#love in whatever sense you wish to interpret the word

[aithusar]

I for one think Arthur's last words, thank you, were the perfect conclusion to the story and Merlin and Arthur's relationship.

Merlin's main desire from the very first episode is to be recognised and accepted for his magic, and this never goes away. He is motivated to individual acts by love and compassion, but acceptance remains the overarching motivation he uses to justify his struggle to himself. It won't always be like this. One day, we will live in freedom again. As the story develops it becomes Arthur he craves it from most of all. How many times has he wished Arthur knew the truth and recognised him for who he is? The secret of Merlin's magic is an abyss between them which they both suffer from: Merlin is often embittered by the lack of recognition, and Arthur is confused and frustrated by Merlin's seeming mercurialness. There will always be distance between them until Arthur has the truth and accepts Merlin for who he is. It is what everything, this whole story, their entire relationship, has been building towards.

Thank you is the culmination of all this. It is recognition and gratitude. It is being known, accepted and embraced. Arthur is seeing and understanding Merlin for the first time. I know now. Everything you've done for me, for Camelot. He has never thanked Merlin for the full extent of his service and devotion. I want to say something I've never said to you before. This is the climax of the whole series. Thank you is the long-awaited manifestation of the recognition Merlin dreamt of. Thank you is explicit acceptance of the part of himself which Merlin always feared he'd be rejected for. Thank you heals the fractures that have always marred their relationship. This is how the story ends: at last, the only thing left between them is love.

[strwberri-milk]

Hii!! I love your writing for LADS 🫶🏻🙈 may I request you write for Sylus talking to the most famous or beautiful woman of N109zone or of princess mafia in a exclusive event while the reader is watching them afar with her jealous energy? Then right after; the reader feels needy, possessive, wanted love and smutty 🔥, don't want to talk to Sylus, and it leads to miscommunication/don't get the wrong idea trope. You can add Luke and Kieran as cameo to make the situation worse telling the reader about Sylus and the girl's history together with a sense of humor that doesn't make the reader feel any better then Mephisto there CAW CAWLING over the fact seeing the reader turns red in frustration 😡😂 I really appreciate and love your work! Hope it be a little long word count (with bulletin points) if you write/accept this request! 🙏🏻

this is so booktok coded and you can interpret that however you wish bc i have Strong opinions about booktok and the current state of media literacy - but unfortunately i am a sucker for the trope and even if this isnt super duper smutty i do love a good jealousy plot - just as a heads up as I say w longer requests - i wont do everything and smut is harder for me to write so in interst of you not waiting months for a request we're gonna go a little off of what your reuquest was bc i also got confused reading it - which is why i always recc not to be too detailed bc then i get pigeon holed and focused on the wrong details :( - ive also combined these two requests bc theyre p similar to me!

You are fully aware that Sylus needs to work with a lot of people for his job. He's got powerful connections because of these events and you've never had a feeling that he was unfaithful. However, that doesn't mean that you can't help but feel insecure when you see how beautiful some of the people he works with are. You know that he loves you and he makes it very clear with his actions but the way he easily smooths things over with that dulcet tone of his.

You're resigned to having to spend the evening with Luke and Kieran - not exactly a punishment but also not the greatest as they give you the whole scoop on everyone Sylus talks to. The way their breaths catch and the quick darting of their masks to you lets you know that there's something else you're not being told but they refuse to let you in, citing respect for the boss' privacy. You know that you won't be able to get them to snitch on him at this rate, forced to watch as he continues to butter her up for whatever reason. You saw the way that others looked at her and for a moment you wondered if he was looking at her the same way, trying not to overthink things because you're also aware of how much he loves you.

You watch angrily as Sylus wraps his arm around her, whispering something into her ear that makes her laugh. The twins look at you and despite being unable to see their eyes you know they're just as confused as you are. They don't stop you when you get up to leave, deciding to follow you. They know his personality well and know that it seems a little out of character for him to be so forward during a meeting.

You decide to go back to his home, locking yourself in the bedroom as you deliberate on what to do. You know you could confront him if you really wanted you but part of you doesn't even want to do that - you feel like you'd be more content to see him grovelling and begging for you to forgive him but you also know he really isn't like that. So you decide to ignore him.

He comes home later that night, fully intending to explain himself but when he sees you fast asleep he simply decides to slide into bed with you. He holds you through the night, not knowing how upset you are with him. In the morning you're gone and he finds that he can't seem to reach you. You run around with your tasks for the day, barely saying hi to him in passing. He knows you're not that busy so it makes no sense to him.

He ends up having more meetings with the woman, much to your anger. After an especially long meeting he finds you standing outside of his office, an angry expression on your face that he just can't take seriously as he finds you adorable. He leans down to give you a kiss and you end up yelling at him about how you know he's giving her more than just his business.

You actually didn't know anything - just that he was far too friendly to her and you wanted to see what he would admit to. He immediately starts to set the record straight, telling you that there's no way you seriously believe he's looking at anyone that isn't you. You cross your arms stubbornly, telling him that isn't going to work on you.

It ends up not mattering when he picks you up to throw you onto his bed, covering you in kisses as he digs his nails into your hips. You can't escape his hold, bent this way and that way as he teases you for really thinking that he sees anybody that isn't you. He calls you possessive names, moving against you in ways that make you see stars over and over again.

Safe to say your new silent treatment to him is not because of you not wanting to speaking to him. Your voice is hoarse, body barely able to leave the silken sheets on your skin as he continues to dote over you with reminders that it'll always only be you.

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[shirefantasies]

the fellowship and how they would comfort you after a nightmare

Sure thing! This is such a cute idea I love it 🥺 no detail is given about the nature of the nightmare, so it’s pretty fluffy & open to interpretation 🥰

How The Fellowship Comforts You After a Nightmare

Aragorn

A pair of hands catch you about the waist. “Careful, beloved, you almost fell,” a deep voice whispers. Aragorn. You start despite the comforting voice, and he notices. Fixing you with a look of concern, he nods encouragingly, letting you speak; you tell him it was a nightmare. “What happened?” He asks, and he listens with great interest as you describe what you saw, what your mind forced you to experience. “The night can be false,” he tells you, moving so close you can feel his breath upon your ear, “bringing forth our greatest fears. But I am here with you in its darkness.” Nodding, you give a small smile as he takes your hands. “Come here,” he beckons, and acquiescing he tucks you into him, your back against his chest and his arm draped over you protectively.

Legolas

“Come." You hear Legolas before you see him, feel the way he reaches for you. Fingers intertwine with yours and shakily you reciprocate the grip. He raises you gently to a seated position, holding you lightly about the waist as you rotate in tandem. You’re facing the window, you realize, looking out into the night. “The stars,” Legolas breathes, “ever have they provided us with hope and comfort. They are looking out for us.” Mystic as his words are, you cannot help but admit that focusing on the distant, twinkling lights is calming, especially in Legolas’s arms. Silently, you nod. Legolas peers down at you thoughtfully before speaking again, pointing out stars and constellations until you are lulled into a much more peaceful sleep.

Boromir

A tear slides down your cheek, but before the lines to reality are fully crossed you feel a hand caress you, wipe the droplet gently. “What ever is the matter?” A voice you would recognize anywhere: Boromir. Before you can speak you’re latching onto him. Stroking the crown of your head, he questions again, this time asking if you are all right. “I will be,” you answer shakily. His lips fall to yours, firmly but with a sense of care, of loving. “Good. You have me until then, and, I’m afraid, long after that, too,” he jokes, pulling you closer. “That means more than you could ever know,” you mutter, nuzzling into his neck and giving in when he shifts to his back, your body draped over his like a warm blanket.

Gimli

Gasping and shooting upward, you are met with a shout that has you exclaiming as well, heart thundering in your chest. Suddenly, looking as though he’s been slapped, Gimli reaches for your hand, taking it in both of his. “Whatever is the matter, my jewel?” You cannot help cracking a feeble smile at his words of endearment even through the involuntary terror you’d awoken to. You apologize, tell him a nightmare had taken you. “Not if I have anything to say about it!” Gimli retorts. “Does it realize who it is up against?” Cue your beloved dwarf highlighting every amazing thing about you, from your beauty to your fighting spirit to simply poetry, all the wonderful things in this world you remind him of. “So if some dream thinks it can take you, it is sorely mistaken,” he concludes, looking satisfied at the upward tug of your lips, the bashful way your head falls against his chest.

Frodo

Stirs with immediate knowledge and understanding of what you are going through, having experienced it many times himself. No words are necessary, only the small, sad nod you share. Frodo's hand immediately trails up and down your arm, spreading grounding warmth across your skin. Your head falls back against his chest in defeat and with a deep breath, he pulls you flush against him, lips pressing against the crown of your head. Frodo never demands words, but listens with deep thoughtfulness if you wish to volunteer them and even shares any similarities in his so you know you are not alone. Especially if any of them embody your worst intrusive thoughts, the hardest things to share aloud. He only feels comfortable sharing the events of his own nightmares because of this dark bond you share, but seeing your face and feeling the caress of your hand upon his cheek is all it takes to cast a light back into his eyes, one that sparks the same for you.

Sam

Sam’s hold upon you is the first awareness you achieve as you are thrust back into reality, your eyelashes fluttering as you make out his form. The moment tension fades from your body, he’s pulling you into him, rocking you gently and running his hand through or over your hair. “Sam, I’m sorry -” “Shhh,” he soothes, smiling gently, almost tearfully, “there’s no need. There’s no need at all. Let’s just stay here.” At your nod, he rests his chin atop your head and tucks your bodies as close into each other as possible, limbs fitting together like puzzle pieces. The last sensation you remember before drifting off to sleep is Sam’s lips lightly pressed against your cheek.

Merry

A gasp alerts Merry to your plight, sending him shooting up into a seated position, looking around the room with concern before his eyes fall sympathetically to you. “Bad dream?” His voice is quiet, hoarse from lack of use. You just nod. “Well that won’t do,” he shoots back, sitting up further and extending a hand. Shakily you take it and are pulled up at his side, an arm slung around your shoulders. “In the Brandybuck household, bad dreams mean storytime,” he tells you with a growing smile, “so your choice. Family legend or embarrassing Pippin story?” You feel your lips curling upward, visions of your nightmare already fading. “Embarrassing Pippin story.” “Great choice! So this one time…well, we’d had one too many tankards, I’ll confess, but I was well until Pippin…”

Pippin

Does not wake up at your first stirring, but as you shift you feel his body move alongside you, turning to face your way. “Are you all right?" He whispers when you fall into his gaze, distress clear upon your face that you both feel and see mirrored in his. “Nightmare,” is all you have to whisper before you’re wrapped up completely in Pippin’s embrace, his legs tangling with yours as his arms wind around you. A smile breaks through on your face when you feel him nuzzle into you with his nose, leading you to snuggle in closer against his soft curls. “I’m always going to be here for you,” you hear him whisper, feel his warm breath as he speaks, “always.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[jazeswhbhaven]

An Unslighty Guy | React | SPOILERS

WELCOME BACK TO GEHENNA LOVELIES. Let's jump right in by me saying that I love the fact that Paimon is a social media content creator. It makes complete sense for him to be. This also reminds me that it's canon that Orias is also a content creator trying out facial products/makeup etc. I wonder if he links up with Paimon and Eligos at all.

Anywayssss he's filming for the meeting that happens every 5 years, and everyone is like yeah it's noisy around this time because of Sitri and Amy....lmao

and pointing out that Eligos follows Paimon's channel is very cute. However from Mammon's event it's possible that Eligos is older than Paimon (so he'd be the senior to Paimon's junior)

so ya'll remember when Ppyong was annoyed as fuck during Chapter 6 with all of those girls at the cafe wanting a picture with him and wanting autographs, etc. It seems the same thing carries over to Hell and he can't stand popularity but he's popular anyway. He's even rude to the fans and they don't even care they just eat it up and say they'll drink toilet water for him at this rate. I'm just like HELLO? lmao

Leraye is concerned, but Paimon teases him by telling him "when you're older you'll understand why they like him so much" and that confirms Leraye is possibly the youngest out of the Gehenna nobles. I really do wish they'd come out with an age chart or something to make this shit eaiser I STG.

Then here comes these two cuties, and Astaroth tries his hand an interpreting what Zagan is saying, but he got it wrong like completely wrong lmao

It's cute because he even gets bummed about it and has to pet Apophis for comfort and I'm just like AWH HE WANTS TO TRANSLATE FOR THE BAB.

I wonder if it's just something he wants to be able to do just because or if he truly wants to help Zagan and they are close like how Paimon and Leraye are usually hanging out together all the time.

But the meeting is about to begin and Ppyong asks if Amy is showing up and well....

Sitri is great at fucking acting because the way I thought he was being foreal for a second like how everyone thought Belial was dead at the beginning of Chapter 1 lmao

Amy came in like "the fuck I am, what's good?"

I feel like personally Amy would use any and every insult known to man to throw at Sitri because he just has that much of disdain toward him and I really am itching to know why that is. I swear it's probably over something super fucking petty or small.

So we're all like omfg Sitri just sat up here and wished death on this man. Yes. Yes he did.

But they give us some insight on Amy's importance to Gehenna's army. He handles a lot of the localized battles to make sure that there's no help needed from the capital. I'm not very familiar with battle jargon so as I see simply...he's the guy that handles the little stuff so the larger scale battles can be focused on more by the other nobles and their subordinates. This sounds way more organized and detailed than our little battles don't it? Since we only have like six characters to work with lmao

But he wears Satan's jumpsuit design and so do the others in his company, so everyone knows him that way. And it turns out he's quite well liked. Sitri too.

Is it just me or is Amy taller than Sitri? I need age and height charts n a o.

But as per usual the wording always throws me off, because "hot rough older brother" should only be used if it's the friend that's calling your brother that or something because if his peers see him as a brother but also hot??? idk whatever I'm thinking too deeply.

Point being. they both hot. they both do the thing.

So Sitri is quite pissed and pretty much ignores Amy's presence and asks Astaroth why it didn't work cursing Amy to die and it's explained that you have to say it more than once for the curse to work. (cool that Astaroth knows stuff like this). So Amy starts his little mantra of wanting the poor guy dead

Since I know what he sounds like, it's funny to try to read this in his voice in my head.

Sitri ain't never missed with his clapback. I swear he was just born with the ability to roast anyone at any given moment.

(it's funny because when my cat was in heat before I got her fixed she was LOUD asf like that shit would keep me up at night)

And even more so Amy tries to tell him he was gonna sit down anyway without taking orders from him and Sitri clocked him again by saying that those who cum early talk too much and those who don't talk very seldom. Out here calling him a one pump chump.

now how do you know which one he is Sitri hm???? care to share with the class??

Anyways, Satan shows up and sees the table all fucked up and he's just happy.

He really said he here for the chaos.

He is definitely here to start some shit and it makes me laugh because that's his entire focus. He doesn't even hide that he's trying to do it. He even told Amy to break the chair from stomping around and Sitri took it as Satan getting onto him. What's funny to me is that I think Satan literally just wanted him to break furniture so Sitri has something to say about it. I'm crying.

Amy was ready to go ya'll he told Sitri to meet him outside, square up, grab his guns, saddle up, the whole nine yards. Sitri is just like well no the meeting comes first and Satan and was like "ugh fine" and decided to pay attention to important stuff lol.

Amy apparently lost this round to Sitri because Satan forgot all about the fight and focused on the meeting instead.

Also from that screencap above I'm definitely not trippin' Amy is taller than Sitri and Satan like WHAT is his height hello?

SO it's five years later and the meeting happens again, and Amy kept that energy because once Sitri came through that door?

it was on sight. lmaoooooo

Also wtf Amy why is your bosoms so big and taking up the screen. Maybe that's why you're mad because Sitri's got the badonk booty and you don't because it's all in your chesssttt.

anyways

There's more banter between these two and the other nobles are just standing by watching as per usual until Ppyong genuinely wants to know why they hate each other so much if they were in the same class when enlisted.

It also sounds like Sitri knew Satan before that and decided to become his right hand devil at the same time. Hm.

So in other words "if they keep at each others throats like that they actually like each other they just don't know how to show it"

Satan even does the "hehe now kisssssss" move

Now this little CG is adorable. Astaroth pulled out his 3D glasses, Paimon has his camera ready...I love them so much this is hilarious.

Awh grumpy Paimon is grumpy. He wanted the picture because it was gonna get a million views lmao

And Leraye is right on the money, because how did Amy and Sitri know to turn their heads at that exact moment?

clocked 'em

Satan is thirsty now because he's blissfully unware that he almost made them kiss. Sitri wants to brew tea, but Amy is like "nah we ain't got time for that I'll go on a drink run <3"

Then...

they literally became my favorite gif

So while they have their stare down, Leraye saves the day by saying it's too hot to have Sitri slave over a hot stove making tea so having Amy go on a drink run is much faster.

So he orders iced tea (iirc), Paimon wants orange juice, Astaroth???

sir wth does this even mean? like? 😭😭

Anyways while Sitri was kinda ticked off that Amy went to go fetch the drinks instead of him, he didn't really fight it that it would be faster. Amy also appreciated that everyone had his back on this decision.

Which btw he got those drinks quick asf, like where did he even find all of this?

purified water from the golden river of tartaros??? Where do they sell that? cold ade sounds like gatorade/kool-aid or something and juice yeah you can get that anywhere and cold coffee for belial and Astaroth

oh no what about my bby Zagan :(((( no drink for him?

but he even got Sitri a drink....except...

He done got this man a bottle of fucking sesame oil dressing...two fucking liters of it.

"Don't be frugal" he says.

What kinda petty ass childish shit LMAO I'd literally pour it on his head for bringing that to me. Satan laughed though so I guess that's his kind of humor, and everyone else tried to not laugh either. Sitri ofc was not amused lol but I guess Amy won this round.

So it sounds like tomorrow we will FINALLY know why they hold these meetings and why it's spread out by five years each time.

So far I'm really liking the banter between the two. It's really something. it also makes me want to really write them together b a d l y. Like there's so many things I could give the reason for why they hate each other so much.

But that's day one and two ya'll. Thankfully nothing has me off track so I can follow each day at a time ^^

See ya'll at the next react lovelies <3

[obae-me]

Hello, and welcome to another installment of niche content containing another mash of my two special interests. Written out of boredom at the airport. Today's edition, fueled with my excitement of being able to go to none other than Miku Expo 2024, I give:

The Brothers As My Favorite Vocaloid Songs!

Yes, I know, please, quell your excitement. I know everyone was waiting for this one. I will take no criticisms or judgments, only enthusiastic additions.

Warning: While nothing stated in this post needs a full content warning, if anyone decides to look up these songs, many songs themselves have plenty of individual warnings, so please search with caution.

Lucifer:

Now, the song I think he'd actually enjoy listening to is Daughter of Evil. It's got tragedy behind it, the song is a bit more classical/waltzy, exactly the kind of thing he likes. However based off his vibes alone, I'm gonna say Honey I'm Home. Mostly because I love Ghost and Pals but also because religious trauma. And I know other people agree with me because I've seen fanart of it.

Mammon:

I think Mammon would listen to Sand Planet. Oo, or Bring it On. Do I have a detailed explanation as to why? Not really in so many words, but it just seems like something he'd listen to, I feel it in my bones. I will not be taking any questions. Now the song I think he embodies? Wildcard. I mean, the whole motif is about playing cards, it's upbeat and fast paced and I love it and I love Kasane Teto even more.

Levi:

I will physically fight anyone who doesn't think Levi listens to Rolling Girl at least once a day (I won't actually fight anyone but I feel very strongly on this matter). It helps him get through hard times but it also makes him cry. Which...same, Levi, same. But if Leviathan were to be a song itself, I'd have to pass it over to Volt Tackle by Deco*27. Pokémon, talking about fighting and struggling at first to capture someone's love? Oo, or Digital Girl. It's got him written all over it. (Or if I want to be sad, give him Anthropophobia)

Satan:

See, Satan is hard because I never know if I envision him listening to heavy metal or if he prefers soft melodies. And, I mean, I know he can like more than one genre at once, but picking THE song I think he'd listen to is hard... but if I'm going off of what I like as well as gut instinct... Abstract Nonsense. Now, selected off his character, I'd have to pick Hikari Yo. It's just very emotional and desperate and the poor demon boi is like that on the inside quite a lot. WAIT or Pathalogical Facade! Oo, lots of options for Good Ol Satan.

Asmo:

Easy, he'd love Gimmie×Gimmie and I don't think I need any further explanation on this opinion. I actually think Asmo would unironically like a lot of vocaloid songs, personally. And as for his songification, I handpick Aishite, Aishite, Aishite. And I know there's a lot of different people's interpretations to this song and everything and people get very... I guess territorial when it comes to this song (at least from specific corners I've seen) but it makes sense to me. It's a really popular song and it's hauntingly beautiful and it's about wanting to be loved and adored and this is MY post so I can say whatever I want about it.

Beel:

Beel is another one that's hard for me to pin down... I think his music taste (joke not intended) is rather eclectic. He probably actually has no real preference other than more upbeat songs to make it easier to work out to. In which case I get to pick whatever I wish. For him I would make him listen to Happy Halloween. I don't care what time of year it is, it's cute and upbeat and about getting treats and it's one of my favorite songs ever. Now one to embody him?... Goodness that's even harder. I would love to say Appetite of a People Pleaser, but Beel's not a people pleaser... I actually don't know! Maybe I am a sham of a fan. I am open to suggestions for my baby Beel.

Belphie:

You know I have to pick Tokyo Teddy Bear. This mans is too edgy not to listen to it all too often. Plus, it's a classic. And, you know I have to make this all even sadder by giving him the song Error. Because I like to make myself cry. And Belphie needs a good cry, let's be honest with ourselves.

I'm also going to add the Distortanist as an honorable mention for unhinged Lesson 16 Belphie.

[yuzukahibiscus]

The graduation day “full of happiness” - her “realisations” after graduating from Takarazuka and thoughts on restarting

(source from BAILA.)

The former Takarazuka Revue Flower Troupe Top Musumeyaku attracted many fans and with her activities after graduation garnering attention, Hoshikaze Madoka appears on the female magazine for the first time! It’s announced that she will be performing in the musical “Newsies”, and as Hoshikaze steps into the musical world like a cinderella in her first footsteps, she tells us her thoughts on graduation and her current feelings.

I want to showcase myself fully 

—— First of all, we’d like to hear how you feel about playing Catherine in “Newsies”, your first musical after graduating from Takarazuka. I haven’t started rehearsals, so I’m really nervous to how it’s going to be like. But once rehearsals start, I’d have to face these tasks sincerely and will look forward to this time. I'd even be humming the songs that Catherine won’t be singing because the songs are so wonderful. Even from there, I can see there are more challenges ahead (lol).

—— Hoshikaze has given us the impression that you’re a Top Musumeyaku that can do anything.

That’s not true. In the past, I played mature women roles, and it was necessary to show a part of myself that I didn’t have, so it was a time when I desperately wanted to improve my acting. With those experiences, and as I grew older, I hope to play these mature roles with more charisma and trueness. I’ll also be facing myself firmly on Catherine this time, and hope to showcase myself fully in the role.

—— If we talk about Hoshikaze, you’re a musumeyaku with the image of being “a fitting heroine”. Apart from that, would you say you’re interested in playing “strong and cool women” type of roles?

I’ve always had the thought that I don’t want to restrain myself to a particular type, and it would be great if I could play these strong, cool and powerful women. And for that, it’s important to see what I can “bring out” in the role. Whatever role I’m playing, I felt that “I can only use what's inside of me”, so I’d be learning and absorbing a lot (from these experiences), and hoping to bring out more sides of myself.

Also, I really love singing and dancing, and these are all helpful in shaping my “heart for acting” and expressing my heart. Because any singer would devote their sincerity into singing and delivering these lyrics and the song to others, in that sense I’d like to challenge the field of stage industry by acting and expressing myself.

What she wants to cherish is “A character that flows from inside”

—— Your rehearsals would begin soon, but what kind of interpretation do you have for Catherine in “Newsies”?

I haven’t delved deep into  it yet, but Catherine is someone very honest, straight-forward and has a strong core, and a character that competes with the other boys with a good character. On top of that, she has an unfailing dignity and exquisite elegance.

At the time, it was very difficult for women to work as news reporters, but I wish to digest well why she chose this job, and create the role from the backbone and core. —— When Hoshikaze mentioned “good character”, what did you want to present?

Objectively, what I mean about “good character” is the kind that flows from the inside. Apart from what you can tell normally by their actions and words, I believe good character comes from the inside and needs to be nurtured. Considerate people are also wonderful, which also shows one's "good character". I hope to be aware (in my attenae) and observe whether there are people of good character.

A graduation performance overwhelmed in “happiness”

—— You graduated from Takarazuka in May this year. May we ask how you decided on graduation and what were the turning points? Even though I became Top Musumeyaku in ken-4 (i.e. 4th year entering the Revue), at that time I was already looking at the faraway goal that “it isn’t possible that I will never graduate”, and when I’m (the Top Musumeyaku), I’ve had the realisation that “graduation” will surely come one day. That was the time when I’ve always thought that I wanted to live well without regrets as I graduate.

Yuzuka-san told me about her graduation in the timing of rehearsals of “A Battlefield for the Two of Us”. I really wanted to graduate with her so when she told me about her decision I wasn’t lost but I told her “I wanted to graduate with you together”.

—— How was the closing day of the graduation performance? We’d like to hear from Hoshikaze’s feelings at that time.

From the morning to when I removed my nakama and went into my blanket, I felt how blessed I was ♡ That I was able to receive so much warm sentiments from many people, and was overwhelmed with gratitude - it really makes my heart warm. It was the first time I’ve experienced that in my life.

Since I felt embraced with everyone’s kindness, I’ll just wrap it up with a word that I’m “blissful!” (lol). I know that’s how the seniors from before have always described, but it really felt like that.

Restarting after feeling that “I’m not alone!”

—— By the way, how did you feel the next day after graduation when you woke up in the morning?

“Ah I’m resting today” (lol). At first the only thought I have was “Ahh, there’s no performances for today”. Because my graduation performance was a two-act musical, so in those days I needed to pay special attention to my physicality and my throat's condition, and I also took great care of myself on how to spend those rest days, and it felt like my rest days became longer.

—— Did you have feeling of burnt out?

I don’t think so. Even towards the last performances I had been so happy, and when I announced that I would be retiring, many fans sent their support in these days, so rather than feeling burnt out, I feel so much of the appreciation to thank my fans.

I created a new fan club and started social media. With that tool, I’ve been able to connect with fans who have been supporting me ever since and even new fans. I feel like those who are cheering on me are “walking on this new life with me” and felt stronger, that “I’m not alone!” In that sense, I’m more delighted than lonely, that I’m very looking forward to seeing these new sights with them together.

[happilychaengs]

Work for Love

a/n: this is a mess. you would think i wrote this drunk or smth but NO i just am losing my motivation after 1 day of trying to write this and i decided to rush and end it. also if you see like names like hirai yunjin or momo... just know that's on accident. i wrote this originally for momo and last minute replaced the names because i remembered i promised one twice fic and one lsfm fic so i might've missed some names, sorry

word count: 1,424

angst, fluff

huh yunjin x gender neutral reader

as her hair fell off her shoulders, her arms stretch out, letting that longing feeling of tightness go from her body. she clasps on her bra, puts on her silky, white shirt, and stares at the door, not leaving any room for interpretation.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't do anything else. it's routine. it's either you say something first or nothing and today, you chose the former.

"what are we, yunjin?" your mouth is dry, the silk sheets comforting you from the sheering cold she leaves you with.

and you see the way her breath hitches at the question. it perplexes her, but even more so, she doesn't want the idea to even cross her mind. "we're co-workers. it's plain and simple."

you ball up parts of the sheets in your hands, "and yet what we have is not plain and simple."

her jaw clenches in response, her head turning ever so slightly to glance at you. and the way her eyes wander on you makes you believe this one topic was enough to topple the structure inside her head because if it didn't fit in perfectly with her life, she wouldn't know what to do. it was spontaneous, it was unplanned, and worst of all, it was uncontrollable.

"what do you want me to do, y/n?" her eyes falter in the face of you, her chest heaving that much more. "do you want me to uplift my career for you? do you want me to say that we have some unspoken thing between us because i won't."

"why, yunjin?" your voice wavers, "you know there's something there! you feel it!"

"so fucking what?" she shuts her eyes tight, taking a deep breath, "whatever we're feeling for each other isn't anything, y/n. it's relief from whatever hell we go through at work. it's nothing beyond the scope of work."

yunjin swallows the lump in her throat, her heart clenching tighter and tigther when she sees the light in your eyes dim. she quickly turns around, avoiding anything more with you as she picks up her phone.

"and speaking of which, "her phone dings as she quickly puts on the rest of her clothes. "i'm late. i'll see you at the conference."

-

your eyes meet again across the table during your meeting.

she's mindlessly tapping her ballpoint pen against the cold wooden table, eyes wandering across the way you lift your pen as you listen, jotting everything down that the new intern, kazuha, is talking about and she sees the way you occasionally steal a glance at her.

yunjin's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she shifts her glasses up her nose. she tries to refocus her attention on kazuha but it's all just becoming noise.

she doesn't have a single clue what she's talking about. what yunjin's more worried about is the shift in your relationship with her.

the damage's been done. it's irrevocable and yet a confused hope lingers in her heart but she burys it deeper within herself. it's a delicate thread, yearning for a sense of resolution and understanding.

kazuha bows and gives her thanks for listening, quickly ending her presentation and sitting back down and yunjin can't help but do the exact opposite.

she leaves as soon as the meeting ends, packing up her things and rushing out the door but she can't help but wonder if you're running after her. she wonders if you'll be there to make things right because in her eyes, you should've with the way your gaze keep making their way to hers and the strange way you made her feel, but as she glances behind her, there's a hallway devoid of your presence. you're not there.

and just a small part of her wishes you were.

-

you find yourself standing in place, your feet glued to the ground as your eyes wandered through the plexi glass and into the room where yunjin is, talking with one of the corporate bosses, sakura.

the walls serve as almost a reminder of the divide between the two of you. the window blinds are slightly ajar, revealing her and you don't know how or what wrong turn you took in your life to be here. hurt and confused.

was it even your fault?

or was it the sweet, provocative, and drunk huh yunjin knocking on your door at 2 on that random tuesday morning, planting her lips on yours and running her hands up your shirt?

nonethless, you shouldn't have fallen for her.

it was a meaningless grasp at love, one that obviously wasn't reciprocated. it was apparently purely work as she says. it was all she saw it as and maybe it was just a fatal flaw of yours to completely misunderstand her intentions.

sakura promptly leaves the room as yunjin opens up the blinds again, only to meet your gaze again and you see it.

in that fleeting moment, you see the way the ocean swims in her eyes but it's not anything like calm waters and its ebbing tide. there's a forboding, tumultuous storm overhead with feverent, mountainous waves crashing against the shore, leaving everything stranded and destroyed.

then the blinds close completely.

-

yunjin despises it.

she despises the feeling of regret gnawing at her very core every single time she sees you pass her by. she despises the way she left things and worst of all she despises how she wants to change that.

days of being consumed by her emotions turned into weeks of feeling like there could be something more with you. it consumed her every thought, blurring the lines between work and longing. every single boundary she's set breaks. the very foundation collapses and when it does, she breaks too.

two knocks on your door is all it really takes get your attention. your door opens ajar, your head peering through not long after. you see her through her large black hoodie covering her head and her obnoxiously big glasses, "... yunjin? what are you doing here?"

"can... can we talk?" her voice is weak. timid even. nothing like the yunjin you saw in your room not many weeks ago.

you feel a sudden pang of nervousness as you open the door fully for her to come in. "okay."

and honestly, yunjin knows your apartment by heart. she could walk through it all blindfolded even from how many times she's come for the sake of work but she stands to the side, waiting for you to almost guide her around. it's unfamiliar to her now, or at least the atmosphere is.

she hears the door shut as she stares at you, you in your red checkered pajama pants and your oversized acdc t-shirt that you got from her. "you... you kept it."

"yeah," you smile wryly, picking at the shirt's length, "it's nice." and it's all you really say. the two of you stand together in silence, the tension between the two of you almost palpable. yunjin begins to rock on the back of her heels, burying that feeling of nervousness inside her.

"so-" "i-"

your voices mask one another as the two of you begin to stammer over your words. you shy away as you quickly go to sit down on your couch, yunjin following you closely as she tells you to go first only for you to quickly refuse. "you go first."

"fine." she has a slight frown across her lips, the words already beginning to get lost. "then... i don't really know any other way to say this but... i'm sorry."

her hands begin to pick at the hem of her hoodie, her shifting in her seat, "i know what i said that night, about it, or us i guess, being completely about work," she takes a deep breath, "but you knew that was obviously a lie. there is something there - between us i mean, but i just..." she shrugs, "i just didn't want to say it because it'd mean so much more to me if i did and... i don't know if i could've handled any of that."

yunjin instinctively looks to you for a form of consolation, comfort, maybe even forgiveness and maybe, just maybe, she did something right in her past life. maybe she saved someone because right now, you were saving her.

"then... what are we, yunjin?" your lips curve into a small smile, "because i don't even know myself."

"i'm not even sure..." she smiles back, barely managing to say it aloud, "but we can figure it out together."

[chaifootsteps]

Wanted to introduce you to a minor stolitz rewrite or I guess, interpretation? I came up with that has a blitzfizz angle if you squint, because I think you might like it.

Some time ago there was a deep and vulnerable moment which is rare from Brandon Rogers, when he was being interviewed by Anthony Padilla, he talked about being assaulted by a beating, and then getting up on stage for standup minutes after. But the audience never noticed. He said when performing for audiences it brings him a sense of fulfilment to know that during the few minutes or hours of that show he gets to forget about his pain, and the audience gets to have fun and enjoy the show and forget about theirs. Those moments of escapism were precious, and I wrote that for Blitzø, this was the extent of his affection for stolas. He’s basically an audience member, a loyal fan. This is why when stolas wants real devoted personal love, it ruins it for Blitzø because it feels like a fan who got a backstage pass once, and maybe even an autograph or handshake, but for some reason thinks this makes them real friends/lovers. And he keeps coming backstage without a pass, and doesn’t understand why security stops him, he even shows up to his house after the show ends. With no idea what he’s done wrong when cops turn up (this type of thing happens all the time to lonely people with mental illness, and is the type of moral complexity I think would suit stolas, someone who is dangerous but still sympathetic) And blitzo feels so much guilt and pity at this lonely, socially inept person, and not to mention feels the flattery of having a fan for once, he finds it hard to get really mean about it. But when stolas gets angry he feels genuine fear and does whatever he can to appease him. Which terrifyingly, is interpreted as reciprocation.

For “One Night Only” like his circus poster in his office suggests, they both got to escape and pretend-to be this powerful, seductive sexual being bringing amazement to a Prince who in turn, gets to pretend his true love has arrived to save him. But just like the circus episode, stolas got too obsessive with a parasocial attachment. He wanted to take Blitzø home, to keep him in his bedroom, to take out and play with whenever he needed. Forever. For Blitzø it was like encore after encore, a show that doesn’t end. And he just wants to go home to his partner, the other kid waiting for him at the circus to play horsies again, and the only other imp in the world who truly understands how it feels to be used as a toy (hell, he was turned into one!!)

And I think like the sex toys running out (if I can try to turn even that into a metaphor) he has exhausted all of his tricks and doesn’t have any more material for stolas. But the show must go on, he thinks, that is until stolas finally sees the cracks in him, and against his own wishes for this to be his soulmate, his attraction to Blitzø starts to die. Because it was artificial from the start. And he doesn’t like the real person as much as he thought. They’re just deeply incompatible. Which breaks both of their hearts, for very different reasons.

When stolas asks him why he ever gave him a night at all or showed kindness to him, someone who now has nobody, Blitzø says nothing and just calmly looks at the photo of stolas smiling holding Octavia, then looks back to stolas. As if silently telling him he knows he’s not a complete monster, that it’s not all over, he is capable of finding real connections with others, he has his daughter. His real ‘hero’ and light in the dark. And knowing how much this relationship has hurt and traumatised Octavia, its the nail in the coffin. There is hope for stolas, but not for this relationship.

In the end he gives him back the book, thanks him for their time together, and for loving him, even when stolas is protesting (kinda like Diane to Bojack) his final action to him is a bow, his last words to stolas before leaving his life forever are “You will be okay”

Goddamn, Anon...you owe me a box of kleenex for this one.

Thank you for this. It's gorgeous and perfect and I wish with all my heart that it were canon.

[skyblueartt]

Can you describe your William and Henry personalities?

OHH sure thing!! It’s like having OCs with less steps LMAOO because we honestly know so little about their personalities before all of the horrors happened! I just make things up lmaooo- kinda just taking my favorite things I’ve seen from the fanbase as well as me just makin up some stuff because why not. I’m still relatively new to this fanbase so ah whatever, fuck it we ball!! Here’s my own personal interpretations of the guys

I’m also at work rn shhhh haha

William- I feel like he is VERY very charming. Eerily charming, even. Smooth talker, can say things that make him appear very personable and likeable. Is it all an act? Probably. Especially after he takes up his new “hobby” after his son dies. I feel like the man is a natural born performer. I imagine that he has a flair for the dramatics and probably has a great stage presence. I mean, he is a performer at the restaurant after all! I also like the idea that William is very egotistical, but deeply insecure. Idk, just think that’s interesting! Also- this guy is VERY eccentric and just an all around like weirdo, like I’m sure he’s very known around town. That whacky British guy who co-owns that chuck-e-cheese place popular with kiddos who is also really fuckin intelligent cuz he makes robots. Like. What a fuckin guy. Even though he’s a bit of a weirdo, since he’s so damn charming, nobody would ever think it possible for him to become this notorious fuckin killer. Terrifying! I also like to think that William has a bit of a strange sense of humor. This is self indulgent because I love dark humor and funny villains 😭

Henry- ah MAN I feel so bad for this guy. I wish we knew more about who he was before the murders! From Fnaf 6, I gather that he’s remorseful, feels guilty, sad, exhausted, and just fucking done. But who was he before everything? Idk! Personally, I LOVE to make him a nice guy who just got every damn thing in his life taken away from him, because that’s just really sad to me LMAO. :( I think Henry could look intimidating sometimes, right, like he’s a bigger guy with a beard and whatever- but he’s actually a really kindhearted guy. To me :’) though he could absolutely beat somebody up and win everytime. For sure. somebody once described him as “the personification of a bear” with how he looks and that’s so fuckin cute. I feel like he’s also got a sense of humor, and I adore imagining that he’s the only Mfer out there to encourage William’s weird ass jokes. He balances Will out, I imagine! Like yin and Yang. Not as sociable as William, I’m sure he’d rather just chill by himself with his robots (bro fuckin loves building robots). But with his loved ones, he’s super kind and funny and just a cool guy- just like, a cool dad or uncle figure. Probably would hug me so tight that I couldn’t breathe, and tbh I love that. Although AFTER Charlie’s death….oh BOY. I headcanon that he has a lot of bad coping mechanisms (alcohol), definitely shut off from the rest of the world, the “color from his life” is gone. Depressed in every sense of the word. I could yap more but I think ya get the jist!! (In my head, it’s fun to imagine Henry and post scoop Mike reconnecting because damn their lives were both ruined by the same guy. Traumatized found family!)

Not my OCs but damn do I treat them like they are😭 they are very fun characters to write and draw!

[rinayeas]

going through the worst writers block fucking ever so here's a ficlet/something headcanon something about my interpretation of the clone theory ft snipes bc he is my fav and also i love writing him

Cw: depression, depersonalization?, you can just skip to the end after the small lines to read my explanation on the theory.

He felt an emptiness in his chest.

The first day after getting logged into respawn, his head was killing him. A piercing pain through his right eye, extending itself to the rest of his body. The doc had morbidly joked about how that's what a lobotomy felt like, but with every passing day Sniper was thinking that he had actually gotten lobotomized.

Something felt wrong, life was colder, it felt like he had something ripped out from within him. He went through all his belongings, trying to recall what each of them meant to him, and he got all of them right. His memories were not missing, so what was wrong with him?

He wasn't a fan of going to the doctor, but inevitably had to take it up to Medic, who ran a few tests in him and told him everything was completely normal, that maybe he should try speaking to a psychiatrist or a trusted one. He didn't know how to feel about that one, his trusted ones were kilometers away from him, and he'd heard psychiatrists were for basket cases, and if there was something he'd tried to prove throught all his adult life, it was that he was Not Crazy.

He found himself growing quieter by the day, he was a man of few words, but he didn't even feel like saying hi to his coworkers, opting to shutting himself off from the world in his room. He slowly lost all enjoyment from the things he used to love, like hunting or camping. Nowadays his evenings were filled with music and his own thoughts.

He was getting better at his job, though, more strategic, maybe. He chalked it up to having extra time to meditate his next moves at night, laying on his bed. He'd become perceptive enough to catch the enemy Spy red handed enough times in one match that the frenchman had just stopped bothering him that day.

He'd picked up on a new hobby recently. He'd climb to the highest point on the base, perch himself with his rifle and some coffee, and just, watch through his scope. He felt like a creep the first few times, but the more he did it the more it felt like he filled up whatever hole was on his chest. He sometimes watched his own team, it was a quiet affair. But most times his scope was drawn over to the RED territory, the ruckus, explosions and screams being so loud they involuntarily called to him like a siren.

He watched people that looked exactly like his coworkers, but felt and acted so different from them that his brain could barely process them being the same people. He was mostly fixated on his counterpart, the RED Sniper. Living in a van outside the base, he watched as his clone retreated for the day, sometimes crawling up to his roof to watch the stars, and he felt a nasty envy crawl up to him.

It didn't even make sense, sleeping in the base was the smarter option, it was warmer during the cold desert nights, he had easy access to whatever he could need, and he didn't have to walk like an idiot every single morning to the battlefield, and still, the other Sniper chose to sleep in solitude, his only company being the nature that surrounded him. It didn't make any sense, and yet Sniper wished he was him, covered in a mantle of stars, enjoying coffee at 2 am without even thinking that it would make his insomnia worse and arriving 5 minutes before battle the next day for the prior reasons.

Nothing about the other man made sense, and he missed when life felt that way.

One night, he removed his hat and his glasses and he poked his head out of his outpost, he stared at the stars and stayed like that for a bit, imagining he was the other guy. He closed his eyes and felt the breeze hit his skin, and just for a second, the ache in his bones dissapeared, making him feel whole again. But his eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at the ground, a few meters below him. He remembered he had to get up at six the next morning.

And he felt a bit silly then.

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

Anyways my clone theory is that the mercs got split into right brain (red) and left brain (blu)

Like all of the red team is wayy more impulsive, creative, and just, loud and passionate. While the blus are more analytical and logical. (This theory also makes it so that emesis blu could completely theoretically happen within the canon timeline while the red team is teleporting bread so haha funny)

Naturally the two sides of the brain work in tandem so to them it DOES feel like something's missing they just aren't sure what it is. And by the time 1971 rolls around their two halves merge and they go back to being whoever they were before everything (which isnt very different they r still the same guys just more complete like a side a or b of a cassette). This last thing is scientifically not true but i like to think that some mercs just are more in tune with a certain part of the brain ergo some ppl like spy medic or engie choosing to wear blue in stuff like the comics or the official mvm cinematic. It's not scientifically viable but like, this is fucking team fortress 2 does anyone really care abt that??? anyways!!!! This was garbage mama but i just wanted to get smth out of my system im still on brainrot mode im sorry to my followers!

[princelylove]

Your highness,

You made me think about Risotto Nero and I've went and re read what you had already written about him (which was really fun and lovely, as always) but I've noticed we never really got a proper analysis of him.

As I've said before, I am a sucker for random details and I was wondering if you would kindly share with us some of your headcannons on him, maybe less popular ideas or underrated aspects of him.

Just like with Leone, I feel like he's a very misunderstood, mistreated character and I'm dying to read more about *your* vision of him.

I will humbly take whatever you wish to share with us (me <3)

Heart <3

I’ll be writing for him when I add to my body interpretations, as la squadra esecuzioni is up next, but Risotto needs some more attention, specifically. I agree that he’s incredibly mistreated- that’s the price you pay when you’re that handsome. 

Risotto is quite the stalker. I think of him as the knight in shining armor type, your very own white knight obsessed with protecting you, but being with him directly means involving you in his work, so… from the shadows is fine. 

Risotto knows how to pay attention to the details, he’s a romantic in that sense. He’s very careful not to leave any trace- of course, besides from his ‘gifts.’ It’s nothing flashy, in fact, if you aren’t very perceptive, you won’t notice them at all. The dishes are done. There isn’t any dust. The contents of the refrigerator are all safe, and aren’t expired. Things to that effect. 

After Sorbet & Gelato died, he asked his unit to all move in together, but he isn’t very social, so… he just kind of locks himself in his office all day. They’re safe, and fed, and not miserable (hopefully), so it’s all fine. There’s no need for him to intervene. Prosciutto came a little late, but all’s well. (I should go into the group dynamic more.) 

He talks very slowly, and has a habit of mumbling. His voice is fairly deep, deeper than Leone’s, but it isn’t raspy. While the vowels themselves are clear, he makes his voice as ‘small’ as he can. Risotto doesn’t want to frighten off small, timid creatures. Nevermind the fact that there isn’t a timid soul in that apartment. The most mouselike individual is Pesci, or technically Illuso since he hides in his own world all day, and there’s no reason to speak like that to either of them.

Risotto doesn’t really talk that much, he prefers to sit back (not really, he’s always tense) and listen carefully. He nitpicks his words, although most of it is improv. His quick thinking has kept him his position as capo, and although he heavily dislikes his job, it comes easily to him. 

Metallica isn’t sentient, but he pretends it is, for amusement. He gets lonely easily, his ‘little friends’ keep him sane when the boss sends him on seven hits back to back.

Risotto strikes me as the type of man to have a lot of patience, but eventually, he'll snap. He's the protective type, plagued by 'what-if's and genuine threats to your safety. You can be mad at him, or have whatever feelings you need to have, just know that he won't let you go.

Whatever behavior you exhibit after he kidnaps you is fine. He'll suck it up and bear it until your shoulders stop tensing at his footsteps. Heavy, clear footsteps that don't drag or approach too quickly. He considered using his stand to take care of your needs, you cannot be frightened if you don't know he's there, but it's better if you associate him with safety. It's better if you have a familiar face, too.

You stay in his office, but you're free to wander all around his apartment. A large room that has his bed on one side, and his desk on the other. The bed does not fit him. It's yours until you'll allow him to share it with you.

Once you've adjusted to him... he'll shove his face into you and just breathe in as much of you as he can, before he has to go.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLIII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here. (Yes, this is a re-post; this chapter was heavily reworked and warrants it.)

"This needs to stop, Zandik."

He was quiet as his eyes fell from you to the Segment in your lap. Dark circles sat heavy, made all the worse by the poor lighting in the room. Sleep eluded him, too, and it was made all the worse by his natural work habits.

You knew so little about him in this role, as the Second Harbinger. However, you understood how easily he lost himself in his own thoughts and ideas; after all, you did it yourself when composing. Only one who comprehended exactly how deep the waters ran would know how far to go and where to draw the boundary.

Pantalone’s words still sat heavy in your mind but he mistook your patience for complacency. He was hardly the first. No one had pulled your from the icy depths of your own hell in Fontaine; you’d clawed and crawled your way out, one application and interview at a time, and you hadn’t looked back when you were out.

Patience alone would do nothing. Your soulmate had duties to tend to. Those would always come first; it was the nature of such positions.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man in front of you said flatly.

“This has continued on long enough. I’m not letting you do this to yourself, Zandik.”

A bare hand hesitated before it reached out and brushed the boy’s cheek. Despite the state of the other Segments, this one was entirely untouched, unharmed. Whatever Zandik felt towards himself did not extend as far back as Omega made it seem and you clutched the Segment tighter, pulling him towards you.

You wished you hugged him in that dream after playing until the sun went down. It would have made no difference for Zandik. In another life, perhaps.

This wasn’t fair to him, to either of you. No one deserved for the past to hang over their head, especially so literally. Your lungs tightened and you tried to keep your breathing even, your shaking fists now clutching the fabric of the young Segment’s shirt.

“Mourning looks different for everyone,” you began. “They might be machines in need of disposal but they’re also you.”

“As they loved to remind me every chance they had,” he muttered.

“And you’re human, Zandik.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “I am closer to Omega, to that monster, than I am a human. If I had been selfish enough in my insatiable curiosity about our bond, I would woven our existences together as Omega did and you would be none the wiser that I did so.”

Your words came more freely, less a plea and more a passionate argument. “The man I love deserves more than to be torn to scrap and thrown into the incinerator, like mere refuse. You know that, otherwise there would be nothing left by now.”

The trouble with fated bonds was, in addition to their potentially poor timing, the lack of control over them, specifically their dynamic. Omega alluded to it and before, it hadn’t been entirely clear was laid between you two. Although you reminded yourself that not all bonds were romantic, your fingers ached to touch him just as much as they ached for the fret board; his company was as necessary as pulling notes together and weaving music from them. No pair chose. Even those that fought it did so in vain when suppressing it only resulted in a stronger pull, a more volatile life change.

Neither of you was a fan of predestination but Zandik had agreed to finding a solution. Part of that process meant embracing what connected the two of you together. To do anything else would be folly.

You counted the seconds between when his hand pulled away from the young Segment’s cheek and when he looked at you through his lashes. The recent hollowness you were familiar with was gone, instead replaced with an echo of skepticism; he believed your words, but not their authenticity, and a knife drove itself deeper into your chest.

“What I said stands, regardless of...my own emotions,” you amended. “Whatever you feel must be done, whatever you wish to do, just respect yourself, your humanity, in the process. They’re your past, Zandik. Make peace with them.”

He nodded and his gaze dropped to the child in your lap again before he looked around the room. For a moment, he looked haunted by ghosts long gone, echoes of existences.

“Ashes would be efficient enough all the same.” Zandik said at last, his hands finding yours and prying one from the linen shirt to hold it. “One place comes to mind. Would you accompany me?”

“Of course, mon rêve.”

As he raised your hand to his lips, you caught the slightest whisper against your skin. You swore you caught a twitch at the corner of his mouth as shadows of doubt eased from his expression, leaving only Zandik, your Zandik, in their place.

[sillypiratelife]

Random strawhats duo dynamics concepts:

— Nami and Sanji:

THEIR DREAMS ARE SO CUTE. THEY ARE SO CUTE. WHY ARE THEY SO MISERABLE. AGH.

I don't have to mention how dead the crew is without them, I know, but I think it's so cool that they are super skilled at their professions. I wish we could see more of how badass Nami is as a cartographer or more of how insane is that Sanji can cook so well. Do you understand the level of physics and chemistry knowledge their professions required?? As I said, insane.

The abuse and torture they had to survive as mere kids, the way they took on their shoulders the way of their adoptive homes, their bonds with their sisters... Nami and Sanji are super similar, to the point I choose to interpret Sanji's obsession with Nami as (probably unconscious) recognition of the self within another lol.

Also? The obsession with money and women coming from their biggest traumas? The way Sanji steps on Nami's role when she's not there to knock some sense on Ussop and Luffy? The ability to hide their feelings so well they fool most of the strawhats? The self-sacrificing and self-hatred and the survivor guilt??????????? The way they hide behind their personas just to not make their friends worry????????????????

I need a hundred and more fics exploring them

— Robin and Zoro:

Older Siblings Duo.

I guess I could talk about their relationship with Chopper or the respect people have for them based on their reputations. I could talk about how good looking they are, how they unleash the fear of hell on their enemies, how they're "unbreakable" and "cool" and all that stuff.

But I think it's been said too many times.

Instead, I want to focus on their soft side, on their selflessness and their loyalty. The way they don't fear begging for the ones they love. They swallow their pain nonchalantly, like it is nothing, all for the sake of their crew. You can see how much Robin respects Zoro for being the one who keeps himself between her and the crew at first, how Zoro respects her as a crewmate, seeing her exactly for all her skills and capabilities.

Robin and Zoro quickly grew to stand side by side, not a word needed to be shared to know what their job was. They watch over their crew in silence, they listen to what the others have to say, they keep themselves observant, but they also allow themselves to get excited, to laugh and share the joy of their ship.

I'm obsessed with the balance between their dark sides and their softness. Absolute killers, they do whatever they want whenever they want. And yet? They are so full of childish joy and wonder whenever they are with their crew?

Kill me already.

— Ussop and Luffy:

They are so STUPID and DANGEROUS !!!!!

The thing is that the enemy should pray they don't go serious. They should beg for Ussop and Luffy to keep clowning, 'cause the second they decide it's over, it's over.

By far one of my favorite duos. They both want to live the pirate dream, they have so much fun with it and at the end of the day, they're used to getting underestimated and disrespected. Sometimes, they hold one braincell combined. Other times, Ussop and Luffy can read the situation in a way no one else can. They know how life at the sea is, what it means to give the ocean all your dreams, what it means to have spent years by the shore wishing to see your father or father figure coming home from his adventures, this time to take you with him.

What is it like to feel lonely, abandoned.

But for all the pain in their pasts, they found a way to turn it into gentleness. Big bright smiles and jokes, the strength to never go back when they are needed the most. Even with all of his lies, Ussop wears his heart on his sleeves, just like Luffy.

I love the relaxed style they have. They're so handsome and silly, wonderful friends, they love adventure and honestly? Little and middle sibling alliance for these two.

— Vivi and Chopper:

I'm trash for those characters that want to save everyone and have to face the fact they can't.

Chopper and Vivi suffer so much because they are naive, because they hope for a future where people don't have to die / get killed, where they can stop the horror with their speeches or with magical mushrooms. Even if they're doubted or rejected, they'll keep going. They know what it is like to pretend to be a monster, what it's like to have a mentor who would push them to the limit and make them go further, what it's like to have a father figure who would gladly sacrifice themselves for their countries / kingdoms.

While Chopper and Vivi are often seen as just cute or poor suffering characters, the truth is that they are courageous and incredibly strong in their convictions. While still young, they are some of the best in their professions and they are kind. Although they cannot always be the best in battle, they'll always do their best !!!

I adore how childish and innocent they both can be, how openly they worry about others, how they take care of their nakamas and beg for a place to belong. They come from lands of great coldness or great heat, of kingdoms in shambles, they are survivors, some of the last ones standing.

I can honestly continue talking about this duo forever.

[oodlyenough]

aa6-1 foreign turnabout

finished off DD last week and we're straight into soj.

i know the least about soj of any of the games probably, which is kind of nice because these later games really need the element of surprise they don't have a lot else lmao.

some thoughts on the tutorial case:

the good

this is a big visual upgrade from dual destinies (although i'm still unconvinced the games needed to move to 3d assets). phoenix's model looks better in ways i found hard to articulate until someone on twt pointed out SOJ gets rid of the bulky black outlines. it's so much smoother!

aside from the models, the sprite animations for the new characters are very detailed (almost too detailed... i mean do we need ninety animations per NPC? can we get some extra ones for phoenix lmao), i like how the UI has been refreshed to match khurain, overall it just looks more polished/complete than DD.

insight is new, and subject to suck more later lmao, but so far it's the best minigame since the magatama. both perceive and mood matrix suffer from being kind of nonsensical; it never stopped being goofy to me in DD that you just had interactions like "well i found the body and i was shocked" "UM ACTUALLY my robot says you were RED EMOJI FACE, so you're lying!" insight, on the other hand, is more based on logic/reason -- spot the contradiction, think through a couple different layers of info (rayfa's words vs what's on screen and what makes sense), etc. i also like the idea that the ghost witness isn't lying, you just have to interpret the memory -- it's a bit of a refreshing change from everyone just committing perjury 30000000 times.

the defense culpability act is very funny. i can't be mad at it because it is too funny. i think i should get to kill the prosecutor if i win.

also, maya having lived here for unspecified time period, surely being aware of the lawyer stuff and still inviting her best friend, ace attorney phoenix wright, is very hilarious. i hope edgeworth, academic of foreign legal systems, had a heart attack as soon as he heard where nick's vacation was

it is also funny to see supervillain payne. winston payne was just kind of an asshole and largely incompetent. gaspen is a supervillain who longs for murder. well, okay. why not i guess

the questionable

khura'in is but the latest in a long line of exciting AA countries that will have you asking "what are the geopolitics of this world?" and "...is this racist?"

it's really funny to me that the first culprit was a white guy on an eat pray love journey but that his eat pray love journey is totally incidental to the crime, apparently. khurain is apparently very welcoming to immigrants if one can become head monk guarding their sacred treasures after a mere six months, and payne is chief prosecutor after three.

it's also very funny that with his life potentially on the line, the only person phoenix is worried about is maya. i think there is an understandable in-game explanation, which is that you have to assume every game might have a new audience and that new audience has only been told of maya so far. but returning players who know he has a teenage daughter might uh. wonder.

the bad

i can sense that the more lore i learn about khurain the more racially uncomfortable i am going to become

the names are BRUTAL i wish they'd stop. i get that ace attorney always has silly goofy pun names. but i feel they're veering further and further from the... slightly more believable names into stuff that just sounds stupid, and man, trying to apply ace attorney pun name goofiness to names that are also supposed to be in a fake fictional language .... i mean it sounds like i'm reading racist jokes from the 90s. it's uncomfortable.

i also think khura'in lore is bound to upend or retcon the superior kurain village lore, which ruled in the trilogy and did not need expanding into a kingdom. isolated little village matriarchy of witch family that are constantly committing sorocide >>> whatever's about to happen here. it's great for rayfa that she does her lil dance for enrichment 2x a day to have temporary hallucinations in a pool of water, but maya crosses her fingers and shapeshifts. checkmate.

lastly, one thing i found myself thinking as i moderately enjoyed the tutorial case was that it was honestly kind of nice having a case scaled back. i can't shake the sense that three playables is just too much for these games; apollo was dead weight narratively in DD and i think athena is about to suffer that fate in SOJ. the character writing in these new games is just not strong enough to manage this many major characters and their whole entourages. the mistake of the original trilogy was accidentally setting a precedent for "new prosecutor every game, who is also our friend by the end :)". the main cast is so huge that most of them just end up stagnating or disappearing into the void or whatever; apollo and athena cannibalized each other's screentime in DD, athena usurped trucy, SOJ is introducing a whole whack of new characters to replace THOSE newbies... it's a lot. we don't need to reinvent the wheel every new game.

anyway... i know a little about 6-2 and i expect it to exacerbate a lot of these issues lmao.

[ink-dusted-dreams]

Analyzing the manga panels where Kenshin dreams of Tomoe after leaving Rakuninmura

These five pages hold a profound place in my heart, a beautiful testimony of the depths of love found in literature. To discover such emotional depth in a Shounen manga was beyond my expectations.

The scene unfolds with Kenshin gazing upon a familiar scenery. Yet, his eyes remain devoid of emotion, perhaps because this scenery has replayed within his mind countless times. In this moment, he believes Kaoru to be dead, he failed to protect her, her death is the grim result of revenge stemming from an accidental act - the death of Tomoe. He is uncertain if this vengeance aligns with Tomoe's wishes, for time has separated them for 15 years already. The home and love he found after 15 years of grieving for his late wife lie in ruins. His mind and soul are destroyed, and his eyelids weigh heavily, yet he gazes at the familiar scene before him.

He knows what to expect as he recognizes the sound of familiar footsteps and the hem of the familiar kimono.

He soon gazes upon that familiar face, fully aware it's but an illusion, for she cannot exist in reality. Still, he continues to look at her. He refrains from speaking to her, perhaps believing she won't reply, a notion he's perhaps tested in the past.

It's truly heart-wrenching. Imagine someone incredibly dear to you, now long gone. You see an illusion, a ghost of that person, and you understand that no matter how much you call out, they'll never return. What will you do?

But this time, she speaks, and his eyes light up. He smiles, responds, and simply gazes at her as if that's all he ever needed.

I used to be genuinely puzzled by this. Many readers interpret Kenshin's emotions toward Tomoe as guilt, and I admit, I once shared that view. However, this chapter altered my perspective.

Yet, the right words to describe Kenshin's expression in these panels always eluded me. I eventually realized it might be because I had the entire backstory in my head. I had a hunch that an unrelated third party, someone unfamiliar with the story, might grasp it better. So, I shared these two panels with my artist mother, a 65-year-old who's never read manga or watched anime. Her observations were fascinating and truly eye-opening.

Regarding the panel above, I posed these questions to her:

"What emotions do you believe these two characters are experiencing?"

In response, my mother conveyed her thoughts on Tomoe, stating, "She appears to be showing concern."

As for Kenshin, her perspective was "A mix of surprise and sadness."

I went a step further and shared the image above with her because I've always found it challenging to discern his emotions. I believed that my mother, who is not only an artist but also a deeply empathetic individual, might be able to grasp his feelings.

Her response, after translation, was as follows:

"He appears to be gazing at something, and whatever he sees, he feels..."

She paused for a moment.

I asked her, "Do you think he feels happy?"

She replied, "No. I don't believe it's happiness; there's no sense of excitement."

She continued, struggling to find the right word, "It's more like...whatever he's witnessing... it's what he yearned to see. Like, this is it."

Finally, she found the word. Being of Indian descent, she used the term "Prashanti (प्रशांति)."

In my mind, everything fell into place. It was the word I had been searching for. "Prashanti" translates to "peace," but "peace" translates to "Shanti (शांति)." Prashanti, however, signifies "supreme peace." His expression seems to convey a sense of completeness.

In the next panels, he begins to talk about his conviction but averts her gaze. I found myself curious about this, but after reading the Japanese scanlations, it all became clear. Regrettably, I don't have all the pages to share here.

Instead of using "これからも" (which means "From now on"), he opts for "これからも…多分…" (which means "From now on... probably..."). He concludes all his sentences with "するよ" rather than just "する." This may seem subtle, but it carries significant weight because he's indirectly seeking her agreement. It's akin to the distinction between saying, "I will do it," and "You know, I will do it." Although both convey the same action, the latter grants the listener a greater say in the decision. In the context of Japanese, this difference is even more pronounced. It leads me to believe that, at this point, his promise isn't entirely set in stone.

In the next panel, Tomoe wears a serene smile and calmly responds, "Yes," as if she was aware of it from the start.

In the next panel, The translation reads "You are finally smiling." However, in the Japanese scanlations, it becomes apparent that he says "やっと笑ってくれた," which means "You are finally smiling for me."

In the next panel, Tomoe tells him, "If you smile, the me inside you will always smile with you." We witness Kenshin's expression, a look of utter astonishment as if he had never fathomed such a notion, not even in his wildest dreams.

But this single panel reveals a world of emotion. It shows that Kenshin had never dared to imagine that Tomoe could feel that way for him. It also suggests that when Kenshin smiles during their conversation, it might just be the first genuine smile he's worn in 15 years because Tomoe mentions she smiles when Kenshin smiles, yet until then, she had never worn that smile.

To me, this reveals a lot about Tomoe's character. She doesn't possess the same kind of strength that Misao and Kaoru do, the strength to relentlessly pursue their love and hold onto it.

Yet, Tomoe imparts a profound lesson that we should all learn — the art of letting go.

She didn't prevent Kiyosato from leaving for Mimawarigumi. She didn't stop Kenshin from taking lives during his time as Ishin Shishi, despite it contradicting her own beliefs. Instead, she questioned him and let him make his own choices. As she approached her final moments, with her remaining strength, she wiped Kenshin's tears and consoled him, assuring him that everything was as it should be.

Nevertheless, she possessed the strength to be a mother figure and a caring sister to her brother, she had the courage to calmly stand in the presence of a killer, to watch, and to condemn the crime rather than the criminal.

Ultimately, she encouraged him to rise and go to the one who yearns most to see his smile — Kaoru.

It's beautiful because these pages reveal that to Kenshin, Tomoe's smile meant the world. Being with her was all he ever wanted; he never wanted to be apart from her. His love for her was very deep. That's why, hearing her voice, talking to her, and seeing her smile, even though none of it was real, brought him peace, even in the darkest moments, because it was what he truly desired.

Yet, whether we call it fate or a profound backstory to add depth to his character, it's what he lost.