#not molding himself to expected roles

[mars-ipan]

hey folks did you know i love super dangan ronpa 2

[whetstonefires]

Thinking about the parallels set up between Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu, and how actually most of them are oddly specious.

The sketch of the backstory lines up, but on close examination they're mirror images.

Wei Wuxian wasn't kicked out of his sect, he left it. Wei Wuxian didn't hate the house he grew up in, he loved it, and getting the people there killed was the absolute last purpose for which his dark powers were ever intended.

Jiang Cheng was no Mo Ziyuan--his jealousy was a complicated thing all twisted up with love, and while he would lash out at Wei Wuxian both as a casual means of shit communication and more damagingly in moments of high tension, he had neither the desire nor the ability to bully him, and in general respected his boundaries almost too well.

When Wei Wuxian destroyed himself about Jiang Cheng, it was to give him cultivation, and protect his life and happiness. He would never have killed him.

Madam Yu was a domineering aunt-like figure, who hated Wei Wuxian for reasons of reputation, and because she had resented his dead mother, but she crucially did not have the power to actually disrupt his lifestyle to any significant extent.

Mo Xuanyu was shut up in a small room to rot; Wei Wuxian didn't even attend classes unless he wanted to. Mo Xuanyu was weak and disliked; Wei Wuxian was brilliant and popular.

Mo Xuanyu's uncle is a cipher of a figure, without character or agency, a nonentity who is resented to death apparently mostly for what he didn't do; in theory he is the master of the house, but he certainly never protected his wife and son's punching bag from them.

And this is what got me thinking along this track: because people keep interpreting Jiang Fengmian as this, as exactly like Mo Xuanyu's nameless uncle, a nonentity who lets his wife make all the decisions, and is contemptible therefore.

He shows up in fic characterized this way all the time, handled narratively as a gap rather than a person, an absence where there should have been a parent, and it's...totally inaccurate? The man only has a few scenes but the things that are most firmly established about him are:

he regularly goes out of his way to protect Wei Wuxian

he's extremely fond of Wei Wuxian

he cares a lot about ethical behavior

he's conflict-avoidant and gentle

he can and will overrule Yu Ziyuan when he's made up his mind, and there's nothing she can do about it

his communication skills are mediocre at best

he doesn't understand jiang cheng

he has a dumb sense of humor

Now almost none of this made it into cql besides point 4 and maybe 6, 5 is technically there but buried by the cinematic framing, so I totally get why the fandom on the whole struggles to characterize him well, and it's easier to write him off.

But it keeps bugging me to see him and Yu Ziyuan squashed into the mold of the Mo, because not only is that boring and reductive and kind-of-missing-the-point, it's like. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng's characterization suffers a lot when you alter the environment and take away the influence exerted by their shared father figure.

Jiang Fengmian was Wei Wuxian's primary adult role model and it shows.

Jiang Cheng's relationship to his own sense of ethics is fraught because 'teaching him good ethics' was his dad's number one parenting goal, but they misunderstood each other so badly (partly because Yu Ziyuan kept loudly misinterpreting them to each other, which is so realistic I can't get over it, that's exactly how it works good lord) that Jiang Cheng has a direct association between the concept of 'doing the right thing even when it's hard' and a feeling of personal inadequacy.

The fact that Wei Wuxian got their dad-person's approval for being exactly himself and Jiang Cheng not only couldn't do that, he couldn't even get that same level of approval when he really pushed himself to rise to expectations, because Jiang Fengmian did not intend that warmth as a 'reward,' and so never realized he was withholding it, and therefore misunderstood Jiang Cheng's visible jealousy as a dangerous sense of personal entitlement that had to be carefully restrained, which reinforced his distrust of Jiang-Cheng-the-person and fed into a shitty loop where they were less and less able to relate to one another--that's fantastic. That's so human! I love it so much.

Both their failures are their own but at the same time it would never have gotten so bad if Yu Ziyuan hadn't been interjecting herself in there, in the middle of their relationship, fucking it up. That's family, baby.

I would ofc like if there was more fic engaging with the subtleties of all this because it's so good, mxtx did such elegant work here and it is not sufficiently appreciated. But it's the kind of thing that's hard to write good fic about; I am struggling with it myself.

So mostly I wish there was just more fic that didn't impose Mo Xuanyu's cliche angst backstory on Wei Wuxian, who has a whole different thing going on.

[plutoswritingplanet]

Strip Me Down And Paint Me Black (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: ah shit, here we go again... A continuation of "It's A Special Death You Saved", but it can be read as a separate story. Title from "Cinnamon" by Marika Hackman

Warnings: Harkonnen-typical Violence, some Sexual Tension, some Kissing, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lo...

Summary: As you struggle with your new role as the Na-Baron's wife, plans are set in place, which will shake the very foundations of your life. Good thing, your husband is there to support you, right?

He watches you. Constantly. 

You can feel his eyes moving over your body, soaking it in like a man parched. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles is noted, stored for later. It's like he's keeping a detailed record of your every reaction, as if he wants to keep it catalogued, create a mold of you in his mind. The furrowing of your brows and the squinting of your eyes, when the Black Sun of Giedi Prime first hits your vision. How your skin turns completely gray, devoid of any color, as you take your first step off the travelling ship. 

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, refusing to meet it, as your eyes adjust to the sheer force of the swallowing black light. 

Touch is scarce and almost revered, when he lifts his hand to inspect a curl of your hair, the strand sliding between his fingers. He raises it towards the sun, admires it with silent appreciation, and somehow, instead of touching the softer parts of your being, this small gesture makes you want to scream. Because you know.

You understand, that this is what he wants to see. Black and white, and empty. No trace of the color before, only the bleakness and brutality of the Harkonnen. And you refuse, plain and simple. You refuse to be stuffed into this unforgiving planet, expected to bed yourself over to fit it. You value your Atreides lineage more than anything in life, and you'll sooner die, than discard it. 

No matter, how delicate he has been since your first night together, how much the heat of his alabaster skin has brought you comfort, you can feel in the pit of your stomach. That this is all some elaborate rouse to keep you docile. To keep you a perfect image of a wife, the future Na-Baroness. It can't be anything else, surely. 

So even now, as you admire the strangeness of this new planet, the blooming light that envelopes your skin, you force yourself to be on guard. Even as you look up at him, his sharp features and soft eyes, you bite down on any affection that might've reared its ugly head to the surface. This is not your home, and despite the ceremonies and the titles, this was not your husband. He was an impostor, a Devil sent from the Emperor himself to destroy your life. 

His lips flash in a mirthless smile, when his eyes lock with yours. The blackened teeth, the stained gums, you hated that mouth with all your being. You hated that it fit against yours, and that it didn't repulse you quite as much as you would've anticipated. And you hated his hands. The same ones capable of such ruthless brutality, and also more than capable of soothing your sore muscles, of toying with a lock of your hair, as if your entire being was made of the finest, most delicate glass.

A small, barely coherent voice whispers in your mind, reminding you of the rustling of the leaves when wind picked up, back home. You can't live like this, it supplies, you can't survive on hate alone. 

But you've always been stubborn, like a bull. And as his hand slides down to the dip of your waist, as he leads you from the spaceship to the shuttle, and then to the Palace, hate is all you can focus on. The swallowing pit of your stomach, much like the swallowing heat of the sun above you. It expands and pulsates within your veins, as your husband parades you like a prized trophy. Bald, white heads turn, salute the both of you, dissapear in a crowd of similar faces, similar blackened stares. 

It's like you're surrounded by an army of ghosts.

- Welcome home, wife - he whispers into your ear, and you don't know how you manage to stop tears from springing in your eyes. 

Not home. Never home. Your home had trees and oceans, and your Mother, your Father and your perfect Brother. Your home had Duncan, with his warm embrace and little scars littered all across his honey-colored skin. Your home had a sun that is warm and welcoming, that brings vibrancy to your life, and doesn't wash everything out, doesn't swallow all beauty. 

The clothes you wear, the clothes he wants you to wear, are nothing like what you're used to. They make your body feel foreign, like an accessory more than your own flesh. You hate the feeling of the sheer fabric clinging to your skin, like some suffocating membrane. The heavy jewelry, which reminds you more and more of a slave's collar. He put it on you with his own hands. Delicately fitting it around your neck, caressing it with the calloused pads of his fingers, a proud expression decorating his sharp featured like a war medal. 

You wonder what he sees, when he looks at you. Are your sentiments shared? Does he see you, as you see yourself, a doll dressed for his entertainment? A wife, should the politics require it? You're sure he does, there is no other way to describe the pitiful reflection in the mirror. Perhaps, in time, you might be able to fight back some semblance of dignity, to find a way of embracing these strange fabrics. Make this cold metal feel more like a necklace for a Baroness, rather than collar for cattle. Perhaps. 

Right now, however, as his Harpies dress you, you feel less like yourself and more like a toy, for your husband to enjoy. They can't really pin your hair properly, and you don't blame them, you really can't. When's the last time they were forced to care for someone in such a manner, if they ever were? Today, they're extra zealous, rubbing your skin raw with the chemically smelling oils. It makes your head swim, the scent of some unfamiliar paste. Your eyes water, and before you can blink the tears away, one of the Harpies soaks it up right from the corner of your eye with some flimsy tissue. 

She places the wet part against her tongue, and surprisingly, it doesn't bother you, as she tastes your tears, watching your reaction with completely black eyes. You meet her stare with a blank expression. At this moment, as she begins to slide another piece of sheer fabric over your body, you can't think of a way to be afraid of her, or her companion, which is fitting a pair of leather slippers over your feet. What lies ahead is so much more terrifying.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has invited you for dinner. 

The news is delivered by a horrified servant, bald head bowed, seconds after you arrive in your marital room. Your husband doesn't even blink, immediately shedding his travel clothing, and disappearing somewhere out of your sight. The Harpies swarm into the room soon after, carrying various vials and bowls, and you already know the routine. 

The prospect of dining with your family's greatest enemy seems so outlandish, your body doesn't fully register the danger. Instead, you can feel yourself shut down, sink into yourself, between the constant expanding and contracting of your lungs, and the sound of your blood rushing through your skull. 

Only, when one of the Harpies turns you towards a polished piece of black obsidian, only when you can finally see yourself, do you react. A barely-there gasp escapes your mouth, because for the second time today, you're surprised with the brutal beauty of this place, and how easily you blend into it. The Harpy leans over your shoulders, stands on her toes to reach you, and before you can react, her teeth scrape over the shell of your ear. 

It doesn't hurt, and you turn your head towards her, faces inches from each other. Her head turns to the side, like some curious bird, and yet again, you can't fully decide whether you're looking at a human being, or some animalistic experiment. Your hand lifts itself on its own accord, fingers finding the Harpy's chin. Gently, but with enough force, you turn her face away from yourself. She doesn't recoil from your touch, doesn't react in any violent manner. If anything, her expression in the obsydian mirror looks almost bordering on proud. You try not to shiver at the thought. 

Then, your husband appears from the shadows, truly demon-like, and the women, or creatures, scurry out of the room, vials clanking against each other, as they gather them in their muscled arms. For just a second you're struck with the realization, that you miss their company, unsettling as it is.

- Don't be afraid of them - those are the first words coming from Feyd-Rautha you've heard since you've arrived. 

- I'm not - and truly, you mean it. 

He regards you with a long, dragging look, taking in the layers of fabric encapsulating the shape of your body. It's truly a hassle, to stop yourself from flinching, when the length of his body presses against your back. His chin finds purchase in the juncture between your shoulder and the column of your neck, and his head dips down to inhale the scent of your skin. You can't believe he's able to smell anything other than the strong chemicals his Harpies rubbed into you, but you don't argue. Instead, you sway in his hold, closing your eyes, and letting your imagination take you somewhere warmer, somewhere home. 

- I need you to be very careful tonight - he whispers into your skin, and you almost whine at being forced out of your daydream - My Uncle doesn't take kindly to insubordination, and although you are my wife, I won't be able to protect you from everything. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his skin, white and spotless, pressing into yours, marred with freckles and beauty spots. What a contrast you make against him. His mouth moves over your artery, nose dragging upwards, until he reaches the space behind your ear. He plants a kiss there, which immediately turns into a small bite, and your hands grip onto his forearms. 

- Careful, you sound almost concerned about my well-being - there's a limited amount of sarcasm one could convey with such a breathless tone, but you manage, eyes locked onto the silhouette of the both of you in the mirror. 

To that, he lifts his head, eyes locking with yours in the reflection. 

- I don't like when others break my toys - he answers with a shrug, and laughs quietly at your outraged expression. - I prefer to do it myself. 

Your muscles tense beneath his grip, and you turn to face him fully. Still, he doesn't let go, holding you close, smirking at you with that same self-satisfied expression. 

- Oh don't worry - your cheeks start to warm up at the teasing tone of his voice - I haven't even had the time to properly play with you.

- I ha-

- Hate me, I know. - he interrupts, one of his hands coming up to grab at your chin, tilting your head towards him - Tonight, try to hate me in the privacy of our bedroom. For your own sake.

His head dips down, lips slotting against yours easily, and although you fight hard against the pull, soon, your mouth moves against his in a kiss that is entirely too gentle for the nature of your relationship. He whispers something in that godawful Harkonnen language, tilting his chin to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw. Then, satisfied, he lets you go, and you encircle yourself with your own arms, refusing to admit, that you're cold without him. 

Making a mental note to ask for tutorship on the language, you allow him to lead you out of the safety of your shared bedroom, down the winding, black corridors, towards your first, and biggest challenge. 

- With courage and grandiose... - you whisper, as the door to the dining hall slides open, and ignore with all your might, the way your husband's hand twitches around your waist. 

The first member of the court you meet, is not the Baron. 

Instead, a man of slender stature comes out to greet the both of you, a polite smile plastered on his tattooed lips. His eyes flicker between you and your husband, and absentmindedly, they remind you of little black beetles. 

- Piter de Vries - he introduces himself, grabbing your hand with graceful movement - Mentat of the court. 

He places a kiss over your knuckles, and something scarily close to disgust rises in your gut. 

- The holotapes don't reflect your beauty, my lady - his voice is unsettlingly quiet, and it worms itself into your ears like an unwelcome guest. 

Still, your husband's thumb moves against your back, rubbing up and down your spine, and you swallow thickly before replying.

- I'm honored to meet you.

He can see through the lie like you're made of glass, but you can't find it in you to care. This is not the man you're supposed to convince, and even if this Mentat is a constant whisper in the Baron's ear, let him know there's character to you still. 

- I assure you, the honor is mine - his eyes glide over your features greedily, and you wonder if this hunger is a characteristic of all inhabitants of this planet - It's not everyday you meet Lady Jessica's Daughter. 

Blood freezes in your veins at the comment, and not even the ever-present touch of your husband can stop your expression from changing. Ice and steel overtake, as you fix the Mentat in front of you with a hard stare. There is something in his gaze, something slimy and dangerous, that makes a pit form in your stomach. Still, tied to court's intricate pleasantries, you twist your face into a forced smile. 

- You know my Mother? - the question slips out from between your teeth.

The man nods, a perverted version of a curtsy that makes you want to turn on your heel, and haul yourself back into your room. Damn your husband and all the uncomfortable ways he makes you squirm, you'll take it all if it meant never talking to this Mentat ever again. 

- In a way - the answer does nothing to calm your nerves - Her talents are known throughout the whole galaxy. 

- Yes, I'm sure they are - the barely noticable note of sarcasm some how registers in your husband's brain, and with a guiding hand, he pushes you forward, towards the dining hall.

Before you can get away from the Mentat, his unnaturally cold hand wraps itself around your wrist, keeping you in place with light pressure. 

- I'm desperately interested in what you may offer the court - he says, voice low and bordering on ominous, and the pit in your stomach trurns into a boulder.

Lips curling in disgust, you wrench your hand away, but as you wind your palm back to deliver a slap across the smirking man's face, something white enters your vision. From behind your back, Feyd Rautha delivers a resounding hit to the Mentat's cheek, with enough force to send him stumbling to the floor. Your mouth hangs agape, as that same hand curls around your waist, and pushes forward, until you're forced to take a step, and then another. 

Whipping your head around to look at him, all you can see, is that same passively bored expression he has worn, since your arrival to the planet. Not even a muscle twitches, not until the door closes behind you in the dining hall. Eyes trained forward, the hand guiding you slides up your spine right to the base of your head, where he grabs a loose fistful of your hair, and pries you away from him, setting your face forward. 

Like a doll, your mind supplies, but all further thoughts get swallowed by a thundering wave of anxiety, as your eyes fall onto the only other man present in the dining hall. 

You can't fully comprehend where the floor ends and the walls begin, the whole room looking more like an endless void of black, polished stone. The table is obscenely long, but narrow, and filled with various foods, none of which you recognize. Your breath catches, as you notice a macabre center piece right in the middle of the table. A beautiful female deer stands surrounded by black flowers, it's limbs kept immobile by some invisible force. It's eyes move though, skittering around the place, revealing that this poor creature used as some messed up decoration, is in fact alive. 

- Welcome, my dear nephew - a low, slightly slurred voice rings out throughout the empty space, and finally, you can feel real dread. 

- Uncle. - Feyd Rautha inclines his head, before all but pushing you forward into the belly of the beast.

And what a terrifying belly it is. 

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen towers over the end of the table, his frame as difficult to comprehend as the rest of the dining hall. He smiles at your husband, a show of black teeth against greying skin, and then his eyes move towards you. He doesn't hide the cruel, twisted expression, that flashes across his face, contorted in the low, floating lights. Then, as if a mask slipped onto him while you were blinking, he looks decievingly kind, like an image of a caretaker, distorted in a nightmare. 

- Lady Atreides - his voice bellows, and despite every muscle in your body screaming at you to run, you take a step forward, before taking a shallow bow - A spitting image of your Father. I'm delighted to have you here, on my planet. 

Swallowing hard, you risk a glance at your husband. He has abandoned you in favor of taking a seat in the only one of two available chairs. Blue eyes flash towards you, a hidden warning, and dare you say, a hint of concern. The deer on the table is breathing rapidly, you've just noticed. 

- My Baron - your voice doesn't shake, a small blessing - I'm honored to meet you. 

The rehearsed line seems hallow in the booming echo of the dining room, and you pray that it's enough. 

The Baron gives you no answer, as he wordlessly gestures towards the table, and after a second your body jerks in the direction of the chair. With stiff movements, you sit down, your dress digging uncomfortably under your ribs. The deer looks at you, it's eyes wide, nose contracting rapidly as it inhales. You want to grab it into your hands, tear it away from the force keeping it trapped, and set it free, so it can run into the fields of Caladan. Your husband takes a long sip from his chalice, and you mirror his movements. 

The liquid is sickly sweet, with a strong, chemical taste that coats your entire mouth. Fighting with the urge to spit it out, your neck strains as you swallow, feeling it travel down your throat, and into the pit of your stomach. 

Are you supposed to be the deer in this place? 

Feyd Rautha reaches for a vase of something vaguely resembling meat, and doesn't bother with his plate, taking the leg into his hand, and biting into it with reckless abandon. Some dark liquid spills over his mouth, down to his chin, and you have to look away, as he captures your gaze in an entirely too heated stare. This is not the time, you want to scream at him, but take another sip from the chalice instead. 

- A monumental moment in history is happening right in front of my eyes - the Baron starts, and your hand freezes half-way towards your lips. - The union of House Harkonnen and House Atreides. The Emperor truly is a wise man. 

- Of course - you agree, tying sarcasm to the back of your throat like an angry dog - I'm ever so grateful.

- I'm sure you are. 

The Emperror wants you dead, there is no other explanation. You can't move, can't look anywhere but the eyes of the deer, seeing yourself in the reflection of it's glossy iris. Save yourself, it seems to scream at you, and your throat constricts around your airwave. Save yourself, because I couldn't.

- Your cousin will be joining us shortly - the Baron directs his gaze towards Feyd-Rautha, and your husband immediately straightens his back against the chair. 

- Rabban? Shouldn't he be on Arrakis? - you don't remember when you've become so in-tune with your husband, but you sense his interest peaking immediately.

Something's wrong, something's terribly wrong, you can feel it. This slow dread climbs up your back like a snake, before sinking it's teeth into your nape. Eyes searching your husband's your fingers tighten around the chalice, around cold, black metal. You try to remember what your Mother would've done in a situation such as this. How she would comfort herself. Fear is the mind-killer, is the only thing that arrives, and the thought is as comforting, as a cold shower.

- By the Emperor's decree, our House has been ordained to leave Arrakis in favor of it's new stewardship.

You know what words are going to fall next, before they fall, and you close your eyes to brace for impact. 

- The stewardship of your Father. Of House Atreides. 

Someone save you, please. Your eyelids flutter open, gaze falling over your husband, as he watches you with a myriad of emotions running through his expression. You pray it doesn't settle on anger, and your prayers are heard. There is a cruel, twisting smirk in the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to look at his Uncle, with a silent question. The Baron inclines his head ever so slightly, you can see movement in the corner of your eye, but the deer is still breathing, and for some reason you have to keep an eye on it, you have to know it's still alive. 

You are not stupid. You've been trained to not be stupid, in life and in politics. It doesn't take too keen of a mind to understand the gravity of the situation. The steady flow of immense wealth the Harkonnens were known for, is suddenly cut short. Given to a rival House. This was not some beautiful gift of appreciation, this was a stoker shoved right into the burning flames. 

- I'm honored - you repeat, like a bell in a church tower, and somewhere to your left, the Baron laughs. 

- There will be celebrations, later this week - he continues, as if he hasn't just delivered life shattering news - We will honor your marriage in the traditions of our ancestors. 

- Which is? - you don't really care anymore if the shift in your tone is registered as offensive. 

Feyd Rautha actually, without a doubt kicks you under the table. You shoot him a look bordering on pure shock and outrage, and all you get in response is an arched eyebrow. 

Something rattles below you, a tell-tale sound of machinery whirling to life. It gives you only one second to register, but as soon as it does, your heart jumps up into your throat. Paper thin panes of glass shoot out from under the table. The deer gives a pathetic squeak, as it's body is cut into equal pieces. No blood is shed, the whole operation barely moves the air in the dining room, and you watch the life drain from the deer's eyes, as the panes begin to move. 

They separate each piece, creating a cross-section of it's insides. The chemical wine threatens to rush back out of you, and your dig your nails into your palms. Your husbands shoe settles in constant, grounding pressure against your ankle, and although you would never admit it, it's the only thing keeping you from shattering. Whether it's a threat or a promise, you can't be sure, but there is frost in your veins, and fire in your eyes, as you slowly turn your head towards the Baron. 

He's wrong. All of them are wrong. You're not some deer, some lost shivering thing, made for a display of cruelty. You will not be brough down to some decoration, and so, you raise your chin higher, and hold the Baron's gaze. His eyes, gleaming with violent delight, jump around your face, this strange battle coming to a sudden end, as the corner of his mouth quirks up.

He moves his hand in the air dismisively, and your husband stands up, a laziness to his movements. You stand up too, your chair shuffling against the polished floor, stiff limbs fighting for an illusion of graceful movements. Wishing you could drive your point further, you bow again, this time, your eyes remain glued to the black beads of irises, shining in the amassing of flesh that is the Baron's face. 

And then you're off, heels clicking on the floor, as you bypass your husband and all but storm out of the dining hall. He follows you, you can feel his pressence on your back, but there's too many emotions running through your head to find it unsettling. The silence of it all, the calmness. Perhaps you would've preferred if he had been angry with you, if you could pinpoint his reaction, bottle it up to hate it later. 

Right now, you can't do much, other than run to your shared rooms, pretend like they are a solice, a safe space for you to exist, when in reality, they're anything but. The unsettling realization, that you navigate these corridors like a natural born Harkonnen will hit you later today, but as such, you are blinded by your own anger.

 - Did you know? - the question sounds more like a demand, as soon as the door closes behind you.

Back turned, you stand in the middle of the bedroom, finally granting yourself the luxury of outrage. Shoulders rise and fall in tandem with your labored breaths, and your nails have bitten crescent moons into your palms. 

- Yes. - you've anticipated his answer, and still, it shocks you to the very core of your being.

Hair whips around your face, as you turn to face him., strands all but slipping from the inexperienced updo. He holds  your gaze with steady eyes, crosses his arms on his chest, but has the decency of looking on edge. 

- How long?

- The news came right after the engagement began.

That, admittedly, knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you take a step back, until your behind collides with the obsidian desk. Hiding your face in your hands, you rub your palms against your temples, tug at the roots of your hair in the process. 

- So, what now? - you ask, sounding so drained, so tired, you almost don't recognize your voice.

His shoes invade your vision, as he steps closer. Your husband, your Bull. You don't want to look up at his face, scared of what you'll find there. He doesn't share the same sentiment, apparently, as he lifts your chin with his fingers, until you meet him with a withering expression. 

Feyd Rautha leans down, capturing your lips with his. Not really in the mood for kissing, as your head races with a myriad of terrible thought, you push against him. Should've known better, he loves a fight. Tongue slipping through the barrier of your teeth, you can taste the strangely chemical wine on his breath. His hands grab what they can of your body, until they settle on the sides of your face, where he tugs you up onto your tippy toes, taking a drink of you, like he did from the chalice. 

Breathless and confusingly aroused, your fingers twist into the material of his dress shirt, but before you can truly let go, he pulls away. Hands still on your face, you are suddenly pulled forwards, as he drags you in front of the mirror. Thrown off guard by this change of pace, you try to writhe yourself away, only to be gripped even tighter, so hard, you can feel something shift under the skin of your jaw. 

There are dark stains all around your lips, stains that taste just like the wine. Feyd Rautha stands behind you, much like he did before the dinner, but all comfort from that moment is trampled under his foot, as he slides his arms around you. 

- Now, I must make you into a Harkonnen - he rasps into the base of your neck.

Then, reaching towards your lips, he wedges his fingers inside, pulls until you can see your teeth in the reflection. Black, thick liquid covers them completely, staining your mouth in the process. The wine, you realize, but before you can rationalise any more, tears spring in the corners of your mouth. Disgust bubbles in your stomach like an awoken volcano. Disgust and anger, so much anger. 

Your husband humms softly behind you, cranes your head back. 

Your body feels foreign again, as he kisses your tears off of your skin.

[tealvenetianmask]

Hell's royalty has a culture that enables Stella's abusive behavior.

Point 1: Keeping up appearances is valued above all else. And I specifically mean the appearance of things being the way they're supposed to be. Conformity basically.

Conformity in this culture seems to include a kind of stoic dignity ("you know excitement is unbecoming of a goetia"), an air of superiority ("don't bow to that one- he bows to us!"), and, of course, some good old fashioned toxic masculinity ("cease this bitch crying").

Individuals at the very top are not immune. Even though he gets past it, Asmodeus seems to spend a lot of time and effort on keeping his relationship with Fizz quiet in order to keep up the appearance of fulfilling his "lust" role.

Point 2: The members of the aristocracy who don't conform are seen as the problem, not the members who are being cruel.

Speaking of Ozzie, there's a chance he'll face real consequences for getting out of line . . . Mammon seems pretty confident about getting revenge. Also, if Ozzie had decided that his reputation was important enough to avoid stepping in to help his partner, well . . . I'm just saying. Cultures of conformity create bystanders who stand by and let abuse happen. So it's good that this guy has the courage (and a good heap of privilege and power) to enable him to step out. Yes, I realize that the crowd at Mammon's celebrated Ozzie and Fizz, but the crowd was distinctly NOT aristocratic.

Now look at Stella's party- this woman is not subtle about being cruel to her husband.

She calls the party a "Not Divorced" party. She openly talks negatively about Stolas in a blatant attempt to humiliate him. She's not trying to hide that she hates the man.

Because he's . . . an oddball. Gentle, not as polished as others in his social sphere, awkward and mostly friendless, probably autistic. And importantly, I think, not traditionally masculine.

So Stella has no need to hide that she treats him poorly. She's proud of it. And her social circle seems to support her in it, or at least, they don't push back. Because based on the aristocracy's unspoken (or if we look at Paimon, very much spoken) value system, Stolas's failure to fulfill all of his expected roles gracefully is worse than Stella's cruelty.

Point 3: Stolas's parenting, while much better than his own father's, still reflects this value system in some ways, and that's . . . complicated.

In some ways, Octavia is doing great. She has her own interests (music! gothy fashion!) that don't seem to be based on any role prescribed to her by others. She has a genuine bond with her dad that's based on care and not on molding her into some ideal princess.

But Stolas still puts on an facade in front of Via. We know that he pretended things were fine when they distinctly weren't for most of her childhood. We could argue endlessly about whether Stolas was right (as Georgia Dow explained in her video) or wrong to stop himself from explaining the situation with Stella to Via in Loo Loo Land, but honestly, the man could let his nearly grown up daughter know that abuse was happening without all out trauma dumping. It would enable her to make more informed decisions, and I think she would want to be able to do that.

Instead, Stolas keeps it to himself. Because he feels like Via SHOULD have this picture perfect childhood. Look at the pictures that are up in his palace. Look at his attempt to gloss over the fighting in the household by taking Via to an idealized childhood destination.

A part of him still thinks that good parenting is keeping up appearances, and that the ugly things are best kept hidden. Look at how hard he still tries to avoid crying in front of people. The values he was taught as a child are part of him.

And while it's not his fault (it's Stella's fault, obviously- these are HER actions), his inability to be open allows Stella and Andrealphus to scheme and (we'll see . . .) probably manipulate Via because of her lack of knowledge.

We're meant to see the moments where Stolas breaks expectations and behaves raw and even a little unhinged as triumphant. Sleeping with Blitz. That is the sound of a fucking divorce. Actually going through with the fucking divorce. Insisting on it. Appearances be damned.

And yeah, more of that please. Because if the people around Stella stop caring about aristocratic social trappings, all she'll have going for her is her shitty personality.

Thanks @akirathedramaqueen for inspiring this post with a conversation.

[nineblooddances-if]

NINE BLOOD DANCES

Nine Moons for the Nine Circles of Hell

Ruled by Nine Siblings. Or better known as the Commanders of Hell. Each believed to carry a role in the natural world and each a leader of the Devil’s Army. Each Commander is the personification of their circle and is made with a part of The Devil’s Body.

His Brain. His Genitals. His Stomachs. His Lungs. His Eyes. His Tongues. His Flesh. His Ears. And lastly his heart.

With each part, combined with that of a woman of a different species, flourished the consciousness of the circle, and then from a piece of the circle, a body was molded, creating each commander.

Yet with no one to rule over them.

For the Devil has many things to do and does not have the time to watch over the things he created. So, he gets an idea. A funny idea.

For he wishes not to strip himself of more. So, he goes to a mortal man. One who knew all that of the world, a man who had everything that the mortal heart could desire. Expect love–Yes love. For there is a difference between idolization and obsession and honest love. The mortal man had not that, and so the Devil laughed and lured this man to his death. And when no one showed genuine care for the man at his funeral, he fell into despair.

And the Gods who refused to hear his prayers before now stared upon him and pitied him. And sent the mortal man a gift in order to ease the loneliness.

A gift the Devil needs.

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

✶ [DEMO]

✶ [PATREON]

✶ [KO-FI]

✶ [DISCORD]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were a gift. Now to whom? No one knows.

All that matters is that you are a gift and not like any of the others of your species. Uniqueness and importance oozes from every fiber of your being. You're important. Everyone says you're important. But why you're so important?

Who knows?

You must figure out what makes you so special and different. You must figure out what drives you through all circles. And you have to figure out why the nine commanders of Hell all have their eyes upon you and wish to have you by their side.

All before the fall of the ninth moon.

☽☽✶☾☾ Customizable MC

✶ [Name, Species(human, fallen angel, vampire, succubus/incubus, etc), Personality, Gender, Pronouns] ✶ [Appearance (markings, scars, wings, tails, horns, ears, etc), Traits, Love Language, Allergies, Diet, Piercings, Aesthetics, and more]

☽☽✶☾☾ Ability to have certain traits, likes, and disabilities

✶[Favorite Foods, Smoking/Drinking Habits, & More] ✶[ADHD, OCD, Depression + more] ✶[Hearing Aids, Prosthetic Arms or Legs, and choosing how you lost your limb]

☽☽✶☾☾ Options that have an effect on romantic and platonic relationships.

☽☽✶☾☾ Choose between nine romanceable Love Interests or None at All.

☽☽✶☾☾ Stats, Personality, and MC Characteristics that will affect the story and characters.

[Harem Route & Poly Routes Optional]

| IMPORTANT VIEWINGS OF CERTAIN FEATURES | ✶Ear Piercings

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 1ST CIRCLE—LIMBO—

COMMANDER AAPO I LIBERTAS

── THAT OF THE DEVIL’S BRAIN

✶ Personality: Aapo is an overly confident, charismatic man who is proud of the ranking he holds, being that he is ranked above his siblings and seen as the current ruler of the Nine Circles. Aapo walks and talks with a smile on his face and radiates this atmosphere of freedom, which is quickly erased by this underlying need for control, and he demands it. He has no reservations to confirm that. Many fear him despite his faux cheery attitude and overly relaxed posture.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [6’1FT ~ 188CM] with pale brown colored skin that is littered with warm brown freckles. He had deep-set shaped eyes while his eyes were the darker color shades of the rainbow, that fluctuated depending upon mood but remained a deep emerald green. He has short mahogany brown hair with a short fringe that seems messy. He’s lean and long, with long legs and arms. Always wearing overly vibrant and eccentric suits of greens and browns, decorated with bronze and gold.

──"CAMBION"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──PANSEXUAL [MASC PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 2ND CIRCLE—LUST—

COMMANDER ANIL/AIDEN II LUXURIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S GENITALS

✶ Personality: Anil is a self-assured, arrogant, aloof, hotheaded woman. Always wearing a scowl or frown of some sort. Her mood changes just as quickly as the wind and follows that of the hierarchy. She demands respect and will expect it. Many of the others stay out of her way and allow her to do as she pleases, since she has no desire to disrupt anything and follow the rules in place. Unless they get in the way of her desires.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [6’2FT ~ 192CM] with deep chocolate brown skin with no blemishes or scars. She has bedroom eyes that are a deep navy blue but appear black until in candlelight. Anil’s hair is jet black hair reaches her waist and is curly, while wet it reverts into a more coily texture. She has long legs and a waist and adds to her height by wearing dark blacks and blues, wearing heels, with a subtle male pirate aesthetic, wearing silver with everything. With the remains of two torn leather wings upon her back, with a long and heavy black scaled tail of a crocodile.

──"INCUBUS/SUCCUBUS"—AFAB—HE/SHE ──OMNISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 3RD CIRCLE—GLUTTONY—

COMMANDER ALICE III GULA

──THAT OF THE DEVILS STOMACH

✶ Personality: Alice of the three siblings is by far the kindest of them. With a laid-back attitude. She is blunt but kind in her words, and the most approachable. She, just like her Aapo and Anil, expects respect due to her rank, though she cares little about enforcing it, especially with her "siblings". However, she has a mean streak when hungry and can become aggressive toward those who are men or those masculine in nature.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with warm ivory-colored skin, that’s covered in what looks to be scars, that are prominent on her throat, the back of her hands, her palms, and her knees which are small scars, while the entire along her collarbone, slanting cut across her entire stomach, and along the outside of both thighs seem like bigger scars, but they’re not. They are instead different mouths with sharklike teeth and crimson red tongues. That she keeps closed unless extremely hungry. Alice also has yellowish blonde hair that is a messy pixie cut, with an eye patch covering her right eye. She always has deep monolid-shaped eyes that are a vivid orange color. She has a sheer clothing aesthetic as while as a leather aesthetic, wearing many shades of orange, black, and white with gold. Accompanied by the small horns of a deer, a shade of white, and the tail of a deer.

──"VAMPIRE"—AFAB—SHE/HER ──BISEXUAL [FEM PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 4TH CIRCLE–GREED—

COMMANDER ERIC/EDWARD IV AVARITIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S LUNGS

✶ Personality: Eric is the quietest of the siblings, rarely speaking unless directly spoken to. He is a loner and prefers to be alone. He is also one of the only siblings who dislikes the hierarchy of siblings, and rarely spends his time commanding his circle, opting to be away, spending his time exploring the other parts and various layers of Hell and the unique punishments.

✶ Appearance: Eric stands at [6’5FT ~ 200CM] with pale skin. With the rest of his features hidden beneath a black cloth that hides his eyes. His black cloth also replicates bandages that covered various parts of his arms and legs. He has shoulder-length curly black hair that he keeps in a ponytail. He has a Dark Victorian aesthetic wearing black, red, and yellow.

──"DHAMPIR"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM/SHE/HER/IT/ITS ──GRAYROMANTIC—PANSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 5TH CIRCLE—WRATH—

COMMANDER LOUIS V IRA

── THAT OF THE DEVILS EYES

✶ Personality: Louis is a confident, arrogant, egotistical, smart man. Who revels in his circle enjoys using his influence on lower-ranked demons and enjoys spending time with higher-ranked demons. He also throws extravagant parties and chooses to spend most of his time with the Devil, who is the embodiment/avatar of Wrath. Louis tends to his duties well, despite his nasty temper.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with limestone-covered skin round bright blue and red heterochromic eyes and short blonde hair that fades into red that cut like a jellyfish. He dresses like that of kings and queens, with a 16th-century royalty aesthetic, wearing that of gold and red. He also has the horns of a ram that are a beautiful gold.

──"HUMAN"—AMAB—HE/THEY ──DEMISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 6TH CIRCLE—HERESY—

COMMANDER GABRIEL VI MENDAX

── THAT OF THE DEVILS TONGUE

✶ Personality: Gabriel is someone who speaks only of rumors and half-truths. Many don't trust a word he says, and you must force the truth out of it. He gets a lot of humor leading people astray with his words. Even though he is quite knowledgeable and level-headed. He prefers to use his wisdom in more trickster ways, unless threatened, he quickly breaks. Outside of his lies, he is quite kind and fair, yet due to his tongue, no one believes his kindness.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with bronze-colored skin and long straight dark brown hair that he keeps in a thick braid, decorated with purple snapdragons, lavender, and vines. Gabriel has a soft flowy cottagecore aesthetic wearing colors of white and purple. While upon his back he has two large gray feathered wings that he keeps tucked away.

──"FALLEN ANGEL"—AMAB—HE/SHE ──AUTOSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 7TH CIRCLE—VIOLENCE—

COMMANDER DAMEION VII VIOLENTI

──THAT OF THE DEVILS FLESH

✶ Personality: Dameion is laid back, mischievous, charismatic, and cocky. Since he has one of the most popular circles, he garters high respect despite being the seventh. He has overbearing pride and follows the hierarchy of the circles. Still, you will not find Dameion without a cocky smile and relaxed posture no matter where he is. Which leads him to having and being loved by many. Everyone practically swoons when he walks into the room or speaks. This doubles when amongst full-blooded bloodhounds, due to him being able to have a body, unlike them.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with honey-colored skin with black armband tattoos upon his wrists and ankles. He has short, shaggy black hair and deep red eyes. With a formal aesthetic, always wearing suits or a more military-type aesthetic. He has two long black tails of a wolf and wolf ears that hide amongst his hair with two red horns of a bison.

──"BLOODHOUND"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──POLYSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 8TH CIRCLE—FRAUD—

COMMANDER LUCY OR LUCIUS VIII FICTUS

──THAT OF THE DEVILS EARS

✶ Personality: They are an untrusted liar, fake, fraud. Dawning on various masks and looking to deceive whoever they need to deceive. Taking upon titles, achievements, and anything to further their lie, and when it all backfires, they run away and never get caught. Due to this, they are never in hell, nor in their circle, in fact, it's hard to get in touch with them. They also spend a lot of time within the different underworlds and heavens, trying to gain something from the divine. Only to be sent back to Hell without punishment. They are tricksters and unreliable, with no real redeeming qualities.

✶ Appearance: They stand at [5’8FT ~ 178CM] with thick curly gray hair with white faded ends. Their hair is short to their chin and left alone. They have hooded gray eyes and short-bison-like horns with gray bat wings that fade into black with a long rat-like tail. They have varying styles but settle on clothing far more revealing. Wearing pinks and whites.

──"IMP"—[SELECTABLE GENDER] ──GAY OR LESBIAN [SELECTABLE SEXUALITY]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 9TH CIRCLE—TREACHERY—

COMMANDER TRENT IX PRODITIO 

──THAT OF THE DEVILS HEART 

✶ Personality: Trent is a sweet talking and kind person. Always understand and be sympathetic. He’s easy-going and easily trusting. He’s a very honest person and falls into his roles, whilst being obedient and submissive. Not wanting to break rules without important reason. He’s a big man with an honest and open heart and tries to live past his title.  

✶ Appearance: He stands at [7’5FT ~ 230 CM] with tan scarred skin and freckles. He has large heterochromic eyes, his right olive and the left mustard yellow. He has messy brown hair that he keeps in his face, partially hiding his eyes. He bulky and tall, but always hunching over with feathered ears that are dark brown and long wispy split bird tail that is also dark brown. Trent wears many colors yet sticks to neutral tones and dark green. 

──"NEPHILIM"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM  ──PANSEXUAL 

AVAILABLE POLY RELATIONSHIPS

TO BE DETERMINED

ⓒ 2023 CVLUTOSGAMES & nineblooddances-if — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN

He's not a patient man, but he's trying his best, giving her some well-deserved cuddles after testing her limits a little too roughly. But in the end, he can't help himself. She's too perfect, perfect enough to take her once again.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Aftercare! Fingering. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.1k

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

He may have overdone it a little.

The girl is this pliant thing in his arms as he carries her into the bathroom, covered in spit and cum and tears, limbs too weak to support herself, too far gone to protest anymore, eyes hooded and unfocused.

He hasn't planned to treat her like that. Well, he has wanted to fuck her ass, that's been on his mind since the last time he's been in there, but the throat fucking afterwards happened on a whim. She's looked so fucked out, so defeated and willing, so pretty, he just wanted to see what she was capable of. He may have overdone it. But once he's felt the tight grip of her throat, he's been a goner.

And she'll live. No harm done. He's treated women way worse before. She'll adjust. She has to. She'll understand that eventually.

He carefully sits her down on the vanity and grabs a wash cloth, pours water on it and starts to wipe at her soiled face. It's a strange, intimate thing to clean her like this, he usually expects his whores to clean themselves or stay dirty for all he cares. But she's different. And not a whore, she's something else he cannot name yet. Innocent, pure, even after everything he's done to her. She needs to be clean.

She's barely present when he moves the cloth over her cheek, just sits there, motionless, blinks from time to time, but there's no other movement. Maybe she's in shock. Surprised and disturbed by his treatment. Overwhelmed by what he expects of her. Lost in her own mind. Poor thing.

Once her face is clean, no more traces of spit or cum or tears, he leans down and presses his lips to her cheek, then scoops her up in his arms again and walks to the living room. Her breaths are soft, barely there against his collarbone as he presses her to his chest. He sits down, positions her on his lap, holds her tightly. She winces when her butt is moved over his hard thigh, but keeps quiet right after, letting him settle her against him.

He exhales loudly, moves her hair. It's hard for him to just sit with her, let her come down from whatever is keeping her holed up in her head, let her come to terms with her new environment, her new life, her new role. He's not a patient man, but he knows that she needs it. The memory of asking her if she wanted this is clear in his mind, the innocent excitement in her eyes, how she said yes, having absolutely no idea what to expect, what he's capable of. It's almost as cute as her admission that she's had a crush on him.

Oh the poor, poor thing, letting silly little feelings cloud her better judgment.

For him, however, that has been the last puzzle piece falling into place. It's been an idea in the back of his head, for a while, and it had never worked out. But since she's stepped into his life, this sweet innocent girl, inexperienced, submissive, blinded by a childish infatuation, ready to be molded into something he wants her to be, he's known it'll work this time. She is perfect for this. Perfect to submit to him and him alone. And she'll learn to love it too, he's sure.

Right now she probably hates him, and he can't blame her. He's been a little unpredictable today. Asking her to cockwarm him (which has been quite the challenge for him too, an exercise in restraint, but no matter how he's felt about it, she's done a good job considering it has been her first time to do so), to rewarding her in a way she hasn't expected (having filled all her holes by now, he really can't decide which is his favorite, but luckily he doesn't have to decide, he can have them all, she is all his, to use and fill, use and fill, over and over again...), to testing her limits (and his, she sure has a way of bringing out the most primal urges in him, he's always had a high sex drive, but filling her up multiple times in a row is quite new to him). It's been an eventful morning.

He shifts slightly beneath her, coaxing a little hum out of her. His hand rubs along her back, soothingly, warm and heavy, and he feels her breathing deeper against him. But she's not asleep yet, no matter how worn out she may feel. His other hand finds her chin, gently pushing it up until he can see her hooded eyes, still a little unfocused, but when she meets his gaze, there's something else burning within them. Something like defiance, he can tell, and it brings a smirk to his lips.

He moves his finger over her jaw, carefully massaging it, and to his surprise the tension in her face lifts a little. She even bites her swollen lip. “Feels good, hm?” he whispers, applying light pressure to her strained jaw. “You've been such a good girl, holding my cock for so long,” he adds, looking at her with warm eyes. “Your little mouth felt so nice, you know that?”

His thumb moves along her bottom lip, gently nudges against it, slips higher, and maybe it's an instinct, maybe it's need, but she parts her lips and allows him to push it into her mouth. He's gentle, just presses it lightly onto her tongue, feels the wet warmth and soft texture. She watches him from under her lashes, while he pumps his thumb slowly in and out, still massaging her jaw with his fingers.

“Relax, it's okay.”

She does, closes her lips around his digit, even hollows her cheeks and sucks on it a little as she breathes deeper through her nose. He tilts his head down, nuzzles her cheek, then pulls his thumb out and presses his lips to hers. Leaning back, he smiles at her.

“Show me your little tongue,” he says, a whispered command, and she complies, blushing heavily as she hesitantly sticks her tongue out, pointed at first, then flat, and he smirks, leans in to close his lips around it, sucks on it, licks it softly. She winces slightly, but then her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a soft mewl, her tongue moving against his, meeting his motions.

The kiss is soft but messy, his hand closes around her jaw, holds her in place, as he tastes the inside of her mouth, meets her tongue, feels her lips. She's squirming on his lap, her small hands moving against his chest, fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. She's slowly coming out of her shell. He shifts her on his thigh, makes her straddle him, and she lets him, his hands moving down her back to cup her rear, hold her, move her against him, kiss her deeper.

When they're both breathless, she's clinging to him, arms around his shoulders, forehead resting against his throat, her chest heaving. He rubs his hands along her sides, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip, until they slip under the skirt of her dress and find her warm ass cheeks, fingers dipping between them. She lets out a little whimper, but he kisses the top of her head, shushing her.

“I don't want to hurt you, you know that, right?” he whispers when she leans her cheek on his shoulder and looks up at him, lips a little bit more swollen than before, cheeks flushed, eyes wandering over his face. “But,” he continues, kneading her rear softly, “you make me so goddamn crazy, it's really hard to hold myself back...”

She blinks at him, chewing on her lip. He moves his hands back up until he cups her face, pulling her closer to him, his eyes boring into hers. His fingers dig into her hair, a little hoarse gasp escapes her. Leaning down, he brushes his nose against hers.

“And you said you wanted this,” he says gravelly. “You wanted me to do these things to you... remember?”

She leans against his hands, tries to move back. He lets her, fingers gliding down her neck, resting on her shoulders as he watches her closely. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Her tongue darts out, wets her lips, she takes a deep breath, her hand closing around her throat. “N-not... like... that,” she manages to croak out, her voice still raw, a breathy, hoarse whisper.

“No?” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “Did you expect me to make love to you under the covers, in the dark? Boring vanilla sex, in and out and done?” He laughs darkly, shakes his head. “Sweetheart, that's not what I do, and I thought you knew that...”

She furrows her eyebrows, a little pout to her full lips. “Aw, baby girl,” he coos, cupping her face. “Look at you. So fucking cute!” He kisses her small nose, smirking as he leans back and sees her averting her eyes, cheeks even redder than before.

“Be honest,” he then starts, and she yelps breathlessly when his hands quickly move down to grab her waist to shift her on his thighs, putting her sideways again, one hand on her lower back, the other heavy on her legs, spanning over both of her thighs as he holds her. “If I'd tell you how much I want to fuck you, right here on this couch, pressed into the cushions, or bent over the side or the back, your cute little cunt on display or your ass in the air, would you not imagine it too? Would you not be completely soaked by the thought alone?”

He watches her closely as he speaks, his hand slowly prying her legs apart, and when he's done, his fingers slip between her thighs, right against the thin fabric of her thong. A smile grows on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against her cheek as she turns her head away in embarrassment. “You're wet, baby, wet for all the vile things I wanna do to you...” She grabs his wrist, but he keeps his hand between her legs, pushing her damp panties between her folds, rubbing up and down. “Wet for me...” She squirms against him, quiet whimpers falling from her lips. “Don't fight it, it's okay. I want you to be wet for me, all the time, it tells me you're enjoying this...”

She hides her face in the crook of his neck, mewling quietly. He holds her side, pulling her against him as he nudges her legs further apart and slips his finger under her thong, dipping into her slick. Shushing her, he rocks her gently on his lap before he slips his fingertip into her dripping pussy, humming in approval at how well she takes him.

“Does it still hurt?” he whispers softly.

She mumbles something against his neck.

“Speak up.”

“N-no,” she mutters a little louder. “F-feels... g-good...”

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, pumping his finger deeper, massaging her squishy flesh. “Feels good, huh?”

She nods against him, her stomach fluttering, thighs twitching slightly. He continues to rub her insides, slowly adds another finger, keeps the slow and steady pace. Her breaths are warm against his skin, rapid little huffs mixed with cute little cooing sounds. He bites his lip, forces himself not to move faster, not to plunge his fingers deeper, not to add another one or another.

Ugh. To have his whole hand in her tight little cunt, feeling every single clench against his fingertips, his knuckles, her entrance clamping around his wrist, pushing deep into her wet warmth, stretching her, hearing her whines and cries, seeing her tears... His cock twitches angrily against his pants. Fuck.

He leans his head back against the couch, stares at the ceiling, keeps fingering her slow and easy, two fingers, not more, in and out, gentle, soft, carefully. What has she done to him?

Her moans are quiet in his ear, barely there, but they make him move his fingers a little faster, a little deeper, her wetness squelching around them. He can feel the plug pressing against her soft walls from the other side, and she must feel it too with how she twitches against him. His own breaths are rougher, his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pumping into his cock. He turns his hand, adjusts the angle, keeps pumping, fingertips rubbing against her clenching muscles, and when she twitches a little more, he smirks, curling his fingers, pressing hard against her g-spot.

Her wail is hoarse, but louder than he's expected. Her hands grab at him, she squirms on his lap, gasping, whimpering, legs kicking, shoulders shaking. He watches her, head arching back, neck exposed, lips parted, mouth opening wider, eyes rolling back. He can feel her cunt clamping down on his fingers. His other hand grips her waist, holds her in place, as he curls his fingers into a claw and pushes in and out fast, always bullying that special spot, his thumb pushing against her clit with every deep plunge.

“Come for me, darling,” he whispers gravelly.

She cries out, struggling against him, hips bucking into his hand, and when she comes, she presses her thighs together hard, squeezing his hand, body curving and convulsing in sheer ecstasy. He stills his fingers, feels her muscles contracting around them, her wetness coating his skin, seeping out of her, she may even have squirted, but she's clamped her legs together before he could have seen it. Pity. He'll have to try to see that again, another time.

She's breathing heavily, collapsing against him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, hands clawed into his shirt, a little bundle of twitching limbs. “Good girl,” he coos, kissing the top of her head. She hums in response, mumbling something else he can't quite understand. “What was that, baby?”

She inhales sharply, moving her head, chin leaning against his clavicle as she looks up at him, red spots blooming on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she croaks hoarsely, a shy smile on her trembling lips.

He stares down at her, unable to resist smiling back. His cock twitches. He slowly pulls his fingers free from her clenching cunt, nudging her legs. She opens them reluctantly, blushing harder when she turns her head to look down. His hand is completely drenched, just like his pants, her wetness seeping through the fabric onto his thighs. “You made quite the mess, huh?” he says with a smirk.

An embarrassed whimper escapes her. “M'sorry,” she mumbles, burying her face back against his shoulder as she squirms on his leg.

“It's okay, you know what to do, right?” he replies, holding his wet hand up to inspect it, spreading his fingers, watching the thick strands of her cum connecting them.

His other hand moves up her back until he grips her nape, pulling her back so she looks at him. When she does, he brings his wet fingers to her lips, feeling his stomach tightening even more when she gingerly puts her small hands around his wrist and leans in, tongue extended, before she licks along his fingertip, then slowly sucks his digits into her mouth.

A groan escapes him. She looks up at him as she sucks on his fingers, his jaw clenching at the sight. The face of an angel, full lips strained around his knuckles, an innocent blush on her hollowing cheeks, but there's a fire in her eyes, a temptress, something that might ruin him completely. He breathes loudly through his nose. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a low thrum in the air, mirroring the throbbing of his cock.

Her tongue flicks around his fingers, slips between them, before she leans back and releases them with a wet popping sound, licking her lips before a shy smile grazes them. His hand, coated in her saliva, slips into her hair, grabs her face and pulls her up at the same time as he leans in, capturing her mouth for a searing kiss full of fervor. He's desperate to taste her, still fighting the urge to throw her onto her back or stomach and rail her with abandon.

Instead he plunges his tongue into her mouth, a little surprised just how hungry and passionate she responds to his motions. She wants this. She might fight the sensations, fight him, cry and whine and wail, but she's wet for him. She fucking wants this too. And the restraint is slipping...

One hand on her face, the other on her nape, he tilts her backwards, lips still connected, until she's lying beneath him. She's not even squirming when he adjusts on top of her, braced on his elbows, knee pressing between her legs, hovering over her, breathing harder through his nose. Her hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He's ready to devour her, his kiss nothing short of animalistic, rough, urgent. She mewls into his mouth, meets his tongue, his lips, his whole frame above her with a need that radiates warm and wet against his knee pressing hard into her sex.

“I know you're sore,” he groans against her, hands digging into her hair, hot breaths mingling. “But I gotta fuck you... right now...”

She looks at him, breathing hard, a glint of panic in her big eyes. He doesn't care. Kissing her cheek, he leans back, moves her legs around his waist as he kneels between them. Her dress is pushed up, balled between his fists as he takes deep, steadying breaths, staring down at her small shaking body in front of him, holding back, trying to, but then he just can't.

With gritted teeth and a loud grunt, he rips the dress from bottom to top, she yelps hoarsely, the fabric tears, until it's torn in half, and he wrestles it out from under her and throws it across the room. The sight of her small tits quivering, her chest heaving, nipples already erect, makes him growl.

His hands roam up her torso, so big on her small body, close around those soft mounds, knead them, rub them, while she mewls quietly, a mixture of shock and anticipation on her pretty face. He keeps groping her with one hand, while the other slips lower and pushes her thong aside; not to rip it as well is almost impossible, but somehow he manages it.

His head is fuzzy, throbbing with a desire that makes him almost blind. He opens his belt and his pants, pushes everything down with a shaking hand before he grabs his angrily throbbing erection and puts it straight against her entrance.

Her whimper causes him to look up, her panicked expression squeezes his heart – and his cock. He leans closer, hand moving from her breasts to her face, caressing it gently. “Shh, it'll be okay,” he rasps. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

She shivers, inhaling sharply, but when she nods, he smiles at her, kisses her quivering lips and leans back abruptly, his hand slipping down to her dripping cunt, palm rubbing over her folds before he grips his cock and lathers it in her wetness.

The tension in his stomach is painful. Without prolonging it any further, he prods his tip into her slick, nudges it into her inch by hard inch, ignoring her quiet wails. His grunt is loud and low when he slips in fully, savoring the way she grips him so perfectly.

His hands are on her waist, his eyes on her flushed face, contorted in fear and discomfort. He rolls his hips a few times, slow and steady, but his restraint is non-existent at that point. With a groan and a squeak from her, he lies down on top of her, braced on his forearms, body pinning her down, hands finding her face before he showers it with kisses.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he growls against her. “So tight and warm...”

She lets out an unsteady breath, almost a little whine, but then her hands snake around his waist and grip the fabric of his shirt. He holds her gaze, wide watering eyes staring up at him, as he starts to move his hips, every slow downwards motion pushing her deeper into the cushions of the couch, and the more he moves, the faster he gets, until he's bouncing them steadily up and down.

Each deep plunge makes her gasp and moan, or so he thinks, her voice is still just that croaking sound in the back of her throat that tumbles over her parted lips. He's clearly overdone it. As much as he likes to fuck her throat, deep and hard, he has to be more careful in the future. Hearing her soft noises is something he doesn't want to miss.

He leans down and puts his mouth to hers, a messy kiss while he pounds into her tight heat, her walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock, wet squelches mixing with the squeak of the couch and her soundless little puffs of air. His own sounds are low groans, almost primal growls, predatory noises building inside him as he keeps ramming his hard cock into her soft pussy.

Her fingers claw at his shirt, fingernails digging deeper, her legs twitch, bouncing against his sides with every thrust, the heels of her feet hammering against his lower back. “Wrap your legs around me,” he grunts into her, giving her a moment of reprieve as he slows his motions. She does, crosses her feet, thighs pressed against his waist, holds onto him tightly, causing him to slip a little deeper. “Good... girl...” he huffs, watching her pupils dilate even further as she looks at him, this tiny thing beneath him, submitting to him so completely.

He leans back on his elbows, shoulders tight as he arches his back to move his pelvis against her, up and down, in and out, slowly picking up the pace again, his eyes on her every little twitch. Her face is flushed, mouth hanging open, eyes hooded and glistening, chest rising and falling fast, hair fanned out around her, exposing that delicious column of her neck – and the mark that's slowly fading on her skin. What has been a deep purple, has turned a brighter red mixed with edges of green and yellow, a slowly disappearing sign of his possession.

He can't have that.

So while he keeps snapping his hips against her, plunging deep and fast, he leans down to press his lips to her neck, kisses it, nibbles on it, sucks the blood to the surface, all along her pulse, rough pants against her skin as he marks her up all over again. He's quickly losing track of how many hickeys he's created, his vision starting to blur as his cock starts throbbing angrily inside her, his balls so tight it's almost painful.

To ease the tension, he moves his mouth to the soft flesh between her neck and her shoulder and sinks his teeth into it, biting down hard enough for her to squirm and cry out, her hands drumming on his back to make him stop. He does, licks up the blood that pools on the little indents of his teeth where he broke her skin. Sucking on it, it fills his mouth, turns him even more animalistic.

His thrusts are rapid now, his hips pistoning against her, cock plunging deep, definitely bruising her already battered cervix. She wails beneath him, hoarse little cries of pain, but her arms and legs are tight around him as she clings to him in an almost desperate fashion, and he can feel her hips trying to meet his fast movements. This spurs him on even more, and he shifts on his elbow, leans a little away, angles his pelvis, eyes on her face as he moves a hand between them, quickly finding her throbbing clit.

She gasps breathlessly, eyes widening, sweat clinging to her skin, hair stuck to her slick forehead. He stares at her, his own rapid breaths coming loud through his nose as he clenches his jaw, holding back as he focuses on her. “Come,” he orders. “Come for me...” he presses out through gritted teeth, rubbing her nub harder, rougher, while increasing the snaps of his hips, skin slapping against skin, her wetness squelching out loudly.

Her lips are quivering, breathless sounds slipping from them, a faint “Ah... ah... ah...” that echoes in his ears, and when he pinches her clit between his fingers, she manages a louder “Ahh!”, an almost scream that can't form in her hurting throat but still forces its way out of her. Her eyes roll back, shoulders pressing into the couch, spine curving into a beautiful arc, chest pushed upwards, hips bucking, legs tensing up, her fingernails like claws digging through his shirt into his back.

And her cunt clamps down on him hard, so hard it's his turn to groan louder. She comes with that delicious contortion of her body, a pliant little thing beneath him, convulsing uncontrollably, completely giving in to the pleasure that rushes through her. It's a sight that burns itself into the back of his mind.

He fucks her through her orgasm, panting heavily, hips slamming, cock being milked by the tight grip of her pussy, but before he can follow her over the edge, he leans back, grabs her waist, pushes himself to his knees, slips from her wet depths almost too easily. She's still caught in her release, slowly slumping back down into the cushions, limbs boneless, eyes closed, mouth open, unaware of him climbing over her until he's crouching over her chest, knees on either side of her shoulders.

“Open your mouth,” he grunts, barely able to speak with how hard his cock is throbbing in his tight fist. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, quickly widening as she notices his new position. There's a deep furrow between her brows, fear in her glistening eyes, panic in the way her lips quiver. But she complies, slowly opens her mouth, tongue out flat, rapid little breaths through her nose as she stares up at him.

He doesn't wait long, can't wait any longer, as he pushes his hard cock into her mouth, holding it at the base, mindful not to push too deep (a restraint that surprises him despite the fuzzy state of his mind), his other hand closes around her throat, pushing her down as she starts to squirm, her hands clawing helplessly at his arms and knees, anywhere they can reach as he pumps his shaft hard and fast until he finally feels the sweet release.

He comes with a deep groan, head rolling back, his stomach tensing, balls twitching as he shoots his load onto her tongue and into her throat, and with how he holds her down, she can only take it, muffled whimpers ringing in his ears, turning into gurgles and panicked attempts to breathe. She's close to hyperventilating when he eventually pulls back, the last spurts of cum hitting her lips and cheeks, one shoots against her eyebrow and she flinches, squeezes her eyes shut, tears rolling down the sides of her face.

He leans back on his knees, cock slowly deflating in his hand as he moves his other hand from her throat to cover her mouth, holding it shut as he stares down at her. “Swallow,” he groans, panting above her like a wild animal.

Her eyelids flutter, her rapid breaths hitting his fingers, but eventually there's a quiet gulp, and another, her throat moving, jaw tensing, and when she stops, he takes his hand away and puts a finger to her bottom lip, prying her mouth open.

She presents her flat tongue to him, mouth wide and empty. A smile crawls onto his lips. “Good girl,” he whispers, wiping at her lips and her wet cheek. She looks at him then, breathing hard, face flushed, eyes burning with what he thought was defiance earlier. A little darkness behind the fear. He only smiles wider, moves his finger along her face and wipes up the glob of cum on her eyebrow before he holds it to her lips.

She may hate him again, or still, but she nevertheless follows the unspoken order and flicks her tongue around his fingertip, licking up his spend. He feeds her more until her face is more or less clean of him, and she takes every single drop. Then he shifts on her chest, hand flat on her cheek and leans down to give her an almost chaste kiss that seems to surprise her as she freezes before her hands close around his wrist, holding him there.

But he leans back, slips from her weak grip easily and climbs off her, putting his spent cock away while he watches her closely. Some would say she looks pathetic how she lies on the couch, a little beetle caught on its back, arms and legs splayed around her, hair messy, face wet, body covered in sweat and her own release, pussy glistening and still exposed, thong carelessly pushed aside. A used body. But for him it's an image he wants to see again and again.

His work. His marks on her. His claim inside her, swimming in her belly.

It would be an even better image if his cum would slowly drip from her clenching hole, but he can't do that until she's settled on birth control. That's the only restraint he's giving himself.

His eyes move down to the bejeweled base of the plug poking out of her ass. Something warm rushes through him. He sits down beside her, his hand running along her bare leg. She stiffens under his touch, dark eyes following his every move. His finger trails towards her wet cunt, but instead of touching it, he fixes her thong in front of it, rubbing softly over the fabric, gathering her wetness in it.

She flinches when he pokes at the plug – and yelps when he gives her inner thigh a playful slap. “Alright,” he says, inhaling deeply as he stands up, looking down at her. “Let's get cleaned up, hm?” Not waiting for any reply, he gathers her in his arms and carries her towards the bathroom.

Despite having just fed the beast within him, he can feel his cock twitching all over again as he thinks about what to do next to his pretty little plaything.

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

End notes: Can you even call this fluff in a story like this? Well, it was a little softer anyway, right? We all needed that after those last chapters...

Thanks for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN

[waybeforeyourtime]

Why this line was the last straw?

"Why can't I decide how the hell I want to live? I want to live a normal life."

Before S1E1 even hits the 3-minute mark, we see a frustrated Wille make this statement. We, the audience, think it's simply the spoiled demands of a privileged prince.

We come to find out that it's not. It's a boy being forced into a role he doesn't fit into. He's a square peg being shoved into a round hole.

Then he meets Simon. Then he becomes Crown Prince.

"I can't keep doing this anymore."

He tries, but he can't. So, he goes back to Simon. Then he * fucks * up again. The video is leaked. More shame on the family. He lies to be a good prince.

He's surrounded by the privileged and expected to act like the privileged while loving someone unprivileged. August betrays him and hurts Simon because he isn't a good enough Prince.

August: "You have it all, and you don't want it." (paraphrasing).

August can be his backup, but he hates August for what he did. Except Wille is getting desperate. He's lost Simon, and he considers letting that happen to give him the normal life he always wanted. Except August is worse than he thought. August would send Simon to jail to protect himself.

He wants to be a good prince and not let August take the role, somewhat out of spite, too.

Wille - impulsive last-minute Wille - decides, mid-freakin'-speech, to try being true to himself and remain a Royal, and he outs himself publicly and declares that it was him with Simon in the video.

It doesn't change anything, though. In fact, it gets worse. Now, Simon has to fit into the mold of a Royal, and he's miserable. Wille tries to explain how it works but he can't. It's half-hearted. He doesn't believe in it, so how can he sell it to Simon? He doesn't think Simon should have to stop posting his music or being who he is, but it's what is expected of him. It's how the privileged act. They expect the lower class to conform to their wishes. They don't care about the wants or needs of the lower classes.

Simon breaks up with him. Wille's defeated because he knows Simon is right. Simon will never be happy being stuck in the expectations of Royal life. But Wille isn't either. And Wille sees that his mother isn't happy - she's having a mental breakdown. Erik wasn't the perfect brother either. He did toxic things and then covered it up.

Everyone is fake. Except Simon, so he lets him go.

"You'll make a great King."

This was the last straw. Wille had never heard that before. Everything he's ever done has been the wrong thing. The wrong way of thinking. The wrong way of acting. Wanting the wrong things. When he tried to make it right, it failed. Now, his mother is telling him that he'll make a Great King. Why? Because he gave up Simon and tried to fake it like everyone else.

And in that moment, our impulsive last-minute Wille, decides that 'no. he will not make a great king.' He stops just trying to get approval from his parents. He will not carve out pieces of himself to fit in that round hole, and he runs. He runs away from it and runs towards a life where he can make his own choices. He doesn't know who he wants to be, but he knows it's not King.

A hopeful ending. Not a happy ending.

[emailsquid]

i think sumi is a rlly good inversion of akechi actually.

akechi hides his true self by being pleasant and agreeable, and sumi tries to do much the same. for akechi, its because he feels like revealing his true self will hinder his goals, and fears the retribution. for him the adopted personality is a curse he has to endure to get what he wants.

sumire is essentially forced to abandon her true self, but at her own desire. freedom from the burden of being herself is her end goal, working in the complete opposite direction to akechi.

between them is akiren, who strikes a balance between them. he never tries to abandon his true self, its able to come out in the metaverse and at times with morgana and the thieves. at the same time, he uses the same people pleaser tactics as the others whenever he talks to anyone, even the thieves. he seems comfortable with both though, happy to wear different masks in social situations but not wanting to shun his true self.

i think sumire's reaction to maruki revealing the truth is by far her best character moment. she's revealed to have such strong self hatred she'd prefer to just. not exist. and this doesn't go away, evem after rank 10, since if you take maruki's deal kasumi doesn't come back, sumire just becomes kasumi again (this kind of assumes that maruki's happiness thing takes into account the extremness of her self hatred, since it's not like anyone else transforms into someone else in his reality)

much like he takes away sumire's self hatred, maruki's deal removes akechi's external anger, turning him into the facsimile he acted as. maruki can't allow akechi's true anger and bitterness and trauma, so akechi's true self, that he wants to be, becomes that pleasant outward demeanour.

to conclude i guess i think sumire and akechi are good vessels to explore hatred, societal expectations and self acceptance. akechi cannot be himself because of his hatred, and how that conflicts with societies expectations. personal thoughts on societal and interpersonal expectations cause sumire to hate being sumire, and prevent her from accepting herswlf. (wow its the theme of the game. no way. sometimes p5 is coherent).

this is what sets them apart from the other thieves, who have generally accepted who they are and the fact that they will not fit into society in a conventional way. the royal trio forgo being themselves in order to fit more easily into society, letting society's expectations mold them into a shape that fits for their role.

this commentary would probably go deeper if i had more confidence and understanding on japanese societal norms, but from what i understand this seems relevant to japanese culture's collectivist tendencies, with regards to supressing your personality to fit in.

[suffarustuffaru]

sincerely emilia (drabble for Day 2 - Injury / Role Swap / “What do I look like right now?” - rezero s3c1 fanweek!!)

Your name is Emilia, just Emilia, and you’re super duper good at everything you set your mind to! 

It was pretty rough learning how to die with grace, but it’s given you so many wonderful opportunities to learn other things as well! 

See, it only took approximately about a dozen or so loops to figure out how to make a suitable enough cake—you really, really don’t bother counting anymore, counting is such a downer unless it’s for something more fun—but, of course, you’re Emilia, and you can’t just half-ass any of the things you do! Ah, but oh my—you really, really shouldn’t be cursing or anything even in your internal dialogue, so you suppose this may call for another loop! Besides, you accidentally put too much frosting in one corner of the cake when you were writing the big important message on the face of it, so you must correct that as well. 

You duck into the nearest bathroom and bite down on your tongue. It’s good practice, given that’s usually one of the deaths you struggle a little bit with, and you like to practice. You like becoming so good at things that no one can think of you as stupid, silly Emilia anymore. You like being so good that nothing can ever touch you again. 

That you never hurt anyone again.

Anyway, this world has given you so many fun opportunities ever since that day in the capitol! Felt may have stolen your insignia at the time, and Elsa was quite an opponent, but you’ve learned all sorts of valuable things ever since! Of course, after your dozen or so loops spent learning to make a cake, you spent some more learning to make the perfect cake. It was only a tiny bit of looping—maybe about another dozen or more? Besides, you already had the chance to catalog even more important information:

Natsuki Subaru is from beyond the Great Waterfall. Natsuki Subaru, presumably, appeared in the middle of that capitol the same day your insignia was stolen. Natsuki Subaru is your knight because you let him mold himself into something stronger. You let him try, like how you always try and try and try. Because Natsuki Subaru is a stupid, stupid boy who lives life oh-so-recklessly, and yet you can’t help but admire his passion. His heart. You wanted to squeeze it, just a little, that one time you found him dead in an alleyway with his murderers panicking because they hadn’t expected to kill him. They weren’t even trying. And, of course, the knights weren’t trying to kill him. Of course not! And, of course, of course, of course, Natsuki Subaru had to follow you everywhere you went like a dumb puppy wagging its tail, but he can’t come back to life like you can. You’re dead weight. He’s even deader weight. But you can come back. After all the crying and vomiting and screaming you did, after all the times you got beat down and never came back up again, after all the times you let everyone around you die, after all the times you saw your own maids and your own father do horrible things you never would have approved of, after all the times you were targeted and stupid, stupid Subaru got caught in the crossfire, after all the times you saw Geuse—Petelgeuse—you figured it out: you can please everyone all at once and as much as possible so long as you used the power you were forced into. This is the one thing you can control: you make yourself beautiful, force your personality into a better place the same way you can force a broken shoulder back into its socket. The same way you can hear your own voice whisper back to you in a void, I love him, I love him, save him, I love him, save, save, save. The same way you can make sure Natsuki Subaru is safe.

And happy.

You can make sure everyone around you all at once is safe and happy. There were—there were a few errors. But you’re good at pushing forward. You even got over your personal hurdle of disliking lying and broken promises. This is because you’re not broken bird Emilia anymore. In fact, your power proves everyone wrong! How could you not be great after everything? You have it down to even the smallest details— 

“Subaru!” you exclaim as you burst into his room. He leaves the door unlocked; this is out of habit, even if he doesn’t remember her, due to all the times a certain maid had been at her bedside before she—before she—haha—

Subaru, of course, startles awake. He’s a little jumpy, though he can be quite the deep sleeper when he’s really exhausted, but he always has this habit of relaxing the moment he sees you! This is related to how the moon is beautiful, isn’t it is a phrase that really means I love you, along with other such foolish things like how Emilia-tan, is Emilia-chan is some childish form of endearment, and how take care are words that have either made Subaru cry tears of joy or tears of complete and utter despair depending on the loop, and how Natsuki Subaru was a lonely little shut-in NEET who imprinted on you like a duckling would with its mother. He’s frightened at first once he’s fully awake now, practically jumping out of bed and looking around like he’s expecting an attack—like that one loop where he died in his sleep, or that other loop where a certain maid died in her sleep instead and he got caught in the crossfire again, like he always does—but then his eyes land on you. His face brightens, and then brightens even further when you say—

“Happy birthday!” You proudly hold out the cake you’ve made for him. It’s butterscotch, exactly as he said he was craving since the first loop of this current period, and you made sure to write out the words Happy birthday in perfect characters onto the cake as well. Pretty poignant, you think, that his birthday is just a few weeks before the anniversary of that day in the capitol. You look up from the eighteen birthday candles scattered amidst the frosting. 

“It’s a new you,” you add with a cheerful smile. “I’m reaaally glad that you’re here, Subaru, and I’m honored to have another year with you as my friend—” You wink at him. A little teasing, but just innocent enough to only be slightly flirtatious. Subaru runs away in a panic if there’s too much. “—and my knight.”

Subaru squeaks in embarrassment at that. You allow yourself a measured giggle at that, hidden behind a polite hand. Subaru’s eyes roam all over you and the cake you’re holding out for him with your other hand; like this, all the muscles you’ve been working on are showing, all pure heroine grace just the way he likes, and your laugh is also pure grace. Just the way he likes. 

Pure, pure, pure. 

You make sure to alter the formula a little with others, though. A person like Anastasia likes being caught off guard by pure, simple sincerity, and you like seeing her narrow her eyes at you every time you already knew what she was going to say. Otto likes to take other people under his wing, as much as he pretends he doesn’t want to, so you indulgently allow him to advise you on everything and anything, and you laugh when he doesn’t know how you’re predicting every possible move he makes in shatranj. Garfiel’s desire for strength is admirable, and your sparring sessions with him have been some of your favorite loops. The moment he declared that he would have to train to become as strong as you tasted like pure victory. Ram’s singing lessons too, have been your other favorites as well, with the curtness of her voice turning soft when she called you a girl with good timing, and even Julius’s lips kissing your knuckle felt nice in the epicenter of the storm that was all those loops where you kept trying and trying to stop Subaru from walking straight into his death. All of this—it’s another way to improvement. It’s another way to experience every good thing you’ve ever had over and over and over again. 

Pure intimacy.

Purity itself.

But now, Subaru’s bright, flustered grin suddenly fades. It sends a panic in you, a bile curling in your stomach and clawing up your throat until you want to slit your throat. “Aww, Subaru,” you say, as gentle as ever. “Is something the matter?” 

Subaru shakes his head hastily. Clears his throat. “N-No,” he says, “Just—how did you learn to write in Japanese?” 

You pause. Then, “Does Subaru not like it?”

“No, no,” Subaru stutters, gesturing his hands around wildly. “I do like it! I really, really like it, Emilia-tan, promise! It’s—god, this is like a birthday cake out of my dreams, I swear, but—I-I wasn’t expectin’ that you’d, um, know how to—”

You smile again and lightly tap Subaru’s nose. It distracts him again, his cheeks bright red, just as you knew it would. “Well, silly, I’ve been wanting to learn for a while! It’s an ancient language hailing from Kararagi, I hear—” Subaru’s journal was an enlightening thing to look through. You figure that with only a few more loops you could read the entire thing from front to back and then recite it from memory. “—and you seem so passionate about it, so I wanted to learn just for you.”

Just for you. Haha, you’re really the most sincere person in the entire universe, aren’t you?

“Really, Emilia-tan…?” Subaru replies, completely awestruck. 

“Really,” you say, with the tilt of your head. This must be the Subaru that blue-haired maid saw, of course. Silly, silly Subaru, always thinking about other—

Subaru stands there, right beside you, biting down on the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s uncertain about something. That’s your Subaru, always biting down words when he feels the need to. He’s still starry-eyed looking at you, of course, but there’s a bit of hesitation there now for some reason.

“Emilia…” he says, reluctant, “You look…”

“What do I look like right now?” you obediently ask. You have always had to ask these sorts of things, unfortunately. Half-devil witch. Half-devil witch in league with the actual half-devil witch. Half-devil witch who can come back to life after death. Half-devil witch who can return from death any time she wants, save everyone except for the times it really counts. You can look like a witch, but you can't act like one. Rem is gone. Petelgeuse is gone. Puck is gone. Fortuna is gone, gone, gone. Everyone has been gone in every timeline except—

“You looked a little… scary… for a moment,” Subaru mumbles. Then he shakes his head at a rather vigorous rate. “No, no, I was probably seeing things—sorry, Emilia-tan. I didn’t mean to be such a downer, and I don’t mean to insult you or anything, you’re still as beautiful as ever, I promise!”

You smile. You’re very good at smiling and waving. You can already feel your teeth scraping against your tongue again. “No need to apologize, Subaru. We all see things that frighten us for a moment, don’t we?” Your hand pats him on the head. He does this little flustered squeal at that, as always, and you laugh sweetly at him in reward. “Why don’t we go to the dining room and eat your cake there? You still have to blow out the candles, after all, and I need to go make sure your breakfast is all set too.”

“O-Oh!” Subaru startles. “Emilia-tan, you put in so much work for me and you really didn’t have to—”

You hum to yourself. “It’s okay, Subaru, there’s no need to put in any work today when it’s your birthday!” You reach for his hand with your own, the one that’s not holding the cake, and he eagerly holds your hand back. You squeeze it gently. “Come now, let’s just go already so we can celebrate!” 

This will likely take another loop.

“O-Okay, Emilia-tan,” Subaru says with a grin. And everything’s okay. Because Emilia declares it to be. Because, because, because—

Your name is Emilia, the very best Emilia, and you’re super duper good at everything you set your mind to!

[thefifthmarauderstuff]

|| “What could've been“||

Draco Malfoy x Pureblood Reader

Soooo my fyp is being all dracotok...again, so I made a Draco Malfoy scrabble^^. Hope you like it!!

In the heart of wizarding society, where lineage and tradition reigned supreme, Draco Malfoy found himself navigating the intricacies of a world where expectations often outweighed personal desires. Amidst this backdrop, an unforeseen twist of fate introduced him to a captivating individual— Y/N Devereaux —a witch whose presence stood out amidst the polished facade of society.

Their initial encounters were steeped in formalities, exchanged pleasantries, and the rigid expectations of their families. Draco, with his familiar air of aloofness, and Y/N, graceful yet quietly defiant of societal norms, found themselves repeatedly crossing paths at various wizarding events.

At first, their interactions were confined to polite conversation, laced with the weight of their families' histories and the unspoken rules of their society. Yet, beneath the surface, there brewed an unspoken connection—a shared understanding that transcended the boundaries of their predetermined roles.

Y/N possessed a depth that intrigued Draco—a mix of resilience, intelligence, and an unwavering spirit that refused to be constrained by societal dictates. As Draco navigated the complexities of his own beliefs and the expectations placed upon him, Y/N's presence served as a gentle reminder of a world beyond the confines of tradition.

Despite the pressures surrounding them, a subtle shift occurred in their dynamic. Casual encounters turned into purposeful conversations, filled with shared laughter, moments of vulnerability, and glimpses of their true selves beneath the masks they wore for the world.

Draco found himself confiding in Y/N about his inner conflicts, the weight of family expectations, and the struggle to define his own path amidst the stringent guidelines set by his lineage. Y/N, in turn, shared her own aspirations, fears, and dreams—unveiling a side of herself that she rarely revealed to anyone.

As Draco and Y/N spent more time together, they discovered common interests and an unspoken understanding that blossomed into a genuine connection—one that neither could ignore nor deny. Their journey together wove a tale of finding solace and understanding in a world that demanded conformity.

"Another one of these insufferable gatherings. The same faces, the same pretenses."

"It can be tiresome, indeed Draco. But sometimes, within the monotony, there might be hidden moments worth discovering."

"Hidden moments? In a sea of shallow conversations and forced pleasantries?"

"Perhaps. But sometimes, beneath the expected facade, there are depths waiting to be explored you know."

Their conversations, once formal and veiled, gradually shifted to deeper topics, their words weaving a connection beyond the surface. Each encounter revealed more layers, unraveling the complexities of their personalities.

"I've never understood these traditions. They suffocate individuality, force us into roles we didn't choose."

"Traditions often clash with the desire for authenticity Draco dear, But within those constraints, there might be room to shape our own paths."

"You speak as if there's a way to break free from these chains love." He said, as he walked towards her, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

"Maybe not break free entirely, but navigate them in a way that lets us remain true to ourselves, You know that Love." She said as she carresses her love's cheek.

Their conversations, once tethered to societal expectations, ventured into contemplations of freedom and identity, fostering a mutual understanding of their shared struggle against the confines of their world.

"There's something different about you. You don't conform to the mold everyone expects."

"And neither do you, Draco. Beneath that exterior lies someone wrestling with their own desires and beliefs."

"I never expected to find someone who sees beyond the Malfoy name."

"Maybe that's because I look for the person behind the title, beyond the expectations."

Their dialogues, once laced with formality, evolved into honest exchanges, each word strengthening the connection between them.

"I've found comfort in our conversations,Y/N. I found comfort in You. You make these events bearable."

"You've provided solace for me in this world of constraints, Draco. Your perspective challenges my own. And I love that about you.“

"Perhaps there's a chance for something more between us."

"Maybe, in this world of rigidity, we've found a space to explore what could be."

Their talks, once cautious and restrained, hinted at a shared desire for something beyond the limitations of their circumstances.

Their journey together continued, conversations evolving from polite exchanges to shared confidences, laughter, and whispered hopes for a future where their love could thrive. Amidst clandestine meetings and stolen moments, their connection grew stronger, defying the boundaries imposed by their families and society.

Their love blossomed amidst clandestine meetings, stolen glances, and whispered conversations away from the prying eyes of their world. They navigated the delicate balance between their burgeoning affection and the pressures of their families' expectations, determined to carve out a path where their love could thrive.

In the end, what began as chance encounters in the meticulously crafted world of wizarding aristocracy evolved into a profound and unexpected love—one that dared to challenge tradition and rewrite the narrative of their predetermined lives. Draco and Y/N stood united, their love a testament to the resilience of the human heart against the confines of expectation and tradition. Together, they forged a future that honored their love, breaking free from the chains of society to embrace a life where their hearts could truly be at peace.

[malaierba]

Remember that it was explicitly stated that Toshiro was trained in ninjutsu?

(HE WAS SIX. LIKE, BY THE WAY)

(the way he has that fucking flashback always sends me btw. I know my man felt the floor sink and everything)

And most of people trained under his family's residence are ninja-coded. Since his dad has those dark, ambiguous links with powerful people, so he's likely the same.

So why is Toshiro's attire and fighting style like a samurai's?

Strictly speaking, ninjas were essentially historical mercenaries, and samurai were nobles who fought under the shogunate without a fee. They were famously guided by the Bushido Code, while ninjas were expected to be shady and fight dirty.

Essentially opposites. Which makes me think that there's a few likely intentions behind that choice:

Maybe she just wanted to drive home more clearly the culture clash between laishuro. Like Toshiro just so happened he wanted to dress like a samurai in his adventure. Maybe he's trying to avoid being recognised? Could be, but I don't think that's it

Maybe Toshiro's training and general upbringing changed as his dad became more influential. Maybe there was a possibility that he could marry up, or get adopted into noble society, who knows, thing is there was a political reason that justified trying to raise Toshiro so he's more of a diplomat than his dad probably is. But then that'd mean that his dad regretted the switch when he deemed his son "a dull man"? I'm 50/50 here, there's always a possibility that in this fantastic alliteration of Japan has some overlaps between samurai and ninja, and maybe ninjas can be nobles after all. Feels too counterintuitive to be logical though.

Maybe it's meant to highlight how different Toshiro is from his family. So visually, it singles him out and associates a certain set of values with him; And then within the story, it lends itself to some compelling ideas like: Did he do it on purpose, was it somehow decided for him as a weird punishment or something? If he did it on purpose then that'd be the very first big decision he took for himself, to say "I want to embody this". Very bold of him since it sends a clear message to everyone. It'd be kind of cool if he made the switch after his father accused him of being dull. He could feel responsible for inheriting the family and having a lot of people to his charge, but at the same time he has such a negative opinion of the type of leader his father is that the only way to reconcile his conscience would be to become the new head of the family but also lead completely different to his dad. OR maybe it was a silent way to say that he never felt like being in that position of leadership anyway. Quietly quitting, in a way? Or maybe it didn't even happen consciously. Toshiro naturally seeked role models that embodied a type of man that he could actually look up to, and slowly molded himself to that standard, for better and for worse. Strong sense of responsibility and all that.

I guesssss it could be that Toshiro's family really is nobility, but they train their servants in all of those special skills as a private bodyguard force? Hien expected Toshiro to propose to her, would that union be allowed if Toshiro's family was nobility? It's even said in one of the art books that the reason why Toshiro's dad didn't marry Maizuru is because he met her after marrying his wife. Besides, why train Toshiro in ninjutsu too? And then there's those moments when it's hinted that he's familiar with some darker dynamics. I keep thinking about how he knew what Laios group had to do in order to lose the cops fkdkkd. Anyway I can see the logic in the argument, I'm just not sure Toshiro's family isn't hiding something sus. I see it as very mafia coded. Honestly, that might be just it

In any case, it does overlap some interesting elements on Toshiro. There's an expectation on him from his family, the way the household projects an image of strength but also some shadiness, that contrasts with how he presents himself, how he's treated by his charges, how the image he projects is of a mild mannered, stoic, diplomatic man.

[jester-lover]

A Sunday Kind of Love

Twisted wonderland characters with a girlfriend who wears suits

feat- Trey, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Rook, Lilia, and silver

cw- fluff, stupid gender roles being destroyed, very flustered boys, insecurity (not from the reader), talks of gender roles/identity, whoever reads this is so cool, reader is so hot and confident (did I mention she’s so hot)

Trey

Mmm domestic baker boy

He is so enamored with your confidence and classy attitude

For the first time in his life, he’s genuinely flustered by the sheer presence of another person

You two tend to both keep Riddle in check, him with his calming attitude, and you with your gentle sternness

The place where he comes from, women are expected to be more subservient, so he likes to think of you like the Queen of Hearts herself, a headstrong woman capable of taking control of her own destiny

Trey loves when you allow him to help you with your outfits, like buttoning up your jacket for you

He was probably a little intimidated by you at first, with your powerful aura and sleek aesthetic, you brought intimidation with you wherever you went

Another thing Trey loves is order and cleanliness, your clean and sublime aesthetic keeps him stable

Househusband material, no explanation needed

“Sweetheart, your lapel needs fixing, do you mind if I get that for you?”

Jade 

The both of you have such staunch, serious aesthetics, with such caring, passionate personalities behind them

You value the way you dress and look in a way Jade admires greatly, he knows the value of dressing well to create an image for yourself

Jade understands the trust you can earn from people when they deem you to be elegant and professional

You two revel in the looks of both awe and confusion, hand in hand

No matter if you're wearing the most outlandish colorful suit, he’ll find an accent color to incorporate into his own outfit

It's a small way for him to show people that he’s taken

His air of confidence is often left on his coat hanger, knowing that the both of you have a shared sense of comfort with one another always makes him smile

Jade knows what it feels like to not entirely fit into a societal mold, he himself is a literal fish out of water, and he understands that he needs to support you as a young woman accidentally portaled to an all-boys school

You two find unity and connection in your differences

“Dear, would you like to share a cup of tea after my shift is over?”

Floyd

Floyd enjoys fashion and business-type silhouettes, even if he tends to loosen up his own

Seeing that you are a young woman, and Floyd is (begrudgingly) respectful of your personal space, he’ll always ask before squeezing you

That is until you start squeezing him first

He loves a woman who takes initiative!

Floyd absolutely adores all of your more fancy outfits, especially during galas

He finds those fancy events so boring, until you show up and blow everyone out of the water

Floyd finds it especially funny when irrelevant little guppies try to make fun of your traditionally masculine attire, and you just laugh at them

You two share a similar aloofness towards the opinions of others, and it just brings you closer together

After a while, he is sorta wrapped around your finger, grinning and going pink at every wink you send his way

“Shrimpy’s dressed all fancy, is it just for me?”

Jamil 

Jamil tends to prefer more casual clothing for himself, but the allure of you in a full suit is powerful to him

You probably meet at one of Kalim’s parties, where your aura of grace and androgyny catches his attention

If he finds time to talk to you, he’ll be stuttering over himself constantly

Why would a strong, successful young woman like you want him? Why would you settle for second best, when you could have Kalim and by extension everything else?

You did want him though, you appreciated his tough work ethic, and his dreams to better himself beyond his condition

Jamil usually finds dressing or taking care of other people to be tedious, but when it's you, he can’t refuse

He loves helping you style yourself, especially if you let him do your nails to match

Small moments of time shared between the two of you, helping you tie your tie, or do your makeup, keep Jamil going

Another one who’s prime househusband material

“I-I’m not blushing, now would you let me paint your nails in peace?”

Rook 

Rook is very curious about you when he sees you, sure, he knows about feminine men, but he has yet to converse with a masculine woman!

Oh but when he does, Rook finds himself startled

He has never met someone with such effortless charisma, such power and dominance in language alone!

Our poor little french boy has a crush almost immediately

He writes you poetry about your beauty, about the gorgeousness of your androgyny and loving spirit, slipping the notes into the shaky mailbox outside Ramshackle 

Rook thought he would get away with it long enough to confess, but you were too smart, and figured out it was him, his red face during that conversation was delightful

With Rook as your partner, you often take long walks together, hands placed snugly in your suit pockets

His favorite accessory on you is a pair of cufflinks, which he gets you often as gifts

“Mon ange, you look absolutely brilliant, the two of us will be the talk of the town!”

Lilia 

Lilia is often considered to be a feminine individual by strangers, he knows what it's like to break gender norms

You have a certain air of power around you he has never seen on a human, so he often jokingly questions if you are human after all

It's almost impossible to make Lilia blush, the closest you’ve ever gotten was during a dance, when you spun and dipped him

Lilia often goes clothes shopping with you

Especially if you enjoy a more vintage aesthetic of suits, who’d be better to ask then someone who was actually there?

He loves your confidence most of all, Lilia is very comfortable in his skin, so of course he’d want a partner just the same

You know you’re hot, he knows he’s hot, it's a match made in heaven 

“Beastie, your tie is shifting, won’t you allow me to tuck it in for you?”

Silver 

The moment you walk through the portal, Silver has his eyes on you

You love flustering him, he’s such a sheltered person after all

Pulling him in by his collar to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder in pictures, and so much more

Silver is enamored by the way you dress, it feels so mysterious and yet so open and kind

Besides teasing your poor little boyfriend, you also love being affectionate towards him, like slipping your blazer over his sleeping form whenever he falls asleep in inconvenient places

He saw you then, with your blazer off and your vest slightly unbuttoned, and he knew he saw beauty in its purest form

Silver may be shyer when it comes to romance, but you’re naturally dominant nature helps him push himself forward with you

Everytime he buys you a bouquet of flowers, he makes sure to tuck one into the pocket of your suit, so you can keep a bit of his love with you at all times

“I saw these black petunias, and they reminded me of you, I hope whenever you look at them you think of me too.”

[ane-doodles]

What is the Becomes the Hunter AU?

It is the second AU created after CFP. Unfortunately it is also the one that I have drawn and developed the least, since what caught my attention the most was the idea instead of the story.

Still I recently made a remake of the beginnings of the lamb, so I hope you enjoy it:

Warning of a long rambling below

Basically it was born from the idea that the lamb was… Really a lamb, a child (approx 6-12 years old).

In this AU the lamb is captured along with its family and flock. Day after day he sees them disappear one by one, and although he doesn't really see them die, he knows what is happening. He stays with his mother until the last second until he inevitably ends up alone.

On the day of his sacrifice he is scared, crying without being able to pronounce a word…

When he dies he does not get up, the shock and fear make him kneel on the ground crying without understanding what is happening.

In the distance Narinder notices the presence of a soul in his domain. Hearing the sobs in the distance he sends the twins to find out what it is and bring it to his presence.

Aym and Baal find a boy kneeling on the ground shaking and crying his eyes out. Slowly approaching, they end up taking the little boy to his master, and it is at that moment that Narinder understands that the prophecy that will free him has begun… Although a little more different than he expected.

The lamb (whose name is Tao) remains in Narinder's domain for a long time basically growing under his care. He completely trusts the god of death who received him and cared for him and taught him to fight and defend himself, to the point where he blindly believes everything he tells him. He is extremely talkative and not very careful. He has grown up alongside Baal and Aym as role models.

Narinder on his own has no problem waiting a little longer for his vessel, and having the opportunity to "mold" him at such a young age is beneficial. Although everything starts with the intention of manipulating him, he inevitably ends up developing a certain affection for the little boy (in a more familiar sense, similar to what we have as headcanon with Aym, Baal and Narinder in which he has raised them).

Eventually the day comes, Tao (12 years old) receives his first and most important mission: to become Narinder's vessel and free him from his confinement.

When he reaches the mortal world again, so much time has passed after his death that the bishops have forgotten him and the world has forgotten his species. Tao finds the ground for the future cult and begins to prepare it on his own. Ratau is sent to help him when the lamb has trouble getting followers for the cult because well… It's hard to take seriously a child who invites you to join a cult in his name.

Slowly the cult grows. Tao defeats enemies but even though he has trained since his youth and is quite skilled, he is still a child which is why he dies quite often (think about playing on hard mode). Fortunately, each death means a visit to his new "family." Tao tries and overexerts himself to fulfill his mission and please Narinder, putting himself at risk and screwing up in order to obey the words of the god of death.

During this period he becomes friends with Ratau and Forneus, the two of them being the only ones who look after the boy's well-being during his crusades and his stay in the cult. By spending time with them, Tao feels in a warmer and more familiar environment.

Eventually (two years later) the mission comes to an end. The lamb is happy to have accomplished its task and is willing to return home to finish.

[Extra note that I didn't know where to put: during these years Narinder has begun to care for Tao more directly, giving him advice and guidance and comforting him when he needs it. He has simply come to love him.]

When Narinder asks for the crown back he orders Tao to also give up his life, as it is part of the ritual (his plan is that after restoring his powers he will resurrect the lamb and allow it to live in the cult along with him, but he never mentions it). in front of the child). Tao is perplexed and confused… The fear he felt at the beginning returns but this time it is combined with the rage of betrayal.

Tao fights, claiming how Narinder is equal to the other bishops who killed him and that he should never have trusted him. In a fit of rage, Tao throws the crown to the ground and destroys it, causing a collapse between the world of the living and the dead.

Tao wakes up in the middle of the forest, dazed and with a scratch-shaped scar on his chest. The rage within him continues to burn along with the desire for revenge when he learns that Narinder is alive and trapped in a mortal body, which is why he makes it his personal mission to hunt down the god of death.

On the other hand, Narinder (who did not actually attack the lamb but rather prevented it from being destroyed) is dedicated to escaping from his hunter and gathering the pieces of the crowns while at the same time looking for a way to explain what happened. it really happened.

……

Technically that is the story as such. Then there are the chases and so on.

Here are some extra details:

Tao knows that Forneus is Baal and Aym's mother from the beginning, which is why he ends up as a kind of messenger between both worlds for them.

Tao is especially good at sermons, having adopted mannerisms and a more formal way of speaking from Narinder, but his mischievous and impatient personality outside the temple has made it difficult to take him seriously.

Forneus and Ratau are kind of parents to Tao even though he doesn't really realize it. When Tao returns after destroying the crown, he is upset and it is the presence of these two that calms him down.

Although he is blinded by his desire for revenge, he is also still a child, which is why he is confused, sad and hurt. There are days when he doesn't feel like hunting and instead stays in a clearing in the middle of the forest to cry for a while.

The family-adoptive relationship between Tao and Narinder is mutual although they have not discussed it directly

Although Tao is angry with Narinder he doesn't really want to kill him

Even though Narinder is good with words, he really screwed up by not mentioning his plan to Tao.

Tao meets Baal and Aym on one of their forays into the forest. The three are looking for Narinder. Tao proposes that if they help him find him then he will take them to their mother who is waiting for them.

And that would be all! As an extra piece of information I would like to add that when I first drew Tao I loved his design but something caught my attention… That's when I realized that he looked like Narilamb's secret child in some way.

[greensaplinggrace]

🔥 Aleksander's mommy issues and if that plays a role in his relationships

I will say until I die that aleksander's relationships with others are defined by his relationship with immortality and thus with his mother - who not only taught him everything about it, but who has also been the only consistent presence in his life for over four hundred years. this is the woman that developed an emotionally codependent and incestuous relationship with him as well as groomed him into the type of man she would wish to have a partnership with, which further defines the ways he views himself, the world, other people, and his connections to them.

all of this correlates to his many relationships, but especially his romantic one with alina. he mirrors his traumas with his mother and therefore with eternity in his dynamic with her. he is simultaneously the perpetrator and the victim. where he spent hundreds of years forgiving his mother for her abuse of him because the alternative is eternal loneliness, he expects of alina the same level of forgiveness for his actions based on that same latent despair - because he was taught at a fundamental age that a dichotomy exists in the universe, and the only way to find anything good at all - safety or happiness or connection - is to center all needs around the threat of inevitable punishment. not punishment in any physical sense, but punishment at a transcendental level.

the reason baghra did this was to groom him. the reason any parent does this (and it is especially prevalent with religion and cults) is to control their children and guide them toward the ideal path (which is always the path they themselves are on).

like most abusive relationships, baghra relies on cult tactics to develop a dynamic with her son that erodes all boundaries and erases any attempt at creating them further down the line - effectively taking ownership of his personhood and growth. she redefines his emotional associations to link them all to herself, and she even takes possession of his body in a variety of ways, until she has molded the perfect partner. one who shares all of her values and so will never leave her side - and who is entirely and completely isolated through both a lack of consistently stable connections and the lack of ability to create them.

baghra has always, after all, had her control threatened most by two things when it comes to her son: his idealism - which drives his moral compass away from her - and his desire for other connections. which means that to truly have him as a partner, she must take control of these narratives herself. so, she must destroy his ability to connect, and she must mold his morals to fit alongside her own. meaning constant and consistent contact with him and every part of his life.

similarly, we see even this reflected in aleksander's dynamic with alina. aleksander attempts to relate to her in the only way he knows how: by exerting control and by guiding her down the path he is on - by claiming to know what is best for her. in the exact same way baghra has continually tried to repossess him throughout the years by leading him down the 'best path for him' - one that she defines as redemption through inaction. one that she knows could allow her to control him again through reestablishing his existential relationship with punishment, loss, loneliness, and fear.

she seeks to do this because she needs him walking beside her again, easily pliable. because while time has furthered him from her, she is at least still in his life holding some of the reins, but nothing has threatened her grasp on her son as much as another prospective partner. one that won't harm him the way she has and one that could easily reveal exactly how much of himself he has lost to his mother in her claims about living eternally. one that could prove to be a real, stable relationship for him - unraveling all of the threads she so carefully wound.

like baghra did with him, aleksander fosters a codependent relationship with alina, because he was taught that such a relationship is the only way to survive immortality (and that this is how relationships work at all). he desires alina to be his immortal companion, in the same way his mother desired him, because he longs - probably without realizing - for a relationship that is not defined by constant abuse. but he has none of the resources to break free of the cycle of abuse, because he cannot even conceptualize that the things baghra taught him are abusive.

everything baghra taught him, he repeats to alina. every lesson about immortality, he repeats to alina. the possessiveness which defines his relationship with his mother - the ways she controls his interactions with others and isolates him completely - this he mirrors also with alina. because the only framework he possesses for a long-lasting connection is his relationship with his mother, and he is so starved for real connection that he craves it.

he craves it because baghra made him crave it. because she starved him of affection and made him reliant upon her as his sole provider for it. then she destroyed any other source he might find. she did this because she wanted to ensure he would always come back to her and forgive her. additionally, they are in the position of being entirely unique, which only further provides another tool for abuse. it is so so easy to neatly isolate someone when they are already othered completely and have no reliable means of long-term connection but you. it is so so easy to starve someone and lead them to believe they are gorging themselves when there is no other source of sustenance.

but then comes alina. who is also immortal. and who is quite capable of not only walking down aleksander's path, but having aleksander walk down hers. and alina will give aleksander the sustenance he needs. alina will give a long-lasting relationship with real happiness and affection and touch and love. alina will make him realize that the ways he tries to fulfill his cravings - the ways baghra taught him - are wrong.

which brings the situation to the plot.

alina's moral conflict is falsely dichotomized into two things:

a) kill the 'monster' and believe the true social issues that caused it can be solved through inaction.

or b) give in to the latent 'evil' that comes with being grisha, reveling in power, greed, and selfishness.

baghra as the author's mouthpiece supports the former, which means alina's 'enlightenment' must eventually follow this path - for the true moral message to be conveyed. and this path leads her away from the darkling. thus, it is inevitable within such a narrative that she would have to do so.

however, contextually, baghra's actions when putting alina on this path are those of an abuser losing control of their victim. while she operates within a narrative role, she acts in a way that is easily identifiable. the very specific way in which baghra confronts aleksander's relationships with others in both the books and the show (especially his relationship with alina) is that of someone who wishes to remove outside influences from the perfectly tailored environment of their victim. if alina begins to trust aleksander and start a relationship with him, then this environment will be disrupted - possibly destroyed - and he will be removed from baghra's influence forever. baghra, as an eternally lonely person, cannot let this happen.

but she has a new way of living, now. one that her son rejects, because he is finally trying to become his own person and create his own path. so, she molds alina into exactly what she is and ties alina to her completely, effectively ruining her son's chances for any connection outside of her ever again. not only that, but she severs any future attempts at connection between them by taking control of the narrative about aleksander. meaning alina will defer to baghra about him, about morals, about what paths to walk and what actions to take. she will defer to her about anything that leads in aleksander's direction, because she must 1) do so for narrative purposes (and baghra is first and foremost the narrative compass) and 2) reject all associations with his character completely.

so aleksander is now trapped in an abusive cycle with both women, and the options are either alina, who is not only his abuser’s mouthpiece, but someone who has been cut off from any attempt at a connection with him completely. or his mother, who is in many ways relying on alina's treatment of him to drive him back into her arms.

aleksander, who cannot conceivably understand why he longs for another partner, must focus on alina. but as someone who was brutally stripped of any ability to connect healthily, he can only communicate with her one way - through possession, control, fear, and manipulation. and because she now erects the same barriers baghra does and walks the same path as her- well. the pattern of abuse continues.

so yeah. I think he mimics his relationship with baghra in his other relationships. he attempts to connect in the only ways he knows how, and when he tries to move outside of the box and connect in his own way, baghra intervenes. he is a centuries old abuse victim that will literally never gain the resources or outside connections required to develop healthy relationships. and sab is lauded as a narrative on the side of abuse survivors. lmfao.

send me a 🔥 for an unpopular opinion (x)

[theminecraftbee]

What is fish person Jimmy in this gender system?

OKAY SO THE ANSWER IS “IT’S COMPLICATED”. so. in my head the codlands are more accustomed to humans than the ocean empire. maybe at some point originally there was interbreeding (if that’s physically possible I’m gonna say yes it is), too, but there was definitely more cross-cultural dialogue. also they’re more amphibious, which means they probably ALSO do the sex characteristic switching thing under certain conditions, but probably different ones. so combined what happens is you get a culture that DOES have an idea of our concept of gender, due to, for years, having had cross-cultural dialogue with that concept and tending to intermingle a whole lot more, but for whom that concept would not physically map onto, sex characteristics-wise.

so anyway I think in pure Ocean culture jimmy would be a Queen, despite everything, just sort of one that’s very wishy-washy about that role, except not actually because codfolk aren’t as colorful as oceanfolk and so Jimmy doesn’t LOOK LIKE a queen to oceanfolk. but societally, his role as codfather is like that of Queen. HOWEVER, note that he uses the masculine term for himself! I think he sees himself as sort of a man by human terms and does have an understanding of that, even if the anatomy thing doesn’t work with his biology! also, I think the dialogue about what gender “leader” is was different with the codfolk—oceanfolk leaders “presented” as feminine in clothing and style but codfolk are much more plain so the default “leaders are masculine” ended up mapped onto that and jimmy had no reason to think otherwise.

I think he’s actually kind of defensive of both this and the Leader gender—he’s not GOOD at performing his gender as a Queen! he’s not GOOD at performing as human masculine, either! he’s sort of culturally expected to be both, even though they’re contradictory sometimes! so he overcompensates sometimes to try to fit these molds!

the one thing he IS good at is both being well-liked and performing the role of leading codfolk in song, a very specifically swamp tradition that also can be related to gender in some ways, and which he’s always, ALWAYS slotted into the role of codfather for surprisingly well. this is enough for many of his people, but not for everyone.

my god I’ve trans coded him haven’t I,

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

yet another "Baz-sexual" post

I have shared many long posts to point out "Simon never thinks he's straight, when he says 'I never thought I was straight' that's true" and "when Simon struggles around the word 'gay' he never says 'I can't be gay because I like girls,' that's something the reader (mistakenly) assumes, likely contributing to that reader's confusion/bad reaction to Simon sharing things that contradict what was always an assumption in the first place" but I want to add something else...

When we meet Simon, we see how roles and expectations shape every single part of his life. He's always doing what he's told or what's expected of him. He's always expecting instructions. This includes dating, which he does not because he's feeling what he's supposed to feel (romantic love and attraction – he never experienced those feelings before Baz) but because that's just what he's supposed to do. Practically everything that defines Simon comes from the outside. Someone else decided he was going to be the hero. "The chosen one" – he was molded into this role by someone else. He doesn't become a boyfriend because he actually wants to be one – he's neglected, an orphan who doesn't understand his feelings, craving security and stability and a home, and the idea that he needs to date heterosexually comes from the outside (and straight is assumed as the default, to the point you don't even expect a straight person to say or think they are, but to simply be straight). In that sense, Simon has never made a decision involving roles by himself. His relationship with Penny is arguably the first Simon has in his life in which he experiences love and connection, and it exists because Penny decided they're going to be friends.

So when Simon says things like "am I gay? no, I can't be... but maybe I am, a little?" "I'm not even remotely ready for this," "surely the part of me that wants to jump Baz can only be described as gay" this is likely the first time Simon is considering a label to associate with himself in his entire life. It's the first time he's trying to define himself with no guidance. It contributes to why it's so hard for him – he has never had to make decisions for himself regarding many things, including what he identifies with (in any area of his life). "I'm gay, for all intents and purposes" shows an entire journey around this specific word, (including that it's okay not to identify with anything, which is a strong thing to convey to someone who has always felt pressured to be defined by one label or another in some way) (with this line Simon goes back to this word by himself free of pressure) but more notably: Simon using "Baz-sexual" is likely the first time Simon chooses something to identify himself with. All the labels that once identified him are gone, he's feeling lost and directionless, and that label is the first thing he goes to. The first that feels right. While "hero" is a label he liked, it was given to him. "Baz-sexual" is the first thing he chooses 100% by himself, to express something he's just beginning to understand with the vocabulary he knows and has available, something that aligns with what he does think and express (“he’s the only person I have ever loved, like this [romantic love] the only one I have ever wanted [attraction]”)