#or more specifically if told her the truth she might hate him for it and just not want to be in his life in the aftermath of that

[chirpsythismorning]

Can we talk about how Jonathan might've been able to clock Mike simply because of what happened with him and Nancy in season two?

This will be a long post, so you might want to strap in or save it for later.

In Will and Mike's case, it would obviously be much different from Jonathan and Nancy's situation, given that you know, they're gay. But we still have Jonathan arguably going through a similar experience as Will, while Mike is going through a similar experience as Nancy.

In s2, we see Nancy confront Jonathan about how she waited for him before getting back with Steve, which is a revelation to him. Then they're at Murray's and she's struggling to say she loves Steve, after a handful of moments between them that felt like she might return Jonathan’s feelings. And you can clearly see it in his eyes, listening to Murray imply that they have feelings for each other, with him looking back and forth sort of in awe of what's happening, like he's starting to question if she might actually like him back.

Will doesn't have that same affordance as Jonathan to really hope, at least not anymore. Which is why these relationships in s2 and s4 end differently for these two brothers.

Based on all the signs he was seeing that Nancy felt the same, Jonathan decided to take the plunge to admit to Nancy how he felt, and at that same moment Nancy had the courage to show how she felt. In Will and Mike's case, Will wasn't ready to take the plunge to admit to Mike how he felt, at the same moment Mike didn't have the courage to show how he felt.

What's so painfully hilarious to me about all of this though, is that Jonathan arguably starts the season in the same shoes as most of the audience, where from his perspective, it's becoming obvious to him now that Will like's Mike, but that Mike does not feel the same way.

First at Rink-O-Mania, Mike appears a little uncomfortable upon hugging Will. Then as the happy couple continues on their adventure into Rink-O-Mania, he watches Will lagging behind moping. And then unfortunately he's out of commission for the rest of the evening...

But once he's sober and back to being an attentive brother the following morning, we see him watching them at breakfast, with Mike barely sparing Will a glance, all while Will is blatantly staring, almost like he's waiting for Mike to look back, only for Mike to get up and walk away.

All of these instances gotta be SCREAMING unrequited gay love to Jonathan. He's already gotten signs for years that Will is gay, these are now just the signs that are instilling his suspicions that Will has feelings for Mike. He could have easily interpreted their relationship in the early seasons as young best friends, with Will seeming to have a crush on Mike, and with them growing up and that potentially including Will's straight friend distancing himself from him because he doesn't feel the same. It's not the most unexpected thing in the world considering.

But then there's a shift.

Suddenly he's creeping up on them talking in his room. And we know he was listening in on the conversation because he brings up Owens when he sits down. As he's eavesdropping, he's probably thinking something innocent like Aww they're making up! And like, hey! Even if Mike doesn't feel the same, which is okay and entirely expected honestly, at least he still cares about Will enough to make things right after acting so out of character. Still, I'm not gonna lie, that sounded a lot like flirting to me--

Then he's knocking on Will's door like 30 minutes or less later only to find Mike and Will back on their bullshit. Mike suddenly isn't going out of his way to ignore or put Will on the back burner. In fact, he's on his bed and they're talking, again! The door is even closed this time, which is interesting. This has gotta be a good sign in Jon's eyes. Nothing to worry about! Right? Right...?

But then suddenly this shift continues, going in a direction he probably didn't expect.

I mean, this is literally an identical jancy parallel we have here with byler on the hood of the car, with Jonathan right there to witness it. Despite him maybe only now subconsciously picking up on the similarities between Will and Mike to him and Nancy here, he's at least taking note (I mean he's even got his gay map out and everything).

It isn't until the van scene happens, that I think Jonathan starts to genuinely consider his suspicions, which is that Mike might actually like Will back.

EVERY time we get a shot of Jonathan looking back at Will and Mike in the van, followed by a shot of his POV from the rearview mirror, we're faced with Mike looking at Will while Will is looking away.

As Jonathan is hearing Will confirm his suspicions about his feelings for Mike, he's simultaneously witnessing Mike not looking at Will with disgust, but something more akin to reverence. All of those moments in the van that we witnessed, including all the ways Mike looked at Will and everything that was said, Jonathan was right there.

And what's even more insane about this scene, is that it circles back to Jonathan as a character himself.

I remember when people were talking about how odd it was that we never saw Jonathan with a camera in s4. After 3 seasons in a row of making his passion for photography a big part of his identity, that part of him was apparently absent entirely this time around... But was it really?

This is the same guy that said, "Sometimes, people don't really say what they're really thinking. But you capture the right moment, it says more."

Jonathan might not have had his camera in s4, but this was without a doubt one of those moments where he captured something more.

Something that I also think get's highly overlooked about this scene, especially when it comes to Jonathan looking back at them, being followed by a shot of Mike staring at Will, is that he could see both of their reactions the whole time, from beginning to end. Will nor the audience had the affordance of knowing because Will was facing the other way at the end, while we on the other-hand were blurred from even having the chance, despite Mike literally being in the frame. But not Jonathan. He even lets us see what he sees, a few times, but not at the very end, which would have been nice after they didn't let us see Mike's reaction seconds before this.

Let's just stop right there for a second though and circle back to what I consider to be the first time Jonathan really picked up on Will's feelings for Mike, which was at the end of s3, in a sequence that is a little too relevant to the van scene if you ask me, given that they are almost direct parallels.

While these parallels are pretty spot on visually, they are also near spot on narratively when it comes to the evolution each of these characters are experiencing.

For Will in the first scene, it's sadness that he's moving away from his friends in Hawkins and also feeling like he's losing Mike, after what looks like him and El making up, which makes him scared he'll distance himself again. For Jonathan, it's sympathy for his brother who appears to have some very deep feelings for his friend, feelings he can't quite grasp yet but soon enough will.

For Will in the second scene, it's heartbreak that he has to accept that Mike will never feel the same, knowing that supporting his relationship with El (encouraging it honestly) will likely turn out just as it did last time, with him losing Mike all over again, for the last time. For Jonathan it's sympathy for his brother who has now confirmed his suspicions that the feelings he has for Mike are more than just that of a friend.

Given that this parallel reinforces the same feelings Will and Jonathan had in s3 to now, why would this not also reinforce those same feelings that Mike had in s3 to now?

In the first scene, Mike was visibly distraught, with dialogue from Hopper in the background applying a little too perfectly with what he was feeling in that moment, which was scared. He’s apparently back together with El now, despite them doing just fine as friends for the last 3 months, as well as him and Will just having finally gone back to them being on good terms again. But now, it’s like he’s right back where he started at the beginning of s3, feeling obligated to be the perfect boyfriend to El, and as a result, having no choice in his eyes but to distance himself from Will. Mike then walks into his house looking like a zombie, almost emotionless stepping into his mother's embrace.

Now, I say almost emotionless because it looks like Mike was trying to hold back showing how he truly felt in this moment. He's not crying like he did in s1 when he lost Will that first time. Time has passed and things have changed (he doesn't want things to change). And he's trying his best to keep it together. But the in-focus close-ups make it clear that he is definitely not okay.

What's so impactful about these parallels is that it presents the inner struggle both of these characters are having, both queer and experiencing doubts, but in different ways and for different reasons.

Will is the one who covers it all up with lies, hiding the tears in his eyes, because boys don't cry.

Mike is the one who has never cried to them, just to his soul (RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!).

If you actually try to get a gage on Mike's in-focus emotions in that first scene vs. his out-of-focus emotions in that second scene, well they're not that far off from each other.

We go from Mike smiling vibrantly at Will, to him now slowly turning away to look back down at the painting, with whatever the hell emotion this is...

It's near impossible to catch because of how out-of-focus it is, but looking a lot closer, it honestly appears like Mike is feeling something akin to sadness that he's trying to mask. For a moment it even looks like he turns his head to wince emotionally, only to correct himself.

And call me crazy, but these shots also low-key parallel each other. Mike looking down trying to keep his emotions in check and failing miserably, only to look up and meet eyes with someone whose witnessing it.

With each shot before this of Jonathan observing Mike looking at Will, with him showing all the emotions Will never got to see and everything else in between, I wonder what Jon saw this time? Probably another thing he didn't expect.

Can you just try to imagine the silence in this van, accompanied by Will's muffled sobs, and then try to imagine Mike turning to look down at the painting, only to sneak a glance, and then go right back to looking at the painting, IN SILENCE, and then try to tell me how the assumption that Mike didn’t notice Will crying makes any sense, like realistically?

Yeah me and Jonathan are confused too.

Right now, Jonathan's probably wondering why Mike was acting a little fruity and repressed during the painting reveal. And that although he may have a penchant for being able to 'capture the right moment', Mike is sticking with his story (despite all the stalling and doubt). He is 100% straight!

And so maybe this is where Jonathan tries to accept what is being presented to him as the truth, despite the contradictions in front of him. It's likely that despite the way Mike looks at Will and acts around him, in ways he would have assumed coming from Nancy in s2 would've been evidence that she felt the same, it probably doesn't apply to Mike.

Maybe Jonathan's ready to accept that it's a lot more likely Will is experiencing unrequited love as a gay kid growing up in a small town, the most predictable experience a gay kid could go through, and in contrast Mike just feels too bad to let Will down easy.

Or who knows, maybe Mike could still be a little bit gay too...

But it doesn't matter anyways. Mike seems to be adamant about this and so there's really nothing else Jonathan can he do besides tell his brother he'll be there for him no matter what. And so he does just that.

But then Mike just has to surprise him one last time.

For those that don't know, the line Mike gives here in his monologue was in part pulled from Will's monologue in the van. Most don't know this because this line didn't make the final cut for the van scene, but in the official script the writers posted, what we find is an almost a direct parallel.

Which makes the reaction shots of Will and Jonathan directly after Mike says this all the more epic.

From Will's end he was probably hearing Mike say this and just thinking 'Damn. Well, that's what you get for using your feelings to inspire Mike to profess his love to El.'

But from Jonathan's end, I don't think his outside POV of these events overlapping was nearly as naive as his brothers understanding of the events. Because why the fuck would Mike need to use Will's feelings to inspire him to profess his love to El in the first place? Is this what Mike has been struggling with? Really? Why before every moment Mike takes action in this scene, is Will's hand literally pushing him into it? Why is Mike being so dramatic about saying I love you, stuttering and rambling about her being a superhero, not saying nearly as meaningful of things as what Will said in the van?

And then it hits him.

Mike is reminding him a little too much of another Wheeler right now...

Nancy Wheeler, who was afraid of what would happen if she accepted herself for who she really was, leading her to retreat back to the safety of Steve. Because Nancy liked Steve, but she didn't love Steve.

And now here is Mike Wheeler, who has went from being incredibly distant with Will after reuniting with El, something that is very unlike the Mike he knew in previous seasons, to something more himself again after they make up, with him looking at Will with adoration after hearing his words in the van, only to turn away and look heartbroken. Mike who is now struggling to simply tell El he loves her with Will right behind him literally yelling at him to do it.

And now it's like all those little moments are starting to add up to Jonathan.

Suddenly all those signs he picked up on from Will when he was younger are now blending in with moments Will shared with Mike. It was Mike who jumped in after him and his mom's speech to Will in the shed in s2, with tears in his eyes recalling the day that they met (without being asked, let alone pushed to). And it's Mike who is now looking like he's at war with himself as he attempts to give encouragement to El, just like he did with Will in s2, but this time he needs someone to push him to do it, and that person just so happens to be Will. After just finding out about Will's feelings and also while assuming El wants him to love her that way still, Mike is stuck.

I don't think it's takes a genius to consider Jonathan is capable of realizing how fucked they all are in this situation.

As much as Mike isn't ready for a sleuth of reasons, Will isn't ready either.

This provides a huge contrast between the bylers ², because while Jonathan and Nancy went through a similar experience to Will and Mike, them being ready to accept it and act on it didn't involve nearly as many factors and risks. Will and Mike also have the added barrier that is homophobia.

Will's internalized homophobia lies in part with assuming Mike could never feel the same based on some of the words he said in their last two fights, with parts being painfully reminiscent of the things his dad and bullies used to say about him. These are also words that contradict Mike's own words and actions from the previous seasons, things that did once give Will hope. The shame and guilt that comes with falling for your best friend, who you now know will never feel the same after being foolish enough to believe it not too long ago, and who might not even want to be your friend anymore upon finding out the truth, is understandable. He can't have hope like Jonathan can. It's just not the same.

Mike's internalized homophobia lies with assuming El wants him to love her, along with their relationship being expected and socially acceptable from everyone around him. Though unfortunately for her he feels abundantly more in love in the moments he shares with Will. Despite trying to make it work with El as hard as he could, because she's amazing and all any guy could hope for in a girlfriend, he can't ignore the fact that the feelings he has for these two people are different. The shame and guilt that comes with you, a boy, falling for your best friend, who is also a boy, and who is starting to show that he feels the same, all while you can't muster up the courage to break up with your girlfriend, nor can you muster up the courage to tell her that you love her, not when she's begging you, dying or even just simply at the end of a letter, is pretty understandable too. He can't have hope like Nancy can. It's just not the same.

Spoiler: They were not ready.

PS: I'm still not over the fact that they low-key confirmed these events elsewhere in the story...

[explorevenus]

dirty laundry ♡ re6!leon kennedy x puppy hybrid!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 5.1k

tags/warnings: re6!leon, stubborn/reluctant puppy reader who pretends she hates him, brief chris redfield appearance, forced proximity (kinda), leon pining for u (he wants u to call him daddy btw), hybrid heat cycle shenanigans, thigh riding, dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), no use of y/n

description: leon's had a tough time figuring out his new puppy hybrid roommate... outside of the fact that she's sweet on him, and just won't admit it. lucky for leon, he comes home from a mission to find her airing her dirty laundry.

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my beloved and adored @pupthepokemonenthusiast who is one of MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ON EARTH EVER ?!!!! and i luv yapping w them and that makes collaborating w them such a dream every time....

divider by @cafekitsune !!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Loose gravel crunched beneath Leon's boots, uneven pavement glittering with moisture in the streetlights. It was somewhere between raining and snowing, the wind splattering his rosy cheeks with little drops of condensation, every breath puffing out in a visible cloud, head tilted down at just the right angle to protect the lower half of his bruised face from the cold while still being able to see where he was going.

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, and truth be told, he couldn't really read most of the signage around here anyway-- it was all in Mandarin, and his Mandarin was even less reliable than his Spanish, to put it gently. But he could read what he needed to, at least, enough to find the basics like food, bathrooms, lodging, or hospitals, and more importantly, he could discern the backlit lettering above the shop two doors down; antiques and collectibles. 

That was a phrase he'd familiarized himself with in damn near every language under the sun by now. 

A bell dinged quietly overhead as he stepped into the storefront, grateful that it was even open past 9 o'clock at night. It was only one room and didn't have much space to walk around, but every available surface was stacked to the brim with knick-knacks of all shapes, colors, sizes, and price points under no apparent system of organization. Where some might be overwhelmed or put off by the volume of things to look at, Leon felt his heart skip a beat with excitement. He still had some time to kill before his transport back to the States was due to arrive, and not a single minute of it would be wasted overlooking any potential gems. 

Judging by the horrified stares he was attracting, Leon could imagine he looked fucking insane right now, clothes still splattered with wet, rotting blood and the barrel of his gun practically still smoking in his holster as he towered over a shelf in the back corner, scrutinizing a darling little plush bear in one hand and a set of hand-painted matryoshka dolls in the other like it was the hardest decision he would ever have to make. 

Ultimately, he chose not to decide at all-- money wasn't a factor, so why not buy both? If it weren't for the issue of luggage, he'd just say 'fuck it' and buy out the whole damn store. Unfortunately, helicopters tended to be quite limited in space. 

Self control was a skill Leon used to have mastered, perhaps even too well-- for a long time, every uncomfortable, unsightly, pesky little emotion was pressed down into a condensed cube to be neatly packed away in the very back corners of his brain, boxes upon boxes of dense feelings continuing to pile up and take over more and more space up there until the pressure became too much, the lid blew, and he went off the fucking handle. It wasn't something he was proud of by any means, all those long months blurred into mush through a lens of alcoholism and other reckless behaviors, but what he did try to let himself be proud of was his relative success in making it to the other side. 

That, of course, was a feat he did not accomplish without help, nor would he ever claim to. Chris Redfield was instrumental in his recovery in more ways than one, and at times, without even realizing it. He was a listening ear, a dealer of tough love, a trusted confidant...

...and the reason he had you. 

For obvious reasons, Leon had never gone out of his way to get a pet in his adult life. It just felt irresponsible with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his work situation, even with all the money in the world to spend on trainers and walkers and boarding and... whatever else, but at that point, it would feel less like a pet than an accessory, and Leon didn't have much interest in material. Never saw the need for it. Then one day Chris woke him up in the middle of the night banging on the door to his apartment with a gift he never expected.

"She's a... what?"

"A hybrid. She's a human-canine hybrid, Leon." 

Leon glanced between you and Chris with skepticism in his eyes, only to find the same look peering back at him in you. It was almost kind of funny that he'd have a hard time believing there could be such a thing as a human-canine hybrid, considering all he'd seen in his line of work, a thought that made his shoulders and his expression relax almost instantly. 

You were a real cutie, that was for sure, tucked behind Chris and staring up at Leon through your eyelashes with this grumpy little look on your face, a plush, patchwork bear clutched to your chest. The toy was equally as vibrant and colorful as your clothing, if not a bit worn with time. Your ears were long and droopy, your tail hanging low but swishing side-to-side with cautious interest, and the longer he studied you, the more he became endeared by you. 

"The B.S.A.A. rescued a group of hybrids from an illegal facility a few weeks ago, but finding accommodations for them isn't as simple as it sounds," Chris continued, resting a hand on your shoulder in an apparent move to reassure you. "Long story short, the people who were in charge of that facility aren't too happy about the acquisition, and the hybrids aren't safe at the B.S.A.A. anymore. Would you be willing to shelter her for a while?" 

The firm look in Chris' eyes-- and the fact that he just had to bring this up with you right in front of him-- made it clear he wasn't really asking. No mind, Leon would have done it anyway. It just would have been nice to have had a heads up to rectify the state of the apartment. 

"Yeah, of course," Leon nodded gently, stepping aside to allow you and Chris further into the apartment. "Make yourself at home." He caught the way your head tilted up a bit, as if you were studying the scent in the air, and he supposed it made sense that you likely were.

That was four months ago. And for the past four months, Leon quite enjoyed having you around. You were silly and playful, always bounding around the apartment with a toy clenched between your teeth or lounging in the sunny spots in front of the windows, pawing at him for belly rubs and treats and infinite tug-o-war matches. All that being said, you were equally stubborn, resisting him at every turn like magnetic repulsion, always kicking up a fuss seemingly just for the sake of it.

He wasn't sure. You were tough to read. Not only did some of your canine personality traits make you a bit forgetful and distractible at times, but you were also just terribly inconsistent with your affections, and he wasn't always sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he was determined to win you over in one way or another, and if he was going to do that, he'd have to figure you out first, and so far that was shaping up to be quite the herculean task. At least it seemed you would be here for a while. 

With the way he guarded your little treasures during the flight home, one might assume he was smuggling something, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of coming home without something to present to you. The hardened federal agent was determined to crack a smile out of you on his terms, to get you to admit what you both knew to be true. 

You had a crush on him. A big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on him, and you rejected the idea of owning up to it so staunchly that it was turning you into a bit of a brat. That was the one thing he could read about you, and it drove you up the wall. 

He certainly wasn't judging you. It would be an absurd lie to say he didn't have a big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on you too-- he'd be insane if he didn't. But the back and forth was far too enjoyable, and Leon was always up for a good natured challenge. 

See, self control was something Leon had worked really, really hard to regain a handle on, and when it came to his drinking and brooding, he certainly had... but when it came to you? Not by a longshot. That being said, he would rather be pouring himself into courting you than pouring himself another bourbon. That's what he used to shut up that little voice in the back of his head that questioned whether or not he was putting too much energy into this, banking too much on it. 

It was innocent, right? It's not like you were a bad influence or whatever. If anything, a lot of nights that he would have spent at the bar were instead being spent at home playing with you. Surely that had to be a net positive, especially considering you would have otherwise been getting poked and prodded at in a lab. 

Stepping back into the apartment for the first time in weeks, Leon hadn't even bothered bringing his duffel bag in with him from the car, the only thing in his arms being the wrinkled paper bag from that antique shop. His own belongings could wait. As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, stepping out of his shoes, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. 

No lively music from the shows you liked to watch, no little bumps or growls from you playing toys, no quiet padding of your feet across the hardwood from you coming to see who was at the door. He glanced at his watch, finding it was only half past nine in the evening, and while you often proclaimed to abide by a healthy bedtime for yourself, you had a habit of napping all day and bouncing off the walls all night. Something was amiss.

Stepping further into the apartment to investigate the scene, Leon peered into the living room. The lights were on, the TV was off, there were a few toys strewn about the couch and the floor, but not a glimpse of the sweet puppy who left them there. Odd. Suspicious. Maybe even staged. 

His lips came together in a whistle meant to grab your attention, knowing your sharp ears would hear it from anywhere in the apartment, even if you were sleeping. When that call garnered no response, he began to wonder if you were mad at him. After all, he was supposed to return almost three days ago, and while Chris had been able to stop by and check on you when he had the time, it just wasn't the same, and you didn't do well with loneliness, and Leon knew that. 

Turning on his heel to head deeper into the apartment, he continued to find you nowhere. Not climbing the countertops in the kitchen, or playing under the dining table, or even reluctantly having a bath. As he reached the end of the short hallway, there were only two doors left to open. 

Leon tried another whistle and called out, "Hey, pup? I'm home!" 

He waited, and listened... and heard nothing. Your bedroom door was closed, and it looked like the light was on in there, judging by the subtle glow spilling out beneath it, but still, no response. 

His bedroom door, however, was cracked open. The overhead light was off but the bedside lamp was on, and his dirty laundry basket was tipped over on the floor. When he stepped forward to turn it upright again, he thought he saw the bedding shuffle out of the corner of his eye. Closer inspection of the bed brought the case of his missing puppy girl drew to a close. Your soft tail was peeking out beneath the edge of the covers, the markings and patterns in your fur being undeniably familiar to him now. 

It was perfect timing, really-- he was just about to tip over into the realm of worrying about your safety, but now he was back to just worrying you were mad at him... and he couldn't help the amused grin that tugged at his expression. 

"Is that a little puppy in daddy's bed?" He asked aloud, his tone taking on a smitten and adoring lilt. Once again, he received no response... at least not verbally. Quietly setting down that paper bag, he stood there and watched with his arms crossed as your tail fluttered to life in response to his tone, the tip silently patting the sheets in a lazy and reluctant little wag that you might have actually gotten away with, if it weren't for the fact that your tail was in plain view. 

He was initially going to try a few more times to get a response out of you, hoping to make sure you were okay and to see if you wanted to talk, but he quickly realized that wasn't going to work with you. You weren't all doom and gloom like he tended to be, you were silly, you were playful, you were fundamentally kind. A lighthearted approach wouldn't work with him, or with most of the people he dealt with on a day-to-day basis, but it would almost certainly work with you. 

"Well," Leon stretched his arms up with a dramatic groan, "Since there's no puppies in the bed..."

And then he playfully toppled over the lump in the bedding, bracing himself on his elbows so as not to actually crush you, of course, music to his ears being the muffled squeal of stubborn discontent that sounded out from beneath the covers.

"Leon!" You whined, arms squirming around beneath him in a desperate flurry of moves to find the edge of the blanket, tugging it down to free your face for some air. Soon enough your head poked out from beneath the covers and your eyes were already narrowed into unamused slits at him. 

But that wasn't really what caught his attention about the look on your face. You were panting for breath, your ears flopped back lazily and your hair an absolute mess, your skin hot to the touch and clammy with sweat. Now his eyes were narrowed at you in suspicion, because you were certainly frustrated, just... not the kind of frustrated he was anticipating, if his suspicions were found to be correct. 

"You look guilty," He commented, brow raised as he took you by the chin and tilted your head this way and that, as though in observation. "Why do you look guilty, puppy?" 

"I'm not," You were quick to defend yourself-- much too quick, in Leon's opinion-- and you stubbornly recoiled back from his hand, continuing to squirm and resist beneath him. "You're squishing me!" 

You planted the palm of your hand dead in the center of his face in an attempt to push him away, the bedding slipping further down in the process to reveal your flushed collarbones and shoulders, both of which were bare. Were you naked? In his bed? 

He took you by the wrists to pin your hands down with ease, staring down at you in scrutiny. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart," He said, tone firm, but not unkind. "You're red as a tomato." 

With a stubborn whine, your ears flattened back against your messy head in what could only be read as shame, and that certainly wasn't what he was going for at all, even with the compromising position he had you in at the moment. It was just meant to tease you, but you looked mortified, and he could only imagine why that might be. 

"Puppy," He softened, letting go of your wrists, one hand taking you by the cheek to gently caress you. "You know I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on." 

Your mouth fell open and then snapped shut again a time or two, a clear indication that you were tripping over your words in search of the right ones. Finally, you managed, "It's... I-It's hot." 

"Then why are you all bundled up, huh?"

You didn't even really need to admit it at this point, because it was clear as day what was going on here-- after all, Chris had warned him this might happen, that hybrids could have... intense reproductive cycles-- but he also wasn't going to push it if you just wanted to ride it out on your own. He wasn't an expert on this, he didn't know exactly what you needed, and he didn't want to overstep and freak you out.

That being said, the thought that you'd retreated to his bedroom, desperate to surround yourself with his belongings in his absence just to cope with being in heat, was a remarkably good one.

This time you didn't seem to have a retort, still writhing under him and trying to push him off of you, which wasn't new behavior for you, though this time he did take it upon himself to give you some space instead of continuing to mess with you. 

"Alright, alright, relax, daddy's not making fun of you--" 

"You're not my daddy," You interjected stubbornly, but just like always, the rosy, searing blush on your face betrayed how you really felt about the topic, even as you added, "Stop trying to make me call you that!" 

Leon dearly and sincerely adored you, that much was to be sure, but your hard-headedness could run him ragged sometimes, when you'd dig your heels in so hard about things that seemed so innocuous. Whether or not you should be expected to call him daddy-- which he regularly enjoyed teasing you about but would never legitimately force you to do-- didn't feel like the biggest issue at hand here. Not by a mile. 

How was he supposed to focus on that when you were just... burning up? Panting for breath and shaking and whining? Oh dear God, this wasn't good, and for as much effort as he was putting into focusing on your wellbeing, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to focus on the way his pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably cozy in the front. He brought one hand down between you to adjust himself only to find he'd unintentionally solicited a faint, but distinctly needy moan from you in the process, presumably because you'd touched you somewhere he hadn't necessarily meant to. 

"G-Go away, Leon," You insisted, eyes screwed shut as you turned your head to the side and maintained that stubborn frown he knew so well on you. "Get off of me!" 

But your tail was wagging in an absolute blur, thumping mindlessly against the damp sheets and knocking in between his knees at an intensity that was impossible to miss. Leon's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in an intrigued grin before finally sitting back on his haunches, still straddling you, but at least freeing your upper half. 

"Leon, quit--" 

You poor dear, you were so, so close to finishing that sentence, if only it weren't for the way Leon swung one leg between your own, driving his knee right up to the apex until you felt the muted pressure lavish your clit. Whatever you were about to say fizzled out on your tongue and instead popped out in a string of whimpers, your back arching up off the bed. The movement caused the bedding to slip down just a little bit further, confirming his suspicion that you were in fact naked, at least from the waist up.

Taking the soft globe of your breast into the palm of his hand, Leon let his thumb brush over your already pebbled nipple and asked lowly, "Oh, c'mon, pretty puppy... you're totally sure you don't want daddy's help? I think you're just being fussy..."

Your chest rumbled with a little growl, but it was more of a moan than that, and the fiery glare on your face was the perfect image of it. You were pissed, and quite frankly, it was a good look on you. Maybe even one of his favorites. Suddenly you were baring your teeth at him too, just pretending it was in the opposite way. You were such an open book to him. 

"You're being mean," Huffed the stubborn little puppy, but of course, Leon could be meaner. 

So he was. Leon snatched the covers off the bed in one quick swipe, and what was revealed to him beneath had to have been a thousand times better than anything he might have expected. You were naked, yes, but tangled between your legs was a pair of his sweatpants, undoubtedly retrieved from the depths of the overturned laundry basket, the grey cotton soaked through in patches with slick all over the crotch and thighs. 

Fucking Christ, you weren't just getting off to the thought of him, but also the scent of him, the feeling of his clothes on your skin, and presumably, an idea not unlike what he was already teasing you with; letting you rub one out on his thigh. 

Squishing your cheeks in one hand, he said firmly, "Look at me. Do you honestly feel like I'm being mean to you?" 

There was a pause while you stared at each other, your eyes searching his own skeptically. It didn't really seem he was messing with you, no, in fact he appeared like he really wanted to help you. The back and forth was fun and he enjoyed the little game you'd made out of getting to know each other, but when it came to your comfort and wellbeing, he wasn't interested in being forced to solve puzzles. You couldn't really blame him. 

"N-No," You admitted. 

"Exactly, so just... simmer down, will you?" 

This time Leon didn't give you another chance to tell him to fuck off. He scooped you up at the waist and pulled you to your knees, drawing your body close to his until you were straddling his left thigh. Eyes wide, you stared at him stiffly, like you were too afraid to move. Huffing out a breath, he rolled his eyes with a smirk and gripped your hips, tugging you down until you were finally bearing your weight on him. 

For as fast as your pointed teeth sank into your bottom lip to quiet yourself, it didn't even matter. You still let out a pleasured whine, ears flat against your head and your tail hung low, the tip swishing in a reluctant little wag that patted the outside of his knee with every other beat. 

"You're too precious for your own damn good," He grumbled, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "Y'know that, pup?"

Breaths falling short, it felt like your head was full of warm mud, teetering for balance on your neck as your upper body tipped forward to grasp at his arms. As expected, Leon caught you effortlessly, steadying you by cupping your face in his hands so he could look you right in your braindead little eyes, your noses almost touching as your tongue lolled out in lazy gasps.

It was obvious he wasn't going to get much more out of you in the way of words at this point, so it was a damn good thing you had that pretty tail knocking about. He figured all that wiggling was the closest he'd get to a literal window into your mind. 

"Go on, then," Leon smoothed your hair away from your sticky forehead, still mindful to hold you upright. His tone was low and, as always, far too sweet for you... but it was so nice, it vibrated down to the base of your spine and made you dizzier. You were just about to fulfill what he was encouraging you to do when he added wryly, "You've already made such a mess, don't get shy on me now." 

A quiet whimper stuttered from your dry throat-- you couldn't sit still anymore, he was being evil and he knew it, downright evil... and you typically would have stuck up your nose at him and brooded on it for a while, but you didn't even have the strength of mind for that at the moment. You hardly even realized you were already rocking your hips back and forth against the clothed meat of his thigh, nails threatening to snap under the pressure as they begged to sink past his shirt and into his muscles. 

It was pleasant, sure, but it wasn't nearly enough, especially not after hours and hours and hours of tossing and turning in his bed, rubbing yourself nearly numb with your fingers and your toys and his pillows and his clothes, aching for something tangible and warm to nurse the pain away. You let your forehead rest against his own for a moment to catch your breath, hoping to find the right angle, but you just weren't getting what you needed, and the frustration alone made your glassy eyes sting with the threat of tears. 

That just wouldn't do. 

"Oh, you really made a mess, didn't you, sweet girl?" Leon cooed sympathetically, shushing your delicate cries. Thumbs skimming over your burning cheeks, he asked quietly and carefully, "Why don't you let daddy lick it up, hm?" 

Your expression scrunched up in a weak pout and your empty little head bobbed up and down in an airy nod, and just as soon as you gave him that go-ahead, he was moving to make it so. You were on your back in seconds, Leon's broad hands spreading your plush thighs apart to make space for himself between them, and for as cool and composed as he was trying to appear right now, he couldn't help the low moan that made it past him just at the sight of you. 

Sure, he'd seen more than enough by now to guess that you were wet, but you weren't just wet, you were dripping all over yourself. It was all he could do to collect as much of you on his tongue as possible, groaning at the taste and dragging you closer by your hips until he was as close as he could get, the tip of his nose buried against the curls at the lowest point of your mound as he lapped you up with abandon.

You were writhing and crying, legs kicking out at the stimulation before drawing back up to dig into his shoulders and pull him further into you, into the mess of you. He'd managed to find it somehow, to become that something tangible and warm and redefine it, unraveling you from the root with a sanguine sense of desperation that was tempered by his undying commitment to treating you like you were made of glass. 

Your tail was curling up tight against the base of your spine, your chest was heaving for breath, you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, and he hardly could either. 

But he also couldn't stand not to. If you had the capacity to pay attention to small details, you might have noticed his eyes were just as bleary and drunk as yours were. Leon recorded your every movement in his mind like scripture from this angle, his own hips rutting down into the bed while yours bucked into his mouth, and it was only when he found the strength to pull away for air that he found a moment to reorient himself in reality. 

His lips were puffy, rosy, and slick with you as he caught his breath, two fingers toying with your puffy, aching clit in the absence of his tongue. It was almost like muscle memory for him to reach up with his free hand and pat your belly, an affectionate hum ringing from him at the near-immediate reaction it got out of you, even in a state like this. You were squirming and arching beneath him as your quivering body fought to determine priority over the attention brought by either hand, a rather endearing dilemma to have found yourself in. 

"Oh, my poor baby," Leon preened, lavishing the inside of your right thigh with kisses. "You're so cute..." 

Unable to help himself from letting you have the best of both forms of pampering, he replaced the tips of his fingers with his tongue yet again, freeing both hands to pet your soft tummy. The movements were lazy, but sure enough, your tail was going off as fast as it could while you laid there shivering and whining and clawing at him, tumbling over the edge into release before you could come up with a way to warn him first. 

As if he would have cared anyway. A warning wouldn't have changed anything. Hell, it might have even spoiled what turned out to be a dizzying moment of unabashed indulgence for him. 

Gentle, adoring hands kneading delicately at all your favorite spots, Leon willfully deprived himself of oxygen in pursuit of every drop of your syrup as it flowed from you, knowing he would come to regret being wasteful later if this should turn out to be a one-time thing. He lost himself to the throes of hedonism for several drawn out moments until he was confident you were licked clean, until he came to again and realized you had gone completely limp in the wake of your expenditure. 

Rolling over onto his back, Leon spread out just as bonelessly across the bed as you did, the both of you a sorry sight of sweat and heat. He spent several minutes trying to find a way to break the silence. With the haze of lust wearing off a bit and clearing up space in his mind for more intelligent processes, Leon was already beginning to dread the inevitable conversation this would warrant between the two of you.

Lucky for him, that was so far outside of the realm of your current train of thought... or lack thereof. You certainly felt better, but that didn't mean your brain wasn't mud anymore. Little else mattered to your muggy, muddled mind but the here and now. 

In an unexpected move, you rolled onto your side to rest your head against his chest. The way you struggled to meet his eyes was enough for him to know you were likely still struggling to talk, or maybe you just didn't really want to, but the olive branch you'd extended demonstrated your agreeable state, which was more than he could've said for you half an hour ago. 

Shit, half an hour ago he was still hoping a couple presents from his trip would win your affections, yet here he was with the taste of you lingering on his lips, your naked body curled up to him for comfort. 

Wrapping his arm tightly around you until you were tucked up comfortably into his side, Leon rested his chin atop your head and mumbled fondly, "What am I gonna do with you, huh? Can't even sleep in my own bed after a long mission 'cause this pretty little puppy made such a big mess... I hope you know how to work the washing machine."

[axescryinwater]

Hi! I had this idea and thought you might be the perfect person to bring it to life: a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic where Reader finds an old journal of Bucky’s from his early post Winter Soldier recovery days. She reads it without meaning to at first, but what she finds inside is raw and heartbreaking. stuff he never talks about. Maybe they’ve been growing distant lately, and this gives her a look into just how much he’s been struggling. Would love if it ends with her wanting to comfort him but him not being ready to let her in yet. Quiet, emotional tension, please!

I READ YOUR DIARY EVERY LINE.

it starts with dust. not metaphorical, just actual dust.

you’re cleaning. or pretending to. rearranging the living room like that’s gonna fix the silence that’s been creeping in between you and bucky like fog under the door. you’ve been feeling it for weeks now. how he’s been moving quieter, speaking less, disappearing into rooms with the kind of stillness that makes it hard to follow. you don’t even remember the last time he touched you without pulling back like his hands burned after.

so, yeah. you’re cleaning. touching all his stuff like you’re trying to find a thread back to him. and then a book falls. black. beat up. spiral bound, barely hanging on. it looks like it’s been shoved there on purpose—stuffed behind old war books and a mug you’re pretty sure he stole from a hotel in zurich. you almost leave it. almost. but then you see the corner of a folded photo sticking out from between the pages. and your name, just a sliver of it, so you sit. floor cold against your legs, journal in your lap, breath a little too tight. you tell yourself you’re just gonna peek. just a glance.

but it’s not that simple. because the first thing you read feels like walking in on someone mid nightmare, mid prayer, mid– something holy and bleeding.

“it’s been 2,190 days since she stopped calling me asset. i still don’t feel like a person.”

the handwriting’s rough. not messy, just tired. you can feel it in the way the letters lean too hard in places, press too deep in others. like he needed to write it down or it would claw its way out some other way.

“i keep dreaming about the way the metal felt when it was first fused to me. like i was being welded shut.”

you shift. knees pulled up now. the room’s gone quiet in that specific way that makes you feel like the walls are listening.

“sometimes i think about running. not because i want to leave, but because i don’t want to rot here. it feels like i’m leaking poison into the lives of people who love me. like i’ll never stop being dangerous.”

you swallow. the last few months fall into place, a soft collapsing. all the nights he stood outside on the fire escape, just watching the sky. the mornings he’d say he was fine but his voice would crack on the i. the way he stopped playing music in the apartment. stopped sitting beside you on the couch. stopped falling asleep beside you, slowly replacing your shared bed with the cold of the guest room. your eyes burn but you keep reading.

“she touches me like i’m breakable. looks at me like i’m something to fix. i don’t know how to be held without feeling like an apology.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the page blurs. until the paper soaks a little beneath your fingertips. and you hate that he felt like this. that he couldn’t tell you. that you didn’t see it sooner. that he had to carve this into paper in the middle of the night instead of speaking it out loud to someone who would’ve dropped everything just to hold his face and remind him he's still here. still human. still loved.

there’s one more entry. dated a week ago.

“she asked if i wanted to go out tonight. i told her i was tired. the truth is, i didn’t want to be seen. some days i still feel like a weapon pretending to be a man. and i think if she ever looked too close, she'd see right through me.”

you close the journal. you sit with it in your lap for a long while. the kind of long that makes the afternoon light shift across the floor like slow, golden water. you don’t say anything when you hear the door open. keys hitting the bowl. footsteps slow.

he sees you before he says anything. standing in the doorway to the living room, hand still on the frame, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. his eyes drop to the journal in your hands. they stay there. his mouth twitches. not quite a flinch. not quite anything. "you read it," he says, voice low. not accusing. just… accepting. you nod. barely.

he closes his eyes. presses his lips together like he’s swallowing something sharp.

"i didn’t mean for you to see that."

“i know,” you say. voice softer than it’s ever been. “i didn’t mean to find it.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s full of everything you don’t say. everything he can’t. he walks past you. sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. you want to go to him. every cell in your body wants to close the space. to curl up beside him and press your forehead to his shoulder and tell him he’s not too broken to be loved. not too sharp to be touched. but you don’t. you sit down a few feet away. not touching. not even looking directly at him. just… near. a presence. a quiet offering.

“i didn’t know,” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he says, “i didn’t want you to.”

and there it is. the heart of it. he’s not ready. maybe he never will be. but he’s here and so are you.

the room is dim now. soft golden light painting the walls. somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks as the house settles around you. the air smells like dust and the last bit of coffee he made this morning.

you don’t speak again. you just sit. two people in the quiet. the kind of quiet that aches and comforts at the same time. maybe this is love, too. not the easy parts. just the staying.

a/n: luv this req. i literally just need to hug him omg... also sorry this is terribly written i was almost blackout drunk when writing it

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

"Maybe someday I'll be that guy for you" this line just broke my heart. Why did he have to be so nice about it lol. Can you write a part 2 where he actually start noticing her like that? Like really starting to like her?

steve’s pov (might not be exactly what you asked for)

he still feels his heart lurch whenever he notices that dulled look hiding in your gaze. you try to hide it with a smile in his direction but it doesn’t properly meet your eyes. you don’t go out of your way to find his company you let him come to you, keeping a distance for either of you or just your heart.

it’s not like you’ve completely iced him out, but it’s different now. and steve really fucking hates that, but what’s he supposed to do? he didn’t want you to get your hopes up and so he told the truth, you deserve someone thousand times better than him. and that’s now caused your friendship to sail on rocky waters.

“stop staring at them, it’s creepy.” he startled slightly from the voice behind him, looking over his shoulder to see robin with her eyes stuck in a book at the small break table. he pretended to busy himself, “i wasn’t staring, just zoned out.”

robin hummed, “you seem to be doing that more then usual these days. got a specific thing on your mind? like, oh, i don’t know, breaking y/n’s heart.” she tried to sound nonchalant, but steve could hear the bitter rage spilling through her words.

he sighed as his chin dipped to his chest, “i-i didn’t mean, or try, to break their heart. i-i just wanted to be realistic with them, and also, you don’t think that hurt me to do? i never want to hurt them, it fucking sucked to see them curl away from me. i-i just want my friend back.” he whispered the last part to himself.

“steve,” robin called his named and he looked over his shoulder to see her book closed and tapping her palm on the table. he slowly pulled the second chair closer and rested his elbows on the table.

robin rubbed both palms over her freckled face, “okay, what i’m about to tell you is doctor patient confidentiality. i will give you the worst haircut if any of this information slips from your mouth, got it?” her blue eyes widen. steve just nodded along, planning to lock away all sharp objects.

“they have liked you since freshman year, so it’s been like four plus years of them just gazing at your passing figure in the hall to now working along side you. they were the first to mention to me how you’ve slowly changed in the last year and a half, from being king douchebag to ice cream sailor. they could not stop gushing about any little interaction the two of you had, dissecting the scene until there was nothing left to inspect. so they came up to me the day after the… incident, with tears welling and wetly laughing as they said, “i think i like him more than i expected. probably just felt my first experience of mild heartbreak.” and i’m pretty sure it was more than mild. so what i’m trying to get at is, they’ll need time to heal, and i’m not sure whatever is going on inside harrington land. but just make sure you properly evaluate and think through before taking any further steps.”

then robin had the gull to leave steve in the back room with his screaming mind and pounding heart, and if things couldn’t get worse, the saloon doors pushed in to show you entering with a bag from hot dog on a stick.

“oh… hey,” hesitant. he saw the way your conversed shoes shifted and bent, debating if you wanted to stay or make a run for it. steve made the decision for you and stood from his seat, “uh, i-i should probably-“

“no, no. stay, if-if you can. i got you some fries, figured you’d be a bit hungry before your actual lunch.” your fingers curled tight around the white paper bag, the crinkling sounding like lightning.

steve was sure he had a bit of a surprised expression on his face, “you-you didn’t have to do that.”

you took robin’s spot while shrugging your shoulders with a twisted smile, “we do it for each other all the time. just thought of you and figured you didn’t eat anything before coming into work.” sliding a cup of medium fries and even a small coke can.

a smile lifted the corners of steve’s lips, “robin’s right.” he noted the way your brows twitched at that, “you’re a saint from heaven meant to be the one good person on this shitty earth.”

“that’s must explain why i get hurt so much.”

steve squeezed his eyes shut, fuck.

[leonardcohenofficial]

carter is an egotist to the extent that (especially in the early-middle years) he's self-absorbed and wrapped up in his own world and his own problems, which certainly applies to his teaching style (by the time we get to season five they're starting to really put him through it, which is not an excuse for him being a shitty teacher, but explains a lot of what's going on inside his head LOL). lucy says it best herself when she tells carter in the season five finale, "i think that you're the one who wants to succeed as a teacher, and in order for that to happen i would have to be the perfect reflection of you, and that's not who i am." lucy doesn't have the need for praise that carter does, and him being emotionally withholding to her a la the peter benton playbook doesn't work and ends up coming across as super cruel. take the two scenarios involving the rotation evaluations that come up, the first with peter and carter, the second with carter and lucy. when carter fills out his evaluation of peter, he initially gives him a terrible review because he thinks peter is going to fuck him over, only to find out that peter gave him a glowing review. cut to carter getting pissed off after going through lucy's voice notes (crazy ass!!!!) and telling her to fill out her own evaluation since he thinks she's going to give him a bad one—BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE WOULD HAVE DONE—only for her to fill it out negatively because she thinks he hates her! and then she turns it in to mark who thankfully had enough sense to figure out something went terribly wrong and makes them both get it together! carter is someone who is genuinely invested in lucy and in being a good teacher, even mentioning how there's so much he wants to teach her, but i think part of the reason why he's so frustrated by her is that the mentorship style that, while it initially drove him insane and concluded in an insane breakup between him and benton, really ended up working for him, simply doesn't work for her because her needs are different. lucy also refuses to feed his ego—which certainly is not her job as his med student—but given the way he worshipped the ground peter walked on, i think is also part of their dynamic worth mentioning

meanwhile lucy—once she gets over some of her initial nerves and quits lying about where she's at with her skill set—is pretty open about her needs specifically for support and assurance that she's doing the right thing. some of her biggest insecurities that she mentions throughout the series is that she isn't doing enough, that she can't save the patients she sets out to, and that people aren't taking her seriously. this is notably distinct from being coddled, as we see one of the only major times lucy digs herself a hole is when she lies about knowing how to put in an IV and lets other people do it for her when she should have told the truth and just learned how to do it herself. lucy's self-assuredness is the other side of the coin of her fear that what she's doing is not enough. i think it's so telling that one of the first bonding moments between lucy and carter is her eighth episode when, despite their best efforts, the patient they were trying to track down a blood donor for might still suffer renal failure. carter, in one of the first moments of gentleness we see him give her, says, "when you do everything that you can—sometimes even more than you thought you could—you gotta walk away knowing you fought the good fight. you fought the good fight, lucy. tomorrow, you'll fight another one." this episode ("the good fight," which i think is actually one of the best of season five) doesn't solve their interpersonal issues but is a key moment in them attempting to not only communicate with each other more but to actually listen to what the other is saying

[flonbowe]

MAJOR BROTHERSHIP SPOILERS, ESPECIALLY RELATED TO ZOKKET!

You have been warned

So they’re like, a toxic relationship right?/hj

OK JOKING ASIDE These two are very interesting to me, and since we've known about Zokket longer, I'll be talking about him first in this thread of reblogs and posts

Zokket

So to get the elephant out of the room, I earnestly don’t believe he is just Cozette brainwashed

Like Aside from small details like the body shape being larger than she is, Zokket's voice sounding very much so different in not just the voice bleps, but in his actual grunts and noises (Especially so before his boss fight), there's things like Zokket's personality, behavior, hell he's even flat out referred to as a separate person a couple times.

Cozette after being freed only ever mentions being under Reclusa's control, and putting on a mask to become Zokket. A mask that breaks once Zokket is beaten.

The way Zokket is defeated, the way the Glohn energy flees off of Cozette's body, coupled with the fact it was specifically a mask Cozette said she donned to become Zokket, tells me outright that Zokket isn't exactly brainwashing, but instead a type of spirit or possession used to carry out Recluse's will. Now All this to say Zokket is his own person, and a very interesting person. Unlike most other Mario characters, he's a very flat character. Intentionally so don't get me wrong, that's the point. He's focused more on numbers than people. He doesn't "misremember" names, he actively doesn't care. His first proper scene is him misnaming the Extension Corps multiple times, with him getting more aggravated the more they try to correct him. He visits Shipshape a couple times through out the game, and most of those visits usually end with him mocking the idea of having connections and overall being very bitter. He's a cold cold man, and even during his boss fight he revels in making the bros hurt each other. There's also some interesting extra details via hidden logs from Cozette while being possessed, and Zokket writing his plans through her body. Quoting from those logs "The egg says its name is Reclusa. Yes, it told me its name, and that makes sense. The egg speaks directly to my brain. The egg has also shared this important truth. Loneliness is sublime . The egg only SEEMS not to move. But it definitely speaks in my brain. I now know my only calling: the resurrection of Reclusa. Loneliness is sublime . All connections will be severed. Reclusa will rule a new era of isolation. Once I have completed my task, I, too, will know the bliss of isolation. Loneliness is sublime . Approximately 284 hours, 56 minutes, and 29 seconds until the resurrection. "Beyond the Glohmatic Ray" "I have distilled the isolate energy from Spite Bulbs. That will be the source for Glohm. I can then focus and amplify it through the Great Lighthouses..." "The So-Called Extension Corps." " I met these buffoons on Slippenglide Island and employed them as generals over my army. They are intensely incompetent but loyal. Do they seek glory, or are simply afraid? They will be superfluous after the rebirth. I will need some means to dispose of them" "Building an Army" "My soldiers, my hands in the wide world, are simply junk repurposed and rebuilt. I gave them language so they might cooperate., but it is absurd to see these junk piles speak. I cannot imagine a place for them in the new world after he is reborn. They will suffer. They may rebel and become ungovernable. No matter--they are ephemeral things." after Recluse was revived, Zokket intended to torture the Zok Troops, his minions, of which HE created. Zokket doesn't just hate bonds, but seems to actively wants to break them. He strayed from his goal of reviving Reclusa by using some of the Glohm to make handheld rays to make people miserable and hate each other, instead of just using the Lighthouses for Reclusa. He threatens the Corps when the revival is almost complete, which would have come to fruition anyway had they succeeded. Zokket seems to fully understand bonds, and despises them. He's not apathetic, he's actively resentful... Except For Reclusa Excluding voice clips, the only time he laughs, is here.

His only use of positive language, and its when he's dying, where he should be at his lowest. Instead, he gets excited, happy, happy to see his Great Inspiration finally return to this world. For a man who hates bonds, he seems to have a great deal of care for his master. A master he was willing to die for, who he was destroyed for. Not even Connie, who he can't forget because of Cozette's lingering consciousness, all Zokket can muster for her is remembering her name, unlike Reclusa. So Who is Zokket? Zokket is a very cruel, bitter person. He's distant and calculating, planning and very exact, very precise ways to revive his master. But he's also sadistic, planning misery for anyone and everyone involved in his plans, for the goal of isolating the world for his master, Reclusa. a master, who he has a deep level of fondness for, the only person he actively shows happiness towards, a person who he spends his alone time with, his purpose, his great inspiration. That's Zokket (At least, my thoughts as to who Zokket is)

[offtorivendell]

Truth-Teller, Gwydion and Illyrian Runes... or are they actually Wyrdmarks?

This post was written for @azrielappreciationweek Day 7 - Free

Disclaimer: as always, this is just a theory that I think is fun and it makes no claim of being canon. It's definitely entering crack theory territory. This post also isn't Azriel specific - it's more about the dagger he has used for centuries and how it may tie into the Maasverse, or Prythian's plot, as a whole than Azriel himself. I know it's Azriel Appreciation Week, but this is his dagger, at least currently, so I feel like it's okay. It also rambles a bit, sorry.

Spoilers: there are big, huge, massive Maasverse spoilers ahead, so please beware.

Other posts about Azriel and/or Truth-Teller you might find relevant:

Why is Azriel so different? On Dusk, Hel and the Valg

What if Azriel - or his Shadows - are Made Beings?

Azriel could be Koschei’s heir; a crack theory

Shadows, siphons and fog; has something happened in Velaris?

Powerful Heirlooms and the Four Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann

Does Truth-Teller portend a future relationship between Azriel and Elain Archeron? Especially the first section, about Fragarach inspiring TT.

The possible significance of Azriel and Elain Archeron, the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, the paired blades Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and thin places; a theory - in particular the section about the two Made blades.

Love it or hate it - though personally, I love it for many reasons - we all know about the "Truth-Teller scene" in ACOWAR. While I do think it will end up being incredibly crucial and symbolic for Azriel and Elain Archeron as a couple (you may disagree of course), I also think there is a good chance that its importance to the overall plot was intentionally highlighted by its inclusion in the ACOTAR colouring book, which is what I hope to discuss here (plot, not romance, though as this is romantasy I do think the couple will be reflected in the plot/vice versa).

Here is the passage again, to refresh your memory:

Viviane stepped in, offering a Winter Court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh-length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain when we again emerged from the covered wagon and found our companions waiting. She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today. The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else. And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. Paint that when we get home. Busybody. - ACOWAR, chapter 69

I have previously theorised that Truth-Teller may have pierced the veil of Prythian's world in order to let Elain shadow walk through the murky realm/void to save Nesta and Cassian at the end of ACOWAR - which of course parallels Azriel's threat to "slip into shadow and fight anyway" - but it also ties into the power that Truth-Teller and Gwydion/the Starsword can activate together: instead of opening a portal to somewhere, as a few of us had previously theorised about Truth-Teller alone, we learnt in HOFAS that the dagger and sword will open a portal to nowhere.

A black hole... or a Void?

@wingedblooms has previously suggested that the woman on the cover of HOFAS, who had runes - or were they really Wyrdmarks? - down her arms, may be Wyrd, and I agree. We would both especially love it if Wyrd was the secret language of the universe - the language spoken by shadow, wind and stone, or even what Singers used to cast spells - because how much would that make sense? It would also tie TOG in with a tidy bow, given the importance of Wyrd, Wyrdmarks, Wyrdkeys and Wyrdgates to Aelin's story.

But it could get wrapped up even tidier. I hope.

The markings on Truth-Teller's sheath

Take a much closer look at the "Illyrian runes" on Truth-Teller's scabbard, the runes that SJM made sure existed in print, in May 2017 (the colouring book was published the same day that ACOWAR came out, on the 2nd of May).

But back to the runes.

Do you see what I see?!

They are so similar to the runes on HOFAS' cover that it cannot be coincidental? I acknowledge that they're not identical, but they pass the vibe check.

A. I've previously discussed the possibility of the first rune on the HOFAS cover being derived from the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, and that it might have been indicating the two Made blades, Gwydion and Truth-Teller, coming together to create a portal to nowhere. @wingedblooms has also brilliantly suggested that it could be depicting the three mountains of the Night Court, or even the three sister peaks. But do you see the similarity with the top rune(s) on Truth-Teller's scabbard? The dot and two ^ type markings come together differently, but imo the components are still there.

B. This portion is the weakest link for sure, not least because there are more runes on the woman's arm than Truth-Teller's sheath - and I'm no artist so my opinion definitely comes with a huge heaping of salt (if anyone wants to weigh in then please do!) - but I can see similarities in the elements of certain runes. If I put my clown hat on then the spiral could be referring to a vortex/portal, and the marking half hidden by the O could be depicting a ship... you know, like those names after the Archeron sisters.

C. The two opposing triangles on Truth-Teller could be referencing the diamond on the woman's forearm and the crescent moon shape half hidden by Azriel's thumb could potentially be linked with the crescent moon shape above the diamond. Could the diamond on each of her forearms be suggesting siphons, like those worn by Azriel and Cassian? And is the crescent moon referring to the Mother, or Wyrd? SJM paralleled siphons and invoking stones were in ACOSF, was she hinting that the Illyrians and the priestesses all serve Wyrd in the end?

If I'm correct - a big "if" - the difference in runes, or Wyrdmarks, could be down to one of a few potential reasons (though the following list is not exhaustive):

It was always intentional so we wouldn't piece it together too easily.

The almost seven year gap between ACOWAR and the colouring book coming out in 2017, and HOFAS in 2024. Things change.

The in-universe time difference between Wyrd's birth/creation and Truth-Teller's forging. Did the wyrdmarks "evolve," so to speak?

The Wyrdmarks are not actually identical; perhaps they only look similar because they have similar or even complementary meanings?

I'm actually completely wrong and need to remove my clown makeup right now. 🤡

It would make sense that Truth-Teller's wyrdmarks were not identical to those we would see on Wyrd (assuming it is actually Her on HOFAS' cover). One of those things is a goddess, a force who created their entire universe, and the other is a dagger that can help open a portal to the Void and ferry the bearer through. Truth-Teller's scabbard might tell a story, it might hold a warning, or even contain a spell or the instructions for activating its magic etc; are they a spell to contain the power of the blade, as Bryce hinted at in HOFAS, or something else?

As if their sheaths had kept their power contained, the naked metal now throbbed against her palm, up her arms, tugging toward each other so violently it took all her strength to keep them apart. - HOFAS, chapter 48

It's just a pity that - unless I missed it - we weren't told about any markings on the Starsword, though that's assuming that its scabbard¹ was the original (or that Truth-Teller's is the original, of course - maybe it was given a new sheath, one with a very specific message, after Silene returned to Prythian). All we know is that both blades were Made by the Cauldron, with their obsidian² (wyrdstone?) hilts and black Iridium blades that can devour light (though Gwydion's blade can sparkle) and appear muted in darkness, I assume because there is no sunlight to charge their magic.

¹ @ladynightcourt3 has previously suggested that Truth-Teller may have been blessed by the God of Truth, who also blessed Damaris - the Sword of Truth, first wielded by Gavin Havilliard and currently claimed by Dorian Havilliard - which also has Wyrdmarks on its scabbard and was used in the Valg king Erawan's death. She's also reminded me that the Asterion blades in TOG also have markings, and are described as being made of a dark metal imbued with starlight... sounds familiar!

² @emmitaaa4 reminded me that wyrdstone can cause headaches in those who carry it - and who is known to rub his temples so much that Elain gifted him headache powder? Azriel.

I have spoken before about the possibility of the obsidian hilts either being possessed by some sort of Void based being, or that the material may help the Made blades attract a prince of Hel by design (here and here). Imagine if the Iridium³ blades come from a meteorite originating in Hel. Could the Made blades be secret wyrdkeys thanks to their hilts?

³ The element iridium's name is derived from "Iris," which means rainbow. Could this be where the meteorite that went into forging Gwydion and Truth-Teller have fallen... in the Rainbow of Velaris? What does this mean for Velaris' history, or the future of the Made blades? Will Feyre, the protector of the Rainbow, become involved?

What might this mean for Prythian?

Let's revisit the Truth-Teller scene, and pay close attention to Elain's clothes: Winter Court attire. Too warm, but Elain didn't complain... is that because she suspected she may have to brave the cold, harsh environment in the space between before the day was done? My next suggestion is unlikely, but could her face have turned crimson because she didn't know how to ask for warmer clothes without explaining that she'd Seen that she'd need them, especially if she knew that she was going to be sent away and she'd have to work from the shadows, as uaual? This could even tie in with my theory that the Archeron sisters will "sail" (for lack of a better term, sorry I know it's silly) the bat brothers by Singing them across the Void, possibly to Hel, as Nesta wanted insulated leathers in ACOSF. @elrieldreamer and I have previously discussed the fact that the serpents (dragons?) on HOFAS' cover look like they could be passing through Wyrdgates, which could also circle into the "sailing through the void" idea I mentioned in my post about The Weaver's Song, because Illyrian armour is known to feature scales. So isn't it handy that Emerie can source fleece-lined leathers!

“I was about to write to you before Bellius interrupted me. I asked about making leathers with fleece inside.” Emerie leaned her forearms on the immaculate counter. “It can be done, but it’s not cheap.” “Then it’s beyond my means, but thank you for finding out anyway.” “I could order it and let you pay it off as you’re able.” - ACOSF, chapter 25

Then there's the blade-like object that appears to be pointing down onto the eight-pointed star above the woman's head; could it be indicating Truth-Teller or Gwydion, or even Damaris - the Sword of Truth - from TOG?

The eight-pointed star obviously holds relevance to Nesta, given the tattoos that she and Cassian shared for much of ACOSF and Bryce's parting remarks in HOFAS, and we know the Starborn used it as their symbol, but why? Many don't realise that it may also have been the symbol on 'The Elain' ship that Papa Archeron commissioned among the three named for each of his daughters. Could it be a seafaring compass rose/rose of the winds, as Wingedblooms has previously discussed? Is it also related to Ishtar, another amazing theory shared by @wingedblooms' and @merymoonbeam? Or could it actually be the Chaos⁴ star, and truly be a symbol of Wyrd as Chaos, the Mother - or dam - to all?

⁴ I hope to post this theory soon.

I cannot move past the fact that, in addition to The Elain flying an eight-pointed star with nothing on either side (referencing the Void?), The Nesta was flying a dragon with two suns, and The Feyre was flying two crescent moons and diamonds. It has to mean something, right?

I still find it really interesting that one of the eyes of the woman on HOFAS' cover - which seems to be all about depicting gate travel and world walking - appears to be bleeding, when Gwyn remarked in ACOSF that reading Merrill's theories about multiple worlds made her eyes bleed.

Gwyn frowned. “Lots of things. Merrill’s brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms—different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can’t even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself.” Nesta’s brows rose. “Really?” “Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six, the last one being Time itself, which …” Gwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas.” Nesta chuckled. “I can imagine. But she’s researching something else now?” “Yes, thank the Cauldron. She’s writing a comprehensive history of the Valkyries.” - ACOSF, chapter 13

Now, Gwyn was obviously being flippant while attempting to demonstrate the extent of Merrill's brilliance, but who do we know who has peered across one world so far, who may be set up as a worldwalker with a strong affinity to any thin places? Elain Archeron, the sister whose ship flew the eight pointed star sail for all to see. A Seer. Will the Seer's eyes bleed when she looks too far, or past wards of "mist and shadow" designed to keep her out?

“Firebird by day,” Rhys mused, “woman by night … So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?” Elain shook her head. “I don’t know. I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage …” She shuddered. Mor leaned forward. “Do you know why the other queens cursed her—sold her to him?” Elain studied the table. “No. No—that is all mist and shadow.” Rhys blew out a breath. “Can you sense where she is?” “There is … a lake. Deep in—in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst mountains and ancient forests.” Elain’s throat bobbed. “He keeps them all at the lake.” “Other women like her?” “Yes—and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water—while she rages through the skies above it.” - ACOWAR, chapter 33

Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. “Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.” - ACOWAR, chapter 58

Alpha and omega. Ask and answer (and Azriel told Elain that Truth-Teller would "serve" - a synonym to "answer" - her well). Made (or Make) and Unmade (or Unmake). Matter and antimatter. Gwydion can kill the unkillable, while Truth-Teller slew an almost unstoppable king. They Sing⁵ to each other - is it a spell, or are they communicating in Wyrd, the secret language of the universe > Chaos > eight pointed star? - and to those who bear enough Starborn magic to hear it. Azriel learnt that he can charge a Starborn fae like Bryce in HOFAS, there are three Archeron sisters who share significant parallels with Bryce and Theia... and wouldn't you know it, Azriel has two brothers. I could always be wrong, but this all seems fated to me.

⁵ I know I'm not alone in speculating whether Elain heard Truth-Teller Singing to her like kin, as @wingedblooms, @emmitaaa4, @psychologynerd and @ladynightcourt3 all share this theory at least (I've also wondered if she can hear Azriel's siphons singing, but that's another theory). Is this why Elain's eyes widened when Azriel offered Truth-Teller? Did it Sing to her? Is she a Singer, as @silverlinedeyes, @wingedblooms and I suspect? Was this in addition to (or instead of) her Seeing herself using it to kill the king? If true, this could parallel the scene earlier on in HOFAS where Elain's eyes widened at "the shadowsinger's display" just before Azriel winnowed her to Windhaven; was Elain listening to his shadows and/or Truth-Teller such that she could activate the blades (or her own) hypothetical shadow walking magic later on?

Anyway, sorry for rambling on a fair bit there, if you made it this far thank you for reading my nonsense! I am so excited to learn what SJM has been planning, because just like Koschei I think she's been playing the long game and setting all of these pieces up for years, even if it was just in case.

[vampimich]

Lies of P chronology theories

----- MAJOR SPOILERS FOR LIES OF P & LIES OF P OVERTURE -----

I just finished the DLC and aside from the fact that it emotionally scarred me, I need more and I need answers.

I don’t know if I will really get official answers in the future so I tried to get those answers myself by forming a small chronology of events and trying to fill the gaps with the dialogues/objects we get from the game, my interpretations and headcanons.

This is really long and kinda rushed so sorry if it is not really cohesive, I just needed to get all of this off my chest and documented somewhere. And again, take everything here with a grain of salt, since a lot of this is just what I filled the gaps with using my imagination.

So to start:

Geppetto was jealous of Venigni, but thanks to Camille he was able to go on with his life and work. He collaborated with the young genius in the end just to keep a close eye on his work. Then when they worked on the the great covenant together he made sure to install law zero in all puppets just to have an upper hand against him.

Markiona was Camille’s apprentice, making her her mentor/figure who took care of / raised her. Since Markiona is a puppeteer I’m assuming she started at the workshop or at least had ties to them as well until she went full alchemist mode.

Then at some point she was the one who experimented with Camille because she knew she was a listener. This might have been disguised as she asking Camille for support, and since Camille had ties to them and trusted her, she accepted. But clearly Markiona did not cared and went overboard killing her. Of course since this was an experiment with Ergo (most likely over exposure since she was a listener she must have grabbed the petrification disease and so her life and soul were preserved in ergo. So she took it and put in on a maid puppet. Nor really knowing what would happen but Camille was still part of the experiment, so they just kept a record of where she was placed. 

Geppetto was told his wife died of an accident. And the newspaper even treated it as such but he knew the alchemists, he knew Valentius hand was getting weaker and that they always had ulterior motives.

So his descent started. And in a dumb attempt to give Carlo a better life and protect him from further neglect at his side and the path he would walk in, he abandoned him, leaving Carlo under Antonia’s and the Monad’s Charity house’s care as he went on a path of full revenge. 

Well at this point I don’t know if it was full revenge. I think it was more of a path of obsession towards bringing Camille back to life. Or just working in ways in which he could assure Carlos eternal life. So he would never lose him.

For this he had to continue working with the alchemists to get information on eternal life from them, as he knew that was their main focus. 

So he obsessed about creating perfect puppets and manipulating ergo even better, which in the outside seemed like he was obsessed with just his professional career. 

At some point Camille’s ego surface discovery was made public and Geppetto became even more mad at the alchemists, and this is where he starting machinating on how to destroy them from the inside. 

He hated Valentinus now too, but at least he was taking care of his son, so he couldn’t specifically target him nor his family. He only hated him because he tried to cover everything but he knew Simon was behind everything. In the end he resented Valentinus for covering the truth for Simon and hiding it from Geppetto.

Since Markiona had a close eye on Camille’s ergo, when she heard of the news she went for her, and conducted experiments on her, dismantling her and continuing her torture. 

It was documented by the alchemists, and I think Geppetto was able to get his hands on these report, making him grew even more pageful towards them. They had not only hurt his wife, but twice, and kept her away from him. 

Markiona was given higher ranks for her work despite Valentinus attempts to take her out of the Order, because we know now she is who created the carcasses, probably for Camille’s experimentation. Probably, when she could no longer used Camille anymore, she finally discarded her Puppet.

That’s when Geppetto was finally reunited with what was left from his wife.

He tried desperately to revive her and to connect with her, but Camille ergo was incredibly damaged and fragmented. But the same phrase remained from her, to be brought back to her child.

Now Geppetto knew of the devils method, and while he did everything in his power to revive Camille, he knew that was not going to happen because of her broken Ergo and the fact that her body was long lost and gone. 

At some point Simon stole the arm of god for himself.

Then shifting focus to our favorite stalkers trio: Lea and her apprentices were starting to cause real trouble to the alchemists but Valentinus protected them, but as Simon got power they got rewards on their heads. More Lea and this only got worse when she decided to leave the Monad name behind.

Lea broke ties with the monads so she distanced herself from Romeo and Carlo.

I’m not sure if Markiona was directly involved or not, but the alchemist knew perfectly that Carlo was probably a listener thanks to his mother and the bastards decided to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of the stalker problem and continue their experiments on another listener, so they sent an invitation to him. Aside from he fact that the order to purify the Monda Charity House was sent, so they started everyone infected with the PD and the cure. 

Carlo of course knew this could very well be a trap, but he felt he needed to stop them, more when they were poisoning innocent children. He wanted justice and he had to do it himself because Lea was not with them anymore and since the invitation was only for him he thought he would put Romeo in harms way if he brought him with him.

He left the invitation with Rosaura and headed to them. 

I think he would be fine in his own, but due to his sensitivity with ergo, it was easy for them to get the upper hand, beside I think they obviously sent a whole army against him.

They probably captured him, and experimented with him for days the same way they did with Camille, because what’s more cruel that having mother and son dying in the same way?

I believe that they also let Carlo know of this fact and this is what filled with with a printing hatred right before his death. 

Carlos went missing for days. Romeo looked everywhere for him and when Rosaura noticed this she showed the invitation to Romeo. He immediately went to Lea to ask for help. 

They both searched for him but found him dead. Lea was the one who found him. This is why she said she was late. Like sure, I think he died from the PD and sure they had already visioned several people at the Charity House, but this was clearly different, done as part of a plan, a trap and dealing a great deal of pain to him.

They took him back, let the Monad’s know of what happened and buried him. His grave being the one we see in Malum District probably (right where we wake up after the DLC ends)

They were both devastated. Lea blamed herself and from that moment she became overprotective towards Romeo so she wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing another child.

Geppetto learned of this and he finally snapped.

The boy that the last remaining part of Camille he had. The proof they had loved each other. They boy he so desperately tried to protect by pushing him away was taken away from him by the same bastards that took Camille away. 

But he now knew of the devils method, so he had to act fast. He needed Carlo’s ergo; he needed his fresh body.

He set up the puppet frenzy to screw up with the alchemists and at the same time rid the world of carcasses to make the world safe for Carlo again. And to gather ergo for his own purposes.

He had probably stolen the arm of god and finally cut ties entirely with the alchemist. As he wrote in the madman’s diary, he had everything to start, he just needed to desecrate the body. He couldn’t bring Camille back, but he could bring their son back and it had been to the pain of losing her that he had gained his knowledge.

So he tried to revive him, but Carlo’s body - perhaps because of the combination of the experiments done to him before death and the modifications Geppetto did to his corpse - had a destructive ergo efficiency. So the old man needed to create the P-organ and strengthen it to ensure Carlo’s ergo would would survive.

Now he was certain he needed enormous amounts of ergo, but that would take time and his son’s body wouldn’t last that long, so he quickly turned the corpse into a puppet so he could keep him “fresh” or at least usable and stable. And that is the point when the NP as we now it came to be.

Luckily for him, he ad already set his ergo gathering plan into motion, he just needed to create a puppet that was exactly like his son so his ergo could still be nourished and his ego awakened so he worked on P. He took almost all of the ergo from the NP and placed it on the P-organ to keep it safe, while a small amount was kept on the NP so it could operate as his own personal bodyguard and so the body wouldn’t continue decaying.

In the meantime a couple of things happened. 

Markiona kidnapped Rosaura. Maybe because she was a puppet outside the covenant (I’m pretty sure Geppeto created her before the covenant), and maybe because she had a hunch that Rosaura was somehow special since she was created for the Technician’s son so  she could learn a lot by dismantling her. And as a puppeteer herself working for the alchemists she was researching of ways to bypass the grand covenant so the alchemists for their own purposes. Maybe this one of the reasons that they also let he continue having her way.

A year or two went by after Carlo’s death and of course Lea and Romeo were still looking for justice/revenge. They got more clues, but Lea got the PD and her heart got worse, so they had to minimize their activities. I think Romeo started showing early signs as well (after all he needed to have it so his ergo could be harnessed and placed inside a puppet).

They knew Markiona had at least some degree of blame in what happened to Carlo, and they Romeo got information about all the irregularities of the Zoo. It was the perfect moment to go get her, but Lea health declined even more, and Romeo went in alone. Probably not to get the full extent of their revenge as he knew Lea wanted to have Markiona for herself, but to at least dwindle their schemes.

He was stronger now, he would be fine. But in his way there Arlecchino intercepted him and tortured him.

I think in the original timeline Lea was still able to defeat Arlecchino and save Romeo but a a much greater cost on her life. 

She was very very weak.

And Geppetto had already set their eyes on them. 

He considered Lea a possible nuisance to his plans, but in the end he knew she and Romeo were importar to his son, so in his wicked mind he thought he would capture them, or kill them at the moment, collecting their ergo and revive them as puppets so they would be a part of Carlo’s second life. 

Beside that, he wanted to use Romeo as a scapegoat for the puppet frenzy. He probably never liked him and he would probably create another powerful puppet out of Lea.

So he waited until they were weakened to get them using NP.

And I think nameless puppet being Carlo, he was in distress when being forced to do this. 

He was being controlled, and had to kill his mentor and best friend / love interest if you believe in the Carmeo agenda. Another reason for the NP to only feel hatred, towards the circumstances, the world and his dad. 

And I think that together with Lea’s wish, and his own wish to be able to help them somehow and be with them one more time, his listener powers created that connection in time for his future self to help them and experience a dawn together with them.

We know that Sophia’s powers are so strong her butterflies are blue. But his’ are white because he can barely do so much. 

Of course his wish didn’t occur immediately, I just think the wish laid dormant in him and once P woke up, got stronger, got his humanity and connected himself more with Carlo’s personality then this desire awoke from slumber and sent him back in time to help them. 

Unfortunately his listener powers were not strong enough to maintain him after the moment where he could watch the sunrise with them and feeling he had just saved them. 

So in the end he was not able to prevent their deaths but at least he gave them some peace, and well as bringing slight confort to Carlo’s ergo. 

So in the new timeline Geppetto was still able to get them. Lea was now defenseless without her sword and was still hurt and tired from the fight, so there was nothing she could do.

With this Giuseppe’s plan kept on going. He also snatched Gemini from Lea, reseted him as much as he could so he wouldn’t reveal any compromising information about him and set him up to be Carlo/P ’s companion 

What happened to Lea is still unknown but we know he turned Romeo into the king of puppets. 

The frenzy had already started by now, so if anyone ever made any conjectures they could tie it to him. At the same time he appointed him to continue with the carcass eradication process.

He probably told everyone at the hotel and his friends that he was working on a Carlo puppet, that he created in honor of his son so he could help with the puppet frenzy, that’s why Antonia and everyone at the hotel knew of Geppetto’s puppet and are not surprised to see P when he arrives. 

But I think Geppetto wanted to wait longer to set P back into the world until it was safer. After all he had Carlo’s ergo and wouldn’t want to risk Carlo’s heart. 

At some point Romeo’s ego awakened and he planned to use this against Geppetto but he was still gathering forces and allies.

So Geppetto kept his two puppets and the arm of god inside the train workshop and continued his work on the hotel or somewhere else. 

At some unspecified time he had to travel or go get stuff far away from his son and secret workshop and that’s when he was being also tracked down by stalkers like the Mad Donkey.

So he was planning to go get the NP for protection. 

But unexpectedly for him, Sophia - in an attempt to escape Simon - stumbled upon P. Perhaps because he was not tied to the grand covenant, or because he was a listener too, or maybe just because of the connection they had, but she was able to reach him and woke him up.

The fact that it was Sophia and not Geppetto helped a lot in not letting P being brainwashed from the very start.

We know that Sophia has the ability to rewind time for someone. From a line spoken by Simon, we also learn that she chose P to bestow this gift upon, rather than him. And that is what kept Carlo’s ergo safe from death (also because his P-organ was probably not directly compromised).

So when Geppetto saw P he was like: “Well this was unexpected,” but he was an alchemist as well, so he probably knew some sort of power was keeping him safe, so he just rolled with that. He went back to get the NP, got the arm of god hidden and got back into the hotel to continue his plan to fuck up the alchemist and bring Carlo back. 

He also needed to take care of Romeo whose ego was awakened. It seemed Carlo’s memories were not back, but he was still worried P somehow remembered him so he went to the Stella Opera House. 

He could always re-do Romeo if Carlo wanted so it was fine if P got rid of him for now and got the credit of defeating, coming back as a hero. 

As for the rest I think it’s more clear what happened . 

P became human, got a heart, continued his adventure, got to experience Overture and in the end he fought against NP.

And I think the reason Geppetto wanted to killed everyone at the hotel was to “save” them from death, placing them in puppet form so they would also be by Carlo’s side forever and he would have to deal with the pain of losing them ever again. 

As for their fight, I think when Carlo broke from Geppetto strings and went straight for P’s P-organ, was because he wanted to end it all. He wanted to stop the suffering, being in this wicked plan from his father.

He hated the fact that all of this had to continue. He hated Geppetto, he hated himself so he tried to kill his ergo. 

But that didn’t work. Geppeto sacrificed himself for Carlo’s ergo and in the process realized Carlo was there all along, but he didn’t get to realize in on time. When he still had the chance to form a life with P, with Carlo.

And well P continued living, revived Sophia and carried on with Carlos legacy. 

As a final thought I just hate Markiona, Geppetto, Simon, Valentinus, the alchemists and Arlecchino even more. While on the other hand, I love the new depth they added to Carlo’s relationship with both Lea and Romeo. Even with Rosaura, Antonia and his parents when they were still with him.

My new favorite game ever.

And now, I'm off to write some fanfiction to cope, because I can't accept the fate of these guys :'C.

[jon-sedai]

Prince Rhaegar as a character often gets some deserved criticism - and a lot of underserved hate. And one of the things that I think he unfairly gets blamed for is Elia Martell's tragedy. Elia's death is one of the primary objections people have towards Rhaegar and Lyanna being depicted as a romance, with readers believing that if they were just tragic lovers, then that diminishes Elia's own tragedy.

I...disagree. It is understandable (and honestly right) that readers would rally behind Elia. Not only was she horribly brutalized and murdered, but her children suffered absolutely terrible fates as well.

However, in trying to center Rhaegar and Lyanna's doomed dalliance in this, a lot of readers are missing the answer that has been already provided to us within the narrative. Not only that, but this line of thinking also ignores the key context in which Elia's senseless murder is portrayed.

As far as the text goes, Elia’s death is laid squarely at the feet of Tywin Lannister and his men, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. It's House Lannister's burden to bear.

Doran for one, Elia's brother, directly blames Tywin Lannister:

“You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children.”

The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

Even Oberyn agrees:

“Dwarf,” said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, “spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer’s show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane … but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that.” He smiled. “An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”

Tyrion IV, ASOS

“Is that the game we are playing?” Tyrion rubbed at his scarred nose. He had nothing to lose by telling Oberyn the truth. “There was a bear at Harrenhal, and it did kill Ser Amory Lorch.” “How sad for him,” said the Red Viper. “And for you. Do all noseless men lie so badly, I wonder?” “I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names.” He leaned forward. “It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon’s head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands.” “What is this, now? Truth, from a Lannister?” Oberyn smiled coldly. “Your father gave the commands, yes?” “No.” He spoke the lie without hesitation, and never stopped to ask himself why he should. The Dornishman raised one thin black eyebrow. “Such a dutiful son. And such a very feeble lie. It was Lord Tywin who presented my sister’s children to King Robert all wrapped up in crimson Lannister cloaks.”

Tyrion IX, ASOS

“Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne,” the Red Viper hissed. “You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children…“I came to hear you confess.”

Tyrion X, ASOS

Varys and Tyrion both understand that House Martell (but more specifically Doran) hates the Lannisters.

“The Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him.” “All this is obvious,” said Tyrion. “The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.” “My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition … and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black.” “A council seat is not to be despised,” Varys admitted, “yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister’s murder?” “Why forget?” Tyrion smiled. “I’ve promised to deliver his sister’s killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure.” Varys gave him a shrewd look. “My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a … certain name … when they came for her.” “Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?” In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son’s blood and brains still on his hands. “This secret is your lord father’s sworn man.” “My father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog.” Varys stroked a powdered cheek. “And if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed …” “Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end.” “Robert was not at King’s Landing.” “Neither was Doran Martell.”

Tyrion IV, ACOK

Really, all the nobles know where to look at when assigning blame for Elia's murder. Tywin.

“Prince Doran comes at my son’s invitation,” Lord Tywin said calmly, “not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children.” Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, “But Lord Tywin, wasn’t it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?” None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag.

Tywin, for the most part, quite shamelessly tries to disassociate himself from his own moral failings; this is nothing new, because he follows this same MO with squarely blaming the Freys for the Red Wedding even though he played an integral part in planning for it.

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?” “Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark’s van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do.” He closed a fist. “Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape … even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of … two? Three? He said she’d kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “The blood was in him.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

“And when Oberyn demands the justice he’s come for?” “I will tell him that Ser Amory Lorch killed Elia and her children,” Lord Tywin said calmly. “So will you, if he asks.” “Ser Amory Lorch is dead,” Tyrion said flatly. “Precisely. Vargo Hoat had Ser Amory torn apart by a bear after the fall of Harrenhal. That ought to be sufficiently grisly to appease even Oberyn Martell.” “You may call that justice …” “It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl’s body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father’s bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

Tywin tries to alleviate himself of any responsibility by blaming his men, but the narrative actively calls bullshit on this (through Tywin's own son no less).

So the narrative shows through multiple POVs that Elia's murder is contextualized exclusively as a failing on Tywin Lannister and his men; not only was it a moral failing, but Tyrion also questions if it was politically necessary in the first place. It's also important to note that ASOS is when we really dive into the matter of Elia and her children (mostly through Oberyn), but we also have to remember that this is the same book as the Red Wedding. The Red Wedding, another one of Tywin's senseless massacres that he tries to postulate as politically necessary.

So, we have agreed that the blame and context for Elia's (and her children's) murder is presented through the lens of Tywin as an immoral politician who often makes politically unnecessary moves. But then we ask ourselves, can the responsibility of this tragedy be extended? Well, yes it can. And it has been in the text.

Ser Barristan extends this tragedy beyond Tywin and his men

...to King Robert.

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Ned Stark does as well.

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

Eddard II, AGOT

And so does Tywin, who uses Robert's tacit approval as justification for this senseless act.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. “You deserve that motley, then. We had come late to Robert’s cause. It was necessary to demonstrate our loyalty. When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert’s relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar’s children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children.” His father shrugged. “I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

So if we can't extend the blame to Rhaegar, because the narrative doesn't do so either, what can we hold him responsible for? Let's take a step back and look at Rhaegar's culpability in this whole thing.

Was Rhaegar (and Lyanna) responsible for starting the war that would eventually lead to Elia's murder?

No. GRRM doesn't think so. The war actually started when King Aerys murdered the Lord of Winterfell and his heir, a bunch of other northern nobles, and then called for the heads of Robert Baratheon (Lord of Storm's End) and Ned Stark (the new Lord of Winterfell). Aerys broke the feudal contract, and so Jon Arryn declared war.

I don't think I would have stayed loyal to the Mad King. Do I think they were justified? Yes, and no. [...] There was no doubt that the Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and he was abusing his power. And Westeros has no Magna Carta or anything like that. There was no way to handle this within the rule of law. But was what they do justified? Especially when you consider that it was triggered by a personal grievance. The execution of Ned's father and brother was really a thing that radicalized Ned and put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and didn't like the fact that he'd lost his girlfriend. So you know, the personal informs the political.

source

Rhaegar and Lyanna's disappearance was merely the spark - it led to a misunderstanding that caused Brandon Stark to ride to Kingslanding. What really caused the war was Aerys' Targaryens subsequent actions as the king. So if we want to blame someone for causing the chain of events that led to Elia's death as well as her children's, the author himself says to blame Aerys; even though I don't think this is right either because we once again stray from the necessary (and sole) context of Elia's murder - Tywin's bloody hands.

Fine. Rhaegar was not responsible for the war. But surely he is responsible for leaving Elia in King's Landing, right in the clutches of Mad King Aerys. Well, this again, is not true. As far as Rhaegar knew, Elia was in Dragonstone with Aegon and Rhaenys where he left them.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon’s turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

At some point, Elia was called to King's Landing. And it was Aerys who kept her hostage there as insurance against possible Dornish betrayal (remember, he was paranoid).

Side Note: Aerys kept another important political hostage in King's Landing along with Elia - Jaime Lannister; this is to deter anyone from trying to blame Jaime for doing nothing. He was a teenager and a hostage himself!

“My Sworn Brothers were all away, you see, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was my father’s son, so he did not trust me. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all.” He remembered how Rossart’s eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the substance must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. “Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him … that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash.

Jaime V, ASOS

Ok, fine. So Rhaegar did not abandon her with Aerys then run off to Lyanna. But he should have done something when he came back, right? Why didn't he leave more Kings Guard with Elia and the children?

Well....this is a war. The knights of the KG are important assets on the battle field. Kings Landing, at the time, was not the most dangerous location. The KG were better off at the Trident, as a victory there would protect those who were left behind in KL.

And it's not that Rhaegar didn't do anything. Beyond going off to lead the battle himself, he tried to make moves that would help those who were back in KL (Elia and the children included).

He floated in heat, in memory. “After dancing griffins lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him.” Why am I telling this absurd ugly child? “He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins’ men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing. Beneath Baelor’s Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself.

Jaime V ASOS

And Jaime's POV once again shows us that Rhaegar banked on victory at the Trident, and was fully expecting to come back to KL and amend the fraught political situation.

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. “Your Grace,” Jaime had pleaded, “let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine.” Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour.” Jaime’s anger had risen up in his throat. “I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” “Then guard the king,” Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. “When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey.” Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but … well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

Jaime I, AFFC

So Rhaegar wasn't leaving with no care about what happened back in King's Landing. We don't know what he wanted to do with Aerys, Elia, Lyanna, and the aftermath of the war because he died at the Trident. But we do know that he, at the very least, was planning to do something.

So we can't blame Rhaegar (and Lyanna) for starting the war and we can't blame him either for abandoning Elia in King's Landing with no care about what happens next. So, again, what can we blame him for?

“It's not entirely correct that the Martells stayed out of the war. Rhaegar had Dornish troops with him on the Trident, under the command of Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard. However, the Dornishmen did not support him as strongly as they might have, in part because of anger at his treatment of Elia, in part because of Prince Doran's innate caution.”

SSM, 09/11/1999

GRRM states that Dorne was angry about Rhaegar's treatment of Elia. What is this treatment, though?

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap.

Eddard XV, AGOT

Specifically, Rhaegar riding past Elia to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. Yes, that is a humiliation. And it's undeniable that no one was happy.

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia’s delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar’s cause…Yet if this were true, why did Lady Lyanna’s brothers seem so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her? Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister’s honor…Eddard Stark, Brandon’s younger brother and a close friend to Lord Robert, was calmer but no more pleased.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

But, humiliating Elia is not the same thing as being responsible for her death. The narrative never equates these two things in any way. Elia's death is about Tywin's immoral and blood thirsty political actions. It's about Dorne's desire for justice (or is it vengeance?) which they know they will not get from the Lannister regime. House Lannister's downfall in King's Landing will be brought about by Prince Aegon's rise - Aegon who is proclaiming to be the long lost son of Prince Rhaegar, and who is being supported by House Martell as of now.

We can criticize Rhaegar for some things, but Elia's death is surely not one of them.

[msshadowqueen]

For @azrisweek Day 3: Contact Sapphic Azris, anyone? I may or may not continue this depending on engagement.

Eris Vanserra was as stunning as she was sadistic. With skin so pale it glistened in the sunlight, wavy red hair flowing to her waist, and amber eyes that scrutinized everything around her, she turned heads wherever she went. It was funny; Rhysand loved to brag about making his mate a High Lady, but Eris had been the heir long before Feyre was even born.

True, she had been born a male, and she’d been groomed for her role when she was a man. But as soon as she became general of the Autumn armies, when it was too late for Beron to protest, she changed her gender. With the help of shapeshifters, Eris built her new body, a more feminine version of what she’d once been. But the cat eyes remained the same.

Azriella hated her with every inch of her body.

Hated the way Eris seemed to have a permanent smirk on her face. Hated the way she glided smoothly through a room with a grace Azriella could never accomplish. Hated the way that when Eris stared at her intensely, just inches away from touching her, Azriella forgot to breathe.

She told herself it was fear, her aversion to touch. Anything to avoid the truth she dared not even voice in her mind, for fear her High Lord might hear it.

She had spent centuries wondering if her feelings for Mor were romantic or platonic, or perhaps more accurately, refusing to acknowledge one of those feelings. Instead, she’d fixated on Cassian, her best friend. Cassian had welcomed those feelings, and Azriella went to him whenever she felt the need to forget the world around her. Was it right to use her best friend like that? Perhaps not, but Cassian had done much worse.

She still hadn’t forgotten about Rhysand and Cassian beating her black and blue when her hair had been cropped short and she didn’t look like a “proper” woman, as her parents would’ve said. They’d only repented when they’d realized “he” was a she and spent the rest of the time protecting poor Azriella from all the mean men looking to violate her for simply defying cultural expectations for a woman.

Mor had been the first woman Azriella had ever seen that wasn’t a demon (like Amren) or a battered housewife. It was only natural for her to become fixated on her; who else did she have to look up to? When Azriella had found Mor’s broken body, bruised and bloody with a horrific note nailed to her stomach, she couldn’t suppress her tears. And in that moment, she wondered: was this all her life was to be? A pawn in someone else’s game? A man’s toy? Not even Morrigan had escaped it. At the time, Eris had still been a young man, yet to transition and seen as the “most desirable faerie in Prythian.”

Some faith was restored when Mor made a full recovery. But Azriella never forgot that Eris abandoned her so cruelly. One day, she would kill her for what she’d done.

It was a sad day indeed when Rhysand called Azriella over to pursue “diplomatic relations.”

“No,” Azriella said flatly.

Rhysand sighed. “Az…”

“No,” she snapped. “You know I despise her, Rhys.”

“She’s our ally now,” Rhysand reprimanded her. “Why don’t you hear her out, at least?”

“Why me?” Az demanded. “I’m no diplomat. Mor deals with inter-Night Court relations and she’s Lucien’s sister; send one of them.”

“Lucien and Elain are doing crucial rebuilding work in the Spring Court right now and Mor is in Vallahan. Besides,” Rhys added, “she specifically asked for you.”

Az froze. “Why would she ask for me?”

A casual shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Several emotions warred within Azriella for dominance. Anger, sadness, fear. Something else she couldn’t put a finger on. “Fine,” Azriella muttered under her breath. “But you owe me, Rhys. Big time.”

“Of course,” Rhys answered smoothly. “She’s waiting for you in the sunroom.”

Azriella stormed through the castle, wings billowing behind her as her fury threatened to spill over. Her shadows curled around her, a protective black cloud against the onslaught of fire Eris was sure to bring.

There she sat, legs crossed at the knee, long slender fingers skimming the pages of what appeared to be a Velaris magazine. Azriella clenched her fist in her pocket, the feel of Truth-Teller calming her boiling rage. Smug little bitch sitting there calmly reading like she owned the place. Azriella barely managed to resist stomping into the room, emerging quietly as she always did.

“Hello, Azzi,” Eris said without looking. Azriella seethed, all subtlety abandoned, thundering up to Eris. “Only family calls me by nicknames,” she growled. Eris’s amber eyes met her hazel ones coolly, that insufferable half-smile planted on her face. By the Mother, she was so infuriating.

“Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll do it for you,” Azriella said shortly. Eris chuckled softly, the sound raising goosebumps on Azriella’s skin. “You usually do a better job hiding your emotions, Shadowsinger.”

Azriella sat down in a chair opposite Eris, crossing her arms over her chest. “Usually, I’m not alone in the presence of such scumbags.”

Eris’s eyes drifted to Azriella’s chest, and she was suddenly hyper aware that crossing her arms pushed out her already large breasts. Feeling her body heat up, she removed her hands and clenched them against the arm rests instead. “And you are not, Ms. Dungeon Torturer?”

She had her there. Azriella clenched her teeth. “I just do my job; those people are criminals.”

“Interesting.” Eris uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her eyes boring into hers. “So, a faerie merely needs to be labeled criminal for you to lose your humanity?”

Azriella’s mouth parted as she fought to find the words to defend herself. “I-you-“

Eris waited, one eyebrow raised as her smirk widened.

“I’m only doing my job,” she finished lamely.

��As am I,” Eris countered. “You and I are both controlled by High Lords much more powerful than us.”

Azriella went silent because much to her chagrin, Eris was right. She deeply resented the comparison between them, that there might be anything they have in common. And even though part of her agreed, Azriella could never agree with Eris on anything and opened her mouth to retort.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be me, you spoiled, pampered-“

Suddenly, Azriella found her mouth sealed shut and saw Eris making some kind of pinched finger gesture with her hand.

“That’s better, isn’t it? I may not have been born a bastard, but you have no idea what I have been through.”

Azriella was only half-listening, communicating with her shadows to help break the spell Eris had set on her. As a shadowsinger, she had the unique ability to circumvent spells cast by even the most powerful faeries. Not long after, the shadows broke the silencing spell and Azriella instantly said, “Oh, you expect me to care about the poor little princess’s sob story? Your clothes are more valuable than-“

Again, Azriella was cut off, but this time not by a spell. No, Eris stalked up to her, climbed into her lap, and placed her hand over her mouth.

“You wanted me to shut you up myself, is that it, shadowsinger?” Eris purred in Azriella’s ear. “Well, I’m happy to oblige, sweetheart.”

Azriella’s body betrayed her again. Her heart began pitter-pattering like a heavy rainstorm against the ground, and heat flooded her body, especially between her legs. Eris was deceptively strong. She may have seemed long and lanky, but her legs pinning Az’s revealed exceptionally well-built thighs, and Az could see her biceps eye-to-eye. A reminder that as pretty and spoiled as Eris appeared to be, she was also the general of the Autumn Court armies.

Azriella’s eyes drifted to Eris’s lips, her pretty pink full lips, and god she hated herself for thinking it, but she wanted him so badly, more than she could possibly explain. This is your enemy, Azriella tried to remind herself, but the thought was futile as Eris’s fingers skated across her shoulders and onto her chest. She prayed that Eris could not sense her arousal. Same-sex relations between women were deeply frowned upon in the Night Court, but how could it be so wrong when it felt so right?

She was so lost in Eris’s closeness that she didn’t realize she’d released her mouth. Blinking, Azriella whispered, “You left Mor broken and alone with a nail in her stomach.”

“You know it’s what she wanted,” Eris murmured against her cheek. “Helping Mor would’ve meant bringing her across the border, alerting her to my father’s presence where he would’ve either forced her to marry me or kept her as a pet since he deemed her unclean to marry me after fucking that Illyrian cad.”

“Do not,” Azriella hissed, “call her unclean.”

“Not my words, Shadowsinger. My father’s. And you know just as well as I that Mor would’ve rather died than be subjected to that fate.”

Deep down, Azriella knew that. But she held onto the anger because it was all she knew. Because acknowledging her other feelings was scarier. Because her thoughts went against everything she had ever been taught, everything she believed. Because beneath it was a…

“Admit it, Azzi,” Eris breathed. “You’ve wanted me from the moment you saw me. That’s why you really hate me.”

[undead-moth]

I gotta say I forgot until rewatching The Bear recently how much I hate Claire. I don't mean as a character. I understand why her character was introduced and the purpose it served and she's an integral part of the overarching story being told -

But as a person, if she were a real person, I hate her so much.

She bumped into a childhood friend she hadn't spoken to in years, right? From what I can tell, she and Carmy were never close friends. They went to the same school. Their social circles were in close proximity, maybe even overlapped to a degree - but the two of them, specifically, were not close friends. Not even close enough to be friends.

And she bumps into him after years without speaking to him, and basically asks for Carmy's number. Carmy's in a social situation where it would be somewhat rude, and very awkward, to deny her, and Claire is aware that's the case, and purposefully exploits it.

Then later, she finds out he gave her a fake number. She's an intelligent person. She knows it wasn't by mistake. And what does she do? She goes to fucking Fak and gets his real number, which she knows Carmy doesn't want her to have, and then calls Carmy and asks him why he gave her a fake number as if that isn't? Self-explanatory? Why do people usually give fake numbers, Claire?

And once again, she's putting him in this position where it would be very rude, and very awkward, to say, "I didn't give you my real number because I didn't want you to have my real number." She's already aware that he wasn't able to bring himself to do the rude and awkward thing the first time - she knows he won't be able to this time either. And then she has the audacity to tell him not to "make it weird," and ask him if he's actually okay with her having his number, when she knows he wouldn't feel comfortable telling her the truth!

What is wrong with her? If she were a male character we would all rightfully hate her. We would all readily recognize that this behavior is inappropriate, stalker-like behavior. And what's most infuriating about it is most women have been in this situation before, where a guy has asked them for their number and they didn't feel safe or comfortable outright saying, "No." Most women have given fake numbers, especially young, conventionally attractive women like Claire. You can't tell me that Claire has never given a fake number before.

And then? What does she do? She excuses her own inappropriate behavior by telling him that the only reason she's calling is to ask him to help her move? Are you fucking kidding me? First of all, "Can you help me move?" is the kind of question you generally only ask people who are pretty close to you, because you're aware it's a laborious and unenjoyable thing to do. But on top of that, she's supposedly asking Carmy because she knows that Carmy at one point owned a truck and might still own that truck. The same truck Neil Fak could just as easily drive! Why the fuck are you asking Carmy to help you move in case he still owns that truck, when you could ask Fak, who you are much closer to? Like? You're really going to ask someone you haven't spoken to in years, who you just happened to bump into, and who very obviously intentionally gave you a fake number, to help you move? When you already know he's not comfortable turning you down?! What is wrong with her? How fucking entitled is that?

And one thing that is frustrating is how even though we are meant to root against Carmy and Claire's relationship, and there's purposeful foreshadowing of its end, and even narrative hints that Claire isn't right for Carmy, and that she's an antagonist in this story - I don't think we're supposed to have a problem with her behavior. I don't think any of this was meant to contribute to us not liking her, or not wanting Carmy to be with her. I really think we were supposed to be endeared by all of this and think it's all perfectly normal flirtation, and not manipulative and predatory behavior.

What's more is that the heart of this story isn't about a man opening a restaurant, or a man falling in love - it's about a man learning to recover from trauma. If you found the lowest common denominator of this story and simplified it, that's what this story would be about. A mentally ill man healing.

I just rewatched the freezer scene. It is alarming - but all of it says more about how Carmy perceives himself, than how he sees Claire, or their relationship, or love. All of it is a neon sign advertising Carmy's severe mental state, and it is obvious this man needs help. He needs support. He needs reassurance from loved ones.

I understand why Claire hearing what Carmy said would be hurtful. I understand why she would be upset. I understand why she would be questioning their relationship.

And still, I think, you really just heard Carmy, this man you supposedly love, say all that - and you're just going to leave him like that? You're just going to leave and not reach out again at any point?

And especially with Claire, who is a medical professional working in the fucking emergency room. I would bet on a daily basis she gets people in the emergency room who are in a state of mental distress. Who are thinking about killing themselves, or have attempted to kill themselves. She knows what mental illness looks like, how it manifests, and the way it makes people think!

And she just left! She just left because she took it all personally and made it all about herself and how it affected her!

You can't tell me that woman ever loved Carmy. You can't even tell me that woman ever knew Carmy.

And if this was all it took - one single glimpse into Carmy's trauma - to make her leave, she was never, ever going to be right for Carmy. She was never, ever going to be what Carmy needed. She was never, ever going to be "healthy" for him, or "peace."

Sydney has glimpsed Carmy's trauma on multiple occasions now. She glimpsed it in season 1, when she and Carmy had only begun to have a mutual respect and investment in each other on an acquaintance shared-workspace level - and even though Syd left too, she came back. She came back even when Carmy's symptoms then were being purposefully directed at her and others - whereas Claire was never supposed to hear what Carmy was saying in the freezer. Syd came back even though they weren't committed in the same way, even though she wasn't supposedly in love with him, and even though what she got was worse. And she's been in that same position multiple times since, to different degrees - but nonetheless. She always knows her worth, and what she deserves - but it never means abandoning Carmy completely. It never means making his problems about her.

Fuck Claire so much, honestly. I'm so glad she's gone. This is just another way it is so obvious it was always, always going to be Sydney.

[loldragoon-ffxiv]

Heritage Found

When Zoisite wasn’t forced to be there by circumstance, she tried to avoid Everkeep and Solution 9 like her life depended on it. She had plenty of valid reasons for that. The people and their culture would be off-putting to just about anyone from the Source. That some percentage of the population likely resented her for murdering their beloved queen was another obvious reason. But her reason wasn’t so simple or defensible, really.

It was the unsettling feeling that she had every time she introduced herself to someone from Alexandria, and they furrowed their brows in confusion at her name. Some had outright asked about it, but Zoisite almost reflexively dismissed it as a coincidence, even when Sphene herself had explained the significance of stones in Alexandrian naming practices, and Zoisite could practically feel everyone’s eyes boring into her as she did.

Zoisite had been too distracted to really think about it when they'd originally made this discovery. She was distracted by Krile, and Wuk Lamat, and Koana, and Gulool Ja. By thinking about her own child that she’d secretly abandoned only just a few years ago, and that she hoped might one day forgive her as easily as they had.

For weeks after she defeated Sphene, Zoisite had sobbed about everything, alone in her inn room in Tuliyollal. Eventually, she pulled herself together, licking her wounds and making peace with the fact that Feldspar might hate her one day. She certainly hated her own absent father, and for far less.

A lot of that resentment came to the surface when Erenville revealed the truth about why he left home. Zoisite could definitely see herself in Erenville, could relate to feeling like her father had loved adventure more than he ever loved her or her sister. But she also saw herself in Cahciua, or at least she saw the type of mother she probably would have been if she’d tried to be a mother at all. Zoisite was in Tural now because of the same curiosity that Cahciua and her father had, and even if she'd kept Feldspar, she still would have ultimately left him behind. Perhaps he’d one day be grateful that he hadn’t known her at all, instead of just being disappointed with what he did know, like she was.

Maybe that resentment was why Zoisite had started questioning everything her father ever told her. During his fleeting periods of interest in his daughter’s life, he had always spoken at length about his travels and his adventures, but never about his origins. He described every corner of Othard to Illsabard, and of Meracydia and Aldenard, in vivid detail. He’d even told her all sorts of things about both Xak and Yok Tural, though she now was seeing those stories through a different light. But he’d never said much about Eorzea, or of the Shroud specifically, aside from what an adventurer might recall, even though he’d supposedly spent the first two decades of his life there.

When Zoisite first came to Gridania, she’d hoped to feel some sort of connection to her ancestral homeland of sorts. She’d hoped to recognize herself in the people there, or at least meet a distant relative with candy-colored hair and a geologically inspired name, that ought to exist if her father’s claim they’d merely come from a long line of Eorzean miners and rock enthusiasts were true. But she didn’t. She felt as much an outsider in Eorzea as she did back home in Doma. She long since chalked that up to being born of parents from two very different worlds, but now she was staring down at someone named Shale and she had a lump in her throat and pounding in her chest to go along with it.

Zoisite was mortified to even imply her newly found theory. The irony wasn’t lost on Zoisite that, after discovering she’d been sent forward in time half a decade, and apparently been reincarnated from an ancient hero predestined to save the world, that her father might have come from another shard was simply too coincidental and implausible for her to consider. “I was wondering if you could look into someone from the past… discreetly.” Zoisite shifted on her feet, leaning against Shale’s desk in the Backroom.

Shale raised her eyebrows briefly and then lowered them at the sudden request, especially surprised to see Zoisite without any other Scions around. “From how distantly in the past, exactly?”

“I’m not sure when he would have been alive by this shard’s sense of time, but,” she sighed, doing the math in her head. “He would be in his 50s on the Source by now. His name is Garnet.” She lowered her voice a bit. “My father.” “You think he might have travelled between shards,” Shale confirmed aloud, her face oddly neutral despite the obviously absurd claim that Zoisite was making. Zoisite told herself it was because Shale w‌as a scientist that she could hide her surprise, and not that Shale had already suspected Zoisite’s Alexandrian origins the moment she introduced herself. “For that to be the case, he would have been a member of Preservation or Oblivion, most likely...” She turned around, tapping out a query into her computer that Zoisite couldn’t even read. A few moments later, she hummed. “I can’t find any results for the name in either our records or Preservation’s, but if they had some reason to hide his existence, perhaps because he managed to travel to the Source on his own, it’s possible that they’ve long been erased. With Y’shtola’s help, I might narrow down a better timeline of events, and, with that information, potentially recover some of the deleted records…”

“That’s fine. I don’t want to distract you from what you’re already working on.” Zoisite sighed and shook her head, almost relieved she wouldn’t get an answer so easily. “It’s too bad that I don’t know where he is now, or if he’s even still alive…”

Shale stood up straight at that. “He might be alive? Are you certain we shouldn’t tell the others? If a member of Preservation has been alive on the Source for decades, he might be able to help us-"

As the reality of what she was implying by this dawned on Zoisite, that her own father might have been a part of all of this somehow, and that facing him after 12 years might be necessary to get any real answers, she scrambled to her feet, practically knocking every loose object off of Shale’s desk in the process. “Forget I said anything. This is probably ridiculous. He wasn’t any kind of scientist or engineer,” she told herself, even though she knew, deep down, that he was probably intelligent enough to be.

“He never mentioned Alexandria or Everkeep at all?”

“We didn’t talk much,” Zoisite admitted awkwardly. “He was an adventurer, and he always claimed to be from Eorzea, but…”

Shale finally shot Zoisite a sympathetic look. “You have reason not to believe him.”

“I’ve never met anyone in Eorzea with names like ours,” Zoisite admitted, swallowing hard. “But that’s not a good enough reason to assume he’s from another shard. I don’t have any kind of earring, or clue, aside from that,” and a feeling, but Zoisite had just as many of those when her hunches were wrong.

“The passing of time between shards is unpredictable, and all we know for certain is that it was only a few decades ago from your perspective, but many more from ours, that the key was left on the other side of the portal. It’s not impossible that someone else might have found a way through the same portal while leaving the key behind a decade earlier, if time slowed on our shard soon after.”

Zoisite could already imagine the looks on the Scions’ faces if she and Shale were to involve them in this now. How she’d have to tell them all her entire life story when only a handful of them even knew she was from Doma to begin with, despite them liberating it from Garlemald together. She’d have to admit that she’d not mentioned so many things after all of them had poured their hearts out to her in various ways over the years. She’d kept so many secrets from these people that were so close to her, some for good reason and others for no good reason at all. Aside from wanting to avoid the attention on herself when they ought to be paying attention to something more important, that is. Each lie of omission had built onto the other, and now the deception had snowballed out of control, big enough that she doubted many of them would forgive her for it. 

So instead the snowball would have to grow, and Shale would join Zoisite’s ever-widening roster of accomplices. Mercifully, it wasn’t Alphinaud again this time. “So it’s probably unlikely,” Zoisite shook her head. “Again, I’d prefer if you didn’t mention this to anyone. I’m sorry for asking.”

Shale shook her head as well, smiling sadly in reassurance. “As much as it pains me to leave a mystery unsolved, your secret is safe with me.”

Zoisite smiled at that, understanding why she and Y’shtola had seemingly hit it off so well.

Though Zoisite left Solution 9 that day with no answers, she couldn’t stop imagining the story anyway. Maybe he really had been from Everkeep. It wasn’t as if anyone on the Source would have believed him if he’d told them the truth. Even Zoisite would have assumed he’d lost his mind. 

As she made her way back to her inn room, she looked out at the water and paused, recalling her last memory of him, standing on a dock just like this, the sun bright overhead. She was only 16, bound for Eorzea, her sister already gone to fight Garlemald. Their father had thought they were fools for getting involved. He’d wanted her to run away from it like he had, seeing the world and taking no responsibility for it. It was the first moment that she let herself hate him. Where she told herself she'd never be like him.

It was suddenly easy to imagine that same man discovering Preservation’s plans and making the same choice. To leave. That made a lot more sense than imagining him fighting alongside the likes of Krile’s parents. He was always very good at running away.

Zoisite shook her head, unlocked her door, and collapsed onto her bed, laughing bitterly. In some ways, she was different. She had stopped Garlemald. She had even stopped Sphene.

And still, in all the ways that mattered, she was exactly the same.

[pinkeoni]

...but what was Will really saying in the van?

This a post a year after the fact, when post people have already said what needs to be said, but you know what!! This is my blog and I can say whatever I want.

Will talking about himself and using El as a guise is pretty obvious. The handful of people who say that it really was from El are few and far between. El doesn't gaf about DnD, she's not even in the painting, and she even told Mike herself that she didn't know what Will was making.

Whether or not Mike actually believed Will's lie is something that I'm personally on the fence about, but I'm not talking about him today! There are plenty of great Mike posts about this if you want a Mike analysis.

The cinematography supports this as well. At the start of the scene, Will is established on the left side of the frame, and Mike is on the right. When Will tells Mike that El commissioned the painting, we get a shot of the mirror where they swap places.

The switching of frame placement suggests that something is off, and mirrors in film can be used to show deception. The shot supports the idea that Will is not being fully truthful, which is backed up by what we already know. Each mirror shot is also prompted by a shot of Jonathan, suggesting that this is always from his point of view. We also know that he was able to see through Will's lie, so that supports this idea.

But we don't get the entire monologue from this angle, because really Will isn't entirely lying, he's just lying about whose feelings it really is.

It's no secret that the painting is an expression of Will's love for his friends, but also his romantic feelings for Mike. The positioning of the painting itself as a phallus (take a shot every time I've said "phallus" in a recent analysis) displays this in the visual language of the show along with the written one.

I think that gender and the use of pronouns is important here. Will states the entire monologue using "she" and "her" and places El in the place of himself. So what he's essentially saying "My sexuality is a wonderful thing that can bring both of us joy, but only if comes from a girl." In context Mike seems specifically anxious about El so Will is reassuring him from that angle, but it also stands that Will doesn't see his sexuality and feelings as good enough to cure an ailing Mike.

There was scriptgate and the infamous "I hate who I am" line which everyone remembers where they were for, but when the scripts were said to be fake, this line seemed to no longer hold any weight within the fandom and was widely disregarded. He loves himself, actually!

But legitimacy of the script aside, does this line still ring true? Even if it were real, a unspoken internal dialogue in an action line doesn't matter unless the show actually expresses it. So do they?

After all Will said it himself, "you make [me] feel like [I'm] not a mistake at all. Like [I'm] better for being different." So that must be how he feels, right? And yet—

—he doesn't really look like someone proud of his sexuality, does he?

I find the idea that Will doesn't suffer from any internalized homophobia rather absurd. It's definitely informed by external homophobia, but it would be different if Will fought back, but instead we see time and time again Will turning his pain inward. "Zombie Boy" leads to "It just makes me feel like more of a freak." and "It's not my fault you don't like girls" leads to the destruction of Castle Byers. I know that that line is informed by Mike's internal projection and might not be intended to be homophobic, although the statement still is homophobic despite intent. If Will knows he is gay and just heard that from his friend, of course he's going to take it that way. We see a little bit of Will standing up for himself, although this usually results in Will apologizing or not accepting apologies from others even when he deserves it. The bedroom scene in Dear Billy is a big step forward because not only does Mike apologize and assert that Will wasn't in the wrong, but Will actually listens.

It is true that Will accepts that he is gay and doesn't seem to fight it, although as others have pointed out, this doesn't necessarily mean that Will is necessarily proud of who he is. The van scene is just another example of Will taking that external pain and forcing it inward. There is likely to be consequences resulting from his lie that affects all three of them, but Will has decided to go a route that (he believes) will benefit Mike and El and only cause himself pain.

Look at this way. Let's say that Will hadn't lied about the painting being from El, that he was totally honest about the painting coming from him, but Mike didn't understand it as a romantic gesture. Not only would this not really make sense, and require Mike to be a level of oblivious on an absurd level, but it would also communicate something completely different. The new meaning would be this: Will is proud of his sexuality and able to take ownership of it, and the trouble comes from Mike not understanding. The conflict is now completely external.

I've seen debate on whether or not Mike really did understand what Will was saying although I think that's beside the point. If Mike did understand that Will was talking about himself, then this was not communicated to Will. The above scenario leads the conflict to be solely relieved by Mike finally understanding, and while there is surely to still be an external conflict between Will and Mike, Will's conflict of sexuality remains to be internal. Even if Mike did tell Will that he knew it was from him, this wouldn't necessarily solve Will's problem. The remedy to Will's internal conflict can only come from himself, by being able to proudly put his name to his painting.

[queen--kenobi]

Wheel of Fortune: Magician (Reversed)

Story summary: Elayna Reyne often imagines herself being someone and making a name for herself but only in the way young girls do. Unfortunately, when Elayna makes her way to King's Landing as one of Cerelle Lannister's ladies-in-waiting, Elayna finds dreams come with a price.

Chapter summary: Almost at King's Landing, Elayna finds her circumstances changing. Anxiety and pride mix, causing her to make deals she may regret.

Masterlist

Prologue

Elayna pauses when she steps out of her tent.

The air here tastes different; she isn't sure if she likes it or not. At first, the smell of fresh river water delights her sense. It makes her think of home. Now, as they approach King's Landing and the coast, the water seems less like home.

They still have several more days to King's Landing. Their camp sits on the edge of Blackwater Rush. Gold Road crosses it twice on their way towards the Red Keep, and although it strays from the water, it never strays too far. Elayna wishes it would. She doesn't like the smell or feel of this river. No. She much prefers mountain water to this.

Elayna lifts her upper lip in disgust when the wind blows her way. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Cerelle emerge from her own tent. Cerelle makes a face not too dissimilar from her own.

Their eyes meet.

The space between them stretches for miles. Cerelle stands only yards away yet Elayna imagines an ocean's worth of distance in the empty space. Elayna swallows. Cerelle purses her lips. She looks away first towards the campfires. Even though Elayna can't truly see how she looks, melancholy rolls off Cerelle in waves.

Elayna's feet move without her permission. She makes her way towards Cerelle, consequences be damned. She may speak to Cerelle if she wishes.

Besides, she has been meaning to ask Cerelle if she might ride with her father today. Alon specifically asked last night for her to check.

“Lady Cerelle. May I ask something?”

Cerelle turns to face Elayna fully. Dark circles highlight her lack of restful sleep. While her hair is intricately braided and done, wisps of blonde hair appear everywhere. Her pale skin almost seems to emphasize her condition, making her look almost sickly. She stares at Elayna for a second before slowly nodding.

“Of course.”

“Would it... would it be alright if I rode with my father today? I would like to spend some time with him.”

“I don't see a problem with this.” Cerelle nods her acquiescence. Elayna smiles at her.

“Thank you.” Elayna doesn't move yet. She wants to say something, to address the awkwardness between them. She takes a single step forward. “I- I have something else I want to speak with you about.”

“Don't.” The sudden sternness in Cerelle's tone makes Elayna flinch. Cerelle clears her throat before looking away from her. One of her hands finds the hem of her sleeve. She toys with it for a second before speaking. “I have spoken with mother. She's informed me of the decisions that have been made.”

Cerelle lifts her head and looks at Elayna over her shoulder. One perfectly curled strand of blonde hair falls over it and down her back. Cerelle's rueful expression snaps Elayna immediately back to the present.

“I was told to pursue other, more fruitful, ventures.”

Ah.

Despite the sadness in Cerelle's tone, a quiet weight lifts off Elayna’s chest. It helps, oddly enough. The thought of no longer being miserable alone but Cerelle sharing in her misery helps her. Elayna hates Cerelle feels that way, but at least she knows now she didn't sit in misery and silence by herself.

Elayna shifts from foot to foot. She tries to think of what to say, to tell Cerelle. She wants to tell the truth, but she would risk incriminate herself in the process.

“Would it help if I-”

“Cerelle! Elayna!”

Both Elayna and Cerelle turn to face the newcomer. Elayna bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from scowling. Alia Oakheart makes her way over to the two of them, a pleasant smile on her face. Two thoughts cross Elayna’s mind: either the smile on Alia's face is fake, or the other girl just finished making babies cry for fun. The third thought that makes its way into the forefront of Elayna’s mind, and the one most likely the truth, is Alia has been charged with making sure she and Cerelle don't spend anytime alone.

Elayna hates her all the more for it.

Elayna never quite understood why Cerelle never did anything to have Alia sent back home. Sure, it would most likely cause issues, but those would be worth it to not have Alia hovering around them. She can't put a finger on the point she started to dislike Alia; all she knows is everything Alia does grates her nerves. Even Alia sneezing sets Elayna’s teeth on edge.

Maybe it's because Alia thinks she's as smart, if not smarter, than Elayna. Maybe it's because she always feels an air of judgment from Alia, as if Alia knows about her and Cerelle and is waiting to expose them. Maybe it's because Alia is just a bitch. Whatever quality Alia possesses that Elayna hates, Alia has in a massive quantity.

Alia stops when she reaches the two of them. She smiles at them.

“What are the two of you doing down here? We're about to break camp.”

“Elayna was asking if she might ride with her father today.” Cerelle stands up slowly. She shifts into her usual self, but her heart clearly isn't in it. Elayna nods.

“I was. Cerelle has been gracious enough to allow me to do so.” Elayna knows her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Despite the surface level pleasantness of the interaction, the undercurrent of awkward tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Alia doesn't prod or push, but she clearly seems to think something more is going on, based on the slightly suspicious look on her face. Cerelle, for her part, isn't helping. She looks anywhere but Elayna, her gaze eventually settling on a tent in the distance.

A squeal of absolutely delighted laughter makes both Cerelle and Elayna turn. The sound comes from down closer to the river.

“Ryman! Stooop, ‘tis not funny.” Despite Tyshara's words, she grins. She blushes, her cheeks a light shade of pink. Ryman sits beside her. The situation doesn't look indecent; Tyshara's two closest confidants and Ryman's two friends all sit clustered together so the pair aren't alone. Still, Ryman leans in a little closer than socially appropriate. He whispers to Tyshara. His words cause her entire face to go pink.

Elayna looks to Cerelle out of instinct. Much to her surprise, Cerelle glances back at her. One of her eyebrows raises. Elayna snorts.

“Elayna, I think your brother might have designs on Tyshara.” Alia Oakheart's voice comes out almost sing-song. Her eyes glitter with genuine delight. Elayna shakes her head with a small smile.

“I doubt that. He plays too much.”

“This looks like some very serious playing.” Alia nudges Elayna with her shoulder. Elayna instinctively pushes back against her.

“It shan't happen.” Both Elayna and Alia turn to look at Cerelle. Cerelle stares forward. She watches the meandering river. “Marriages cannot be even exchanges. Tyshara won't marry a Reyne.”

An awkwardness pervades the air for a second. Alia breaks it.

“No one said anything of marriage. Designs don't guarantee outcomes.” She almost titters. Cerelle tears her gaze away from the river to look at the pair. She catches Elayna’s eye. Elayna cocks her head ever so slightly to the side and shrugs, lifting her eyebrows as she does so. Elayna keeps her gaze trained on Cerelle to make sure she catches her quick eye roll.

For a second, Alia's expression falls. Her eyes flick between Elayna and Cerelle of them. She truly looks crestfallen. A twinge of guilt makes itself known. Elayna averts her gaze. She clears her throat.

“Shall we go break our fast?” Elayna offers. Normally, Cerelle smoothes over any minor slights when it comes to the three of them. She manages their small group. Elayna knows how, but Alia makes it difficult. She never seems to believe Elayna, no matter how earnest she actually is.

“That sounds perfect!” Alia beams. “Cerelle, don't tell us you're not hungry.”

Cerelle stares at Alia. The dark circles around her eyes makes her expression seem sunken. After a moment, she nods.

“Yes. That... that sounds good.”

“Excellent!” Alia smiles. She moves forward and grabs Cerelle's wrist. Elayna swallows down a sudden wave of rage. Alia shouldn't touch Cerelle. She doesn't deserve to touch Cerelle. Elayna's hands flex and curl into fists, but she closes her eyes and breathes in slowly. It keeps her from swinging on Alia. She forces a smile.

The three of them make their way down to where everyone else is. Elayna notes her father and Johanna sitting at the head of the group, clearly deep in discussion. Johanna’s eyes briefly leave Alon. Even from this distance, the intensity of Johanna’s gaze nearly makes Elayna stop. She regards Elayna coolly. After a moment, she turns her attention back to Alon.

Elayna purses her lips. A sense of unease creeps over her. She turns her attention back to Cerelle and Alia in an attempt to ignore her discomfort. Still, it nags at her, prickling in the back of her mind. Elayna follows the other two women to the fires. The smell of food causes Elayna's stomach to rumble. She blushes, embarrassment coursing through her. For a second, she swears she hears Alia giggle. Her suspicions are confirmed when Alia nudges Cerelle with her elbow.

Her heart soars when Cerelle gives Alia a dirty look. Elayna doesn't even bother to hide her smirk.

Their meal consists of bread and some cheese. Their journey demands they eat, especially since setting up in the middle of the day just to eat makes no sense. They can close the distance within two or three nights. Extra breaks mean a longer journey, and everyone wants to reach their destination. Even Elayna finds herself irritated with people; she has no place to hide when she tires of everyone else.

The group sits by the river. Elayna nibbles on her bread. Cerelle barely touches her. Alia seems to be the only one enjoying her food. After several long minutes of silence, Cerelle stands. She moves to her feet rather quickly. Both Alia and Elayna look at her.

“I wish to speak my brother. I shan't be but a moment.”

This time, Alia and Elayna exchange confused expressions. Cerelle and Tymon have grown closer on the trip, so her words aren't unexpected. It's more the delivery and suddenness with which she stands.

“Are you su-” Alia begins, but Cerelle quickly interrupts.

“I must speak with him alone.” Cerelle pauses. “I really shan't be but a moment.”

Elayna nods. While she is just as curious as Alia, Cerelle's tone and expression make Elayna think better of asking what is going on. Besides, if it is important, Cerelle will tell her in time. She thinks. Despite her best efforts, Elayna's faith in Cerelle isn't as strong as it once was. Elayna tries to dismiss it, but it bothers her more than she wants to admit.

“If you need us, we'll be here.” Alia practically chirps. Cerelle nods before making her way towards Tymon and his friend. Elayna watches her march determinedly across the grass towards them.

“So.” Alia clears her throat and looks at Elayna. Her eyes sparkle with barely contained mischief and a deviousness that worries Elayna. “You may be betrothed to Tymon?”

“Mayhaps.”

Alia grins. “And what is your plan to get out if it?”

It takes every ounce of Elayna’s self-control to not recoil. Her upper lip twitches.

“Pardon me?”

“You always have to have a plan. I want to know what it is.” Alia leans in close to Elayna. “So tell me. What is it?”

“You make it sound as if I'm constantly scheming.”

Alia raises an eyebrow. “Are you not?”

“I don't scheme! Planning for the future is not scheming.”

“No, that isn't. What you do is.” Alia laughs at Elayna’s expression. It's almost vicious, and Elayna nearly bares her teeth at her. “Don't tell me that you don't realize that's what you do.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Elayna bites her bread a little more viciously than needed.

“Ohohoho, I finally know something the great Elayna Reyne doesn't.” Alia almost sneers.

“Considering I know what a plan is versus a scheme...”

“Planning means you have a general plan. However, since all of your plans end up with you not only surviving, but you coming out on top? You don't plan. You scheme.”

Elayna huffs. Irritation courses through her and takes over her mouth before she can stop it.

“You shouldn't speak of things you have no knowledge of. It makes you look even more ignorant.”

A brief flash of hurt crosses Alia's face. Were Elayna not so upset, she might apologize. However, given Alia is in the wrong, she has nothing to be sorry for. Alia never knows what she is talking about. Alia presses her lips together.

“I bet you can't do it.”

“Can't do what?” Elayna raises an eyebrow.

“I bet you can't get out of this betrothal.”

“Again. You shouldn't speak on things you know nothing about.”

“Do it then.” Alia tilts her head. “You won't. You can't.”

Elayna sets her piece of bread down in her lap. She stares Alia down.

“Not only will I prove you wrong, but I'll do one even better. I shall get out of this betrothal by getting into a better one.” Elayna lifts her head. Her nostrils flare. She keeps her eyes trained on Alia's, jutting out her chin. She dares Alia to challenge her.

Alia doesn't back down. Instead, she grins. It's a sly grin, one Elayna should heed as a warning. Elayna's lip twitches.

“Prove me wrong then." Alia actually smirks at her. Elayna's fingers twitch. She glares venom at Alia, visions of strangling her or bashing her head into the table dancing through her head.

“Oh, I shall.”

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

The carriage creaks as it goes down the road. Elayna sits across from her father, an embroidery hoop in her hand. Focusing on her stitchwork not only helps the time pass but also eases her anxiety. It gives her fingers and hands an alternative to picking at stray fibers or her nails.

“I spoke with Lady Johanna.”

Elayna blinks and looks at her father. Alon keeps his hands on the handle of his cane. At first, seeing her father with a cane nearly sent her into a spiral. He could not be so old and feeble as to need a cane to keep himself upright. She wouldn't allow it. Her fears ease as she sees him use it infrequently. She only really sees him use it after a particularly brutal day of travel.

It concerns her he uses it more and more often. The use of carriage instead of horseback also bothers her; she tries to attribute it to his age. Surely it must get uncomfortable riding when one reaches his age. She clings to the explanation.

“Did you?” Elayna tries to keep her tone neutral. Hope creeps in despite itself. Maybe her father talked some sense into Lady Johanna. If anyone could, it would be him. She knows this, is certain of this fact. When all else fails, Elayna can count on her father to not only have her back but find a graceful way out of the situation.

Some might call what faith she has in him blind faith, but it's not. Blind faith implies he could let her down yet she takes the risk in trusting him. No. This isn't blind faith. Elayna knows he has her. He has never once fractured her trust; it stands as steady as the rocks beneath their feet. He has never once let her down. He will never do so.

“It was a productive conversation.”

Patience has never been one of Elayna’s strong suits. Having a potential answer to her problems but not knowing the specific details drives her more than a little mad. She cannot solve her issue if a piece is being purposefully withheld from her. Elayna looks at her father expectantly.

“How so?”

Alon leans back some. He presses his lips together slightly, clearly considering his words carefully. Elayna fights to keep still.

“We may have reached a compromise.” Alon states. His tone carries an odd sense of finality to it, one that sets Elayna on edge.

“May I ask for details?”

“You may. You won't get them, but you may ask.”

Elayna's expression must betray her because Alon shakes his head. A soft hiccup of a laugh betrays the fondness in the gesture. Elayna huffs and leans back. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the window. This time, Alon's laughter is unmistakable. Elayna glowers at the trees lining the road. She knows how ridiculous she must look, pouting because she isn't given the information she wants, and Alon's laughter only further makes her feel silly. She gets why he's laughing; it doesn't mean she appreciates it.

“I'm not keeping information from you on purpose.” Alon breaks the silence first. His tone shifts from amused to soothing. He shifts in his seat, the sound carrying a little in the carriage. “Things are not solidified as of yet. When I know more, I shall tell you.”

Elayna nods. Despite herself, her shoulders drop away from her ears and ease down her back. She closes her eyes and inhales slowly. She needs to trust, trust her father and his plans.

“I know.” Elayna winces at how her voice comes out a petulant whine. She huffs a quick breath to try and pull herself together. “I know you will. I just... I do not do well with uncertainty.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed. You should tell me these things.”

His words earn him the nastiest glare Elayna can muster. Alon isn't bothered by it; he merely leans back in his seat and looks out the window. Both hands sit on the pommel of his cane, one resting on the other. The grin on his face is infuriating. Elayna isn't the only one who thinks so. Everyone knows Alon's sword skills were only as good as they were because they had to match his wit.

They sit in silence for a long moment. Elayna listens to the carriage roll along, turning her attention back out the window. She frowns at the passing trees. Despite her best efforts, her teeth dig into and pick at the inside of her cheek and lip. She fidgets. Elayna glances down to her hands and then out the carriage window. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other and then back. She sighs. One of her hands comes up to play with some of the stray curls not captured in her braids. She sighs again. Eventually, Elayna clears her throat and turns to face her father.

“I truly don't like knowing.” Elayna confesses. “I know you shall do right by me. I...” she sighs, “I don't want to marry Tymon. I understand the advantages and what it would do for us, but I cannot. I could never love him. And I know that isn't required for marriage but I have to be able to at least stand my husband, but I could never ever stand him.”

Tears begin to form in her eyes unbidden. She swallows hard. The outpouring of emotion startles even her. She stares at Alon, lip wobbling.

“I don't want to.” She knows she sounds like a child, but it sums up how she feels perfectly.

Alon watches her. The look on his face isn't cold or impassive, far from it. While his face is perfectly schooled, she can see sorrow in his eyes. He sighs.

“The current plan is to find you a better match.” Alon speaks carefully, each word specifically chosen. His reluctance to tell her sits heavy in the air yet Elayna's heart swells. She knows the signs of victory when she sees them. “I won't tell you who. But that is the plan.”

Elayna nods and swallows. Gratefulness and relief creep into her in equal measure. She smiles at Alon, and she watches some of the sadness in his eyes leave.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. Elayna can't find any other words. Alon leans back once more and settles himself in his seat. Curiosity burns through her. It tries to pry her mouth open, but Elayna keeps it shut. Alon clearly sees the conversation as finished; he closes his eyes. Elayna swallows hard. A million and one worries dance through her head. She breathes in slowly.

“Elayna. I would not do anything to bring you harm.” Alon keeps his eyes closed. Elayna nods and turns her head.

“I know.” She presses meaning into the simple phrase. Having been at Casterly Rock for so long, trust seems as unfamiliar as a friend who she long lost contact with due to being oceans apart. The danger present in such emotion makes her skin itch. Still, Elayna places her trust in him.

“You shall be fine. I promise you this.”

Elayna picks up her needlework once more. She moves slowly and far less viciously.

“Did I tell you.” Alon interrupts the silence. He still keeps his eyes closed, but his tone makes Elayna look up from her work. “I heard the most interesting rumor about James Crakehall the other day.”

“Oh?” Elayna tilts her head to the side. She finds Lord Crakehall repulsive for many different reasons, a fact she expresses to Alon whenever his name comes up. She distinctly remembers the old man leering at her when she was but two and ten. Neither her nor Alon will ever forgive the offense. “And what did he do now?”

“To my knowledge, there are two new Hills. Unofficially of Crakehall. Of course.”

“And? We know there to be at least 5 Hills a year born there.” Elayna scoffs. “More if rumors are to be believed.”

“None who's mother is newly six and ten.” Alon raises an eye. Elayna drops her needlework in her lap.

“Tell me you jest. Where did you even find out this information?”

“We aren't the only ones who dislike him.” Alon shrugs. “While I have never heard of him officially trying anything untoward, Dustin Plumm seems to have the same gripes as us.”

“Six and ten?”

“Aye. Six and ten.”

“And to think my opinion of the man could have been no lower.” Elayna scoffs. “If it were any lower, it would be in the Seven Hells themselves.”

Alon laughs. The laughter turns into a cough, one seemingly rattling Alon's very bones. Elayna sits up with alarm, needlework clattering to the floor of the carriage. Alon grunts. He waves her away.

“I'm fine.”

Despite him forcing each word through his breathlessness, Alon's tone is sharp, sharper than normal. Elayna hesitates, but Alon opens one eye to level her with a look. She holds up her hands in surrendered before sitting back down. After a moment, she bend forward and picks up her work.

“And how do you know Lord Plumm has the same complaints as us?”

“I have my sources.”

Elayna resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she looks back out the window. The distance between her and her fate closes with each turn of the carriage wheels. She purses her lips together. Gossiping about other people's misfortune would keep her mind off of her own impending doom.

“And what of Lord Crakehall? What does he say to the accusations?”

[olgasaysso]

Ginny in Ginny&Georgia is completly overhated.

I just started watching this show and I'm kinda surprised. Before I started all I heard was how amazing Georgia is and how whiny, pathetic and hateful towards her Ginny is.

It only took me half of the first episode to see how little truth there is to it.

Yes, Ginny is annoying and kinda unlikable in my opinion, especially with how she is with her friends. But when it comes to her relationship to her mother, I don't think there was a single moment where her anger/outbursts were unjustified.

Georgia is childish, irresponsible and psychotic. She has huge ego and she is harming her children with it. When her son is being bullied her advice is for him to hit him and she herself threatens to break his nose (which is genuinly insane and was a total gamble. Any other kid might have just told on her to his parents, I know I would) and later on, it causes Austin to stab that same kid with a pencil. She acts like that's totally normal.

When Ginny wants to find out what happened, Georgia respongs with "You wouldn't approve" which shows that Ginny had to take the more responsible role in their relationship.

They mention that Ginny lived in 12 different houses throughout the years, which is insane itself considering she's only 15.

Ginny doesn't have any stability in her life, and the worst thing is when she finds friends and tries to talk to them about her mum causing her emotional distress they just don't gaf.

Imagine being 15, moving from place to place and having to tell your mum she shouldn't date her boss. Imagine that same mum was lying to you about having a family and while you're complaining about it to your friends they just don't give a shit and tell you to get over it. Oh and they think your mum is hot.

Ginnys life is completly dependable on Georgia and Georgia proves herself completly irresponsible again and again.

Worst of all, she has no concept of accountability or boundaries. Ginny and her fought? So she went to pick her up from school which Ginny specifically told her she hates "to make up". Georgia doesn't apologize either most of the time, she just likes to pretend like nothing happened and act like Ginny is making a big deal out of nothing.

Ginny is just simply concerned about her life. She never knows where she's going, how long she'll stay there, if it'll be just them or if her mother will keep bring strange men home. She cannot rely on anything her mother tells her because Georgia is a liar.

I may not like Ginny individually but all of her behaviour regards to Georgia is completly justified.

[lovelywritinglady]

Demon slayer Rui (platonic) x big sis reader. And can it be hurt/comfort is possible? Thanks!! Sorry if you need a more specific scenario (^-^)/

I’ll see what I can do!

Big Sister

Rui x sister!reader

In which Rui gets mad at your for spending time with “mother” instead of him.

Hurt, angst, comfort, little brother/big sister relationship (platonic). Rui might be a lil out of character.

Rui Pov

Where in the hell is Y/n? She's been missing all night and she won't come no matter how much I call out for her. I feel like I've been walking for hours. I sighed looking around once more and after a few minutes I found her. She was cuddles up with mother and they were laughing and giggling while I was suffering. How could she do this to me? After all that I've done for her. A big sister is suppose to love and protect her younger brother and yet here she is spending time with mother. How selfish could she be do abandon me like this? She always said that I was her favorite and that she would spend time with me tonight. Maybe I should let father deal with mother while I deal with big sister. How annoying, I hate when they don't listen to me. God I felt so frustrated right now. I decided that the only thing to do was confront my big sister and make her explain why she would betray me.

I quickly appreared to them and the nerve of those two to seem surpiried that I would interrupt them. How dare they be surprised! I was about to speak when my big sister interrupted me.

"Aww Rui how wonderful of you to join us. Funny enough I was just about to come and get you." She spoke excitedly which confused the hell out of me.

"I don't believe you." I snapped moving closer to her as to intimidate her.

"Oh, I'm sorry Rui but I promise I'm not lying." Y/n pleated but I really didn't care anoymore.

"Then why are you here when you're suppose to be with me." I argued trying to get her to tell the truth.

"Oh my sweet Rui, I really was hoping I could show you later as-" She began to speak but I had heard enough. I slashed her face making her beautiful pale skin stained with blood. I was expecting her to cry or to beg for mercy, but instead she just sat there as calmly with a sweet smile on her face. This made me uneasy and the realization that I just hit her sunk in as I had never had any reason to do this to her before.

"Why did you make me do that!" I screamed at her mad that I hurt her. I was about to run away to try and get some space when I felt her embrace me. She held me so tightly and I couldn't help but feel so comforted by her embrace. "Is this what it's like to have a big sister?" I thought to myself.

"Rui, my sweet little brother, I wanted to surprise you with a human that I found wandering the mountain tonight. This one was beautiful and I thought that you would want to have it. I should have just told you and I'm so sorry." She admitted and a strange sensation bubled up in my belly. One that I didn't like nor did I wish to welcome. I then decided to forgive my big sister and take her gift as an apology.

"You're forgiven big sister, just never hide anything from me again." I told her pulling myself from her embrace.

"Thank you Rui, I promise I won't." She promised me and for some reason I believed her.

"Why were you with mother?" I questioned her as she smiled at my question.

"Oh, I was hoping that she would wrap the human for you. Mother's web is very beautiful." She told me and I believed her

"Good, now lets go see that human that you got for me." I told her but just as I was walking away she hugged me once again.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you Rui, just know that I love you and you're the best little brother I could have ever asked for." Y/n spoke. I suddenly felt tears on my head and I looked up to see her crying. I grimiced at this as I really hated when she cried because I knew she was hurt.

"I already forgave you, but thank you for apologizing again. I'm sorry for hurting your face." I admitted in a soft whisper hoping that she wouldn't hear me.

"Don't worry about that, we demons heal rather quickly and I have already forgotten about it." She proclaimed and softly stroked my hair.

"Now, lets go." she said as she grabbed my hand walking in the direction of the human that my big sister was kind enough to gift to me.

Thank you so much for reading!💜 Thank you to whoever requested this! I apologize if this fic wasn't exactly what you wanted I tried my very best.

Please feel free to like, comment, request, and reblog

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•I do NOT own any characters except y/n and any original characters•

L.W.L