the knight that he's known to be - building himself into a shield blocking the door to the outside world. You fold your arms over Tooru's chest and lean on your hands, eyeing the way Hajime moves as Tooru wakes slowly, bringing a hand up to clumsily brush through your hair.

Hajime spares just one glance back as he slips out of the room, one shining look of love and contentment shown to the two of you before he disappears.

"Go back to sleep, my love," Tooru says gently, his eyes already closed again as he settles. "It is still early. We have time." But try as you might, the world of sleep evades you and leaves you rolling over yet again, staring at the gilded patterns of the ceiling above you.

"What's bothering you?" Tooru's voice is gentle, thick with remnants of sleep as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, turning your head gently to face him. "What are you thinking of?"

"Home," you respond easily. Sorrow flashes across his face, a touch of guilt clouding it.

"I am so sorry, my love, for the way things turned out," he says softly.

"Are you?"

"I am sorry you had to stray so far from your home."

"But that's just my point," you say quietly, turning further to tuck yourself into Tooru's embrace. He welcomes it, of course, letting your legs tangle together under the sheets and you press your face to his chest, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. "There is a home for me here. I have strayed just far enough to build myself something new."

"Ah," Tooru says in acknowledgement, his arms tightening around you as he buries his face in your hair. "Well, don't let Hajime hear you say that. He doesn't like crying in front of his knights." You laugh at that, at the thickness in Tooru's voice and the way his words warble.

"I'm sure he'd make an exception for me," you say easily. When Tooru smiles down at you, the sunlight finally breaks properly over the horizon, shining beams of gold into the room and across your skin.

"We both would, my love," he says softly. "Time and time again."

It's over breakfast many months later that word finally comes from your family. Peace has come at last - although it is a delicate, precarious thing, you tell Tooru as you pour over the letter. One of your brothers has seized the throne and is attempting to restore the kingdom, reaching an olive branch towards you and your husband, willing to rebuild the alliance that once stood between nations.

"I'm glad it was him," you say as you fold the letter, handing it across the table for Tooru to read through - much to his pleasure. The letter had not been addressed to him. It was marked very clearly as a private letter for you alone and feels, through the weight of the paper, the heaviness of this trust that you've begun to build. "If it couldn't… since it wasn't me. I'm glad it was him. He'll do right by our people," you continue. Tooru eyes you over the letter.

"May I ask…?" he begins. You look at him pointedly. "Why didn't you stay to fight? You had other siblings who would've fit into an arranged marriage easily, so why offer yourself so willingly when it went so far against what you wished for yourself and your future?"

"Are you saying you wish for a different option, Your Highness?" You quip back. Hanamaki, standing at attention near the door, doesn't quite catch his laugh in time and is pinned by Hajime's chastising look at his obvious entertainment. Matsukawa smiles in that lazy way of his on the other side of the door at the spectacle, but Tooru just blinks, looking at you fondly.

"I would choose you in an endless crowd, my love," he says easily. "But I spend my days chasing after any glimpse I am worthy of getting into that head of yours."

"Flirt," you shoot back, but your cheeks flush all the same. You glance at Hajime, though, at the way he stands in his usual position by the two of you, his gaze fixed on you as you grow sombre. "Not all of us would've been good for the throne. Those who seek power, in fact, often abuse it. The surest way to promise safety to my people was to either take the throne for myself… or make sure that the right person took it in my place." Tooru pauses at your words, looking at you intently.

"You had a hand in your brother seizing the throne?" He asks.

"Of course," you respond easily. "It was the best decision. I also knew that a union with your nation would do a great deal of good for us. Everything I have done both here and in my life before you has been for the sake of my nation - my people. That is all." You say it like it's simple, like throwing yourself onto your sword in an act of love and loyalty is as easy as breathing.

Tooru stares - falls a bit more in love with you moment by moment until it feels as if the ground is disappearing from beneath his feet. Hajime, where is stands at his post by your side, softens so visibly that Matsukawa laughs.

Neither you nor Tooru can hold in your own laughter at Hajime's flustered chastising and Matsukawa's unbothered smile. Nobody really seems to mind. As the sun shines through the stained glass windows, bathing the three of you in colours akin to the fireworks of your wedding night, the patterns dancing in the safety of this sturdy love, you find that you really can't bring yourself to be bothered by it at all.

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