#marriage restoration GOD’S way

[awifechasinggod]

For the last week, I’ve been sick so I have slept in a separate room so my husband doesn’t get sick. It stings when I can see that he was on Messenger in the early morning hours while others are still sleeping!!! Why can’t he get through the night without checking his phone? Why is he so addicted to her that he has to check it every time he rolls over. My flesh wants to go in and breathe on him or cough in his face but then I remember the promises GOD gave me and I step back and realize that this, too, is a weapon of offense the enemy is trying to use to move me from my stand. Satan is crafty, BUT GOD is still good! HE is STILL on the throne and HE IS STILL working in the background even when I can’t see HIM. I can’t wait for the day when I can trust my husband’s actions. When I don’t have to wonder “did he speak to her today more than he spoke to me?” Emotional affairs are sometimes more difficult than physical ones, IMHO. I would never have guessed he’d give away his heart to someone else, but the Bible is clear that we are in the last days and in that time, once godly men and women will fall away from their first love. His first love was JESUS. He IS my covenant spouse and I continue to stand in the gap for our marriage, but OY, Satan, give it a rest! We have come a long way by GOD’S good grace but I want more. I need more. In GOD’s time. In the meantime, I’ll be resting in HIS promises because it’s all I have.

[deadly-diminuendo]

The Ascendant Takes a Bride

an ascended astarion x fem!reader oneshot / nsfw / ~4.4k words

Summary: Just as you and your family are about to fall into ruin, you agree to marry the mysterious Astarion Ancunín in exchange for his promise to pay off all your debts. Attractive and charming though he is, you cannot help but to feel nervous about your arrangement. Some say he is a vampire. You have seen evidence that both supports and counters that claim. You are not sure what to believe. Finally you find yourself alone with him on your wedding night—and Astarion has some unexpected surprises in store for you.

CW/Tags: breeding kink, wedding night, loss of virginity, vampire bites/blood drinking, piv sex, fingering, post-game

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Your husband lifts you across the threshold, tearing you from the comfortable life you knew and thrusting you into a fate unknown, a fate you hope will be kind but fear will be grim.

You did what you had to do. Your family would either flourish or it would fall, and you knew your willingness to marry Astarion Ancunín would make all the difference. Why accept utter ruination when you could instead ensure the prosperity of everyone you love?

Ill fortune plagued your clan for decades—dwindling wealth, diminishing influence, a decaying estate—there was almost nothing left. Poverty was no longer a distant nightmare but an imminent reality. Your parents prayed you might escape its chokehold with a prudent match, but without a single gold coin for your dowry, your prospects for marriage were dire.

When almost all hope was lost the unlikely offer came—the affluent and prestigious owner of the castle on the hill would be willing to pay off all debts and restore your household to its former glory—if only you would agree to become his bride.

The proposal shocked you. You had been introduced to the enigmatic pale elf, but he was far from a man you knew well. Your acquaintanceship amounted to no more than a few polite but empty conversations and the occasional twirl about a dance floor. Then again you did notice how his gaze tended to follow you about the room, and you could never help but to regard him with an equally curious eye.

You were both attracted to and intimidated by him. The gods themselves could not have crafted a more beautiful man, and yet… something about him unsettled you. His grip a little too tight, his smile not quite sincere. He gave you the distinct impression of a scoundrel only pretending to be a gentleman.

And you had heard whisperings about him. They say he is a vampire. A devious, ruthless, heartless man who subsists on the blood of his enemies.

Still you were intrigued. You spent more time than you care to admit constructing and revising his biography in your mind, attempting to, but never succeeding in unravelling all his mysteries. The red irises and the sharp canines certainly supported the local gossip. Yet you’d seen him in broad daylight. You’d seen him eat real food. You’d felt the heat of his skin every time you’d danced together.

Surely the rumours could not be true.

You had a choice to make. Suddenly you possessed the power to save your whole family. Everything—everyone—depended on you and you alone.

So of course you said yes.

Determined as you were, you could never fully exorcise your doubts. Instead you chose to ignore them, to focus on all the good that could come from this arrangement. Your troubles would be over. Your family would live well. You would want for nothing.

Not to mention it was surprisingly easy to picture yourself in his bed.

But those doubts you buried did not lie dormant. Oh, no. They crept and crawled beneath your skin, festering and mutating into a dread that now threatens to consume you whole.

You cannot help but wonder: are you a saviour or a sacrificial lamb?

Either way it is far too late for second thoughts. Today you vowed yourself to Astarion. You promised him your body, your heart, your soul.

You are his wife.

Every part of you tingles with nervous energy—the expected wedding night jitters greatly exacerbated by the misgivings you feel concerning your new husband—and yet you cannot deny the thrill underlying it all.

The way he kissed you at the altar was downright sinful. The way he whispered his desire in your ear made you shiver. The way he held your hips tight against his as you danced left you weak in the knees.

He frightens you, and excites you, and—gods help you—you want him to fuck you.

You thought he might throw you on the bed and make you well and truly his the very second you were alone together. Instead he sets you down with care, ensuring you find your footing despite the bulk of your billowing skirts.

You manage a brief survey of the room—a canopy bed draped in scarlet silk, a plush loveseat in front of the fireplace, high-vaulted windows welcoming in the starlight—and as excessive as it all is in its extravagance, you find it cozy. Romantic, even. A place that might yet become your personal paradise.

Or your gilded cage. You shudder.

Your gaze falls upon the object nearest you: an ornate full-length mirror. You almost fail to recognize the woman you see staring back at you. You are the very picture of fairytale whimsy in your intricate ivory lace and your crown of white roses. You smile. To hells with your unwelcome anxiety. This is your wedding night, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

Or at least you will try.

Astarion’s reflection closes in behind yours, and you find yourself rather relieved to see that he has one. Another strike against the rumours.

You admire him in the looking glass. High cheekbones, enticing lips, bewitching eyes. Even his so-called flaws, all his wrinkles and his laugh lines, suit him to perfection.

And he admires you right back—more shamelessly than you do him—hungry eyes mentally peeling off your dress as they rake you over.

“My beautiful bride.” You melt under his simple yet sultry praise, your imagination running wild with fantasies of what bliss the coming hours might bring. You know little of carnal pleasure but your own touch. By the end of this night you are sure to know much, much more.

His hands sweep across your shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your little capped sleeves. In the mirror you catch a flash of that devious smirk, the one that hints at the rogue you think he truly is.

“Almost a shame that I have to undress you.”

Your mouth runs dry, any words you might have said forever lost in the silence.

You do want this. You want to make love to your husband. You want to learn to love him in every sense of the word.

You want to trust him.

But can you?

“May I?” he asks, one hand travelling down to the laces at your back, the other hand enclosing yours in his. Feigning chivalry all while his firm grip screams out his barely suppressed urge to tear your gown from your flesh and pin you hard against the wall.

This is it. There is no going back now. You passed the point of no return hours before, your fate sealed with two little words: “I do.”

He wants you.

And so you will let him have you.

“Yes.”

With that, his fingers thread through your laces, pulling them loose with alarmingly efficient speed. Quite the expert he must be. You have, after all, heard talk of his rakish ways. Those rumours are much easier for you to believe.

You feel your bodice loosening, though your struggle to breathe persists, the weight of this moment somehow heavier than the mass of your dress. You gather your courage to do your part, tugging off your sleeves and letting the fabric fall away from your skin, pushing what remains down over your hips. Astarion takes your hand as you step out and away from your unwieldy gown, kicking it unceremoniously into a corner. The second it is out of the way, he pulls you back in front of the mirror with a force that makes you gasp.

“Look at you,” he says, and you glance at your reflection. You are bare before him save for what hides beneath your lacy smallclothes. “You are exquisite, darling.”

His fingers dig into your skin, seeking all your soft and sensitive places, your body beautifully pliable under his exploratory touch. He gives ample attention to the delicate curve from your waist to your hips, and to the lovely heft of your breasts, squeezing and kneading and molding you to his liking. You watch, mesmerized, the self-consciousness that might have held you back fading away. His thumbs repeatedly ghost across your nipples, soft lips nuzzling your neck as he grows hard against your backside—and, gods, your cunt aches for him. Not even the graze of his sharp teeth, suspect as it is, could dissuade you now.

Lust obliterates what was left of your modesty as sweet sounds spill forth from your parted lips. Already you are falling apart in his arms and he has not yet once stroked you between your legs. “Please…” you hear yourself beg.

He laughs. It’s a hearty, almost mocking sound, but you are too far gone to mind. “You will have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” As if he could not guess. Both of you know exactly what you want. “Use your words, pet.”

“Please touch me.”

Insufficient.

“Make love to me.”

Much better.

And there is one other little thing you should tell him.

“Like no one before you ever has.”

There it is, that devilish, devastatingly sexy grin. He is pleased. Maybe a little too pleased. You again note the pointed tips of his canines, and you expect, one way or another, you will soon be devoured.

“Oh, my sweet little virgin,” he purrs, hands slipping off your smallclothes, a finger dipping inside your slick heat. Hells. A relief sublime and yet nowhere near enough. “You have been so, so patient for me, haven’t you?” Patient is the last thing you feel right now as you arch into his touch, desperate for more friction, more pleasure, more Astarion. “Rest assured, my little love. I will reward you well. Grant you your every desire. Of course, I expect all I want in return.”

“Anything,” you cry, and you mean it. You waste no time contemplating the meaning of his words, nor your own. You just want to be fucked.

“Anything?” You nod and he smirks, increasing the pressure and pace as he inserts a second finger, holding you steady as you squirm. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? All these years you saved yourself for my bed, and you didn’t even know it, did you?”

Should you be answering with a nod or a shake of the head now? You are no longer sure, your mind incapable of thought beyond imagining how glorious your orgasm will feel when he grants it to you. You eventually decide upon nodding, and you hear him chuckle.

“Adorable. The way you look, the way you sound—” He nibbles at your neck, then breathes into your ear. “And I bet you taste just as sweet.”

Your blood chills at the thought of him tasting it. A shiver runs down your spine.

No… Surely he speaks of something pleasurable. Something you have heard other young women gush and giggle about. Something you would like to experience for yourself. You let passion burn your needless worry away, writhing about as you refocus on release, your eyelids fluttering closed.

The next thing you know his hand is clutching your neck. “Watch.” You immediately obey his growled command, your eyes locking upon your own reflection, all flushed and disheveled. Gods, you look positively ravaged and you have yet to even take his cock. You glimpse his smile, a sure sign he is thoroughly enjoying the utter mess he is making of you.

“This pretty body of yours was meant to be mine, wasn’t it, pet?”

This time you know just what your answer should be. You nod furiously and he moves deliciously faster. It won’t be long now.

“Oh, and I assure you I will put it to excellent use.”

You nod again. You are certain he will. You keen as his fingers curl into you.

He grins. He knows he has you now.

“My, what an eager thing. You will be the perfect little vessel for me, won’t you?”

You agree. You would give him anything. As long as he takes care of you, too.

And he will take care of you, won’t he?

“A vessel to take my pleasure in whenever, wherever, however I want?”

You will. Gods, you will. You moan out your assent and punctuate it with his name. You will spend your life parting your mouth, spreading your legs, offering your body to fill and to fuck as he pleases. As long as he makes you come, too.

And he is about to make you…

“And to carry my children?”

You surrender to ecstasy as it wracks you senseless, clenching violently around his fingers and singing out your instinctive answer with ardour. “Yes!”

Only as the pleasure subsides do you begin to think things through.

What did he just say? What did you just say?

You knew this topic would come up eventually. It is an inescapable expectation among the nobility—sometimes unspoken, sometimes spoken very loudly—but always present either way. And yet the last thing you expected was for Astarion to speak of children right on the cusp of your consummation. You thought you would at least first get to know each other as lovers and partners before ever considering becoming parents.

Your state of shock does not discourage him. Instead he smiles wickedly as he gives your hardened nipple a pinch, sending another jolt of desire straight to your cunt. He begins rubbing your clit again, making you mewl, only to leave you whining when he withdraws. He leaves a trail of your own slick along your skin as his hand slides up to rest at your lower abdomen.

“Oh, my sweet love. I can already imagine how gorgeous you will look swollen with my child. You do want to give me a child, don’t you?”

You stare in silence though you have to admit it is not an unwelcome idea.

“You will let me come inside you, won’t you?”

Gods. Now that is an idea you welcome gladly. Something innate, something deeply ingrained within your core cries out your need. You crave it, crave to let him spill his seed inside you. You wriggle about in his arms as you picture it.

Motherhood just might suit you.

Astarion spins you around and you gaze into those stunningly hypnotic eyes. You press a hand to his chest and discover that his heart beats just like yours, its steady, strong tempo dismantling your lingering doubt. A mortal. Like you. 

“I can tell you want this, darling,” he says. Perhaps you do. “Your heart races at the thought. Give yourself to destiny. Give yourself to me.”

Only one answer comes to your mind.

“Yes.”

He captures your lips in a kiss that ignites your lust and kindles your affection. His arms feel like home. Like you have always belonged to him and you always will.

You need him now.

You only manage to undo a single button of his overcoat before he lifts you off the floor and lays you atop the silk and softness of his bed. Your bed, you realize. You imagine spending many endless nights together here in a tangle of limbs.

He stands there stripping himself as you lie and watch with rapt attention, and yet you hardly know where to look—his beautiful eyes bore into you with intense hunger, his deft hands work effortlessly through his every layer, his newly bared skin tempts and tantalizes you—every part of him competes for your admiration. When he finally pulls off his smallclothes your eyes are instantly drawn to his cock, thick and flaunting his desire. On instinct you part your legs.

The sight of you splayed in invitation lures Astarion onto the bed and over you, arms and legs caging you in, lips colliding with yours, cock ready at your entrance. You roll up your hips to tease him, your lack of patience testing what little remains of his.

Your little nudge is all it takes to make the last of it crumble and he crashes into you.

You wince at the initial tinge of pain. It passes in seconds, dulled by your arousal, and you are thankful for the mercy. You succumb to the pleasure of him stretching and sinking into you, your body eager to accept the whole of him as he slides deeper inside.

“Easy, darling. I promise a little pain is worth all the pleasure.” He gives you the soothing coos and slow movements of a gentle and cautious lover—a part he plays well, you would think, if not for the tension you detect coiled in his muscles. You recognize he is a man struggling to hold back, and that epiphany has your cunt clenching around him.

Emboldened by your obvious want, he starts to fuck into you in earnest, pushing in and pulling back in a rhythm you already know will be your new addiction. At first you try to match every intoxicating motion, pushing your hips upwards to meet him thrust for thrust, but instead you find yourself squirming wildly, only able to pet him as he works. You relish the sound of his grunts and groans, how they signal his enjoyment of you, though you know you are drowning them out with your wanton moans. He does look far too in command of himself for your liking, and in your mind you set yourself a goal: you will learn how to make him relinquish that tight control.

Of course, if Astarion wants to focus on your pleasure—well, you certainly will not complain about that. If nothing else, your husband is proving to be a generous lover.

You reach up for a kiss, eliciting from him a growl that rumbles down your throat as you taste his tongue. Never have you felt this close to another person, and you long to get even closer. You touch his face, his chest, his shoulders, wanting to explore every inch of his skin as you take every inch of his cock. When you throw your arms around his back, the scars your fingertips find there briefly distract you, but you quickly decide that is a story for another time.

Experimenting a little, you pull your legs back and angle your hips, the slight adjustment to your position an even better fit than you thought possible. You squeal when he presses into a delightfully sensitive spot—and so he does it again, and again, and again, repeatedly, rigorously, relentlessly. You concentrate hard on your impending climax, your mind conjuring up an image of him filling you to the brim with come night after night.

“You are mine. Mine to treasure. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.”

That delicious thought sends your walls spasming, your mind shattering, your entire body pulsing with incomprehensible bliss. His name bursts from your lips as you ride out the sensation, and it pleases you to know you will be calling it out the rest of your life. You have never felt better.

Still you wanted him to join you in your freefall over the edge and you cannot help the twinge of disappointment you feel when you realize he did not finish with you.

Not that you mind continuing to indulge in your favourite new activity.

He stills a moment and you stare up at him, confused, concerned, even. “I would like to try… a little something else. Take a little more from you. That is if my dearest little love would be so good as to oblige me.” You cannot imagine what he means. You must look utterly baffled because he then chuckles and asks, “Do you trust me?”

“I would trust you with anything.” The words slip out automatically and yet they come as a surprise to you. He is your husband, yes. But you barely know him. You thought you were done questioning this, but a shadow of doubt creeps back in. Something in his tone you do not like. Honey laced with poison.

Is one night of passionate sex really enough to found your trust on?

You decide it is a good start at least, and brush off the invasive thought.

He grins and turns you around, his hands all over you again, his lips planting kisses along your back, your shoulders, your neck. You let out a contented sigh.

A sharp, searing pain rips through you. You grimace. In your hysteria you imagine daggers embedded in your neck. And then it hits you.

Fangs.

You married a vampire. You let him fuck you. You let him bite you.

The first shock subsides, leaving a throbbing numbness in its wake, blood rushing out of your veins and into his greedy mouth. You should be screaming in horror, planning your escape, forsaking your vows in hopes of a return to a normal life. Instead you lean back, pliant and willing, nestling yourself against him as he holds you in his fierce embrace.

You have never known such peril and yet in the cradle of his arms you feel… safe. 

You should not feel safe.

“Sweet hells,” he rasps when he stops, lapping at your wound one last time. “I have not tasted something so delectable in decades.”

This is madness. And yet a surge of pride swells in your heart at his praise. You do feel a little dizzy, a little weak—but still very much alive.

He pushes you to your knees and plunges back into you, a hand pressing you down as he fucks you into the mattress. You steal a little glance at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for only a second—but you will never forget their eerie, unnatural glow. You bury your face in your pillow and shut your eyes. Perhaps it is better that you don’t look. That you don’t know.

So this is Astarion out of control.

You tremble in ecstasy and in fear, still shaken by the frightful revelation, and yet still yearning to merge and meld with him endlessly. Your body begs you to bend to his will, an echo of his voice reverberating in your mind. Succumb. Surrender. Submit. So you do. You could not deny him now even if you wanted to.

You let yourself moan with abandon as his length slams in and out of you. You revel in the divine new depth this position allows him to explore and the feral sounds he makes as he drives into you faster. Bucking against him, you find yourself shaking as you reach the precipice of your pleasure.

With every pump, each more erratic than the one before, you can sense Astarion losing more and more of himself in his frantic search for euphoria. When at last he finds it, cock twitching and pulsing against your walls as he spends himself inside you, you break apart again with a delighted cry. Your final thought as he fully empties into you is a question of how long it will be before you begin to grow round with his child.

When it is done, you lie panting beneath him, logic and reason beginning to clear your clouded mind. You become all too aware of his seed seeping out of you, and the dull pangs of pain in your punctured neck. How can you just accept all of this?

Astarion settles in beside you, and taking a tentative turn, you face him, eyes catching sight of the red trail trickling down from the corner of his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He casually wipes it away as if it were no more unusual than a little spilled wine. You shiver.

You know your shock must be written all over your face. “Come,” he says, and you listen, shifting your body closer to his and giving into his gentle caresses. When he speaks again, his expression is soft, his voice smooth. You feel a touch more at ease.

“You were so, so brave for me tonight. You need not fear what I am, love. Besides—I need you mortal. Fertile.”

A deluge of questions and concerns flood your mind, and yet that last word sends a thrill through you that shakes you to your core, pushing your worries away. Already you want more of Astarion—you want him to cherish you, to worship your being, to bring you heaven again and again. You snuggle up against him, communicating your desire with a burning kiss. 

You will ask for answers someday.

But not tonight.

+++

Astarion likes to watch you.

Never has he seen a lovelier creature. You sit smiling down at the sweet baby bundled in your arms, the swell of a second child already beginning to show even through the layers of your dress. You have done your duty so beautifully well. Like he always knew you would.

He decided he would have you the moment he saw you. So like a love he lost ages ago and yet her superior in every way. The defiance he recalled and resented had long been bred out of your line, replaced with a demurity and a domesticity that made you ideally suited to your purpose. You could not be any more perfect for him.

And so he made it his mission to make you his. No doubt he could simply charm you into bed, but it was not enough to make you want him. He had to make you need him. The fools in your family had already made much progress in that regard without his interference, but the pull of a string here and there ensured your desperation.

And of course he made every claim on you he could. He wedded you. He was the first and the only to bed you. And he impregnated you so very easily. It was like you were made to be bred. What better way to declare to the world that you are his and his alone?

Your beautiful brood of children will strengthen his reign, infiltrate and influence every powerful organization, spread the Ancunín name throughout the city and the whole world. And the nobility does like a lord to have his heirs—even if an immortal will never need a replacement.

He watches as you look up. You notice him and give him that pretty smile.

You have given him so much. Even love. In him you have awakened an affection he thought he might never feel again. That he did not even know he needed.

You complete him.

He smiles back at you.

There is only one claim left on you to make, one that will come years from now, when the time of child-bearing is behind you.

To make you his bride for all eternity.

Thank you for reading!

My AO3 | My Masterlist

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) Robb Stark as a husband

Pairing: Dark Robb Stark x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SCENARIO: How Robb Stark is as a husband.

WARNINGS: Toxic Marriage.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

A little treat cause tomorrow college starts and I'm nervous :) hope you guys like it.

--

Robb married you for duty but he fell for you in the most passionable way there is.  

How smithen he is by you soon becomes obvious, not just by you but even to his family. His siblings taking great pleasure in teasing him for being so whipped for you already. 

It’s endearing to have such a handsome, kind spouse and you couldn’t be any happier, thanking the gods for granting you such a fortunate destiny, one that not many women receive.

Not only did you receive a wonderful husband but also supportive in-laws.

Life is nice. 

A good husband, a caring family, you have food in your belly and a warm castle to live in. What else could you possibly ask for?

Each day you fell deeper for Robb, your heart content with the love that quickly blossomed between you two.

Maybe that’s why you remained blind for so long. 

Robb's devotion quickly becomes overbearing, completely enraptured by you. Your love for him doesn’t allow you to see it clearly but there are few instances that leave a bitter memory. 

Like when Theon hugged you out of contentment. It was a brotherly gesture, no lust behind it yet it didn’t stop Robb from landing his fist in the poor man’s face. The guilt you felt as Theon’s eye bruised into a black eye in the following days had eaten you away.

Peace was soon restored, Eddard Stark would never allow the boys to remain upset with each other, but it bothered you that a simple touch could arise such an angry reaction from your gentle husband.

You remember it when you had difficulty adjusting to the freezing winter and the constant snow, you asked Robb if you could visit your parents. Only for a few days, you assured him. 

You felt homesick so seeing your family and the warm weather from your hometown would definitely cheer you. Your wishes were left unattended, an apologetic kiss being pressed to your temple as innumerous apologies come out of his lips.

He couldn’t leave Winterfell at the time being.

His family needed him.

He had too many responsibilities at that time.

Robb promised you that he would take you there one day but that’s a promise that never came to fruition.

The mantle of ignorance slowly starts to disappear as the months drag by, the realization that Robb wasn’t nearly as perfect as you painted him to be. 

Constantly hovering by your side, keeping an attentive eye on who you talk to, restraining the places you’re allowed to go. The lack of privacy and power gradually bothers you more and more, feeling yourself getting smothered by your husband’s protectiveness. 

His family notices it, his protective behavior. But all of their reasonings and pleas fall under deaf ears. 

Robb doesn’t listen to them.

He does what’s best for you, without needing the meddling of his parents. He knows what’s best for your marriage, not them. 

And right now, Robb thinks what it needs is something to reignite the flame of love between you, just like it was when you married him, less than a year ago.

He does need an heir, after all.

[etirabys]

meandering post about reading Orson Scott Card again

I've been offline starting at 9pm every day (except once. I was drunk at karaoke and asked for anons at 8:30pm) for six weeks, with the result that in befuddled boredom two nights ago I picked up Orson Scott Card's Songmaster from the house bookshelf.

I read Ender's Game and three sequels when I was a teen thought the books were mid. Since those are OSC's best works I assumed he had nothing more interesting to offer me and didn't try more of him for fifteen years, but Songmaster was compelling enough that I immediately afterwards picked up The Memory of Earth, the first book of a pentalogy.

TMoE is extremely my jam: after humanity blows itself up on Earth, AIs monitor thriving human civilizations in the planets that survivors managed to escape to, and suppress any tech that enables large scale violence by exerting low key mind control via satellites. But forty million years pass, many of the satellites break down, and the AI needs help from humans to restore capabilities. Because as its control wanes, people are starting to e.g. conceive of airplanes or bombs again, and override the injunctions against entering military alliances more than two edges of connection away.

The AI is worshipped as a god all over the planet, but the fourteen year old protagonist that becomes one of the AI's agents tells the AI from the beginning that he'll break with it if its morality seems wrong to him. I like the fourteen year old – unlike Ender or Songmaster's protagonist (adult minds piloting ten year old bodies), he's a normal gifted kid who's unpopular 50% due to his ego and big mouth and 50% because he's socially inept and offends people even when he's trying to be nice.

Songmaster is also partly about a permanent solution to large-scale violence, albeit through one guy who establishes a monopoly on violence and sweeps in pax galactica. Both it and TMoE are preoccupied with the eradication of suffering from evil / human violence, which is closer to my resonant frequency than narratives about defeating particular people or ideologies. At the moment I can't think of any other book with such an insistent focus on the matter than T.H. White's The Once and Future King. It's hard to make a compelling story out of, and I don't think Songmaster really succeeds, but TMoE's premise is well suited to explore that. (I'm also enjoying the matriarchal culture where everyone is expected to have multiple serial-monogamous marriages.) After reading 70% of TMoE last night I wrote:

Usually when I read fiction there's a small part of me going, how can I use this as fodder for my own growth, how can I remix or improve or react against this, how do the author and I measure against each other? (If the quality and content are at an anti-sweet spot, the small part becomes quite large and I feel all teeth towards the author.) But on occasion I read something so close that the absence of that measuring-feeling is its own sensation – ego departs, or at least is split across two bodies. There's just amity and recognition

And it's pretty interesting to feel this way about Card for, well, the reasons.

(If you're familiar with Card drama none of the following will be new to you; I'm coming to it fresh so the rest of this post is me going "uh... wow")

I vaguely knew he was a homophobic Mormon who'd gotten into fights about gay stuff, but I couldn't tell from the Ender books I read. But in Songmaster his issues spring off the page in such a weird way. Every fifth Goodreads review of this book is "Card, u gay?" because, well,

(One review, possibly from a fellow Mormon, that went "Card, it's so sinful of you to be this gay in your novel". Why did he write this book that would predictably make everyone mad...)

it's full of gay male desire. The protagonist (Ansset) is approximately a castrato and characters notice him sexually a lot. The first and only time Ansset has sex it's with a Kinsey 4-5 male character he loves, who's married to a woman but has fallen in love with Ansset. It turns out the drugs Ansset took to prolong his singing career painfully and only-kinda-figuratively explode your balls when you have your first orgasm and you'll never feel sexual desire again. (You'd think his loving teachers would have warned him of that, but, whatever, they didn't.) The other guy is literally castrated in punishment for inadvertently torturing a highly valuable castrato. It's pretty bald: GAY SEX IS ALMOST IRRESISTIBLY TEMPTING BUT YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT.

(Sidenote: both Ansset and the guy's wife are very close and have a "there's enough love to go around" attitude about the gay sex initially, before they go "wait Josif is a SERIAL MONOGAMIST... he can only love one person at a time... the moment he had the gay sex his marriage was destroyed". It's funny in a mildly stupid way that Card would set up this parable of homosexuality destroying lives and a marriage but almost everyone involved is peacefully ready to sail into an open marriage. I guess it makes sense if you want to say very clearly that THE GAY PART IS THE BAD PART)

which is fascinating to me, because... why would you tell on yourself like that

(81k also told me secondhand of an essay? interview? where Card openly says "we have to stand against legalizing gay marriage because everyone will get gay married and society will collapse", so that's informing my read of Songmaster as well)

I am pretty dang open about my personal life online but if I had a lot of feelings I thought were disgusting and immoral I would not write a novel dripping with those feelings before pointedly castrating the leads for them. Especially if it wasn't relevant to the actually highbrow themes of (checks notes) winning over your adversaries with kindness and never relinquishing your monopoly on violence. I would be so so so so embarrassed to let this go to print, it's so psychologically transparent, what was he thinking

(Well, I assume he's a very different person with different social incentives. For all I know, people in his church went "hey Orson we read your book and it's clear that you're gay but signaling strongly that you won't give into the gay feelings, we're here for you, it was really brave of you to publish this".)

[c0smiclatt3]

SATORU GOJO: where the heart lies.- part 1

don't want money, just someone who wants my company.

the weapon of jujutsu to be used until his final breath. the political pawn born to restore her family glory, already spent and her purpose fulfilled but a now empty life left to fill. when two souls raised in solitude find their duties entwined, might they finally learn what it means to want something for themselves?

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: arranged marriage, clan leader!gojo, gojo never went to jjt and continued to be raised into the gojo clan head, slow burn, 16+

It was an open and shut arrangement.

Once upon a time your family was one of the closest advisors to the higher-ups of Jujutsu society. Then your predecessors drank and gambled away their riches leaving them with dirt and a sad excuse for an estate out on the countryside, far away from the very families they used to advise. As wives and concubines deserted the disgraced family for more affluent husbands over the generations leaving no heirs, your direct family line stepped into the head seat - the last fringes of a dying dynasty. Your father could only hope that you were a boy - and one with great power.

Your first sin was being born a girl.

Your earliest memories were of his scorn, of the grotesque way his features twisted when he sneered down at you, a girl who constantly wondered why her father seemed so angry with her. The only love you felt came from the arms of your mother, who reassured you that you had done nothing wrong.

Your second sin was manifesting tremendous power. Power that would no longer belong to your family after you were wed. And other Jujutsu families were quick to take note, sending assassin after assassin for your life, or spy after spy to weasel their way into your family's good graces. With so little left, they had neither the resources nor the manpower to protect your gift, and you quickly turned into dead weight. Tremendous dead weight.

Recognizing the need to safeguard your power - not to mention it's potential strategic importance - the higher-ups presented your family with an offer they could not refuse: to wed you to the head of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society.

It would be a cage nonetheless, but one with shining golden bars. You knew the responsibility was too great to turn it down.

And so it was that you arrived at the Gojo clan estate donned in the best (and only) kimono you had: your bridal kimono - a pure white.

You knew little about Jujutsu politics - you were thrown into that world after your first abduction attempt. Rifling through what scarce information your family bookshelves had on Jujutsu clans, their powers and ranks, you knew this much: that the Gojo family was revered and feared, and the current clan head beheld that terrifying power that made it so.

Looking up at the main hall of the estate, even the buildings themselves radiated regality, majesty, might. Stepping out from the transport car you almost wanted to fall to your knees right there in the building's shadow. Coming from your life in a humble courtyard in the countryside you had never seen something quite so terrifying in it's presence, your palms squeezing open and shut as your sandals scuffed the cobblestone as you walked, as gracefully as you could, up the steps.

When you stepped inside you saw nothing, the main hall dim. Then, like a dragon inspecting it's next meal, two piercing blue eyes from the shadows. He didn't even have to introduce himself. You already knew.

Keep your head down and he may show you mercy, your mother said before you left home. So you knelt. You knelt and prayed to the gods that you would be spared this man's wrath. That you'd shut up and take whatever was thrown at you - so long as your family got the money. So long as they would be kept safe.

He stepped forward. You kept your head down.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Satoru Gojo was raised untouchable.

Yes, the only real tenderness he likely had ever known to date was the warmth of his mother's arms the day he was born, the gentle way in which she swaddled him in his blanket before he was promptly whisked away from her care.

From the moment he Six Eyes gazed upon him, he was sentenced to solitude. He was the chosen one, the honoured one, the strongest, the ultimate trump card of Jujutsu society. He held the power of the universe itself in his hands, bending matter to his will. He was creation, he was destruction; he was birth and he was death. With a power like that he was strung up like a puppet on high, a Gods-eye view of the world itself, but that power wound around him like a noose, and the higher he seemed to rise, the tighter it seemed to wind around his neck until he choked. And choked. And choked.

And so he ran. He ran when he could, disappearing as a child into the city to watch. Simply watch. So those eyes that made men tremble since he could remember could finally look upon the world with gentleness, watch the people pass.

All this to say is he never knew kindness - not the politeness that was just a mask for fear, at least - never knew friendship, never knew love.

And yet here he was, thrown a woman and expected to love her like a husband.

She knelt before him, head low, hair spilling down her shoulders and back. He looked down at her like he looked at everyone he knew: a sort of disinterest, like a lion pawing at it's dying meal. Satoru knew little about love, yes, but he knew enough to know: wives do not bow to their husbands out of love.

And it was a sight that left him with a sour taste in his mouth, watching the entourage backlit by the sunset behind her. Shadowy figures and the bride, wrapped in her bridal kimono, bowed before him like a ritualistic offering to appease a god. This was far from a wedding. It was a sacrifice.

Maybe he didn't have to love her. He knew that was something you couldn't force anyway. But at the very least he wished that someone wouldn't look at him in horror, like the harbinger of death.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Get up," he says finally. "Don't degrade yourself like that."

His voice is neither stern nor gentle, but somewhere in between. His words read as a command, but he lets out a short exhale as he says it. Neither a huff nor a sigh. Fearing you'd done something wrong you lift your head to meet his eyes, finding no answers in his expression-

And that face. If his eyes had struck you first his face delivered the second blow. The only men you ever knew were your father and your uncles, for any women who bore sons deserted the clan. Their faces were twisted and baked with age, hard creases pressed into their foreheads and cheeks from years of scowls and sneers.

Gojo's face was like a winter morning breeze, the deceptively gentle whisper that followed the blizzard that reminded you that anything that came before him hadn't made it out alive. It was beautiful and it was terrifying.

"I'm sure this kind of entourage must be new for you," he says, noting the people behind you. After your first abductions you certainly were protected, but not to this degree. And the men of your family felt a woman must care for herself lest she become complacent, so they didn't have anyone waiting on you.

"I will admit it's different, yes," you say, your head tilted down ever so slightly in a gentle bow, as if still afraid to be so bold as to stand up straight in his presence.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Again, not a statement, not a question. Somewhere in between.

"... A little-"

His head turns to one of the servants behind you. "You heard her. Leave."

And so they were gone.

He paces to a window. Your body felt rigid as he walked away, unsure if you were meant to follow. Your instincts told you not to. But you were his wife - weren't you? Is a wife not meant to follow her husband-

"I imagine we're past introductions," he leans against an open window and turns his head away from you to overlook the estate grounds. "We both know why we're here."

"... We're married, yes," you feel a little stupid. You don't think you've said anything yet that isn't obvious and you feel like a dithering idiot.

His face is half lit by the golden sun, the dying sunlight that begins to creep it's way across the floorboards and illuminate you like a spotlight. Would you live in this spotlight forever, under the deferent whispers of those guards, guarded at all times, living with a target on your back? You suddenly wish you could have let yourself run through the countryside one last time. The air in here felt suffocating. His presence felt suffocating.

"I don't want to lie to you," he drums his fingers pensively on the windowsill. "I cannot promise you love. I'm not sure what kinds of stories you hear about marriage and true love, but this isn't going to be one of them."

It was your turn to speak. "I never expected love from this union." He lifts his head, mildly intrigued. His left eyebrow quirks, encouraging you to continue. "I was wed to you out of necessity, convenience, and strategy. It's me the higher ups arranged this for: for their purposes, for my family's benefit, and for my protection. I cannot imagine there is much I bring to the table for you. And so I want no pity for being in a loveless union, nor do I expect or even wish for you to try. I know what I signed up for."

"Tell me then," he strides back towards you. "what will this arrangement look like, since you've decided to spare me the trouble of forcing affection where there is none?"

"I will stay out of your way," you speak slowly. He stands still before you but the way he looks at you almost makes it feel as if he's encircling you. "I will be no more intrusive to your life than one of your servants, if you so wish. You can call upon me for your... Amusement," the word tastes like bile in your mouth, but you force it past your lips anyway, "if you so wish. So long as I am protected, the higher-ups placated, and my family safe, I can be nothing but a passing whisper if that's what you want."

"Really?" he almost seems to chuckle now, voice tinged with amusement. He leans in closer, as if studying your face, drinking in your features. "I didn't expect a young woman like you to be so... Nonchalant about the prospect of a loveless union."

"I've restored the reputation of my dying family line by bringing them back into the good graces of the most powerful in Jujutsu society." As you speak the words you begin to wonder if this is what you will be telling yourself for the rest of your lonely nights under this roof. "I am already satisfied."

"Noble," he says, crossing his arms, and you are suddenly aware of just how much he seems to tower over you. His eyes flicker with interest. "But I ask you this: since you've already served your purpose, what more is there to do with yourself?"

You blink. A thousand words sit on your tongue like pearls taking shape that you can't quite string into a sentence because when you thought about it you were done. All that was effectively left was to live the rest of your days just like this - to live for the sake of living. And that prospect terrified you. This whole encounter you moved mechanically, according to orders. According to expectations. But here he threw you a curveball - what did you want?

You hadn't expected a question like that and you couldn't quite understand why he would ask you such a thing, nor why when you fumbled for an answer he seemed to hum, a low, reverberating sound. He tilted his head, and for a brief moment you wonder if you noticed his lips curl into a cryptic smile.

"Interesting."

He turns and walks down the hall until he disappears, not beckoning for you to follow. As he walks his footsteps seem to punctuate sentences that you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Questions you didn't yet have any answers to.

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: based on the c.ai bot i published the other day! this is part 1 in a series and so if you want to be tagged for future parts just let me know in the tags or comments and/or drop your @ in my ask + the name of this fic so i know this is the one you want tags for :) i hope you liked it though~

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!

Do you have any bookbinder Aziraphale/ gardener Crowley human au's??

Thank you!

The only fic I know of and can find that is specifically book restorer Aziraphale and gardener Crowley is the very popular and well-known...

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin (E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face?

But here are some gardener Crowley fics in which Aziraphale works with books in one way or another...

The Easter Petting Zoo by MM2022 (G)

“Didn’t you hold a duckling?” “Er,” said Aziraphale, looking up from where he was kneeling on the ground, trying to entice to most energetic of the kids frolicking around to get into his lap (he watched it attempt to climb a resting sheep earlier, and then the hay feeder, certainly his knees wouldn’t be much of a stretch?), and promptly losing his gift of speech. Addressing him was one of the animal handlers, the gorgeous red-haired man Aziraphale noticed as soon as he walked up to the mobile pen. Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association brings in a petting zoo for Easter, and bookseller Aziraphale stops by. A human AU meet-cute.

Turn To Face The Sun by his_infinitevariety (G)

Five times Crowley watches Aziraphale picking flowers, and one time Aziraphale is given flowers by Crowley.

Please Stay by curiouswriterkr (E)

Did the angel just insinuate-? Crowley grinned at him. Might as well take the invitation. “Well, I’d love to hear it one day over a glass of wine, then,” the gamble worked because Aziraphale beamed and wiggled. His lips parted and his eyes focused on Crowley’s sunglasses. “That would be delightful, Crowley,” his name rolled off Aziraphale’s tongue like it was a delicious chocolate raspberry truffle. In short, Crowley moves in next door to Aziraphale and sparks fly. And then so much miscommunication begins to happen and assumptions are made and things get very rocky indeed. (Because sometimes these two share a brain cell.)

Almost Heaven by pilatesandpinot (E)

English literature professor Azra Fell finally decides to go on sabbatical for a semester. If he were smart, he’d probably spend his time in the Mediterranean, go hiking across Europe or America, or perhaps learn the power of prayer and meditation. Instead, he settles into a seaside town called Abel’s Point, also known as “Almost Heaven”, hoping some time away from London will help him rejuvenate and write his memoir. Little does he know that the town will prove more than he bargained for. Not to mention his next door neighbor, Anthony Crowley, who happens to be the most flirtatious yet neurotic man in town.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

- Mod D

[ivystoryweaver]

🦸🏽ANYTHING on spectre marc after readers death please and thank you i am prepared for pain🫡

You burrowed in to the dark parts - the broken, unlovable parts and made him your home. You dwelled, willingly, in the dejected, despondent substance of his soul. A soulmate.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!reader (from my fic Spectre), but can be read on its own Word Count: 430 Content: angst, major character death…maybe?

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

There's a part of Marc that feels more...right when he loses. When he hurts.

See, he knows how deeply flawed he is - certain he doesn't actually deserve love.

This is because he robbed his mother of Randall's love - of her ability to actually love at all.

He destroyed his once happy family

Violence and isolation followed him for the rest of his life, even after Khonshu saved him

Steven and Jake healed him to a degree, made him whole.

Then came you.

But he knew, he always knew that forever with you would exist slightly out of his grasp - there was no way someone as good as you could ever really be his, not eternally.

Still, you loved him so hard, and so good. You burrowed in to the dark parts - the broken, unlovable parts and made him your home. You dwelled, willingly, in the dejected, despondent substance of his soul. A soulmate.

You weren’t there to fix him - you wanted him just how he was, even when he withdrew, when he pushed you away or pulled back. You ebbed and flowed right along with him. He learned to grow with the fluidity of your love.

And god, he adored you. He lived for you. He moved back to the States for you, happily. He cozied up to nosy, small town residents because it made you feel at home. Every time you felt homey or happy or at peace, he felt like he was stacking a building block, restoring the family and the home he once obliterated.

Marriage terrified him. But for you, he wanted to. He saved. He bought you a ring. He almost let himself believe he could have you as a wife.

And right when he thought of how he might propose…when he allowed his dreams to take root in a shred of reality…

…your light was extinguished from the universe.

For no reason at all, you died*. You left.

You didn’t mean to. It wasn’t your fault.

On the day after he buried you, Marc sat down on the floor, in the middle of your bedroom and felt…normal.

He felt the way he’d always been expecting to feel.

This was his life. This was all he would ever have. Ever deserve.

It felt more right to lose. To hurt.

Except...he had begun to believe life with you was more right.

He suddenly had a soul he shared - a mended heart. And a lifetime of love, with no one to give it to.

And that was the moment his heart truly broke.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ask me anything. Requests are open!

Marc Spector-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

My Fic Masterlist

*Spectre readers know what actually happened here! 😉

[alienaiver]

Cloudwalking

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

content: you're married to aizawa and he takes you to meet shirakumo for the first time.

wordcount: ~900

notes: the anniversary of a friend's passing is catching up to me. aizawa helps me cope so heavy on the comfort <3 written entirely on my phone and with no beta reading. i hope you enjoy <3333 (genuinely not sure if this is coherent. its missing people hour<3) spoilers from season 4 and up? to be sure!! ill come back and format this post when i have more than 3% battery 🫡

"i'm married."

"married!" the voice is at the cusp of a scoff, but excitement shines through.

"yeah, i know. wasn't the most emotionally available back then."

"good for you, man! is it them standing over there?"

aizawa turns his head to look back at you. you're a distance away with a small bouquet of flowers, all in white and blue. you're looking up at the huge, cumulonimbus clouds. you're meeting shirakumo for the first time.

aizawa turns back to the cold, unliving stone with his friend's name engraved, together with the dates. he hates the last date; that day had nothing to do with shirakumo, he's not attached to that particular day in any way. it was just... the day aizawa, yamada and his family lost him. nothing else, nothing important or personal that'd invoke feelings in shirakumo himself.

he hears the comforting words of his friend, "hey man, it's alright. we're okay."

he never pictured himself as a person talking to graves, imagining the voice of a deceased. it's irrational. completely irrational. there's no one there. least of all his friend. but showing up periodically and giving his friend his life updates eases a weight in aizawa that he's barely able to grasp otherwise.

but he hasn't been here for quite some time. with the war, the amputation, the restoration of society, his marriage, it hadn't really seemed like an opportune time whenever he thought of it. always so much to do, so much to run after.

the days blurred more and more often for aizawa; all the things and jobs and shifts and teachings that he always had the upper hand with kept slipping between his fingers now. fatigue making him forget to grade papers after patrol, night shifts at the dorm disrupting his already fragile sleep cycles, medication after medication turning his stomach around while wrestling with medical training, physio and therapy.

aizawa's not young anymore; hell, he's never felt young. not quite like his peers and he's never really been able to recognize himself in his students. he may see a glimmer of himself here and there, but never quite does he relate to their motivations. he bites his lip.

"they're nervous about meeting you." he admits, even if he finds your fear irrational. shirakumo would never judge anyone.

he imagines his friend's laugh like a caress on his cheek, "i've already met them. i'm with you all the time, remember?"

aizawa snorts, "god, i hope not."

there's a beat of silence before he imagines shirakumo's next words, biting his upper lip and tensing to prevent tears.

"they take great care of you, like you deserve."

aizawa's lost so much. over the years he hasn't always been able to rationalize how he keeps going. surely, anyone going through all that he has is bound to suffer a mental break, right?

he thinks he almost did. but then you showed up, bright and warm. you offered a hand right before he'd resigned himself to stay alone.

to stay alone for everyone else's sake. he knows he'll become more and more of a burden as age grapples his torn body, as disability lets things slip.

he's been more nervous about seeing shirakumo today than you.

what if his friend isn't proud of him? what if he's disappointed? what if he pities him?

he grits his teeth and apologizes to the grave in a strained voice. reprimands himself for ruining the moment.

"they're coming over."

he tenses up when he hears your footsteps nearing.

why?

"i told them to."

aizawa's stays squatted in front of the grave, afraid to turn to you. you don't see this side of him often.

he can feel you right beside him, and after you've taken a steadying breath to gather courage, you bow low to the grave and introduce yourself like you would to someone above you in a hierachy.

"thank you for taking care of my husband. i'm deeply grateful to be able to meet you."

you squat down next to aizawa and put the flowers gently on the grave, and he observes as you trace your fingers over the bluest of them all, the muscari, before you lean into your husband's shoulder. aizawa doesn't want to admit it, but he relaxes instantly at the gesture.

there's a moment of silence, like you're both soaking up the moment. when you rise and speak again, aizawa isn't able to hold back his sniffle as gracefully as he hoped. if you hear it, you don't comment on it.

"i promise to take care of him, in your stead. and send him here more often, with some salmon nigiri to enjoy with you."

the last part makes him laugh, letting his head fall into his open palm in a sort of flustered embarrassment stemming from all the overwhelm of emotions. aizawa imagines the gleeful laugh of his best friend, the puffed up chest and the hand to your shoulder, telling you to do your best, and that aizawa can be a handful.

"he's a handful sure, but there's nothing about him that doesn't make it worth it."

aizawa feels his heart soar as he looks up at you straightening your pants. when he catches your eye, you give him a thumbs up and a big, sunny smile matching the bright blue sky and white clouds behind you. the clouds perfectly shapes themselves and centers around you, like you're embraced by those, too.

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: The Significance of Security to Sky

This moment folks. I need to talk about it. I already gave it an honourable mention, but I want to dissect why Sky's reaction here spoke volumes - and how the significance of security (aka marriage) is so important as a conclusion to the Prapaisky story.

When we first meet Sky, he's still wading through the shadow of his abuse. The prolonged aftereffects which could potentially continue for the foreseeable future, affecting his overall happiness and ability to love again.

Now fast forward to this expression we see on Sky's face during the wedding. Despite all the trials and tribulations, despite thinking he might never overcome those demons - I saw in his expression - an echo of the 'young Sky' again. The innocence in his smile. The giddy wholesomeness which is often found in young 'puppy' love. Eagerness and anticipation for things to come. Hopeful excitement which isn't marred or jaded by the toil of hardship. An expression that contained an immense degree of appreciation and relief, a 'thank god you found me' relief. A 'close-to-tears' relief that comes with finally being seen and/or valued. The point is, that expression is very similar to the way he'd looked at Gun before everything that followed.

That's the expression of a boy who has fully and willingly opened their heart to another. And here it is again. On his wedding day. Sky has somehow managed to restore some of that innocence in love he lost.

Most of Sky's anxieties can be attributed to a lack of safety (such as difficulty with trust, doubt in stability, worry of being taken advantage of, insecurity in his self-worth). This all manifests from a very simple and basic human instinct we all possess - and that is to feel safe. When someone so intimately close to you betrays you in the worst way imaginable, they've effectively stripped any sense of safety away from you by force. This is the state in which Prapai finds Sky in at the start of the series.

I've talked many times before about how Prapai fulfils a 'protector' role incredibly well. But in fact his way of handling Sky goes beyond protection. He's very adept at creating a safe space around Sky, as well as allowing Sky to feel safe when he's with him. And that's not only by loving Sky, but truly caring for Sky's wellbeing and his basic needs. Whether that's ensuring he eats, making sure he rests, or reminding Sky he doesn't need to suffer alone. This is achieved by listening, by not overstepping, by holding back, by being patient, by being gentle. And eventually escalates to Prapai 'removing' Gun as a threat. The very genesis of Sky's suffering and the very person who robbed Sky of his safety, which Prapai had been working so hard to rebuild.

Safety comes first before all else, due to safety being intrinsically linked to survival. It's only once you've established safety, that you can add security - further measures to 'ensure' this safety lasts as long as possible.

This is where Prapai's intentions for marrying Sky (other than the most obvious) are really worth considering. By his very character, our boy Prapai famously never half-asses anything. He's all in, all the time. He wants to provide everything humanly possible to the person he loves, and that involves giving Sky the highest form of security he can offer, which is by marrying him. Binding them in name, on paper, as well as on all remaining principles.

For most people, the fine print and diplomacy of marriage is not particularly romantic. But in this case it's exactly the functionality and formality of marriage that will provide Sky with the security Prapai seeks. Prapai possesses privilege. And that privilege allows him access to means he can extend to Sky. So marrying Sky means: 'I will be responsible for you. What's mine is now yours'. 'If anything happens to me, you have everything I have.' 'I now legally have the permission and the right to fully take care of you.'

This isn't essential to Sky. He already has Prapai by his side, which is plenty as far as he's concerned. He doesn't need or desire anything else. But Prapai wants to. Because Prapai is thinking about the future - their future. He is always anticipating what Sky needs or may need before Sky does for himself. Sky's perspective has always been 'you've done enough, this is enough', whereas Prapai's perspective is 'what else can I do?' At first Prapai was just trying to ensure Sky's basic needs were met and now that he's achieved that, what's next? All of this is an attempt to safeguard the person he loves and their future together. It's the devotion in such an act, the restless pursuit of such a cause that means so very much to Sky. Because he knows (as do we) - that Prapai would do anything for him.

And that - that is what we call marriage material folks.

[pookasluagh]

Chapter 4 (Hot and Cold) of Dead Right is now out. Aziraphale and Crowley continue to get to know each other, migrating from the pub to the bookshop after a time. Excerpt:

“I only sell the more common books unless I absolutely have no other choice.” Aziraphale shot a sly grin at him. “There might be several collectors with their knickers in a twist if we get married. I’ve all but agreed to sell off a few valuable items to earn some money to start over with. If I don’t have to do that, though…”

God, Crowley already liked this man so much. “You bastard,” he said through giggles.

“That’s assuming that I don’t send you running.”

“I’m more likely to turn you off me. You restore books. I restore bodies.”

Aziraphale cocked his head. “Are you a plastic surgeon?”

Crowley was so overcome by laughter at that point that his legs went weak. He migrated over to what looked like a seating area under the window with the Pride flag, giggling the whole way. Aziraphale sat across from him, the Maugham book still in his hand.

Eventually, Crowley controlled his voice long enough to say, “No. Not a plastic surgeon. I’m a mortician.”

***** Fic notes: Angst-free, complete tooth-rotting fluff, fake marriage, pining-while-married AU, rated E (but all spicy sections will be skippable).

***** Thank you to my wonderful betas @beerok23 and @unicornbeck, as well as to all you lovely people who give me no end of support! 💕

[warsofasoiaf]

Alright. I'll bite. What do you make of sad boi Vlad, sorry, I mean Messmer the Impaler?

When I first saw Messmer the Impaler in the trailer, there was some stuff that I figured out going in. He was a demigod, responsible for Marika's brutal purge in the Land of Shadow. A genocidal warlord waging a war so brutal that no one outside of it could ever be made aware of its existence. Given my experience with FromSoft games, I should perhaps have known better than to simply accept it all at face value. Messmer has been stated by Miyazaki as being one of GRRM's favorite characters that just couldn't find his way into the base game. What we get is brutal, as FromSoft loves to give.

Messmer is barely hinted at in the first game, an off-hand reference to a "forgotten son" which could have easily been applied to Mohg or Morgott, cast off into the Subterranean Shunning Grounds. The Impaler's Catacombs, and the bodies of giants on the Mountaintop, impaled as befits Messmer's sobriquet. His vibrant red hair suggests that he was a son to Radagon, and this has some issues with the timeline. He must have been in the Lands Between, and not the Lands of Shadow, after Radagon's marriage to Renalla in order to successfully have Rellana, the Twin Moon Knight and sister to Rennala, join his crusade. However, he is an "older brother" to Radahn, who was borne of Radagon's union with Rennala. That means Marika must have had Messmer either before her marriage to Godfrey and the position of Elden Lord (before she became a god) or she had taken Radagon as a lover while Godfrey was her consort making Messmer a bastard. Of these two, I actually like the second thematically, Messmer being shunted to do the cruel, unfortunate, unwanted task of destroying those without the grace of Gold in the Lands of Shadow.

As further proof that Radagon was Messmer's father, Messmer, like Malenia and Miquella, was born with a terrible curse. From birth, Messmer was afflicted with the Abyssal Serpent, a terrible, transcendent curse that Marika tried to cure in vain. First, she attempted to cure him with the Blessing of Marika, but it availed him not. Much as we see with Malenia and Miquella's curses, the power of Marika and/or Radagon is incapable of ending the afflictions inflicted upon the children of their divine self-cest by other Outer Gods. What Outer God afflicted the Abyssal Serpent, and what relation this serpent may have had, if any, to Rykard's blasphemous studies regarding the God-Devouring Serpent, is unknown. When that failed, Marika plucked out Messmer's eye and placed a seal of grace upon him, sealing the serpent away, a seal which holds until the Tarnished forces Messmer to unseal it during their boss fight. This is fascinating, because we do not see a similar seal of grace placed upon Malenia to seal away her rot or Miquella to restore his ability to age. Maybe the Abyssal Serpent is a wholly weaker curse that it could be sealed by the grace of gold. Maybe Marika permanently weakened herself with such a seal that she could not replicate the feat with her other cursed children. Whatever the case, we do know that whatever Messmer had to keep the serpent in check, it lasted until his death when he willingly surrendered it - it did not creep out of his body the way the Scarlet Rot leaked out of Malenia and infested the Haligtree.

At some point after the incorporation of Caria into the Golden Order, Marika charged Messmer with going into the Land of Shadow, to cleanse the land with flame. All those without the guidance of grace would perish by Messmer's flame. Messmer would serve as the focal point for the wrath of the Hornsent, and as death centered in the Lands of Shadow with the spectral gravestone piling higher and higher, it was Messmer who they cursed. Messmer would pursue this crusade with abject cruelty with an assortment of troops, commoners, nobles, from across the Golden Order's lands. Those who followed Messmer were of mixed loyalty - his Fire Knights were said to truly know him and his serpentine nature, while Black Knight Commander Andreas and his son Huw rebelled when they learned of the serpent within. Rellana was known to be absolutely loyal in her belief, as was Commander Gaius, both would rise to be Messmer's senior leaders, and swore away any rights and titles they would have in the Lands Between to pursue his crusade. And pursue it he did, breaking Belurat Tower Settlement and sealing away the Divine Gateway, impaling the Hornsents great Dancing Lions and destroying them as a people, now reduced to mere fringes and scattered survivors desperately hiding from Marika's crusade.

Messmer however, is not simply a cackling villain. Deep under the Shadow Keep, he tends to the wounded jars that the Hornsent brutalized, trying to give what comfort he can to Marika's people, tortured in the Bonny Village, butchered and melded into viscera to be made into saints for the Hornsents own attempts to create divinity on earth. When his men betrayed him, he gave them honorable burials, wanting to give regard to their intent both to come with him on the crusade and stick to his beliefs.

Marika's intentions were to seal Messmer away, to consign him to the Land of Shadow, fearful of the serpent that he carried within him. When Messmer marched to the Land of Shadow, it was a one-way trip. He would be forgotten by the Lands Between, cursed by the Land of Shadow, and he would receive no sense of recompense. Messmer burned inside just as he burned those with his flames, and yet, he was committed. Even as it continued with no end in sight, he continued to throw the Hornsent into the great Furnace Golems, continued to dispatch troops to wander the Land of Shadow and slay those without the grace of gold. His troops began to resent Marika, even in the Shadow Keep, statues of Marika are often decapitated as the people realize they're perpetually sentenced to stain their souls for eternity, a new twist on hell. The cruelty once given to Marika's people by the Hornsent is now visited back on them, forever, trapping everyone in a negative nexus from which neither body nor soul escapes.

Messmer as a boss is a tremendous presentation. From his first words, he sounds properly menacing - and yet your presence makes him wonder. Why does a Tarnished, bereft of grace and banished from the Lands Between, now come to take the mantle of Elden Lord? His moves are sinewy and flowing, like a snake. He looks lean, hungry, ever bit the sinister villain he was depicted in the trailer. He dances, jumps, and integrates his spear and flame spells artfully. He constantly puts pressure on the player, and his combos are fast but predictable. He can summon spears to impale you, and use the same flame spells that his Fire Knights used that kept pestering you as you climbed up the Specimen Storehouse, as well as a big one of his own creation.

When Messmer is wounded enough, he realizes that his own strength is insufficient, he apologizes to Marika, and tears out the seal of grace within his own eye, unleashing the Abyssal Serpent in his body. His new move set adds visually impressive serpents, such as the Orb of Messmer being in the abyssal serpent's mouth, and his dive engulfing him in serpents. His form changes as well, not just his empty eye socket. His legs change to look like serpent scales, he sheds his armor like a snake. The Hornsent, if he was summoned, exalts in the glory of Messmer's new form, as to the Crucible, the melding of life and the taking on of aspects of it was considered holy. The snakes not only make Messmer more intimidating, but they distract the player from dodging, incentivizing panic rolling and upping the pressure while decreasing Messmer's punish windows. It's a proper fight, start to finish.

When the Tarnished finally cuts him down, Messmer falls, cursing Marika for the things she compelled him to do. To become a figure of hatred due to the circumstances of his birth, to wage a war for Marika's glory that he could never share. To be separated from his siblings - Radahn who he regarded with fondness as a younger brother, and Melina who was also cursed with visions of fire (and possibly also inherited the Gloam-Eye from the previous Empreyean of the Godskin Apostles thus making them share in a curse contained within their eyes), and possibly others - after all, everyone seemed to love Godwyn the Golden.

Messmer: genocidal warlord and deeply wounded fighter. Commanded to be despised, he did the despicable to the despicable, and the genocide that defined Marika's life would in turn define Messmer's, until all that was left was a bitter shell wrapped around a curse, cut down by the Tarnished, cursing the mother that condemned him.

Thanks for the question, Mist.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[thequeer07puss]

Hera as a goddess of legitimacy and a force of legitimisation

A lot of stories featuring Hera (not that many, to be honest, but the most famous ones) portray her as relentlessly attacking both gods and demigods sired by Zeus, which has partially inspired people to think of her as a “jealous wife” archetype, but most of these people ignore the main thing that Hera represents: legitimacy.

Hera as the goddess of marriage rules over legitimate unions, and as a result, may choose to pursue those who betray these kinds of unions in some kind of way. An example would be the speed with which she withdrew her sponsorship of the hero Jason why he broke his oath of love and loyalty to his wife Medea in favour of a crown which he was no longer eligible for.

Speaking of Jason, Hera was pretty much his only patron deity during his quest for the Golden Fleece, which was started as a way for him to claim his rightful place on his father’s throne, and this sponsorship started as soon as Jason’s quest started. No prayer was prayed, no offering was offered. Hera just showed up as soon as Jason’s quest for legitimacy started, and helped him as soon as he proved himself to her by carrying her (in the form of an old woman) across a river.

Also, Hera is a goddess who is known for testing the worth of both gods and heroes, especially when they are destined to enter Olympus (her home and domain), and especially when they were born out of an illegitimate union on either her or Zeus’s part. The torments endured by the various children of Zeus at her hand, and even her own (for the purposes of this essay I will take Dionysus, Apollo and Hephaestus)

Apollo

Apollo’s ordeal started even before he was born, as his mother Leto has been denied the right to give birth on any island attached to the land, and was relentlessly chased by a giant snake. Here Hera imposes herself and shows her might as the definitive and legitimate wife of Zeus (Leto was Zeus’s previous wife), and brands any child born from Leto as being under her in terms of status. When Apollo is born and slays the serpent Python, Hera is then forced to recognise that his trial is complete and that he has a claim to the Olympian seat.

Hephaestus and Dionysus

Hephaestus was conceived as a kind of revenge plot against Zeus for conceiving Athena on his own, from the sacred bed which he shares with Hera, but without her input or approval, which prompted the goddess to do the same in order to restore the balance of power within their marriage, and to show Zeus that if he could make a child on his own, then she could too.

However, when the infant Hephaestus was born, it was either Zeus or Hera herself that hurls him down from Olympus, however godly he may be, crippling him in the process and forcing him to EARN the right to re-enter Olympus (kind of like how Hercules in the Disney movie was debuffed so that he would earn his way back into Olympus), which he ultimately achieved by capturing Hera in a golden throne (literally trapping her with one of her most sacred attributes).

Dionysus’s trial begins where Hephaestus’s comes to an end. Having met Hera in his childhood and been rendered mad by her which led to him being rescued by Rhea (whom I assume here to be Rhea-Cybele, whose cult has some of the mad and wild attributes of Dionysus’s), he must have already taken notice of the tests given to him by the goddess, and was waiting for an opportunity to finally take a seat among the Olympians after having established a very respected and feared mystery cult among mortals, so when he heard that Hera was captured by an angry Hephaestus, he jumped on the occasion and coaxed him into following him back to Olympus, where both would finally get recognised as legitimate both in the eyes of the gods and of Hera.

Hera and the sons of Zeus

Hera’s tests mostly seem to affect her husband’s illegitimate Olympian sons, as can be evidenced by the lack of trial for goddesses such as Artemis or Athena. Why is that so?

Personally, I think it’s because sons in Ancient Greece were more valued in society: they could inherit their father’s property, they had claims to the throne and could be seen as heirs to it in case their father somehow resigned. So Hera branding these sons as reformed illegitimate sons could be a way for her to negate their claims to their father’s power and nerf their chances of growing too powerful at the expense of her legitimate children (Orphic Dionysus was literally said to be Zeus’s heir, and would have been had Hera not told the Titans to dismember and eat him), while checking if they are still fit to set foot on Olympus after that serious debuff.

But that’s just my thoughts, I don’t have any source or academic paper that confirms this.

A rule of thumb when analysing Greek myths is that they don’t exist in a vacuum and that as entertaining as they may seem, there is something more to them most of the time, and that is especially the case with a goddess who has a history as long, rich and complex as Hera. It’s really a shame that people only see her as a mean shrew when she has so much more stuff going on, but I guess that with pop culture this complexity has to be diluted and thus misinterpreted by people who don’t have the religious and cultural context of these stories.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far, and may Hera bless you.

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

As You Command: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

CW: Bakugou is a suggestive asshole, cursing, mentions of injuries, mentions of arranged marriages, there's a dead animal but it's not super descriptive.

Word count: 5893

Why hadn’t he told anyone? 

The thought echoed in your mind as you padded through the hallways of the palace, marbled tile passing quickly beneath your feet as you headed to your daily lesson. Above your head, bright tapestries brimming with oranges and yellows waved gently, the fabric twisting from the breeze filtering through the open windows. 

You dragged your glance from the floor as the walls widened, giving way to the palace’s great hall, bustling with activity. Guards, servants, and nobles alike milled around, each having their own tasks to complete in the large room. 

Billowing around you as you walked, the faded green hue of your skirt blended in well with the mural lining the wall to your left. One of the most important pieces in the entire palace, it depicted the beginning of the kingdom, green forests giving way to deep reds as it faded to the dark times, when men and gods alike warred with one another. The carnage scenes continued for a few feet, until a vibrant burst of yellow cut through the red, overtaking the pain and turmoil.

In the center of all of the yellow, stood the sun god, Toshinori, grinning despite the carnage before him. One hand rested firmly on his hip, while the other lay outstretched to a much smaller figure kneeling at his feet.

You paused then, stepping forward to run your fingers over the deep blue dragon that curled around Toshinori’s fingers, a testament to the god’s size that such a creature looked so small in his hand. Your lips curled upwards in a fond smile as you traced the ridges of the dragon’s scales, along its outstretched neck, and down to its snout that pressed against the small figure’s head. 

It was your favorite part of the mural, and you suspected the artist’s too, given how much attention had been shown to the dragon’s details. Great care had been taken in its depiction, from its raised scales glinting in a range of blue colors to the gentle way it connected with the human below, despite being a creature capable of terrible havoc.

Your people believed that the dragons had been a gift from Toshinori himself, a way to forge the kingdom and restore balance in the darkest of times. You paused, eyes flicking over to the shadowy form of the first king kneeling at Toshinori’s feet, a direct ancestor of Bakugou’s family.

As if on cue, the double doors of the hall were thrown open, dousing the mural in bright light and revealing Bakugou’s form as he pulled his hood off his head. Your stomach twisted in guilt as his gaze caught yours for a half second, the sunlight behind him illuminating the colors that now took residence on his cheek. 

It had been two days since the moment in the library when you'd reacted on instinct to the prince's usual harassment, smashing a thick book against his cheek. What you'd hoped would be a small mark had quickly blossomed into a harsh bruise beneath his eye, purples and dark yellows vying for space beneath his skin.

He turned sharply as the doors began to shut behind him, until a much taller form wrenched them open again, clearly in pursuit of the prince. A flash of bright red hair alerted you to his identity, and a fond warmth filled your chest.

As the prince’s personal guard, it had been strange to see the Bakugou without Kirishima by his side, the latter having been gone with a diplomatic envoy for the past week. You were glad to see the pair together again, even if Bakugou seemed less than pleased with the extra company.

You dampened your smile as you turned to sit yourself at the wooden table nearby. Crossing one leg over the other as you settled into your seat, you watched the large man jog to catch up to the prince who seemed determined to lose his friend. It was clear that Kirishima must have just recently returned, his usual silver armor traded in for a much more casual leather vest and striped cowl.

The blonde was stopped in his tracks finally by Kirishima’s hand landing on his shoulder and your gut twisted as the redhead cut in front of him and gripped the blonde’s chin to tilt his face into the light, eyes zeroed in on his cheek. His brows lowered in concern as he spoke sharply.

Of course. As Bakugou’s personal protector, he would want to know what happened, and worse, who had dared to strike the prince. 

You ran your hand along the wooden table in front of you, pads of your fingers catching on the various dents and chips lining the wood paneling. How many times had you sat at this table throughout your life, studying to be the best advisor you could possibly be for the kingdom,  and yet, never were you as nervous as this moment, heart ready to crash its way through your ribcage as you watched the scene across the great hall.

Thus far, Bakugou hadn't sought revenge or punishment (something you were still highly suspicious of),  but if he was going to tell anyone what had happened, it would be his closest friend. 

Kirishima's brow furrowed once more as Bakugou smacked his hand away from his face, shoving the redhead as he shook his head. His gaze glanced up mid-rant, vermillion eyes catching yours before he tore them away, turning his shoulder to block your view of his mouth. 

It was a deliberate move, you realized, frustration rolling through you that you wouldn't be able to eavesdrop by watching their mouths move. Kirishima was no help, his lips pressed into a thin line that offered you no information other than the fact that he wasn't happy with whatever Bakugou was saying.

"When I requested that all my teaching be done in the great hall, my intent was for you to get better at focusing around distractions, not worse."

You startled at the voice of your teacher behind you as he took his seat, and you dipped your head respectfully in greeting. 

"My apologies, Lord Hakamada, I was just.." you trailed away then, unwilling to admit you'd been watching Bakugou’s exchange so intently. You turned to the older man, smiling sheepishly as you offered up an excuse. "I was lost in my thoughts, my lord, that's all."

He took a moment to study you, leaning back in his seat as his hand rubbed absently over the scar cutting across his cheek. It was a scar you saw almost daily, a deep jagged line cutting clean through his otherwise handsome features, and you felt a familiar sadness that you would never truly know what kind of hardships the man had endured. 

It had to be more than most, you assumed, given his past. It was pure luck that he had ended up as a teacher to both you and Bakugou. Your earliest memories were of him at the queen's side as her personal guard, until an ambush cut his fighting days short and permanently injured his lung. 

He'd still been healing in the days of Bakugou's worst rebelliousness, where the young prince had scared off one too many tutors with his attitude and pranks. That is, until the lord had volunteered to teach the two of you until a replacement could be found.

But, as fate would have it, he had turned out to be the perfect mentor for you both-  firm enough to take Bakugou's brashness in stride, and well-versed in the world enough to teach you both all you needed for your respective roles, despite the fact that he often claimed the two of you were more likely to send him to an early grave than any battle.

He’d been the one to step up when your father had fallen ill, so that you’d have more time to learn before filling in as the royal advisor, an action that would make you forever indebted to the older man, no matter how much he denied it. 

"I will admit. It must have been a good strike." 

Lord Hakamada's voice cut through your musings, and you focused your gaze back on him once again, opening your mouth to respond when a heavy weight settled into the seat next to you. 

"What was?" Bakugou interrupted, leaning back in his chair to prop his boots onto the table as you wrinkled your nose at his manners. He flashed you a grin, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, turning to face the lord as he spoke. 

“The blemish currently taking up half your face, my prince. One can’t help but wonder what could have caught you so off guard,” he mused, resting his cheek on his fist as Bakugou slunk further in his seat, avoiding the older man’s gaze.

“Did some poor soldier you were training with manage to catch you with a shield? Seems unlike you to allow someone that close without disarming them though. Were you distracted?” he pressed, clearly fighting back a smile as the blonde glowered at him. “Or perhaps, while flying, a low hanging branch managed to get past your acute spacial awareness and-” 

"Are you going to teach us, or are we going to gossip about my bruise? 'cause I'd much rather be with Drékrir than here-'' Bakugou snapped, making a move to stand, his boots thunking against the floor.

Lord Hakamada chuckled, and Bakugou quieted instantly as your teacher began to speak again, this time recounting the most current news on the kingdoms to the North and South. You let your gaze wander once more as Bakugou grumbled under his breath, replacing his feet on the table as he drew his knife, using it to dig at the dirt beneath his nails. You took in the worn leather on the soles of Bakugou's feet, up along the intricate pattern sewn into his pants, and the way the muscles along his stomach rolled and gathered due to his position before you paused at the sight of the blade strapped to his hip. 

You'd never fail to recognize his weapon, the handle inlaid with dark metal that mimicked scales. From the way it was positioned, you could just barely make out the outstretched dragon wings that were carved into the sword's crossguard, a bright red to match the color of his dragon. The sword had been designed by Bakugou himself, and the one month it took him to have it prepared and made was the most peaceful four weeks of your life, the blonde often too busy with his notes and designs to have time for harassing you.

His palm landed on the hilt absently, and you lifted your gaze. You winced internally when met with the sight of the bruise currently residing on his face, and a pang of guilt coursed through you. 

You truly hadn't meant to strike him that hard. Or at all, really. As if he felt your gaze on him, his head tilted towards you the moment your teacher had turned his back, vermillion eyes lazily raking along your form.

He made a point to lick along his bottom lip, over the scar that he received when you were both still children, before he flashed you a grin far more predatory than friendly. The action, though simple, was enough to make you huff and shift in your seat as you quickly broke eye contact, irritation flaring as he let out a snort of amusement. 

'...I'll have to settle down and start producing heirs.. I think it's only fair you help me practice...' 

The words that prompted the smack in the first place crept back into your head, and suddenly, you felt far less guilty than you did a few moments ago. 

You turned your attention back to Lord Hakamada, opting to ignore the blonde beside you in favor of your education, and managed to catch the final part of his updates. "... which means that the succession to the throne in the North is still on shaky ground." 

Your eyes widened in surprise, suddenly sure you'd missed something important as your teacher looked down at you expectantly, a brow raised. 

You glanced away in embarrassment, completely unprepared to offer any opinions, and mentally kicked yourself for once again letting Bakugou get you into trouble. Lord Hakamada sighed wearily, and you snuck a peek to see him shift his attention down Bakugou expectantly, the blonde shrugging in response. 

"Tch. Why do I need to care about the succession in the North? The gods have made it clear who the king will be here." he grinned, practically beaming with pride. 

"The king may find he is going to have a difficult time finding a wife if he can't figure out what's going on in the world outside of his kingdom." Lord Hakamada informed him dryly, a single brow raised. Bakugou's expression soured immediately and you didn’t bother to hide the huff of amusement that fell from your lips at the sight. 

His gaze shot over to you as his eyes narrowed and you smiled sweetly back, feigning innocence until his fingers rose to skate over his cheek in a casual reminder. Your smile fell immediately as you averted your gaze to your hands in your lap, fisting at the material of your gown. 

"Gods help me.” Lord Hakamada rasped, rubbing his eyes in response to the two of you. “Since it seems that the both of you are elsewhere today, I'm postponing our lessons for a review. A pity, given I would much rather be talking about the Great Dragons," he sighed. Bakugou sat up straighter in his chair, eyes lit with interest at the mention of the previous king's mounts. 

"Wait, I-" He began in protest, easily ignored by the older man as he spoke over him.

"The treaties we hold to the South and North were written and signed only a hundred years ago, as a way to protect each way of life from the bandits and marauders that plagued the three kingdoms, treaties that were suggested by your ancestors. " he nodded to Bakugou in acknowledgment, paying no mind to the younger man's sulking or the glare he was offered up as he continued. 

“And much like the two of you,” Lord Hakamada sighed deeply, as if teaching the kingdom’s future was more draining than guarding the queen. “This peace is..?” He looked pointedly at you, and you replied immediately, these specific teachings engraved in your skull at this point. 

“Young,” you replied softly, earning a nod of approval from your teacher as he continued his path around the table. 

“And?” He probed deeper, glancing down at Bakugou as he passed him. 

The prince rolled his eyes, gaze dropping to pick at his cuticle as he groaned. “Bored out of its mind?” He suggested, the faux smile on his face doing nothing to soften the smack that Lord Hakamada landed on the backside of his head as he passed. 

Bakugou yelped, grumbling under his breath as he dropped his feet back to the floor, rubbing at the back of his head. 

“Fragile, my lord, was the correct response,” Lord Hakamada supplied seamlessly as he rounded to the front of the table once more and braced his hands on it.

“However, I have faith that the both of you will do all that you can to help strengthen these bonds when the time comes. Whether you’ll do that as a team or separately still remains to be seen,” He finished dryly, brow raised as Bakugou rolled his eyes. 

“Speaking of teams, Bakugou, your mother asked me to speak to you.” 

Bakugou visibly stiffened beside you, his entire demeanor changing with just one sentence. Lord Hakamada paused for a moment, allowing the prince a chance to speak if he wanted to. For once in his life, though, Bakugou remained silent, stiffly staring at the older blonde across from him.

“She wanted me to remind you that at 24 years old, you need to be looking for a wife, or at the very least, a queen for the kingdom you’ll soon inherit.” You grimaced at the tense change in conversation, and wondered how annoyed your mentor would be if you simply slipped away, able to escape this topic when the prince could not. 

“You can tell that hag I’m gonna sire a bastard with the next woman I meet if she doesn’t get off my ass about gettin’ married,” Bakugou growled out from between gritted teeth and you swiveled to look at him sharply. 

“Bakugou, you can’t say that!” You hissed, and his gaze turned on you angrily. 

“Why? That’s what this is all really about, right?” he sneered, arms crossed. “Besides, why the hell should you care who I fuck?”

“Because I’m your advisor, and like it or not, whoever you knock up is someone I have to deal with as well,” you snapped back. 

Bakugou let out a sharp laugh, arms uncrossing as he stood. “Yeah, right. Maybe you’re so invested in my love life because you don’t have one.” he accused, his words cutting deeper than you’d expected. 

You must have let it show, because his angry red gaze softened slightly as you turned your face from him, jaw set as Lord Hakamada intervened. “Bakugou, that’s enough. Your quarrel is with your mother and her expectations, not your staff. Besides, it seems there’s more than one family interested in adding her to it,” he admitted, tilting his chin in your direction, and both you and Bakugou looked at your mentor in surprise. 

“There have been offers for my hand?” You asked incredulously as Bakugou scoffed, muttering under his breath and Lord Hakamada gave you a small nod, his gaze flickering to the prince. 

“But, that’s something for the Queen and King to speak to you about, not me,” he sighed, standing with a groan. “Now. The two of you have managed to wear down my patience for the day, so I’m cutting this lesson short. In return, both of you should expect an examination on inter-kingdom relations the next time we meet.” he warned.

You stood, dipping your head in thanks to Lord Hakamada before taking your leave, avoiding Bakugou’s gaze as you brushed past him. 

You weaved easily through the crowd in the great hall, and down one of the side corridors, mentally rearranging your day with your new-found time. Heavy footsteps echoed your own, and a moment later, Bakugou’s shadow fell over you as he walked alongside you, red cape brushing against the back of your hand. 

“What’re you rushing off to do?” he probed, and you set your jaw, pride still wounded from his earlier comment about your love life. It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, but you couldn’t help the sour feeling it had left you with. 

“You stink of dragon.” you muttered back, and he paused, lifting his cape to sniff at it before he shrugged, grinning as he easily caught up to you once more. 

“Y’know, most of the women I keep company with like the smell of dragon,” he leered, shoulder bumping against yours as if he was sharing some dirty secret with you. 

You spared him a half-hearted glare, already tired of his antics. “Well, most of the women you keep company with have bad taste,” you pointed out, and he frowned, straightening up again. 

He fell quiet, and your shoulders sagged in relief until a moment later when he spoke again.

“So, any clue who’s asking for your hand?” 

You answered him with silence, partially because you were tired of his presence but more so because you didn’t have an answer for him. You knew it was about time that marriage offers would be coming in, but without your father or mother alive to receive them, you hadn’t given it much thought. But it made sense for the king and queen to take over. They had promised your father that they’d ensure your future when he passed, after all. 

“I bet they’re old. Gods, it’s probably one of the houses like the Torinos. I’m willing to bet it’s one of those ugly fucks,” Bakugou laughed, and you frowned deeper, jaw clenched as he taunted you. “Or maybe it’s one of the soldiers, think one of them could have taken a liking to you?” he snickered. Despite your growing annoyance, you stayed silent, staring straight ahead.

“Oi, I’m talking to you, wildcat.” His fingers wrapped around a strand of your hair and pulled, hard enough to make your scalp sting. You whirled on him, nearly bumping into his bare chest with your sudden movement. 

“Do you take a special joy in torturing me, Bakugou?” you snapped, glaring up at the blonde. “And stop calling me that, you know I hate it.” He’d taken to calling you wildcat when you were children and he’d first realized how much he delighted in making you angry, comparing you to the stray cats that lounged around the palace grounds.

He grinned down at you, clearly pleased with your attention. Just like a fucking child. You thought crossly to yourself.  “But it suits you so well. All hisses and puffed up when you’re mad,” he hummed, fingers reaching for a strand of your hair again. 

You stepped back out of his reach, arms crossed. “I mean it, Bakugou, leave me be,” you warned, and he mimicked your pose, brow raised in challenge. 

“Or what, wildcat?” he pressed and you shot him a withering glare as you searched for a good response, eyes landing on his cheek.

“Or maybe I'll hit you again.” you immediately regretted the threat as soon as it tumbled from your mouth as his expression changed. His smirk dropped for half a second, and then he was closing the distance, canines flashing as he grinned down at you. 

“Go ahead, I won’t cover for you again,” he invited, leaning down and tapping at his cheek to show you where you could hit him. 

You shrunk back, guilt pooling at your stomach as you got a closer look at the bruise. Without thinking, you raised your hand, fingers smoothing over the angry skin as you chewed your bottom lip. His eyes widened in surprise, searching your face as you gathered your voice. 

“Why are you covering for me?” you asked softly, and he straightened quickly, easily pulling away from your touch as he snorted. 

“I don’t have to answer that,” he huffed, turning on his heel to leave the way you’d come. You stared after him in shock, irritation at his sudden mood change fueling your feet as you hurried after him. 

“Considering my future is in your hands,” you hissed, almost jogging to keep up with his quick pace, “I think you owe me an explanation.” 

He muttered under his breath, glancing at you in irritation as he took a sudden turn and you scrambled to follow. For once, his silence was not what you wanted, and you crossed your arms as you searched for a way to get him to talk. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Bakugou. I’m not leaving you be until you tell me why you haven’t sold me out.” you declared, and he stopped suddenly, staring at you incredulously. 

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous. What are you, thirteen?” he snapped, hands on his hips. You smiled sweetly up at him, gratification warming your chest. 

“You can’t just avoid me, my prince,” you cooed smugly. 

He glared down at you, jaw set before he leaned down suddenly, a sly smile melting over his features. Your cheeks heated as his breath fanned over your face, entirely too close to be appropriate as he spoke lowly. 

“Watch me, wildcat.” He took off, boots thudding down the hall as you gave chase, cursing yourself for wearing a skirt and cursing him for his long strides. He darted down a thinner hallway, and you prayed no servants would be coming in the opposite direction as you followed him. 

You sped up as he reached the end, sure that he’d just dart out the door and that you’d definitely lose him once he was outside the palace. But he must have thought you were farther than you were, stopping short and turning with a smug grin, one hand on the wooden door to open it. 

His eyes widened in surprise as you tried to stop, feet tangling in your skirt and sending you barreling into the blonde’s chest. The open door provided no stop to the momentum as he tumbled backwards, arms closing around your body in an attempt to stabilize himself.

He cleared the dirt path leading away from the door as his back hit the grass, taking you with him as he rolled. Sunlight warmed your skin and grass dampened your clothes as you shrieked, sure that he’d crush you by the time you stopped tumbling. 

He let out a grunt when his back hit the grass and you landed on top of him, both panting heavily as you dragged your gaze to meet his. Wide eyes met your own as you were suddenly aware of his hands splayed across your hips, of his thigh wedged between your own. Ruby eyes stared back at you, and you opened your mouth to apologize when a tiny blade of grass drooped from the blonde's hair, its tip resting between his eyes perfectly. You couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up in your chest at the sight, fueled by his chest rising below you as he tried to contain his own laughter. 

Soon, you were both erupting into giggles, only encouraged when one of his hands left your hips to tug a stick from your hair. You couldn’t help it after that, the past situation was just so ridiculous. You were both grown adults, a prince and his advisor at that, and here you were chasing each other down the palace halls, and rolling down hills.

His laughter subsided before yours did as he watched you, a soft smile gracing his features. He made no move to stand, only shifting beneath you, his hands warm on your waist. Your gaze met his and for a split second, you’re very aware of an uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. 

“Y’know, if you wanted to be on top of me so bad, all you had to do was ask,” he grinned. The flutter died out as you made a sound of disgust, shame washing over you at the realization of how improper you must look. His hands were suddenly uncomfortably warm on your hips and you shoved them off as you stood, hands flat on his chest as you pushed. 

He let out a grunt as you stood, brushing grass and dirt off your clothes as you glared down at him. “I should’ve known you’d do something like this,” you accused, and he sat up sharply, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I didn’t do anything, you’re the one that barreled into me and knocked us down. I was going to use the path,” he snapped back, pointing up the hill and you followed his finger, if only to hide the embarrassment on your face. 

“Still,” he grunted, rising to his feet. “This is a faster way to the dragons, so I guess I should thank you,” he muttered, already stomping away from you as you turned to look at him. 

“I’m not done talking to you!” you called, and he waved a hand in dismissal, boots flattening the grass beneath his feet as he disappeared into the treeline. You chased after him, muttering curses under your breath as you followed him into the trees. 

Shortly after, you broke into the clearing, sun blinding you momentarily as you squinted, blinking until your eyes adjusted. When they did, you sucked in a sharp breath, greeted by the sight of Bakugou’s massive dragon in the clearing ahead, his red scales glinting in the sun. 

Drékrir was large for a dragon of his age, but even without his sheer size, he was intimidating. Hard plates ran along the expanse of his snout, horns jutting proudly from his jaw and the top of his skull. 

At the sight of you and Bakugou, his head lifted, green eyes dilated as he watched you both. He lay stretched out, clearly enjoying the summer sun, a carcass pinned beneath his clawed foot.

Bakugou whistled lowly, and the great dragon rumbled back in response, muscles relaxing once more as he returned to his meal, long tongue dragging over the pelt of whatever poor animal he’d caught.

You shook yourself, stepping in Bakugou’s footsteps as you followed far slower. Bakugou turned to glance at you over his shoulder, grinning at your sudden quiet, and you huffed, your strides quickening as you came back within speaking distance.

Bakugou’s head tilted towards his dragon as it lifted its head lazily again, eyeing the two of you as you came closer. “You know, you can’t just fly away from all your problems,” you pointed out, crossing your arms over your chest, still trying to calm your pounding heart.

“I can fly away from this one.” he hummed in response, walking backwards towards his dragon. Drékrir lazily swept his tongue over the boar he held beneath his claws, a low rumble rising from deep in his throat, and for a moment, Bakugou’s cheeks flushed. 

“This wouldn’t even be a problem if you would just grow up and tell me what you’re trying to get by covering for me.” You pointed out, and his gaze darted to you for a moment before back to Drékrir, his mouth opening and shutting quickly as you continued. “Really, Bakugou, this is ridiculously immature, even for-” 

“Enough! I can’t juggle two conversations at once!” Bakugou threw his hands up in frustration, a groan erupting from his mouth as he looked between you and Drékrir in annoyance. You flushed in embarrassment, momentarily forgetting that the bond they had allowed the two to communicate within their minds, Drékrir huffing at his rider’s outburst.

You quieted as he glared at his mount, watching the blonde’s face occasionally twitch with different emotions. It was fascinating, you had to admit it, the large dragon seeming to continue the conversation without needing to vocally call out to his rider.

Drékrir lifted his head suddenly, eyes staring down at you as he let out a quiet chuff, the warm gust of air from his maw rustling your clothes. Your gaze met his, and you instinctively wanted to look away, acutely aware that you were probably nothing more than a nuisance to the large creature at this moment.

Bakugou stepped forward then, and Drekrir’s attention swiveled to his rider, eyes closing as his hand pressed against his snout. Despite the current argument you were having with the blonde, you smiled at the gentle interaction, at the way both volatile individuals seemed to find peace with each other. 

Bakugou’s gaze flickered to you once more and he huffed in irritation. “You’re still here?” 

Your smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl as the prince returned his attention to Drekrir as the large creature reached once more for his kill, the gentle nosing he gave Bakugou enough to make the blonde stumble. “Didn’t you just come back from a flight?” you shot back, and Drekrir paused in his pursuit to chuff again, as if he was laughing. 

Bakugou’s hands were firm, shoving the large creature until the red dragon shook his head with a growl and began gathering his limbs beneath him. “Gods, you stalkin’ me or something? I’m going on a fuckin’ hunt.” 

“Well, maybe I’ll join you,” you threatened, and Bakugou paused mid-step, one hand wrapped around the dragon’s horn as he hung off him, glowering at you. 

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, grunting as he hoisted himself up on his dragon’s neck, arms outstretched for balance as he walked down the red dragon’s spine.  “You and what mount? A Kharn? You and I both know you wouldn’t be able to keep up.” 

You frowned at that, knowing he was right. The horse-like creatures most of the people in and around the palace rode were fast, and great for hunting with their acute sense of smell and tough paws, but nothing could keep up with a dragon.

He sat heavily atop his dragon’s shoulders, thighs splayed out as he got comfortable, and you took a half a step back as Drékrir stood suddenly, his wings stretching out wide enough that he blocked the sun momentarily. 

You swallowed thickly, intimidated by the dragon’s large size before forcing yourself to turn your attention back to Bakugou who now grinned smugly down at you. “Y’know, on second thought, if you want to come with so badly, hop on up,” he invited, brow raised sarcastically. 

Drékrir turned to you then, large head lowering to gaze at you. You froze, eyes wide at the dragon’s clear offer, even as he tipped his horn closer to you. For a moment, you considered it. You considered taking his horn in your hand and allowing yourself to abandon all your duties for the day, beyond the palace and high in the skies, the sun warm on your skin.

“Well? I don’t have all day, wildcat,” Bakugou huffed, and you snapped out of your daydreaming at the sudden reminder of his presence.

“Some of us have duties here that we can’t run from.” you murmured as you stepped back, trying not to let disappointment bleed into your voice as Bakugou shook his head. 

“That’s your problem, right there,” he sighed, shifting to pull his hood over his head as he leaned forward in preparation for takeoff. But Drékrir remained where he was, his head still lowered to your level. You met the large creature’s gaze, both of you staring curiously at one another before Bakugou spoke again, his voice heavy with impatience. 

“Drékrir, let’s go. She’s not coming.” 

Drékrir snorted in response, withdrawing his head to stare up at the sky as he let out a rumble so low you felt it vibrate through your chest. His wings spread once more, giving you a glimpse of the vibrant orange that dotted the undersides, and Bakugou glanced down at you, calling out above the dragon’s rumbling. “Cover your eyes, wildcat, you’re gonna get blinded!” 

You stepped further back as the prince’s gaze left you, doing as you were told, but managing to peek at the sight of their takeoff from beneath your hand. Drékrir let out a roar as he rose to his hind feet, his wings stretching out far above his head. They cut downwards quickly, stirring up the dust and leaves on the ground beneath him and forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut. 

You stumbled a bit from the sheer force of the wind his wings created as he lifted off, and when you next opened your eyes, he and the prince were heading into the distance, red wings soaring smoothly. 

You watched them for a while, unable to help the jealousy that churned in your chest as they put more distance between themselves and the palace. You allowed yourself one final glance as you turned on your heel, back to the palace and the duties that awaited you inside. 

[heliphantie]

Another fateful meet-cute…

Emerald shards are not likely to work as appropriate substitute for damaged eyeglasses, but what you know about those conjured by magic? You will not able to see vision of your future with it, though… Or…?

Julieta’s gift, by the way, may not be limited just by cure provided via dishes, it can be as well similar to Rapunzel’s healing power, general ability of restoring physical state by transmitting magical energy, food (hair) working as conductor. Making food is just convenient way to provide the cure, both catering to Julieta’s personal interest, accessible for patients, and not requiring unnecessarily intrusion of personal space. Growing, she, probably, figured eventually that kisses of health should stay reserved for family circle only.

On the subject of Agustín: we do know his birthday, but how old he exactly is? Only clues given, from the words of director Mr. Bush, him being slightly younger than triplets and assumption he might be born on Wednesday (referring to “miércoles” line and his somewhat unfortunate tendencies), which points to June 19, 1901, while triplets are born either 1899 or 1900 (I guess it’s former, because age difference on the scale of months isn’t that mentionable). But then Agustín also may have been born in 1907, which gives us 7-8 years of possible age gap. While it’s unlikely what was in mind of creators, rather large gap could clear up some of backstory in aspect of marriages. Judging by the ages of oldest granddaughters, both sisters got married in their mid-to-late-twenties (and near simultaneously as well), significantly later than Isabela was supposed to. Starting with two eventual spouses hanging out in different age groups for all childhood and adolescence, there was no way for anything to bloom between them for all of that time, despite them growing alongside each other. And ever when Agustín was old enough to make attempt in courting, taking in account Word of God that Agustín wasn’t Alma’s “first choice” for Julieta’s fiancée, girl’s mother had reservations about him, and his youthfulness could factor into it as well. But as Julieta, oldest daughter, was expected to get married first of her siblings, and stood her ground in choice of husband, Alma’s prolonged reluctance to accept it led to the subsequent wedding of Pepa and Félix getting postponed, despite them being set for marriage with no objections on mother’s part, probably for ages. No wonder Pepa was so stressed on the day it was finally about to occur! (Maybe Alma, with her 19th century sensibilities, couldn’t stand holding her daughters in the state of old maidens any longer and had to cave in. Poor Agu has won his place in the family by persistence!)

Alternatively, you also can take “Wednesday” comment as a joke and ignore it, which is what I’m going to do and ascribe age difference between Agustín and triplets being around 4-5 years, as he looks mid-forty to me.

Last thing, I know his family name at birth believed to be “Rojas”, though I can’t find source of it. (On the wiki, it’s said to come from artbook, but I didn’t find such info in there.) Anyway, it’s what I’m going to put in tag to mark his young self, for the lack of clarity.

[new-tella-us]

Next King Ending!

That doesn't end in death for everyone involved. James!

You know what that means! Tired, rambling historian voice!

*AHEM*

The Golden Era was an era of many hiccups and controversies but ultimately was the most prosperous era of all the Abyssal Plains. With one major hiccups by the demon only known as the Demon Lord, and a bumpy transition back to normalcy, today we will be talking about the rulers that started the Golden Era's comeback.

That being King Raestrao and Queen Ezaeur. Raestrao is the son of the previous Golden queen Istorae and the Demon Lord. Ezaeur is the daughter of two pure blooded royals of the Lilith king that, due to the carnage and subsequent scrubbing from the history books, we don't know the names of.

Now the immediate assumption is that these two were set up in an arranged marriage and...you'd be like 40% right. They were but then Raestrao along with his brothers would disappear on a ten year excursion thus ending the arranged marriage and probably triggering the massacre of Lilith Kingdom.

Where did Raestrao's brothers go? What happened to the remnant of the rebellion? Why did Raestrao disappear and abandon the marriage only to come back and get married to Ezaeur ten years later? If I even tried to figure those out I would die of lack of energy and coffee overdose. (I'm already tired man... leave me alone)

Aka, we don't know. He just vanishes and the earliest records of his return are ten years later during the war against his father.

Speaking of, how did that end? Another place of murky details! It would have been as straight forward as "Raestrao and Ezaeur killed the Demon Lord and took the throne," if staff didn't find feathers at the scene. Angels were involved but it's completely unknown on how. There is also evidence that the disappearance and supposed death of Istorae was caused by angels as well so there's that. Other than that, we know nothing.

Now that the Golden Kingdom has been restored, how have the two rulers faired. Not great! The most stable part of their rule were their laws and attempts to rebuild. Raestrao and Ezaeur were clearly very intelligent being that they manage to start a new set of laws, repair their kingdoms far past their previous glory and even improved agriculture by using methods only seen in the human world and combining them with magic for maximum efficiency. As law makers, they were beloved by all.

As rulers... we get a little worse. Reports of madness yellow imply that both rulers suffered from it and that would explain the higher amount of executions than previous generations -minus the Demon Lord-. The best way to describe the pair as rulers are ruthless, especially to whatever people they didn't originally belong to. Aka if someone of the Lilith kingdom pissed them off, they were better off pleading their case to Ezaeur as Raestrao would show no mercy and vice versa.

Then there was them as a couple. Dysfunctional as HELL. There are no reports or paintings of those two being happy together. In fact, on more than one occasion, a fight between the two rulers had to be quelled to keep it from getting physical. They also slept in separate rooms on the opposite sides of the castle. That was damn near unheard of! Even Istorae and the Demon Lord shared a room! All of this plus the existence of a harem girl and the rumored relationship between the Queen and her bodyguard are proof enough that those two clearly did not like each other and there was no sense of loyalty in their relationship.

It's strictly business.

Speaking of the harem girl! This human's name is a little unclear. Some records would say it's "Mika" though the most common thing she was called was "Human" and the most common nickname she was given was either "Aphrodite" (The human, greek goddess of love and beauty) or "Ambrosia" (Another human, greek name meaning "drink from the gods"). For the sake of giving her a name, we'll call her "Ambrosia" as that name was the most popular. Unlike many concubines before her, we actually have VERY clear records of her existence! Yay! My job is easier for once! This is the girl you would look to if you wanted to see any semblance of happiness out of the king, though she may have not been as happy to be there. She's a human girl a few years younger than the king and the two most likely met during Raestrao's disappearance as Ambrosia starts popping up in the records during the war like Raestrao.

Now easier doesn't mean easy, there still a lot of questions about how exactly she made it to the demon world, why she was involved in the war and what made her stay after the war -if she was even given a choice, which was unlikely seeing the chains often depicted on her wrists and ankles.

She was clearly a prisoner in the castle and there to serve Raestrao personally but she seemed to be treated better than most harem girls. (Side note- Yes I'm going to say that with every version of Mika in these endings. The boys aren't abusing her like the Demon Lord abused Omaizel) Often her main outfits were compared to the ones the previous queen, Istorae, would wear and this seems to be no accident as she was also provided Istorae's scarf-thing. This was probably to give her an air of royalty and be a subtle reminder that she was to be treated like how you were to treat a queen.

Another interesting figure would be the Queen's knight, Saero. Surprisingly, there's less information about him than there is about the human that appeared randomly 100 years after him. He was a servant of the Lilith kingdom and specifically Ezaeur since he was young. Even after the kingdom burnt down, he stayed loyal to his mistress and followed her even to this new kingdom. There's supporting evidence that, like the harem girl and the king, there might have been a sexual relationship going on between the Queen and her guard especially since he seemed to be the only one that she ever confides in.

Now, what about heirs? There was at least one! Though might have been two? Okay let me explain. There were at least four children that were the daughters and sons of Raestrao or Ezaeur. However, there is only one that is confirmed to be the daughter of Raestrao and Ezaeur. That would be the heir and eventual next Queen of the golden kingdom. There were also three others of dubious origins. From the taint we can assume that the firstborne son and youngest daughter were Raestrao's children and the secondborne son (aka the middle child) was Ezaeur's child.

The two sons were eventually confirmed to not have been the children of both rulers with the firstborne being most liking Ambrosia's child and the second son being most likely Saero's child. The last child, however, is unknown. She takes most of her appearance from her father so it's hard to tell who the mother of said child is. On top of that, there are multiple paintings that depict Raestrao having a much warmer relationship with his youngest daughter than either of his confirmed child. Yes, including the heir. And we're not completely sure on why. The only theory that's stuck is that the youngest (possibly illegitimate) daughter acted very similar to someone Raestrao cared about, sweet and curious, unlike his eldest son who's far more abrasive in personality and his eldest daughter who was more cold and calculated.

In the end, when the kids came of age; Raestrao's eldest son, similarly to his father, disappeared for a few years before popping up again and settling in a small town. The eldest daughter and heir took the throne and ruled with a similar about of intelligence and coldness as her parents. And Ezaeur's eldest son and Raestrao's (and possibly Ezaeur's?) youngest daughter became nobles for different kingdoms (Despite at least Ezaeur's son being a bastard child) and would marry their rulers and spread the golden reign.

[alasse-earfalas]

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not a cult.

@christian-zelda, @screwtornadowarningsimsouthern

Someone sent me a link not too long ago to this article that supposedly lists all the ways in which the restored church of Jesus Christ is a cult. Having grown up in the church myself, I took a look at that article and essentially went,

"What the heck? We don't do that. We don't do any of that. Who the heck is saying we do this crap‽"

So, without further ado, let’s go over that BITE model and tick off all the lies, shall we?

I don’t even know what “regulating someone’s physical reality” means, so I’m going to skip this one.

No one’s ever told me who I can live with or associate with, and no one’s ever encouraged me to isolate. The closest it ever got to this was, “Hey, make sure you have good friends who respect your values.” And we’re encouraged to go out and be active in our communities, so there’s no “isolating” going on.

My sex life is between me and my husband. And no one told me to marry him, I was free to marry whoever I wanted. Abstinence until marriage wasn’t just encouraged at church, it was encouraged at my public high school, too (and, no, I didn’t grow up in Utah or somewhere with a high LDS population) because it’s just a good idea in general. That’s not “controlling”, that’s just teaching good values.

Guidelines are given, sure, but no one forces you to wear anything. School uniforms are more “controlling” in this sense than the church is.

Except for addictive substances such as alcohol and tobacco, members are free to eat and drink whatever they want. We teach that our bodies are gifts from God and are to be taken care of. As for fasting, that's typically done once a month, it's completely voluntary (nobody ever asks if you've been fasting or not), and if you can't fast from food for health reasons, you're completely free to fast from something else (a friend of mine will fast from certain types of media for a week, for example). Fasting is entirely between you and the Lord.

You mean the voluntary donations that are entirely on the honor system known as tithing? No one looks in our bank accounts to see whether or not we’ve paid tithing, heck bishops don’t even look at our donation history anymore. We just say whether or not we’ve paid a full tithe once a year and that’s it. It’s entirely on the honor system. Not even the other members know how much we have or haven’t donated.

Again, guidelines are given, but no one has ever restricted me in these areas. What is and isn’t “appropriate leisure or entertainment” varies wildly from person to person; my fellow LDSs and I all have different ideas on this.

Major time spent? You mean, once a week at church? Where we’re actively involved in a discussion for half the time we’re there, and the other half is the members teaching each other from the pulpit based on what they’ve learned from their own personal study? Where we’re encouraged to ask honest questions of the Lord in our own study? Uh-huh.

I never needed permission from anyone when making any decisions, be they “major” or not.

No they’re not. This just straight-up isn’t true. I don’t know where they even got this. Confession? That’s voluntary, and only applies to very serious sins. And even then, the bishop’s job is to help you on your journey back to the Savior. It’s a cry for help, not a punishment.

?????? The heck??? I don’t know where they got this either! No one’s “rewarded” or ”punished” me for anything in the church!

I was always taught to test out the truth of what was being taught for myself, to develop my own personal testimony rather than relying solely on the testimonies of others.

Guidelines. They’re called, guidelines. Nothing is enforced or imposed.

Dependency on and obedience to the Savior, sure. But not to anyone in the church.

What “information” are they referring to here? I’ve been a member of the church my whole life, I’ve gone through the temple, and I have yet to encounter any “hidden” or “distorted” or “withheld” information. Any attempt to “reveal the secret Mormon teachings” that I’ve seen has been either disingenuously taken out of context or is outright heresy, and not what we believe at all.

Sources outside of the church are discouraged because there are so many blatant lies (like this entire list) and misunderstandings out there. A lot of these “ex-mormon” and “anti-mormon” places are designed to create a faith crisis and then profit off of “helping” the person through the faith crisis. This letter explains their tactics, and why we’re cautioned to avoid them, far better than I could.

No one in the church controls what information I have access to. If I want to go look up anti-mormon stuff, I’m free to do that with no repercussions from anyone. I don’t know what the heck they’re on about the phone tracking nonsense, that just plain doesn’t happen.

Again, what the heck??? This doesn’t happen. None of this happens. Where are they getting this???? We have entire websites that are full of articles and documents and scriptures and sermons and everything! All of it, all of our doctrines and policies and history and everything is free for anyone, in or outside of the church, to comb through. It’s not “hidden” from anyone.

None. Of. This. Happens. This is a blatant lie.

Idk about the misquoting thing, but we do have lots of freely available church media for anyone to take a gander at.

As I mentioned before, confession is meant to be a cry for help, not a punishment. Any bishop or other church leader who treats it like a punishment is a bad bishop. I know these bad bishops exist (I've seen one mishandle a situation so poorly that it lead to the suicide of a family member), but by and large, the bishops I’ve dealt with have at least tried to be compassionate and understanding. The best ones always focus on, “How can you improve your relationship with the Savior?” And that is how it’s supposed to be.

The key word here is “require”. That implies some kind of punishment or consequence for not doing the thing required, and that is not the case. As I mentioned before, we are encouraged to gain our own testimony of the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but there’s no punishment if we’re still questioning or unsure, or heck even against!

Also, there’s no “us vs them” mentality taught in our doctrine. We preach that all human beings are brothers and sisters in spirit and invite all to come unto Christ.

I. Wha. Huh???? Where are they getting this?? This doesn’t happen, at all! The church doesn’t change your name or your identity. Another lie.

[points to the volumes of incredibly diverse and verbose conference talks over the decades] Uh. Huh.

I’m not sure what they mean by “good and proper”. As far as “encouraging only” certain types of thoughts, good ol’ CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) is more demanding in that regard than what we preach. I will also note that mental health awareness has increased a great deal in the church over the past decade or so.

Well praying is how we commune with God, and singing a hymn can be like a prayer, but we don’t teach people to do these things in order to “shut down reality testing”. If I can get a little bit personal here, I’ve used prayers to test God before, and He came through for me. So if anything, prayer absolutely can be used as a way to test the reality and truth of the gospel, not to shut down such questions.

[laughs in how backwards this is] Uh-huh, from the people who constantly lie about us rather than engaging with us in fair conversation.

[sighs] It really depends on the circle. I’ve watched members online get really divided over this and it irritates me every time. Our leaders are not infallible and the scriptures constantly invite us to “ask, seek, knock”. Honest questions from a sincere desire to know and follow the truth are good.

We believe that truth can be found in many places, and there are many instances of our church working with other faiths to accomplish good things.

The heck is a “map of reality”? I’m skipping this one.

I want to make a note here of how completely and utterly done I am with these lies by now. So far, almost none of these claims have been even remotely true. I’ve even stepped away from working on this post for about a week, and I just opened it again and immediately felt drained.

Imagine if someone started spreading lies about your friends or family (assuming you have a good relationship with them) secretly being cannibals, or drug lords, or human traffickers. And watching as people believe those lies and plead with you to get out of that “awful situation”, and then refuse to believe you when you try to tell them that what they’ve heard are lies. That’s what this feels like.

Anyway, let’s see if I can’t finish going through this list.

None that Jesus Himself didn’t caution against. We’re taught to be mindful of our thoughts and emotions because of what they can become, not because they’re “sinful” in and of themselves. Again, similar concepts are taught in good ol’ therapeutic CBT.

I’ve certainly never been taught any.

I’ve seen this attitude in shades, and it’s really frustrating ‘cause it’s not founded in scripture. I recently had a really good vent session with a fellow LDS friend about this. Sadly, members of our faith will often try to “help” by trying to figure out what you’re doing wrong. (I don’t think this is a uniquely LDS thing, to be clear; I think it’s a human nature thing.) The reality is, no one can fully understand or comprehend the full wisdom of God. Job didn’t know why such terrible things were happening to him, and Abraham didn’t know why God would ask him to do something so barbaric and pagan as sacrificing his own son. We don’t know why God seems to answer the prayers of some and not others. But a lot of people forget that and end up making things worse when they’re trying to help.

I’ve heard of certain congregations having attitudes like this, and even a bishop (same bad one I mentioned earlier), but by and large this is not the attitude I’ve seen from members or leaders. Even when discussing serious sins, the response I most often see is one of compassion, encouragement, and hope.

There was an entire General Conference talk about this recently (April 2024). Of note:

“The intent of the Father’s great plan of happiness is your happiness, right here, right now, and in the eternities. It is not to prevent your happiness and cause you instead worry and fear. The intent of the Father’s plan of redemption is in fact your redemption, your being rescued through the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ, freed from the captivity of sin and death. It is not to leave you as you are.” - Elder Patrick Kearon, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

I have seen neither of these extremes from the church. (I have, however, seen both from my abusive mother, so I know what this looks like and what it doesn’t look like.) Congregations can vary wildly on how friendly and helpful they are to each other, but the nicest ones typically stay nice, genuinely kind and charitable, none of this “declaring you a horrible sinner” nonsense.

Confession has already been addressed. It is neither ritualistic, nor public. You sit down with your bishop in his office and have a private chat about drawing closer to Christ. That’s it.

We beckon people to “come and see”, and to stay, but there’s no “you’re going to hell if you leave!!” or anything of the sort. We’re taught to love everyone as the Savior commanded, whether they’re members of our church or not.

Aaaand we’re ending with another blatant lie.

So there you have it, the knee-jerk reaction of a lifelong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the false and slanderous claims about the church somehow being a cult.

If you want something that’s more in-depth and thoughtful (sorry I couldn’t provide that here; I tried to initially, but my brain revolted, so I did this instead), please check out the Light and Truth Letter. It goes over a vast range of topics from someone who grew up in the church, left for about a decade, and eventually found his way back. It’s a beautiful and insightful read.