#i will draw out what it was like to have this revelation and it will probably be very funny for all of you

[horse-girl-anthy]

The City and the Self: Or, the Uses of Lesbianism

someone in my server recently asked why Ikuhara seems so hung up on lesbians. I gave a short answer which in hindsight doesn't satisfy me. even this post won't touch on everything, there's plenty more that could be said, but here's a stab at a more complete answer, drawing from RGU specifically, though I think these points generalize to YKA as well.

a long time ago--around 2017, I believe--I posted in the RGU tag, asking about differences between how the western and Japanese fanbases see the show. the answer I got surprised me: I was told a popular fan theory held that Utena and Anthy were the same person. this is confirmed in the interview Ikuhara did with Mari Kotani:

Kotani: How did you think about relationships between two women, like the relationships between Utena and Anthy, Juri Arisugawa and Shiori Takatsuki, and so on? Sometimes it is thought of as one girl and her alter ego. Ikuhara: Yes, that's true of course.

at the time, this didn't make sense to me. now, though I don't take the "alter ego" concept literally, I certainly see where these theorists were coming from.

the very first impression the audience gets of the show, the opening seconds of the theme song, depict Utena and Anthy as mirror images of one another. I can't find the post now, but I once saw someone do a face swap of Utena and Anthy... and there was almost no difference in the final result aside from their eye color. yes, the show has somewhat same-y character designs (pointy chins, noses, etc.), and yes, Utena and Anthy are differentiated by coloring and height. however, there are differences in the facial features of the other characters, including other female characters like Juri and Nanami, meaning that you wouldn't get the same result from face swapping them that you do from face swapping Utena and Anthy.

visually, the show is trying to tell you something: Utena and Anthy are counterparts; not "the same person," in that there are clear contrasts between them, but perhaps different aspects of a single self. to put it another way, they cannot be separated from one another; what happens to one of them will affect the other, and how they relate to each other tells you a lot about how they relate to themselves.

RGU is not the first story to have this premise. I just watched Ingmar Bergman's Persona, which uses two women to tell the story of one woman, and that came out all the way back in 1966. I think that it's possible to do this kind of story with characters of different genders--however, it's most often done with homosexual/homosocial pairings because two people of the same gender are seen as better mirrors to one another.

when I initially gave my response as to why Ikuhara writes a lot of lesbians, I cited the influence of shoujo manga. however, I didn't detail how homosexuality was featured in those manga.

Ikuhara once said that the core theme of shoujo is "self-revelation." he wanted to capture that in RGU, and it seems to have come across. consider Takemiya Keiko's reading of RGU as "A story about independence, about finding oneself. It feels like a story about a girl defining 'what is myself?'"

this journey of self-discovery must involve encounter with the other. part of romance is other-longing, the desire to meet the unknown; love requires a separate entity which is not merely an extension of the self (this is why I don't believe that Utena and Anthy actually are "the same person"). through encountering the other, one can find one's own self, and further, through this encounter, the selves which meet can be transformed.

while plenty of 20th century shoujo did center heterosexual couples, I believe that homosexual and homosocial relations were so prevalent because they facilitated this romance more effectively. on a visual level, a homosexual pairing can create a clearer parallel, as discussed above. for a more thematic angle, RGU's lead writer Enokido has mused that homosexuality removes the issue of "genetic advantage" from the equation; since there is not a clear "survival and reproduction" benefit to homosexuality, it is easier to see it as "pure love." along the same lines, Ikuhara has said that "as soon as you see the destination point of producing children, sex becomes a social system." that's not to say that homosexual couples exist independently from social systems. the point is that writers who wish to pursue the idea of "self-discovery through the other" may wish to do so in the context where the norms of heterosexuality are not an issue, as they could muddy the water.

as an example, take Kaze to Ki no Uta, an influence on RGU. Gilbert and Serge, the lead couple, are very different people. often in conflict, their love ends tragically. that is precisely the power of the story: Serge, who is left alone after Gilbert's death, will live the rest of his life feeling incomplete, unwhole, because he has lost the "other self" by which he came to be defined. in Ikuhara's words, "It’s a story about that which forms the core of an artist - a starvation that can never be satiated."

when done properly, this kind of romance can be very moving, because it is not only a "love story" but also a story about the self and its relationship to the other. and even more potent are stories which are both about "finding one's other self" and about "the city":

Ikuhara: Out of your works, I particularly like the stories about cities... Stories of cities and “one’s other self” are enchanting aren’t they. There are a lot of shoujo mangaka who write about one’s other self, but there aren’t really any who write about cities. I think a story is weak if it only talks about relatives and neighbours and never about cities. In contrast, I think your stories which are simultaneously about cities really bring out their era. I think that allows you to mark out a line for the story of the other self. Takemiya: Personally, I feel at a basic level that stories without a sense of daily life aren’t very interesting. If one thinks of each person as a single cell, then the city becomes the “body”, and one cannot create a world without both. Based on where they live, some people become more modern or more provincial - the environment really plays a role. For me, it is a necessary component.

I agree with this exchange: the best stories about "one's other self" aren't solely about love between two people, but instead love between two people placed in a particular social context. it is that social context which gives the relationship flavor.

this brings us to the other reason that lesbianism (and homosexuality more broadly) is used in Ikuhara's works. not only does it allow him to tell stories about "one's other self," but also to tell stories about social systems. homosexuality is "deviant" within the social system that is set up to produce children in the nuclear family; thus, homosexual couples will face resistence and prejudice. as Ikuhara discussed in this interview, he is not necessarily trying to capture "the lesbian experience" in his works, but rather using lesbianism as an allegory for the sense of being a minority; a person outcast for standing out from the crowd. homosexuality thus allows for a marriage between the themes of "the self" and "the city" which are central to the telling of a great romance.

bringing it full circle, let's take a look at how this plays out in Utena and Anthy's dynamic, specifically the climax of the first arc. in the build up to it, Utena has been insisting that Anthy behave like a "normal girl," and believes she's succeeding in this venture. however, her illusions are crushed when Touga defeats her in the duel called Conviction. Anthy, now his bride, tells Utena that she likes being the Rose Bride and doesn't mind being alone.

Utena's reaction to this is interesting. suddenly, she is obsessed with being a "normal girl" herself, deftly signaling that all along, she was projecting her own conceptions onto Anthy. though she comes to realize this, Utena ultimately decides to duel again; in the episode 11 preview, she says, "Himemiya, wait! I have to try to get the real you and the real me back!" their selves are linked, tied; Utena cannot be herself without Anthy. what's more, the "false self" that Utena presents is linked to Anthy's "false self"--for, despite her words, it is quite difficult to believe that she "enjoys" being the Rose Bride, any more than Utena "enjoys" wearing girl's clothes. after Utena wins the duel called Self, she and Anthy meet again, paralleling the end of the first episode, but when Anthy tries to impart the rules of the rose crest, Utena tells her, "never mind all that, let's just go home." the two share a moment of authenticity, their "false selves" blown away like petals in the wind. they've drawn closer to each other and to who they truly are, while simultaneously gaining a level of independence from the system which seeks to define them by their gender. the rest of the show will play out in the same manner.

----

side note: I don't think that Ikuhara is more fixated on lesbianism than he is on male homosexuality; however, I'm not sure if he's focused on "mirroring" between homosexual males the same way he has between females, despite the fact that his cited inspiration for the way he wrote relationships between girls in RGU is yaoi.

[lokideservesahug]

Old Habits Die Hard

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Pairing: Jenson Button x reader but focuses on Mark Webber x reader

Warnings: Bit of sexism (because that's reality of women in motorsports), pining, I get to revel in dramatic irony but I'm curious as to what conclusions you draw. Speculation about having children but only a dog is confirmed. One swear word, innuendos.

Notes: I wrote this yesterday + today so it's probably very bad. It still isn't the one I started with but I thought that if Jenson doesn't know events then neither should you just for now! But please let me know what you think of this! Also, this is my 1000th post I believe, so 🥳!

Summary: You and Mark are finally reunited when you're hired as a Channel 4 reporter, Toto Wolff begins to cook up a plan to get everyone's favourite Mercedes driver to return in 2025 and Jenson still doesn't know what these bloody page things are.

Series Masterlist

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~Late 2023~

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door in front of you. You shake your head, you're a multiple time Formula 1 world champion, knocking on the door to the Channel 4 CEO shouldn't faze you. You raise your first but at the slightest touch, the door swings open. You cautiously lean forward and stick your head in the door. "Hello?"

At your words, a young, blonde woman, sat behind a desk shoots up. "Hi, Y/N right?" You smile at the woman and nod. "Hi, I'm Rachel." You hold out a hand which she eagerly takes and shakes. "Lovely to meet you, I hope I'm not too early." She shakes her head. "No, you're perfectly on time. Mr Jefferson is ready to see you now I believe." You nod and thank the woman, and head forwards the door to the left of her desk.

The first thing you notice when you open the tall mahogany door is how bright the room is. The tall floor-ceiling windows allowing a lot of light to be cast on the desk and the three chairs sat around it. As you enter the room, the bald man at the far side of the desk meets your eyes and stands up, gesturing to one of the armchairs opposite him. "Hello, Mrs Button. Lovely to meet you." You sit down and shake the man's outstretched hand." Smiling at the pleasantries. He sits down and adjusts his crisp suit jacket, allowing you to take in more of the surroundings. One key thing that you hadn't noticed yet is the fact that someone is occupying the other armchair. Someone very familiar to you.

You look away, desperate to not meet Mark's eyes. You hadn't seen him in a few years and even though you'd been fine after... that night, the relationship hadn't been the same. What was once a relationship you held so highly, became an existence where you kept to minimal contact after he left the grid, that turned to occasional birthday wished to nothing at all. You focus on your breathing, desperate to not get lost in your thoughts about the Aussie. You don't need to think like that, you've moved on and you assume he has; besides, he was the one that let the contact between you drift away despite your best efforts.

You can all but feel his eyes pulling you to pieces and when he talks in an all to friendly tone, you whip your head towards him. "Hello Y/L/N. Lovely to see you again." And as you look Mark Webber in the eyes for what must be the first time in years, you almost forgot how well you could read him (and how good he looked). You curse yourself for picking up the hurt twinge in the end of his words, hoping that it doesn't plague your mind at a later date (you know it will).

Yet still, you smile at the Aussie to your side, after all this time still finding that his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. "Hey Webber. Gosh I haven't seen you in what? Three years?" He nods, voice still holding a view into his feelings "Something like that. But uh- time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? Uh, congratulations by the way... On the family." You roll your eyes and try and ignore his voice crack, clearly showing his emotion. "The media love to go wild with that one. No one's confirmed anything. I could have a million cats for all they know and they'd still claim what they currently are."

Mark smiles at the familiarity of speaking to you so freely once again and tries not to notice that you didn't directly adress the family. He decides not to ponder on it too much, the thought of you having such a domestic life with or without the "perfect family" with someone that want him, making him feel a familiar sickness to the stomach.

"What have you been up to then?" You glance at Stan once again, who is sorting through papers, and decide to oblige Mark in the small talk for a little bit longer. "Oh you know, same old really, a bit of racing and testing here and there, travelling, getting older, nothing too exciting." Mark laughs at your words. "I feel that..." Silence envelopes you once again and you're brought back to the memory of the two of you. A place that probably isn't too far from here, 11 years ago. You interrupt the pregnant pause. "Look, I really don't want things to be awkward between us. I know we were fine on the race track after...... that evening but this is different and I don't want things to be uncomfortable."

He nods. "Yeah I dont want things to be awkward. I mean we are both grown adults, I'm sure we can handle working together." You let out a sigh of relief and go to respond but the clearing of a throat draws your attention. You turn to Stan. "So Y/N, let's get straight to the point, there's no need to mess you around. I called you in here because I want to offer you a position to become one of Channel 4's presenters for the upcoming season." Your eyes widen for a moment before you furrow your brows taking his words in. "We need someone that knows the ins and outs of Formula 1. What makes it tick. Someone that can provide insightful commentary and accurate analysis. And we all think that you'd be perfect for the job."

Well talk about an ego boost...

You let his words sink in for a moment before you point to the man on your right, slightly confused. "What about Mark?" Stan lets out a hearty chuckle and grins. "Actually, if you agree, we plan on pairing you up with Mark. Our social media team say that you've been a historically good pairing and will fair well on camera. And having both a former driver and a former WAG's perspective will really make for thrilling entertainment." His words make you freeze.

It's as if you've been submerged by a giant bucket of ice water. Former- you don't don't want to think of what he said. You feel the old media training (or lack thereof) clawing inside you, begging to escape. It would be so easy to just put him in his place... To tell yet another ignorant, knowledgeless power exactly who you were. You breathe in slowly. No, that'll be no good and he's probably confused. Heck he's the CEO for for of Channel 4, who's to say he's even watched F1 before. You try and play his words off with small chuckle - that comes out a bit too dry for your liking -. "I uh, hope I'm not reduced to that these days. I won six times the amount if championships as my husband, if anything he's the WAG." You see Mark shift in the corner of your eye, covering his grin with his hand.

Stan just waves his hand. "Oh well you know, its just a label. It's a selling point, being a former WAG gives you a certain type of insight if anything." You furrow your brows, this time in rising frustration. Is he being intentionally dense? "But I'm a former driver not WAG." You realise how harsh your words come out and try and real your hostility back a bit. "But you are right about other aspects." Stan though, finally cottons on to your growing frustration and holds his hands out in surrender. "Alright no more of that WAG talk, whatever that means." You nearly laugh at the irony but he continues "We value you for your experience and accomplishments, not just your marital status. But that and the clear drive and passion you have for the spirt is why we want you on out team."

You hum, thinking over his words. Well it would be nice to be back in the paddock, however, Jenson would also be there, is that a good thing, who would look after your dog if you were both gone? You shake your head. "How often would I appear, do you know?" "We'd like you to appear on all of our live broadcasts. However, we understand that you do have other commitments so what we usually do is put people on a trial period of six months. You do it, tell us what you think and you can decide the further steps to take from there based on your feelings but also with audience feedback as well." You nod at his words, them seemingly making sense and seeming to be a fair offer.

Well, returning to the paddock doesn't sound all too bad. You'd pretty much ignored its existence since you left, desperate to not get to attached once again and long for the feeling of going 200 mph once more. Your eyes flicker over to Mark. "How often would he appear?" Stan glances at Mark who up until this point had been quietly observing the conversation. "We'd like Mark to appear with you on all if not the large majority of broadcasts. Your individual, personal touches?" He leans back and beings his hand to his mouth in a chefs kiss, making you and Mark chuckle. "You'd have an extra something our competitors don't and we need that."

You nod at his words, well you've always pleased the Mercedes media team in the past content wise so clearly you have something there. "What about Coulthard?" Stan nods, clearly used to being asked this many questions in matters like this. "David is a valuable presenter but after working with us for so long, he wants to take a step back and have a bit less involvement this year. He's not getting any younger."

He holds his hands up in defence "His words not mine." You nod "Well can I think over things? Jenson has his own job at Sky Sports so as appealing as the offer sounds, I'll have to talk to him about it." Stan nods and stands. "Of course, take your time and think about it over the next few days." He hands you a card. "Once you have your decision, we'll be on the other end of this line." You take the crisp card and run your finger over the edge as you say goodbye to the man and give a small nod to Mark.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

~March 2024~

The familiar smells and sounds invade your sense as you make your way to the Channel 4 group in the media tent. You show your media pass and the security guard who clearly recognises you. He nods "Welcome Miss Y/L/N." Your eyes widen slightly as you smile at the man. "Thank you and it's Mrs Button but you can just call me Y/N." The security guard looks down bashfully for a moment as he expression turns more friendly. "Off course and have a nice day Mrs Button." You wish him well and carry on into the media pen. You mutter a short "Miss Y/L/N? Haven't been called that in years." But find yourself bumping into someone's side. "Oh my gosh I'm terribly sorry." A familiar chuckle makes your cheeks warm as Mark just rolls his eyes and guides you to the briefing area. And for the first time in years, it feels like old times.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

The camera man gives you a two minute warning as Mark turns to you. "I'm curious as to how you fare in front of the camera Y/L-Button." You giggle at his words "Oh shush you." Mark just shrugs "What? Old habits die hard, I called you Y/L/N for years, Button is going to take some getting used to." You grin at his words (and ignore the voice in the back of your mind asking if it would take time for Mark to adjust to calling you Webber instead). "You've known me long enough to not need to call me that Webber." He just leans on a nearby pillar and grins. "Well some things don't change whether you like it or not and deep down, you're still the same Y/L/N after all of this time."

You tilt your head and respond in a playful manner. "I hope so. You still as bad at racing as you once were?" Mark feigns being hurt as he clutches his left breast. "You wound me." A distant call for the start of filming cuts across your moment and you take a deep breath in. You turn and face the camera. "I'm ready." You assume that Mark takes his place beside you because when the camera starts a few moments later, you're both ready to go.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Now enough of us talking, let's cut to David Coulthard who's currently walking down the pitlane." You breathe a deep sigh of relief as the light of the camera stops. "You alright there, Button? You look tense" You nod. "Yeah, that was just a bit more stressful than I thought it would be... and I thought you weren't calling me that." "Ah you know I'm just teasing. You were great out there, you looked like a natural." You turn to him and are suddenly hit by the realisation of how close your faces are. "Oh, thank you!" Mark notices the closeness as well but doesn't pull away. Instead opting to lock eyes with you and extend the moment further. "Any time. And if you ever need any advice on how to charm the hearts of the viewers. Don't be afraid to ask the master." Mark's smirk makes you roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? And who might that be?"

And not that your proud of it, but old habits really must die hard, especially when you find yourself glancing down at Mark's lips. Mark leans a forward a fraction more as he responds. "Why me of course!" You just raise an eyebrow but the sudden realisation of where you are and how intimate the moment is crashes into you like a ton of bricks. The thought of people looking and the memory of... that evening making you turn towards the camera, ignoring Mark.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Now the last thing you expected to do on your first day at the team was interview your old boss but you can't say you're surprised. At least it's nice to see your old team principal. "Toto!" You call his name and he turns to you, eyes widening before he hugs you. "Oh hello you, I didn't know that you were doing this now." He gestures to the microphone in your hand. "Yeah, it's a new addition." He grins as you turn to speak to the camera man, his usual strictness being put to one side for a moment, replaced with a hint of warmth and fondness at seeing his favourite driver again (not that he'd ever admit that of course).

"Well it's lovely to see you and you look lovely as usual." You scrunch your nose at the towering team principal, used to his antics over the years. "Oh shush you, I'm not here to talk about joining Mercedes or anything interesting I'm afraid." Toto chuckles but unbeknownst to you, your throwaway comment has just sparked a genius idea inside of Toto's mind that he'd determined to put into action.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Jenson stands across the paddock, just finishing one segment of the sky sports coverage for this weekend. Gosh it's already a lot and it's only the first weekend of the season. He lets out a sigh and all too easily accepts the welcoming arms enveloping him from behind. Wait- he sharply turns only to be met with your familiar face. He lets out a small sigh of relief and wraps you in a hug of his own. "Hey sweetheart." You breath in the familiar scent of him and mumble into his shirt.

He pushes you away from his chest slightly, careful to still keep you close. "Say again sweetheart, I didn't get a word of that." You roll your eyes. And pick up his hand, playing with his fingers. "I said that I just interviewed Toto and its a weird feeling. Being back in this environment in a completely different way." Jenson just nods and squeezes your hand, understating exactly how the inner conflict feels. "But I'm sure you were incredible at it, as you always are." And as you clearly appear to be excited excited the matter, it just makes the Brit grin. You meet his eyes and sigh, winding your arms around his neck. You tilt your head "Who turned you into a sap today?" Jenson just chuckles yet remains cool. "Well I can't help but also feel happy when I see you feeling so overjoyed." You chuckle and look down, the proud look in his sparkling eyes making you feel a bit shy.

You connect your lips with Jenson's (and silently thank him for stopping in such a secluded place). However, unbeknownst to the both of you, it wasn't secluded enough to shield you both from the eyes of a certain jealous Aussie.

Jenson responds to the kiss by putting his arms around your waist and you feel yourself get lost in the moment. You moan Jenson's name as you become aware if the fact that you should probably be finding your way back to the Channel 4 group but you ca6n seem to pull yourself away.

And in the same way you feel unable to pull away from Jenson's embrace, Mark feels unable to tear his eyes away from the pair of you. Jealousy and hurt bubbling in his get like a hot storm.

You finally pull away and litter a few kisses around Jenson's face "Right, I have to go but I'll see you later and I love you." Jenson grins and pulls out towards him once again. "I love you too but why the rush? Can't stay and spend a few minutes with your favourite driver." You wriggle out of his hold and leave him with a sweet "Oh I didn't know Nico Rosberg was here. Guess I have to find him now!"

Jenson just chuckles and grabs your arm as you try and walk away. The both of you ignoring the influx of sky sports and other media personnel setting up not far from you. "Not so fast sweetheart. I thought I was your favourite driver. Should I worry about being demoted?" You let out a thoughtful hum, the sound making your lips buzz for a moment. "Well, it depends... There is this one old racing driver. He's long retired now. But gosh, he's he's incredibly dashing and handsome. He commentates now but he just gets me so flustered!"

Jenson's smirk parts as his lips breaks out into a toothy grin. "Oh really? He sounds like quite a bloke! Do I need to be jealous?" You raise your eyebrows and nod "Oh yes, I'd leave my husband for him any day!" Jenson looks down in a deflated act. "Oh darling, how could you break a man's heart?" You can't control it any longer and you feel a laugh bubble out of your chest. You try and speak in between laughs but aren't too successful. "Just- If you see him, let him know that I'd love to give him a massive kiss." Jenson, fakes wiping a tear which makes your laugher turn into breathless cackles. "Such a lucky blo-" Jenson can't manage to get much more out before you're smashing your faces together once again. Desperate to not hear his band attempt at a witty come back.

You pull away and look into his eyes, the blue of them catching the light in Such an angle that it makes them glisten. "Oh look." Your soft words make his expression become more lovestruck. "There he is." Jenson grins before you reel back. "Shit... I need to be broadcasting. Now!"

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and rush away. Jenson finds himself grinning and letting out a small laugh as he watches you trail away. Suddenly, a nearby Sky Sports person laughs loudly and at the sharp sound Jenson turns to look at the man. And he could have sworn he hears the worker mutter your name under just breath. His curiosity and desire to defend you get the best of him and he taps the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, what did you say?" The worker turns, baseball cap on his head casting a shadow over his eyes that is fixed when he looks up to meet Jenson's eyes.

Jenson's tone is firm yet still polite as he continues. "I heard you mentioned someone's name. Who were you talking about?" Now Jenson will be one of the first people to admit that he was good at jumping the gun in his youth. But when someone mentions his wife's name? Well he won't allow anything but praises to be spoken about you and as it stands, the worker might as well be slandering you.

And the ground must be especially interesting because the capped man is finding everywhere to look apart from Jenson's eyes as he mutters a quiet "Mark." Jenson's eyes widen a fraction, not quite what he was expecting but he continues, trying to deem more friendly than confrontational as it stands. "That's a bit random. What about him?"

The worker now picks up on Jenson's interest and lack of ill intent and so continues. He grins slyly and the look makes Jenson feel a bit unwell "Oh I was just making a joke about how I thought your girl was talking about Mark earlier that's all. I thought she had a thing for him" Jenson's eyes widen, that's the last thing he expected the worker to say or for other workers behind the man to hum in agreement with. Jenson tries to keep his expression neutral but he crosses his arms, almost feeling a bit defenceless. "What makes you think she has a thing for him?"

The man opposite Jenson just shrugs nonchalantly. "Well she looked all excited and flirty with him earlier. They were really close and whispering." Jenson feels his heart sink for a moment. He trusts your loyalty of course he does. And he's certainly aware that you're an adult woman with your own autonomy.

Blimey, you were close with Mark first, if anything, Jenson should be happy that you're finally becoming friends again. He ignores a small nagging feeling in the back of his head, knowing full well it's only there because of other people's gossip and falsities. Jenson tries to get an answer pinpointing exactly when only to get another shrug and a generic answer claiming that it's been a regular occurrence over the past few days, in response.

Another man behind the main worker suddenly laughs. Jenson looks at the shorter, clearly younger worker and instead addresses him, head tilting once again in curiosity and confusion. "What?" The younger man just smiled "Nothing! Well I just- I grew up on you lot and for the longest time thought that Y/N and Mark were married so this is just a bit funny."

Jenson just shakes his head, the exchange seeming more and more bizarre as it continues unfolding. Gosh a few minutes ago he was just happily having a quiet moment with you and now he has to put all of these misconceptions about you to rest. Gosh this day is already tiring. "Well Y/N already talks highly of him and when you announced your engagement, like everyone else, I was shocked. I mean at least half of the Internet thought you had a polyamorous thing going on or at least a ménage-trois thing." The first man chimes in again "I mean I don't think Webber would be oppose enough having a piece of th-."

Jenson's glare could kill. Silencing all the other workers that choruses similar sentiments of rumours about Mark objecting at the wedding and other preposterous gossip. He's never known anyone to halt in their words so quickly but at his angry look, the worker realises his wrong and bows his head. Jenson tries to contain his anger at the objectification of you and instead focuses on his breathing (something you've encouraged him to also do in moments of high emotion). Jenson takes a deep inhale through his nose.

"Now if you're done talking about Y/N like that, I hope you can realise how preposterous those lies are. They're just things spouted by people with too much time on their hands and I don't appreciate you feeding into such bad words about my wife like that." As if following choreo, the sky workers nod. The main one holding up his hands, clearly quite ballsy as he adds. "Look I'm sorry man. But you have to admit you'd make a pretty attractive threesome." Jenson just raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore his warming cheeks, not even willing to entertain the thought... Not even for a moment... No, not in the slightest... Well if his brain thinks about it, its just because the worker mentioned it... He shakes his head.

Jenson speaks in a tone that'd be used to scold a child. "And no talk of that please. I'm more than happy with my girl." The man just nods again. Another worker, this time a much taller one puts a hand on the workers shoulder and addresses Jenson. "Sorry man. We'll leave all the stirring to Channel 4." At Jenson's furrowed brow he continues. "Not anything serious, they're just using Mark and Y/N's relationship as a selling point." Jenson just nods his head. Finally feeling more secure in the conversation now. "Yeah, well they love to make stuff up out of nothing."

The group lets out a collective laugh and if you were here, you'd you'd Jenson's look one of a lost puppy. "Oh you poor innocent man." One of the workers laughs "Sorry. You must have never heard of the 'Deleted Pages' that's all." Jenson shakes his head. "The delete- what are you talking about?" Hearing the sincerity of his words, the worker straightens up. "Oh, you really haven't? Uh nothing then..." The camera man calls for the workers to start filming in two minutes and the group begin to scatter. "Wait no, don't give me that. What are you talking about? What are those deleted pages, why are you all acting so weird?" Jenson doesn't have much time to get an answer though before a microphone is being thrust into his hand and he's being forced to film yet another segment.

Now you'd spoken to Jenson before about... that night. Not the ins and outs but now he's left curious. What happened and does it truly mean more than you let on but more importantly, does it have anything to do with these blimmin' "Deleted Pages."? Pages that everyone seems to know of but no one seems to know anything about. Jenson just huffs. Gosh this season really was going to be the end of him, especially if he doesn't find a way to satiate his curiosity.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, comments and especially feedback is always welcome! And I'd love to hear what you think!!!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[somegrumpynerd]

I like the idea that Cross realised Killer was touchstarved (he didn't have the words for it but he noticed how much Killer would settle down from it) and started giving him very small basic affection. Pat on the back, hand on the shoulder, maybe a quick friendly hug, all things he probably learned through royal guard training and thinks of as normal friend/coworker stuff.

But as they both got more comfortable in the routine of it, Killer started instigating touches and he was not shy about it (like not just leaning into Cross's side during movie night, he looks like he's trying to get into Cross's jacket with him)

And that this more intense affection made Cross realise he might also be just a little bit touchstarved

Bonus:

[tears-of-taelia]

This day still terrifies me. To my core. With the strange weather that happened before, I expected something to occur. I could have never predicted the magnitude of that event. I assume you're here to wake me up then? You want us to face that evil again? I'm… We're afraid... Of everything. Of everyone. I don't know what I'm supposed to do! WE DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[flagonofdragons]

Still can’t believe Ken only got one episode. He was introduced in one of the most important episodes of the Highbreed arc, was hyped up by Ben and Gwen for the first half of the episode, was kidnapped and turned into a DNAlien, forced to attack his grandpa, sister and cousin while also finding out for the first time about their secret powers and the existence of aliens and then thought he watched Grandpa Max die (which I imagine he might feel was his fault since he was the bait to lure Max in). The writers really gave this guy the most traumatic weekend of his life, mentioned him in 1 line in 1 other episode and then yeeted him out of existence.

What makes this situation even worse is that this all happened before Ben’s secret identity got leaked and the existence of aliens was common knowledge to the public. He wouldn’t even be able to go to a therapist as his story essentially boiled down to ‘being kidnapped by aliens’ and ‘experimented on’ (mutated into one) No one would ever believe that.

I really hope the Plumbers put some kind of support system in place after the Highbreed war ended for everyone who was turned into DNAliens.

[harvestmoth]

something that wont make any sense to literally anyone other than me. ignore my horrid revelations

[ichorblossoms]

love it when docs tries to correct shit when i'm not using he/him or she/her pronouns for a character like sorry sweaty i know i make typos bc i type too fast but that's correct actually <3

[wisteriasymphony]

blueblood!adrien : correct yet vague description

dottoremaxxing astarioncoded slasherpilled adrien: absolutely perfect description but NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

[flowerflamestars]

Migration Patterns snippet

Mostly asleep, but too near waking to be insensate, Elle turned her cheek into his touch, soulmark suddenly pressed to Jason’s palm.   Everything stopped. There was only this: warmth. If he let himself think it, Jason had imagined his half a little like the ocean. Too much, no matter how he tried to bottle it. Fresh water and salt water: where currents met, where color muddled, both and neither. Tidal Eleanor, ceaselessly making it make sense.   All that existed in Elle, just awake enough to reach, was no drowning depth. Just a certain light. Glowing and burning. Incandescent. New and old- not love yet, love already- spark bright interest that could not fade to embers, a thousand soft shades of safe.   Jason’s brain and Jason’s body all in one for once: a country with no borders, Elle an endless expanse of sky.   And then she rolled. Curled small enough not to fall, one arm outstretched.   Jason felt reality start to intrude before her eyes even opened. It was the cold, probably- insistent search that grasped only the cool leather of Jason’s jacket instead of a body in bed, and yanked anyway.   It was no distance to travel.   Just Elle’s grip, ferocious- just air, escaping Jason’s lungs in something so much worse than panic- Elle, on the threshold, a honey sweet dream turned caramel burnt before it cooled to snap in two, all at once- Elle woke up.   Adjusted, softened, let go to hook her fingertips in the collar of his t-shirt, expression unspeakably, unmistakably, fond for a minute before she blinked. Ran the back of her hand up his neck for half a second, and then-   Elle really woke up, drawing back.   “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. I thought”- She flung herself upright, steel-toed boots thudding not unpleasantly against Jason’s side. Elle frowned. “Where are we?”

[erythristicbones]

having big thoughts about Sideshow's first two arcs that will mean having to majorly rewrite both of them despite being almost finished w/ the games first draft script......but also these big thoughts are making me recognize fucking HUGE plotholes that i had conveniently ignored the first time around, so again, it feels like needed changes

[waloeders]

update on sao au!tomu

the minute i can find the proper ref pic of that knight!tomura they released recently for one of the games, this can be completed. he will have his full kit setup n everythin

WAIT I JUST REALISED HIS HEAD LOOKS MASSIVE 😭😭 WHAT HAPPENED. whatever. whatever.

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide" A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences but you're already making your way towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. You think that might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, they could probably smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief-

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to see just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[sleepymarimo]

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣!

summary: the first time you make their heart skip a beat, w/ monster trio + law! pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader, law x gn!reader cw: none! an: ahhhh idk how to feel about this one but i hope you enjoy :') 👐

luffy

there are a lot of things that get luffy's heart racing.

a good meal. a cool looking fish. a killer party. all of it makes this captain happy, because he revels in the adventure. he lives for the moment. he feels deeply and strongly, a trait that acts as a double edged sword.

like now, as a torrent of anger and worry swirl in his chest and weigh him down. he's running through some dense woods, bursting through trees and falling down hills, a look of determination on his face.

an enemy had managed to sneak up on the crew.

what's worse? they ran off. with you.

luffy doesn't think twice. he pushes through anything in his way for the sake of finding you before things got too rough. as he runs, he finds the enemy's actions cowardly. someone using you to draw him out makes him irritate. he doesn't care if he's falling into some trap; he'd deal with whatever was put in front of him so long as he could rescue you.

he's worried for your well being, of course he is. even though he can't see you, he can feel you. his observation haki lets him know how frightened you are, a fact that makes him all the more angry.

then finally, in the distance, he catches sight of you.

you're in a clearing, the enemy looming over you. they're raising a weapon in your direction, much too close.

luffy feels his blood boil. he grabs ahold of some trees, running backwards and preparing to launch himself in your direction as fast as he can. his rubber arms grow taut as he stretches, his mind set on rescuing you.

an annoyed huff leaves him when he hears the enemy taunting you, threatening your life and mocking your ambitions. it has luffy's anger rising, because there was no way he'd let your dreams get made fun of. by anyone.

his thoughts become hazy, his strong feelings taking hold of his actions.

then, luffy hears it. it's like a melody, absolute music to his ears.

your laugh.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his head clears.

he can feel a big smile curling at his lips. his grin is all teeth, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and mischief. it's like a fire has been lit in his soul, like he's a toy that's just been wound up to the max.

even in your current predicament, even when you're utterly terrified, you have faith in yourself. in him.

if you can laugh, then so can he.

finally, he yells out his signature move, launching himself at the enemy and landing a punch so hard that it makes the air itself tremble.

"luffy!" you call with some tears prickling in your eyes, your limbs still shaky from the adrenaline. your smile falters at the edges, relief flooding your body. "you made it!"

your captain comes to life upon seeing your smile up close, his heart beating like a drum. his rubber arms wrap around you and he squeezes you to his chest, his laughter ringing in your ears.

"of course i did!" he grins, grabbing you by the hand and urging you to run with him to the ship. his grip on you is tight and secure. glancing back at you, he can't help but feel grateful to have you with him on this journey.

he snickers, letting emotion run through him without restriction. "you made my heart feel funny!"

zoro

after another victory, the straw hat pirates found themselves reveling in drinks, food and company.

for a while, the swordsman finds himself amidst the other heavy drinkers. he grins and knocks back bottle after bottle, content with listening to the animated conversations around him and observing the party.

eventually though, he craves some solitude. and so, he heads off towards a less occupied area where he can drink in peace.

he basks in isolation, until you manage to find your way to him. a big grin is on your face and he can't help but reciprocate with a small smirk when he notices your inebriated state. unceremoniously, you plop down next to him at a respectable distance.

“hey zo', gimme some!” you nod towards the large bottle he holds, completely immersed in the light, upbeat atmosphere. one of your hands even reaches out, making a sort of grabbing motion.

he possessively tightens his grip on the bottle, his expression hardening slightly as his brows furrowed. "hah? this is mine, go grab your own bottle."

"i don't wanna full drink, jus' need a little more and i'll be good." you answer, well aware of your limits. your tone becomes pleading as you look up at him with puppy dog eyes. "one sip. please?"

with a groan, he relents. he grumbles something about you being lucky that he's in such a good mood, before extending the bottle in your direction.

yet, it appears that you have some more tricks up your sleeve.

instead of grabbing the bottle, you simply tilt your head back and let your mouth hang open. you make an 'ah' sound, waiting for him to bestow you with the gift of alcohol.

he's a little taken aback at first. seriously? you wanted him to pour it for you? ugh, fine...

he rolls his eye and uses his free hand to firmly hold your jaw steady and open, bringing the bottle up and pouring the sake into your mouth.

your hand rests on his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his knuckles.

it's all fine at first, until his eyes lock with yours. in that moment, he seems to acknowledge the intimacy of the act, something primal stirring in his gut as he looked down at you. his cheeks redden.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his muscles tense and he goes almost still. he gets so distracted that his hand moves upwards, effectively drowning your face with sake. your head snaps back into its natural position and you start to cough, the alcohol burning your nostrils.

you give the swordsman an incredulous look, wiping the excess sake from your face. “what the hell was that for?”

“you’re the one that moved!” he sharply replies, even though he knows damn well that you were sitting good and still for him.

focusing inward, he seems pleased to feel that his heart is once again thumping steadily. unwavering. what an odd feeling it was, to have his strong heart skip a beat.

i'll deal with that later. he thinks, not at all wanting to open that can of worms.

so, he takes another swig from the bottle and uses one of his large hands to pat you on the back as you continued to cough up sake.

“oi, don’t waste good booze.”

sanji

the cook wasn't used to being spoiled. he's always been a giver, someone who provides and never takes.

he basked in the smiles that formed on the faces of his crew mates, his family, whenever he made them a good meal or protected them. he never asks for anything in return. however, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be shown appreciation every now and then.

currently, he's on night watch.

a thick blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks and painting them a reddish color. a cigarette hangs from his lips, his breaths coming out as white puffs against the dark sky.

out of the corner of his eye, he can see light pouring out from the kitchen window. how long has that been on? his brows furrow in suspicion as he makes his way over, half-expecting to see luffy attempting to crack open the pantry.

yet when he opens the door, his posture immediately relaxes and he practically melts as he sees you. you're in your pajamas, hunched over the stove with a focused expression. he takes note of the cookbook laid out on the counter, guiding you as you prepared a dish.

he calls your name, his limbs turning to mush as he approached you. "what are you doing here so late? if you're hungry, i'll make you some-"

his nose twitches as he catches the scent of what you're making.

he knows it well because it happens to be one of his favorite dishes. coincidentally, it was one of your least favorites, the scent of it rather unbearable to you.

"you're... you're making..." his cigarette threatens to tumble out of his lips as he gives you a bewildered expression.

he can see your nose briefly scrunch up before you give him a smile, one of your hands holding a wooden spoon and mixing up ingredients on a pan. "yeah. i hope i'm making it right. i mean, it won't be as good as yours anyway, but still."

"mon amour, you shouldn't. i know how much you can't stand the smell of it." he tries to usher you away, placing a hand on yours and insisting that he didn't want you to be queasy. "why're you making this, mon amour? did someone ask you to?"

you shrug and keep a firm hold on the wooden spoon, replying like the answer was obvious. "because i thought it'd make you happy."

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his cigarette does fall to the floor. the hand that's over yours tightens, perhaps his way of grounding himself. he's speechless for a moment, something shaking him down to his very center.

he could almost cry.

"sanji?" you ask, a little concerned for the chef as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

the blond snaps out of it, giving you a smile that's so warm it makes you wonder if the sun had just come up. there's none of that surface level attraction or lust in his gaze, only an authentic appreciation.

thank you. he thinks, feeling light. thank you for caring.

his eyes close as he once again takes in the scent of the dish you're preparing. "it smells great, mon amour. better than anything i've ever made, i’m sure of it."

"i doubt that." you laugh, downplaying his compliment. with a nod, you resume cooking. "it'll be finished by the time you're done with your watch. i can handle it."

sanji thanks you once more, his heart feeling full. returning to his post, he allows you to do something kind for him. he allows himself to take, without worrying about having to repay you.

he quells any lingering thoughts of insecurity and self-doubt, focusing instead on the meal that's sure to be waiting for him in the morning.

law

it was a couple weeks ago that law made the decision to educate the crew a bit more on medical practices.

the surgeon knew that he couldn’t always be around to provide assistance to the crew, so it was only logical that he trained everyone in basic first aid, including you. day after day, he trained everyone, one at a time.

was it a lot? yes. however, law liked to be prepared and felt comfort in being thorough with his teachings, regardless of how tedious it was.

so, finally it was your day to be trained under his watchful eye.

you could tell how passionate he was about his work, how knowledgeable. if you had any questions or wanted to know more about a topic, he took the time to explain it to you properly.

he was quite patient, something you were thankful for since you knew he could sometimes grow frustrated.

when it's all said and done, he quizzes you. he sits atop the exam table, his expression apathetic.

"i'm a patient suffering from shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness." he flatly says, watching your every move. "what comes to mind? what do you check first?"

you bite at your lip, your head scrambling to come up with any ideas of what your 'patient' could be suffering from. "arrhythmia?" you answer, uncertain. he gives you a pressing look, urging you to continue. "and i... check your heartbeat?"

"good." with a nod of his head, he gestures towards the stethoscope. "go ahead, then. check it and let's see if you get the reading right."

pushing past your initial hesitance, you grab the stethoscope and put it on, gently holding the bell in your hand. placing it on his clothed chest, your expression turns frustrated as you struggle to hear a beat.

he rolls his eyes and calls your name lightly. "you can't place it over fabric. it needs to go directly on the skin."

oh yeah, you needed to place it directly on his chest.

you click your tongue, embarrassed by your slight error. "yeah, yeah, i got it."

with that, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt.

however, instead of holding up his shirt and and placing the stethoscope directly over his heart, your hand slides upward from his abdomen and all the way to his chest.

your fingers inadvertently graze along his skin, tracing a warm path from his navel to his heart.

you're too focused on your task to notice his widening eyes and how his breath hitches.

a content smile forms on your face when you catch the sound of his heartbeat.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

you look up at him, slightly concerned. “i think there's something weird-"

"you're hearing things." he's quick to say, placing a hand over yours and promptly removing it from his person. standing from the exam table, he adjusts his shirt and takes a step back to put some much needed distance between the two of you. "good job today, you did well."

he turns in the opposite direction, not wanting to let his cracked composure show. steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and shakes off any residual feelings of unease.

it was just a fluke. he's quick to think, wanting to be rational.

in the end, he looks over his shoulder and gives you a nod before heading to his study.

[prythianpages]

A Light That Never Goes Out | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's sister (reader) | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares.

warnings: angry Rhys, angry High Lord, brief mention of Tamsand, mating bond snapping

word count: roughly 3K, around 3.5K if you read the bonus scene

a/n: This is a part two to this but can be read as a stand alone. I had fun writing this but I worry this sounded better in my head. I was tempted to turn this into a crack fic bc of this trending tiktok sound.

Azriel kisses you, consequences be damned. His hand slides from yours to the nape of your neck, drawing you closer. You kiss him back with the same intensity, years of longing and love pouring into this single moment. Your mind and thoughts tangling with his, the bond between you surging with emotion. Desire and hope. He’s still in disbelief that tonight was the first night he told you he loved you.

But in truth, Azriel had been telling you all along—in every glance, every touch, every kiss that held more than words ever could.

Azriel’s shadows recoil as the two of you pull apart, breathless. The Court of Nightmares had faded away, the two of you lost in each other. It’s just you and him, as it is meant to be…Until the distinctive footsteps of your father approaching echoes throughout the ballroom. Your eyes are wide, too many emotions swirling within their depths. 

But Azriel is relieved that regret is not one of them.

“Azriel.”

The High Lord’s voice is calm and collected but the fury flickering in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He stands no more than two feet away, the authority radiating from him as cold as it is absolute. Beside him, Rhysand watches, his expression unreadable. 

Your father lifts a hand, wisps of darkness and starlight spilling from his fingertips. The orchestra resumes under the silent command and driven by some invisible force, the guests resume dancing and drinking. As if nothing had happened. 

“Come with me,” your father says, his tone leaving no room for argument. His command is directed solely at Azriel. “I’d like to have a word.”

 You try to hold on to Azriel, to keep him close, but he slips his fingers from yours, bowing his head in quiet submission to your father. Without another word, he follows after him. And though his command had been directed solely at Azriel, the weight of the situation falls on the both of you. 

So you step forward, determined to follow after them. But just as you step outside the ballroom, Rhysand grasps your arm, forcing you to a stop.

“You stupid, foolish…,” his voice trails off in frustration. “What have you done?”

You spin on him, eyes flashing with anger as you yank your arm out of his hold. “What have I done? What about what have you done? Planning marriage alliances behind my back? Like I’m some pawn on your chessboard?”

Rhysand’s gaze softens for a brief moment. “Y/n, I–”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, starlight beginning to swirl from the fingertip you point at him. You don’t want to hear his excuse, whatever justification he thinks will make this right. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cassian and Mor making their way toward you, slipping through the dancing couples and out of the ballroom. 

The starlight seeping from your fingertip glows brighter, ready and poised to attack. However, it’s your words you speak into his mind that make the blow instead.

“You know, if you love that runt from Spring so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his brows furrowing as the meaning of your words hit him. The revelation that you know his secret. Where he’d sneak off to some nights. Why the scent of crisp rain and earth lingered on him when he’d return. You and Azriel had pieced it together after Cassian had mentioned that his book on Illyrian training and methods suddenly went missing. Given your secret, you and Azriel had kept that information to yourselves, waiting for the moment Rhysand would feel comfortable to tell you himself. 

It takes him a moment to regain his composure, for his gaze to harden again. His lips curl into a snarl–a warning.  “Y/n.”

He leans in forward but you take a step back and winnow away, only one thing on your mind. Finding Azriel.

**

The walk to the High Lord’s private office in the Court of Nightmares is silent but the sense of foreboding is nearly deafening. Azriel is tense, his shadows quiet and burrowing into his leathers. Too many possibilities and consequences storm through his mind, each one more damning than the last.

Does he regret kissing you in front of everyone? No.

That kiss was the first honest, uninhibited thing he’d allowed himself to do in years. It was freeing, exhilarating to be able to show everyone, especially the sons of Spring and Autumn that you were his and he was yours. He could face death for this—for touching the High Lord’s daughter. For kissing you so openly, so brazenly, in front of the entire court.

But why? Why should it be so wrong for him to love you? Because of his birth? The scars of his past that marked him as unworthy? He’s served loyally. Bled for this court.Tortured for this court. 

He’s watched from the shadows as lords and sons, full of false charm, have circled you like vultures, eyeing you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed.  And yet, when he—who knows you, who cherishes you—shows his love, it is considered a crime.

It isn’t fair. But Azriel has never been afforded fairness. 

The heavy doors to the High Lord's office swing open with a wave of his hand, and Azriel steps inside. The air is thick with tension, and every muscle in his body tightens. The High Lord gestures for him to sit, but Azriel bows his head, respectfully declining. Standing feels safer. Less vulnerable. He wonders if his refusal will anger the High Lord further, but the single shadow curling at his ear reports no rising fury.

He can feel the weight of the High Lord’s gaze—it’s heavy, scrutinizing, like the cold press of a blade against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, even though his heart pounds in his chest. If there’s punishment to be had, Azriel will accept it.

The High Lord moves to his desk, positioned beneath an oculus, where moonlight spills through and dances across his features. He gazes up at the starlit sky as if searching for answers—or perhaps, waiting.

“Normally, this is the part where people like you should be begging for forgiveness, for a way to rectify your mistake.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“No?” The High Lord’s gaze snaps back to him, piercing as if he could peel away Azriel’s very skin to lay bare his soul. Azriel wonders, for a brief moment, if your daemati powers had been inherited from your father. Could the High Lord see into his mind, his thoughts? Have kept this power to himself all these years as a secret weapon? 

“You sound so sure of yourself,” the High Lord continues, his tone sharpening. “Tell me, how long has this... affair been going on?”

“For decades.” Azriel admits, knowing that there was no use in lying. The truth was already written in the way he kissed you, in the way he looked at you as you broke away from the kiss.

“For decades?” The High Lord repeats, his expression darkening, violet eyes narrowing. “You took my daughter’s first dance tonight of all nights.”

Azriel’s silence says everything. Both of them aware that Azriel had taken more than dances, more than a kiss.

“You’ve taken her innocence. You’ve ruined her…” The High Lord continues to seethe in that cool, unnerving tone.

Azriel’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for his dagger. Not to defend himself, but because it’s his only comfort in moments like these.

But this is not a battle to be fought with daggers or swords. This is a battle of love, of politics, of status. One he’s had no training for yet one he’s willing to fight. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fight against all odds.

“Whether she marries Spring or Autumn, she will become a lady of the highest esteem and forge a strong alliance with my court. Laden with all the riches and wonders only a High Lord can offer. What can you offer? You don’t even have a proper last name to give her, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel swallows thickly, the weight and shame of his low-born status crashing into him like the violent current of Illyria’s river. It feels like he’s sinking under it, drowning in it. He knows he can’t offer you what any son of Spring or Autumn could. He had reminded you of that—again and again. 

It’s as if you can feel his doubts creeping back in, the poison of guilt and worthlessness seeping in. Your presence—soft, warm, and steady—enters his mind. You bring forth the memory you had shared with him moments ago on the dance floor again.

“I can’t give you much,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering just over your own. “But I can give you everything I have.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you had replied, the words echoing now in his mind, like an antidote to the venom of doubt. That’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all—

“I asked you a question, Azriel.” The High Lord’s sharp voice cut through the memory, yanking him back to the cold, oppressive reality of the Court of Nightmares. “What can you offer in exchange for my daughter?”

Azriel’s knees buckle beneath him before he even realizes it. He drops to the floor, bowing his head low. His shadows stir, swirling around him in a frenzy, urging him to stand. To stop him.

“My life.”

“Your life,” The High Lord muses. He lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You love my daughter enough to give your life for her?”

“Yes,” Azriel says, his voice firm and steady, even as his shadows coil tighter around his arms, trying to pull him back from this path. But he stays rooted to the floor. His life, his soul—it all belongs to you anyway. What was it worth, if not to protect you? To be yours?

The High Lord’s eyes narrow as he studies the swirling shadows, dark and restless, wrapping themselves around Azriel’s form. Shadowsingers are rare. Their power is precious. They can see and hear things others can’t. The only known living one kneels before him now. 

Despite his low born status, the Shadowsinger had also proved himself a formidable, Illyrian warrior. A Carynthian. It’s why he appointed Azriel as the Night Court’s spymaster.  

And now this powerful and strong male is offering his life.

To have a Shadowsinger as his spymaster is rare, a gift in itself. To have Azriel’s loyalty, his strength, his skills bound by magic for life. A weapon of mass destruction, at his beck and call. No room for betrayal, no worry over him leaving his court for another.

 All in exchange for your hand in marriage? 

Now, that sounds like a deal.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, voicing his consideration. He could give Azriel a title, raise him from his bastard status. At his will, darkness begins to rise from the floor. The power of the bargain hovers in the air between them, ready to etch itself into both their skins. 

 Azriel finally lifts his head, meeting the High Lord’s eyes with no fear. Only the light of determination. He is willing to give his life to your father if that’s what it takes to be by your side. 

The cloud of darkness begins to separate, its dark tendrils moving toward him, the binding magic poised to seal his fate, to chain him to this bargain for the rest of his life.

But before it can touch his skin, before the deal can be made, a bright light erupts in the room. A sharp hiss escapes the darkness as it recoils, retreating back into the shadows where it had come from. Azriel’s own shadows seem to shudder in relief.

Both Azriel and the High Lord’s heads snap toward the source of the light. You stand at the doors, your eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, your hands glowing with pure, raging starlight.

“No!” you cry, the word trembling on your lips as you step forward, the glow around you growing even brighter. 

Your eyes lock with Azriel’s and something tightens in his chest, crawling up his rib cage. It’s sharp and breathtaking. His hand grabs at his chest and yours does the same. 

”He will not be your slave,” you say, turning to your father with the same determination flashing in your eyes. “There has to be another way.”

The High Lord’s features morph into a scowl. “Another way? My star, he is a bastard—”

“I love him!” 

That tightening in his chest finally snaps and Azriel’s breath catches. He feels that light in your eyes, perfectly reflecting the one in his. It sears into his soul, as fierce and unrelenting as the starlight glowing from your hands.

Your father doesn’t notice the shift in the air, the change in Azriel’s posture, in his chest. Or in yours.

“You think that means anything?” 

Azriel’s shadows whisper a warning into his ears, of an oncoming raging darkness. Different but similar to the High Lord’s. He barely hears his shadows, too focused on you, on the bond thrumming between you. His mind is consumed with you. 

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“You and mother—” you begin.

“Do you think your mother and I love each other?” The High Lord interrupts sharply, his voice cold and cutting. He breaks out into a laugh.

Azriel snaps out of his trance. Anger flares within him at the shock, the devastation that takes over your features. He watches as you shrink back slightly, his instincts roaring to protect you from any harm, whether verbal or otherwise. 

Because he’s your mate. Because he loves you.

 “You think I would marry your mother, a low born seamstress by choice? What your mother and I have is different. It’s complicated. A special bond.  One that gave me Rhysand and you and–”

A sound like thunder crashes through the room, reverberating off the stone walls as darkness swells in every corner. One moment, Azriel is on his knees. The next, he’s slamming into the cold marble floor, the force of Rhysand’s power pinning him down. Tendrils of Rhysand’s darkness coil around Azriel’s form, fighting with the shadows that instinctively rise to defend him.

“How long?” Rhysand's violet eyes blaze as they burn into Azriel.

“And I am beginning to think you both are nuisances to my existence rather than gifts...” The High Lord mutters followed by an exhausted sigh.

“How long have you been fucking my sister?” His words are a snarl as he slams Azriel harder into the floor, advancing toward him with clenched fists.

“Rhysand!” You let out a cry, rushing to the two males to separate them.

Your brother whips around, his anger igniting into something fiercer at the sight of you. “Stay out of this!” he snaps, his hand raising. He’s too angry, too heated. So much that he doesn't even notice the force of darkness he aims your way.

Rhysand’s magic hits you hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked gasp escapes as you stumble backward, struggling to keep your footing. A burst of bright sapphire explodes from each of Azriel’s siphons, a deep and low growl rumbling from his chest. He breaks free from Rhysand’s magic, standing to his feet. His wings flare behind him, shadows swirling like a storm.

The look in his hazel eyes is nothing short of feral, dark and ancient, a fierce and possessive glint that makes Rhysand falter and surprise flash across the High Lord’s features.

You fall to the ground with a thud, palms scraping against the stone and pain flaring in your hands. Rhysand turns toward you, the anger that had been simmering in his violet gaze immediately dissolving into guilt and regret. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel growls, standing in between you and your brother, his shadows forming in an additional protective barrier. Some shadows flutter toward you, helping you stand and bringing you to Azriel’s side. Your hand instinctively seeks Azriel’s, fingers curling into his and you squeeze it, letting him know you’re alright. 

“By the Cauldron…” the High Lord’s voice comes out in a low murmur, his gaze darting between you and Azriel. His eyes narrow as he finally notices the subtle shift in the air, in your scents. The scent of a bond. 

“You two are mates,” he says, tone laced with resignation. Because even he, a High Lord, is not above going against The Cauldron.

It feels like a punch to the gut for Rhysand. His best friend and his sister. Fate’s inevitable design had been right under his nose all along. “What?” Rhysand breathes in shock, chest still heaving from the exertion of his magic.

Azriel’s hand tightens around yours. His gaze softens as he turns to you, the fierce protectiveness from earlier easing into something gentler. And when your eyes meet again, it’s there—the unmistakable light of the mating bond. It shines bright and steady between you. Just like your love for each other does.

 A light that never goes out.

bonus scene

Once the shock of the bond had worn off, the High Lord excused himself, muttering about damage control. “Spring will be the hardest to deal with,” he had said.

Rhysand’s body tensed as his eyes found yours. But you’d only given him a small, reassuring smile. Though it is something you would like to talk about, his secret would remain safe with you.

Your father would soon announce the bond to the Court of Nightmares, already making plans for a grand mating ceremony. You’d much rather have something private, intimate. But a public celebration seemed like a small price to pay for the lifetime you’d get to spend beside the male you loved.

Rhysand turned his gaze back to Azriel, his expression still unreadable. “You never answered my question,” he said, voice calm but edged with something darker. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated before answering, unlike the way he had with the High Lord. This was his best friend standing in front of him. The one he grew up and trained along with, survived the brutality of the Blood Rite with. Rhysand was like a brother to him and he went behind his back for years.

 “A decade.”

“A decade?” Rhysand blinks in surprise. 

A whole decade of secrecy. Of Azriel sneaking around with his little sister. It all made sense now. Why Azriel became more reserved, more private. Why Azriel no longer indulged himself with the pleasures of the females at Rita’s or the Illyrian camps like he and Cassian did. Why you spent more time at the Moonstone palace, instead of the House of Wind, where you had grown up and been raised by a handful of Priestesses. It hadn’t been to learn about the politics of the courts but to be closer to Azriel.

And then, with no warning, Rhysand swings.

The hit lands squarely on Azriel’s jaw, so swift and unexpected that neither you nor Azriel’s shadows had seen it coming. Azriel takes the blow without protest, silently commanding his shadows to stand their ground and not fight back. 

“Rhys!” you snapped, your brows furrowing into a scowl. 

Rhysand huffs, shaking out his hand from the impact. “That’s for going behind my back,” he says. He pauses for a second and then, he lets out a low chuckle. Full of disbelief and relief.

“I’m still angry at both of you,” Rhysand admits, and Azriel lowers his head, bracing for more. “Not because it’s you—though I’ll admit, seeing you together is... strange. But because you kept it from me for so long, putting both of your lives at risk.”

Then Rhysand’s voice softens, his gaze following. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Azriel lifts his head back up in surprise as Rhysand holds out his hand.

 “You’re a good male, Azriel. Better than most. And I know you’ll protect her. Love her in a way no one else can.”

Azriel stares at Rhysand’s outstretched hand before finally clasping it, the tension between them easing. Your chest warms at your brother’s sincerity.

The sound of footsteps, heavy and hurried, echo through the stone walls. They grow louder with each passing second and moments later, Cassian and Mor appear at the entrance of your father’s study. Cassian braces himself against the doorframe and Mor leans on him, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

It’s clear they’re winded from the endless stairs they must’ve taken to reach the floor of your father’s private study. It was located between the Court of Nightmares and Moonstone Palace, warded so that only those of his bloodline could winnow directly inside.

Their eyes dart between the three of you. 

“What did we miss?”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! here’s a little HC (idk what to call it?) of Rhys’s sis & Az if you’re curious 💙

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @tulipbite, @kylaisra, @stressed-reader

[maniculum]

Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.