#misplaced honor

[sohannabarberaesque]

And not just the physical sort: Concern needs to be expressed about psychological and emotional abuse directed at children, in particular such manifested by the likes of:

suggestions that children leave the house after breakfast and not return until suppertime "to give [the parents] some time for ourselves and ourselves alone", especially during school vacations;

reinforcing the preceding with carefully-scripted patsies to explain to police officers and similar the absence of their parents in case questions start being asked, the better to lay suspicion to sleep;

insisting that their children devote their evenings all the more to schoolwork rather than TV, films or music, hoping such devotion to study will translate into a place on the school's Honor Roll, with a suitable reward likely once achieved;

holding the children to blame for the parents being driven to alcohol, narcotic drugs, "sexual vices" (including addiction to pornography), substantial credit-card debt and General Debaucheries, fearing that the welfare officers could take the children away suddenly and without warning save for being called to the principal's office after school;

having a portion of weekly allowance held back, especially heading towards Christmas, to "help you buy a nice gift for Mom and Dad" without any sort of match, unaware that it's difficult to find that "nice gift" on a pittance, even from the Workshop for the Blind;

having the kids left with close and trusted friends when the parents have to be out of town (especially interstate) "on business," "looking for work" or some similar excuse, and being asked to keep quiet about the whole for fear of "reprisals" from the welfare or, worse still, the police;

arbitrarily placing the children on "Brownie Points" or some such "system of incentives" to earn assorted "privileges" as would supposedly come in due course, subject to the right amount of points being earned thereby;

constantly blaming the children in drunken shouting-matches for "driving [them] to ruin after all we've done for you," followed by their either being driven to the bus station with one-way tickets out of town or the parents leaving the kids in the house, and in shock privation as well; and

coming home one afternoon from school and not seeing at least the mother to welcome them home, instead being left a note saying something like "you drove us to this," with further details best seen as horrible dictu and the kids left to call 911.

Such being especially likely in older "industrial" (lower working-class) and rural or otherwise economically-challenged communities, especially where being seen as "poor white trash" is looked upon as a Badge of Honour--reinforced all too often by the Confederate travesty of the Cross of St. Andrew, Martyr, or (in rare instances) with the Nazi swastika "blood flag" or the apartheid South African tricolour serving as a complementary Badge of Honour for being thus arrogant.

The preceding is brought to you as a public service.

[infernalwraths]

I just love how he builds up to the insult.

[forlouren]

Not to be the first soldier on the frontless of the woobification of Qimir (he is a villain, we know this, and I love him for it), but the lack of nuance, or rather the one-dimensional angle people who don't like his relationship with Osha have taken with him, irks me so bad. I get it. He is Sith, right. Treachery is their way; and what are the darksiders, if not self-serving?

But I feel like the specific phrasing of "the Jedi like you would call me Sith" implies so much about his own unique characterization, and I don't understand why we are glossing over it. It's not a self-identifier. It shows it isn't as much as a title he'd give himself, but a badge he'll wear since in the black/white viewpoint of the Jedi, he is not allowed to be anything more or less. His almost catty, "semantics" hammers in this fact for me, personally.

He strikes me as one who takes what he wants of the Sith code, and disregards the rest. I don't think it's a mistake that even after his reveal, we don't see him with the signature dark side eyes.

I say all this to say; Qimir's ultimate goal is not power, it is FREEDOM. *That* is what he is driven by. He craves to live outside the confines he deems as constrictive/oppressive, and have by his side, someone who wants the same.

So even while disregarding Leslye's interview; I honestly don't know how with what we've been shown in the show so far, aside from him being a sith, makes people think otherwise.

[johnandrasjaqobis]

"Simon is a mighty sorcerer" "When it counts, this young man delivers" "You are at your strongest when you think you are at your weakest. But you deliver"

even with the little jabs and occasional Concerns, Edgin wholeheartedly believed in Simon Aumar the entire time. He recognized the crippling doubt and imposters syndrome standing in Simon's way and kept up a steady stream of confidence to try and counter it. Ed is Simon's biggest fan and he is so thrilled when Simon finally starts to see the potential that Ed has seen for years.

Edgin has two kids and Simon is one of them, send tweet

[youngmoviemaker]

You're Not The Lamb . . . @bamsara

[you-know-i-get-itt]

Hii

I think I missed wipw in your timezone (dishonor on my cow) but just in case i didn't, could I ask about the Jean & Nathaniel thing? I can feel the misplaced forever partners obsession creeping back into my brain (it never left but i pretended it did)

Thank youu!

prev

Nathaniel

I do not think Kevin know why you really left. You were a child, and children do not survive here. I do not know how Kevin and King did. You did not leave because your father killed someone, though that might have happened too. I do not know.

Sometimes I forget that you do not know I exist, because I am always very aware of you. I know it should be you I play with, and it should be you I live with, and it should be you who steps in when Kevin cannot. Kevin cannot step in much. Maybe you could not either. I do not know. I miss you.

Your friend, Jean Moreau

[kattricia]

had my grammar students for the last time today. my babies. my beautiful little syntax enjoyers. my comma warriors. they have grown so strong. so powerful. so grammatically correct. i am beaming.

[rose-writes-for-march]

March for More: Little Prince

MASTERPOST

If there was anything Phantom hated the most about being crowned king—

“Your Eternity, it is with great respect that I summon you here today for a formal audience.” Ra’s al Ghul says, bent over in a formal bow from where he stands just beyond the barrier of the summoning circle.

—it was this bastard.

“al Ghul.” He greets with a scowl, “What a surprise. I thought you might’ve gone and Ended already, given how long it's been since you bothered me last.”

The man jerks upright from his bow, a frown on his face though Phantom knows it isn't directed at him, and waves a hand behind him in a 'come here' gesture. Phantom follows the movement, spotting a boy in... armor(?) being forcibly escorted forward. Phantom is almost impressed by the fight the boy is giving, having at least ten men trying to so much as move him beside the old man.

"Ra's. We've talked about this, haven't we? I don't take sacrifices." Phantom growls, voice edging into ghost speak at the blatant disrespect the old man is showing. "I should kill you for bringing one before me—"

"Apologies, Your Eternity, for interrupting, but this boy is no sacrifice." Ra's cuts him off, body angled to glare at the boy while keeping the King in his sights. He moves his hand slightly, and the escorts reluctantly back off. As soon as one man's hold slackens, the boy growls and forces the rest off of him with an impressive efficiency. As the fight continues, Ra's addresses the king again, "This is my grandson, Damian al Ghul, I trust you remember him?"

And, unfortunately, Phantom does.

It wasn't that long ago for Phantom, thanks to time shenanigans. A summoning not unlike this one, when Phantom was freshly crowned and still finding his footing, had seen Phantom in this very room before this very boy—only many years younger than he currently is. Phantom is as livid now as he was then when presented with a kid and a marriage proposal.

"Is this some joke to you, Ra's al Ghul? Surely you understand your offense." Phantom can feel his features distorting, fingers blackening into claws, eyes thinning into slits, crown flaring from a soft borealis to a piercing ice. "My demands were simple, were they not? My patience is not as eternal as my reign, and should you offend me further, it will become as nonexistent as you'll find yourself."

"Your Eternity—"

"Your demands were met," Damian interrupts, standing tall under the full force of Phantom's misplaced ire as his eyes whip toward him. He stands beside his grandfather willingly, despite the earlier fuss, looking much more put together than the disgrace beside him.

He seems to have straightened out his suit, and at his feet sit the majority of his escorts, all properly knocked out. Phantom considers him for a moment, "Met, huh? And how is that? I remember my demands were to never be bothered with such a thing again, and yet here you both stand."

Ra's seems properly subdued under Phantom's ire as he always is by the end of their talks. It's gotten almost fun to watch the man back down when he knows he's lost. But Damian, for some Ancients-damned reason, seems to want to force the issue. "I admit you're right; the demands of that summoning were met. However, the requests of this summoning have changed."

Now curious and somewhat impressed by the boy, Phantom lets his features fall back into uncanny rather than monstrous. Plus, he is kind of required to hear the requests, no matter how much he'd rather skip it and get this over with. "Fine, let's get this over with, I suppose."

Damian bows and Ra's follows his lead a second later. Once they are both in position, Damian speaks, "Great King of Eternity, Savior of the Dead and Forgotten, I offer my body and soul to you in full trust and respect." He lifts his head, meeting Phantom's as he continues the formal spiel, "Allow to me the honor of your name and title, the right to you and your people, and your trust so that I may ask of you a favor in return."

Phantom can feel the proposal just beyond his skin, like the whisper of wind playing in his hair and spelling out shivers on his spine. It is an honest proposal, proper etiquette and intention behind every word. It makes Phantom even more curious.

"You must be desperate or stupid," he says, not yet accepting the whispers on his skin, not until he knows the favor, "You are no longer a child and are now doing this willingly, or as willing as you can. Tell me your wants, and I will consider."

Damian fully raises from the bow, Ra's doing the same before walking forward to take Phantoms attention. "Your Eternity, I wish to—"

Phantom holds up a hand, "I did not ask you. You'd be a fool to think I'd let you ask me of anything, vermin, regardless of the summoning rules." He turns back to Damian, offering a hand to tell him to continue where he was so rudely cut off.

Damian glares at Ra's as he sulks, but doesn't pay him any mind as he steps forward and meets Phantom's eyes again. "I fight under Lady Gotham's name to protect her and her people from those that would cause harm." Oh, Phantom knows of them. Lady Gotham's Knights, a famous bunch among the ghosts of Gotham, for good reason. "Recently, she has come under attack from a foe that neither my allies nor I can defeat. For giving myself to you, I would ask you to rid of this foe."

Phantom almost laughs. Such a small favor, such a silly thing to ask for a practical god of the underworld. He lets his mouth tilt into a grin, "So the answer is desperate, huh. I do not accept." With an easy motion, Phantom removes the proposal from his skin and with it the binding of the summoning.

Damian seems to lose the composure he's kept such good control of, a deep glare on his face and a growl splitting his lips. Before he can get too angry, Phantom speaks again, "I will help Lady Gotham without the need of your sacrifice. She is one of mine and has claimed you, Little Prince, which makes you mine as well. Now, what am I fighting?"

[choerypetal]

Silent Vengeance / Lee Myung-gi

summarize: Who would have thought that a man who sees himself as powerful could be reduced to selfishness by obsession, only for a knight in armor to heal a broken heart?

English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors, but I really hope you enjoy it! based on s2 squid game so spoilers ahead!

Thanos’s pride and the attention he commanded among the crowd stirred bitterness in some of the contestants—yours included. It baffled many that a retired rapper would stoop to participate in such brutal games, especially one that involved splashes of blood staining his clothes.

It wasn’t until after the Green Light, Red Light game that his focus shifted. He noticed a particular figure—a silhouette that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. The way you sprinted with precision, timing each step perfectly to freeze at the exact moment, or how you yanked another contestant’s hair to throw them off balance, was a calculated display of survival. That endurance, paired with your quiet defiance of the chaos around you—including his own—captivated Thanos from the very beginning.

While Thanos reveled in his lingering popularity, relishing how some followed his every move like sheep to a shepherd, he couldn’t ignore one undeniable truth: for once, he wasn’t the center of attention. That honor belonged to you.

And never in a thousand of years would he see you here. In flesh. Not after the break up.

Like many others, you had joined the Games with hopes of a better life—a seductive promise whispered by the Salesman. His grotesque smile lingered in your mind whenever you stole a moment to rest, though such moments were rare. Still, your demeanor betrayed none of the turmoil beneath. Your stony expression, coupled with your tendency to linger at the edges, observing the chaos with silent disdain, set you apart. To you, the Games were a grim spectacle—a macabre theater of desperation and misplaced hopes.

Despite this, a few contestants managed to draw you into sparse, fleeting conversations. Thanos, however, stood apart—not because you sought him out, but because he was the last person you’d have ever chosen to engage with. And yet, it fascinated him. Knowing your shared history, he found it almost poetic to see you here, standing as a quiet, untouchable force while his own magnetism faltered in your shadow.

“This prick is getting on my nerves,” someone muttered, their voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the room. The words belonged to 333. His number stood out just as much as his presence as he slid into the seat beside you. You’d learned his name was Lee Myung-gi. He extended a hand toward you, his lips curling into a soft grin that hinted at practiced charm. You nodded slightly, mirroring the gesture out of courtesy. “Y/N,” you said plainly.

There was a pause before Myung-gi’s gaze flicked toward Thanos, his tone lowering conspiratorially. “I don’t mean to stir the pot or anything, but... word is, you and Thanos were a thing. He says you’re pretending not to remember him. And that’s why you—”

“333!”

Thanos’s voice cut through like a blade, silencing Myung-gi mid-sentence. Both of you turned your heads in unison, meeting Thanos’s unyielding stare. You recognized that look immediately—brows furrowed, his glare burning with thinly veiled fury. It was a warning, one that promised Myung-gi wouldn’t survive another word in your direction. The intensity of it could rival any of the Games themselves.

“You should go,” you said quietly, your tone flat but decisive. Your eyes barely glanced at Myung-gi, let alone at Thanos. Yet the weight of his gaze pressed heavily on you, and something inside you churned—a mix of unease, defiance, and something far harder to name.

You wanted to let loose a string of curses, every sharp word you could think of—but you stopped yourself. The memory of a promise lingered in the back of your mind.

Never speak to one another after the breakup.

It was a fragile vow, one you both had clung to out of pride or necessity. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before it shattered completely.

It wasn’t until the bathroom game that the tension reached its breaking point. Thanos never imagined he’d find himself mere feet away from you again, let alone in the confines of a separate room. Yet here he was, his determination undeterred, even as 333 hovered too close for his liking. Thanos wasn’t subtle about his intentions—he wouldn’t let anyone, least of all Myung-gi, encroach on what he still felt was his.

The image of you and 333 pressing X together during the last game still burned in Thanos’s mind, a fresh wound that refused to heal. It festered, replaying over and over like a mocking refrain, igniting a possessive anger he could no longer contain.

As he stepped into the bathroom hall, his focus zeroed in on Myung-gi, the irritation bubbling into something darker. “You’re getting all worked up. So there is something going on,” Thanos said, his voice low and edged with menace.

He stepped closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “If you press X again tomorrow...” Thanos leaned in, his words a venomous whisper, “I’ll cut off your finger and give it to her.”

Myung-gi’s jaw tightened at the threat, his discomfort evident. But what unsettled him more was the reason you’d pressed X with him in the first place. It wasn’t a calculated strategy or an empty gesture—it was a fleeting grasp at safety, something you rarely allowed yourself. While you were usually stoic, Myung-gi’s quiet acts of care had chipped away at your defenses, enough to make you question your own resolve.

Thanos couldn’t stand it. The rules of the Games were unambiguous, but what he thought he saw—the almost imperceptible closeness between you and Myung-gi, the way your lips hovered as if to kiss—was enough to set his blood ablaze. The possibility, imagined or not, was more than he could bear.

And that was the last straw. 

“And ask her out. She’ll love it.” 

“You asshole!” Thanos barely registered the punch before his jaw throbbed, the sharp sting waking something primal in him. His thumb brushed over his chin, checking for blood, before he retaliated with equal ferocity. “You motherfucker!” he snarled, his fist connecting with satisfying force.

Chaos erupted as their hands found each other’s throats, both grappling for dominance. Myung-gi’s back slammed against the bathroom stall, the sound echoing in the tight space. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, fists flying without restraint. “Your money, your girl, your life—they’re all mine!” Thanos spat, driving his fist into Myung-gi’s cheek with enough force to make his knuckles ache.

But then, everything shifted. Thanos froze, his breath hitching as blood sprayed from his own mouth, splattering across Myung-gi’s face. The sudden realization of injury shocked him into silence. Without a word, he pulled back, retreating to the shadows of the stall, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

And yet, in that moment of pain and rage, his mind wasn’t on the fight—it was on you. Always you.

The bathroom games were over. The stalls were scrubbed clean of the chaos that had unfolded, leaving little trace of what had transpired. As you and Myung-gi stepped out, your eyes met briefly. The way he looked at you—earnest, searching—was impossible to ignore. The remaining contestants loitered nearby, their presence a quiet reminder of the fragile truce this space demanded. But Thanos was nowhere to be found. Somehow, the thought of his absence made your shoulders feel just a little lighter.

Despite the unspoken rule of no interactions before returning to the dorms, Myung-gi broke it without hesitation. He rushed toward you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. For a moment, you froze, unsure. But your hands instinctively found his face, fingers brushing over the bruise already darkening on his cheek.

You couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts about Thanos—how he’d reacted to other men during your relationship, the jealousy that often burned too brightly. The memories made your stomach twist with dread. But as your thumb grazed Myung-gi’s cheek, his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the comfort of your touch.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension lingering in the air.

He let out a quiet scoff, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile. “The prick’s finally getting what he deserves anyway.”

[vacz]

OMG MY GOD, I LOVE IT WITH ALL MY PASSIOOOOONNNN!!!!!!!!

GOD. the way you drew him, you manage to represent the vibes of 'tired and deranged lunatic of the woods' so perfectly, and geez, I love how your illustration shows the actual HORROR and creepiness of the concept itself! GOD THE AXE WITH THE BLOOD!!!! and how you make the pose to have a round-shape-like is so fluid and so smooth to look at! Not forgetting to mention the face HOW YOU MANAGE TO GIVE HIM THAT LOOK OF ODD, CREEPY AND TIRED YEEEESSSS IS SO YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS

And about the rock thing

If I remember right, the rock wasn't that big, it was almost Greg's hand size, and in Over The Garden Wall's style their hands are tiny and their heads are big

So I thought it would perfectly blend into a huge and messy long hair like Hunter's (Woodsman Wirt)

Also, the little hair left in his hand that you drew is so accurate

And also, you gave me a funny idea:

@vacz so i got inspired..

still rather unsure how he'd keep a smooth heavy rock in his hair TOT

[connorsui]

The scent of you lingers—soft, sweet, utterly misplaced amidst the steel and stone that make up his world. Jasmine and rosewater, clinging to the heavy hush of the corridor, weaving itself into the fabric of his being, staining him with something he will never wash away.

He should not breathe it in, should not let it settle in his lungs like something vital, like something he could not live without. And yet, here he stands, motionless, a knight undone by the mere presence of his queen.

You are close. Too ... close.

The space between you is a fragile thing, thin as the lace that drapes over your arms, as delicate as the breath that catches in your throat when his gloved hand twitches at his side, as if longing—aching—to reach for you. The flickering torchlight casts golden embers against your skin, makes a halo of your hair, tricks his mind into thinking you are something divine, something holy. And perhaps you are.

Lace whispers against cold metal as you lift a hand, fingers tracing the ridges of his armor with a familiarity that should not exist. A tenderness that should not be his to claim.

"You stand before me, silent as ever," you murmur, tilting your head, your gaze searching his with something unspoken. "Tell me, my love, has your tongue forsaken you?"

A slow exhale. You are toying with him, as you always do—sharp and knowing, your power lying not in the crown you bear but in the way you speak his name as though it is something sacred. He should not indulge this, should not stand here beneath your touch, should not let his resolve fracture like glass beneath your fingertips. And yet, he does.

"You tempt fate," he says finally, voice low, reverent.

A confession. A warning.

"And yet, it is all I have left."

His breath catches. The weight of your words settles heavy in the space between you, a truth neither of you wish to name. The world will take everything from you—has already begun to. The court has spoken. The match has been made. Soon, you will belong to another, to some noble born into a name that carries weight, to a man who will sit beside you on the throne that he himself has bled for.

Yet you reach for him.

Your fingers brush the worn leather at his shoulder, linger where armor meets flesh, as if you could undo him with a touch alone. And God help him, you can.

"Tell me you do not love me," you whisper, voice steady but for the way your fingers tremble against him. "Tell me your heart belongs only to your duty, and I will go. I will leave you to your honor, to your kingdom, to whatever lies ahead without me."

His jaw tightens. He sways, barely perceptible, as if your words have struck him like a blade to the chest. It would be the right thing to do, would it not?

To let you go? To be the man honor demands he be?

But honor has never known the way your voice softens when you say his name. Honor has never felt the warmth of your hand in his, delicate and desperate and pleading. Honor has never stood in the shadows, torn between love and duty, between a kingdom and the only thing that has ever truly belonged to him.

"No," he breathes, bowing his head, his voice raw with everything he has refused to say. "No, my beloved. My heart is yours, now and always."

A queen must wed. A knight must serve.

And yet, in this stolen moment, he falls to his knees before you—not as a knight, not as a man sworn to duty—but as the only fool who has ever loved you as you deserve.

[illustr-ace]

Y'all, I'm thinking about Phoenix Wright again, someone stop me.

Anyway, you ever think about how Phoenix loves people?

Phoenix didn't climb Miles' walls or bring the walls down gradually with nothing but kindness. He beat the walls down with his bare fists, bloody knuckles, and heart on his sleeve because he knew that little boy that he once knew was still in there.

Phoenix /is/ nice. He's sassy and snarky and will roast anyone within an inch of their life, even if he's very close with them. But he also loves so righteously that he'll destroy himself because of it.

And Feenie is such a pure example of that. In that case, his love was misplaced, but he still wore it like a badge of fuckin honor and was fully prepared to lose his life for it. If they'd ever met, Bratworth wouldn't have stood a chance against that little dumbass and his pink sweater.

People joke about how, haha Phoenix changed the course of his life because gay, which like... yeah. But I never see enough people acknowledge that it wasn't just haha gay. He saw an article about Miles (someone he hadn't spoken to in an actual decade) that didn't sound like the person he knew (who was a child at the time), and determined he must've been horribly damaged and lonely. And his solution was, well... time to give up on any other passion I may have had to find the fucker.

Phoenix doesn't love like a golden retriever. He loves like the fucking sun. It's so bright and beautiful, and it burns, and he doesn't care.

Anyway, that got away from me, but tldr: I adore Phoenix so damn much.

[notsogreatdion]

✶ INTERACTIVE FICTION RECS 4.0 ✶

✶ The Night Market 1 & 2 (wip) - @night-market-if

✶ Honor Bound - @hpowellsmith

✶ The People's House

✶ answer these 10 questions and i'll tell you what kind of lover you are

✶ Viatica - @fir-fireweed

✶ Aquarium, Thanksgiving and Valentine's (unfinished) - @hpowellsmith

✶ Press Play - @pressplay-if (wip)

✶ Misplaced - @calliopefiction (wip)

✶ Love and Leases - @loveandleases (wip)

✶ Fervency - @fervency-if (wip)

✶ Drink Your Villain Juice - @drinkyourvillainjuice (wip)

✶ Paved in Ashes - @pavedinashes-if (wip)

✶ The Muse - @themuse-if (wip)

✶ The Ballad of the Young Gods - @childrenofcain-if (wip)

✶ The Eternal Library - @leiatalon (wip)

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ✶

VN'S

✶ Tomorrow Will Be Dying - (wip)

✶ Keyframes - @blank-house (wip)

✶ Killer Chat! - @rosesrotofficial

✶ First Bite

✶ Draculesti

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ✶

BITSY

✶ novena

✶ Well Tended

✶ In the pines, in the pines, where...

✶ walk with me.

✶ ENDLESS SCROLL

✶ The Ritual

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ✶

if recs 1.0 & if recs 2.0 & if recs 3.0 & new projects recs

secret shameless plug to check out if you want more if content - @if-whats-new

[lurkingshan]

I am all caught up and I really love this drama. Multi-generational family epics never seem to be super popular on here, but I gobble them up every single time, especially when they're this well made.

I love the generations of mothers and daughters in this story. Each mother-daughter pair has a complex relationship, love and respect and resentment all tangled up. The way they hurt each other but also give each other a reason to strive feels so real. Each mother wants her daughter to live a better life than her own, and every daughter wants to realize that dream while also struggling with the pressure. I appreciate the time the drama spends on these relationships, and how the memory of Ae-sun's mother in particular propels so much of her choices that reverberate through her own daughter's life.

I love the romance, especially because it's not all shiny and happy. This is a love story between two impoverished kids doing their best to survive and build the life they want for themselves with very little means to actually do so. Their loyalty to each other and their bond forged in the hardships of their early years gives them a strong foundation to weather life's various storms. It's not a story about a passionate affair or destined soulmates; it's two regular people who chose each other to be teammates for whatever life throws at them. I find that kind of love just as moving as the swoony variety, if not more. The steadfast nature of their commitment, and the way they choose to protect each other every time, is touching.

I love the sense of community in this story, as well, and especially the group of haenyeos that look after Ae-sun after her mother's death. They don't have much power as impoverished women themselves, but they try to do what they can to protect and help her and honor her mother's wishes. And the drama doesn't shy away from the ugly parts of this kind of small and small-minded community, either, and all the shame and social stigma heaped on a woman of Ae-sun's (lack of) status. In her youth, Gwan-sik is truly the only thing standing between her and ruin, and people are cruel to her for no reason other than they can be. Even so, most of them are not painted as evil, but rather as flawed humans who are also struggling and misplacing their rage and anxiety. It's an empathetic portrayal of a lot of complex class and social dynamics, and it's really well done.

[thou-hast-now-a-bosom-companion]

i don't want to see Wyll cut off Ulder because he sucked as a father and deserved better as a 17 year old who was scared and alone and desperate to do the right thing with the immense pressure of not just his father, the man he idolized, but also The Entire Nobility of the city he loved bearing down on him.

i want to see them sit down on a bench overlooking the sea, somewhere they once spent every spare day (however few they may have been as time went on and Duty Called) Ulder had available bonding over training or fishing or listening to music or whatever else they enjoyed doing together.

i want them to have half-started and never-finished conversations about how Ulder failed, and how he wants to make up for it, and how much grief he holds over everything. about how many nights after his exile Wyll spent crying and screaming about how unfair it was and how "if he'd just listened to me." about how Wyll deserved better and Ulder should've known better but they can't go back and do it over again.

i want them to talk about Wyll's mother and who she was and why Ulder loved her and how he never really recovered from her death. and how bittersweet it is to look at Wyll - not because he blames his son for his wife's death, but because Wyll has her laugh and wears his hair the way she wore hers when they first met and it reminds Ulder of the woman he knew and loved and wishes so so so bad Wyll had also known and loved. of the woman he's certain would have protected Wyll from her husband's misplaced judgement.

i want Ulder to try and fail and succeed and fail and succeed and try over and over again to be the father Wyll deserves Now as an adult who's quite literally been through All The Hells and has the horns and claws and glowing red eye to prove it. and for Wyll to step away and back and away and back over and over again because he knows he wants His Father but he doesn't know what that means after everything they've been through.

i want to see the Ravengards learn to be father and son again and be able to laugh with and cry with and talk with and genuinely trust each other.

Wyll deserves to have a father who loves him and who has the humility and honor to listen to him and respect him and learn How to be the father he needs.

[kefiteria]

Secret Admirer! Sebek [headcanon]

Sebek Zigvolt would never, ever admit to being a secret admirer.

No, no, no — it’s not admiration!

He’s simply fulfilling his sacred duties as a loyal retainer to Lord Malleus, of course. That’s all. Absolutely nothing more (or so he tells himself). But the truth?

He’s the most obvious, reluctant secret admirer in all of NRC.

The Subtle Gestures

Sebek’s protective instincts know no bounds. You’ll find your things;

mysteriously fixed

books arranged in perfect

your chair pulled out just slightly before you sit down

a misplaced item suddenly appearing exactly where it should be

Ask about it, and he’ll deny everything with a flushed face and a loud;

“HMPH! I HAVE FAR MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO ATTEND TO!”

But the careful way your favorite pen is always perfectly set at your desk says otherwise.

The Heroic Entrance

Danger? Mishap? Minor inconvenience?

No problem. Sebek is always there, just happening to pass by at the exact right moment.

“FEAR NOT! I HAPPENED TO BE IN THE AREA!”

he’ll bellow, leaping into action with unnecessary dramatics.

In reality?

He’s been watching over you (lurking awkwardly behind pillars)

or pretending to examine a nearby wall

ready to swoop in if needed.

Subtlety is not his strong suit.

The Gifts

Sebek’s gifts are nothing short of gallantly old-fashioned though he’ll insist they are “practical necessities” and not gifts.

A perfectly pressed handkerchief left neatly on your desk.

A finely sharpened quill with a ribbon in your favorite color.

A rare book of fae poetry (which might, if you look closely, have careful annotations about love and devotion — but those are irrelevant! Entirely irrelevant!)

The Letters

Ah, the letters.

At first, they’re curt and cautionary:

"You should exercise greater awareness of your surroundings. Carelessness is unbecoming."

Over time, they shift, almost against his will, into reluctant praise:

"Your resolve is… satisfactory, I suppose. Do not let it falter."

And finally, into full, aching sincerity:

"You are the dawn to my dusk, the steady flame that drives back my storms. Yet... this shall remain unsaid."

(And he definitely didn’t stay up all night agonizing over every word. Nope. Not at all.)

Confrontation

It happens by accident.

A letter, unsent and raw, falls from his satchel.

You pick it up — and it’s overwhelming. The pure sincerity of it, the storm of affection so clumsily yet earnestly captured in ink.

When you confront him, Sebek’s face turns a shade of red even Malleus would comment on.

He sputters, shouting:

“THIS — THIS ISN’T FOR YOUR EYES —!”

“Then who was it for, Sebek?”

“I — THAT IS — NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, HUMAN!”

He’s mortified, practically vibrating with embarrassed fury. (It’s adorable~)

Tease

If you tease him about it — gently or mischievously — Sebek will puff up like an indignant cat.

He’ll shout about your "INDECOROUS BEHAVIOR" and "LACK OF RESPECT!" but deep down? He’s hopelessly, irretrievably flustered.

The next morning, you’ll find another letter on your desk.

This time, it’s signed.

He definitely meant to do that.

(Probably.)

Conclusion

Sebek is the kind of secret admirer who would write epic poetry about you, hide it behind layers of duty and honor, and then die inside the moment you glimpse even one line. And yet, despite all his bluster and dramatics, his affection is pure, genuine, and deeply, deeply loyal.

He just… needs a little help admitting it.

(But he’s getting there.)

a/n🍨: this is my first time doing headcanon! gosh i was taking alot of time thinking how to make this format clean and easy to read (im not used writing in thus format ehehhe BUT this is fun💛🩵🩷 I'd do this more!)