#she just loves the cast that she bonds with so dearly.

[brawlqueen]

two steps forward, two steps back / meta.

even grown up, mizuki still has her doubting days. her insecure days. with the immeasurable trauma she's endured, the things that have been done to her, in no small measure of emotional harm and even physical, it's so hard to grasp if love is possible for her not in the sense of romantic even, just love in general. that's why she can take two steps forward and two steps back in her relationships because the trauma, the abuse, and while unless my a.i. rp partners would like me to adapt to their own ideas and we make something we both agree on? the realization that her godlike combat abilities are also a part of horadori, albeit with my own spin minus cloning and bibi.

she can easily become defensive and retreat into her sharp, snarky shell, despite having so much love to give, and is at her core, such, such a kind girl. so long, she has had nowhere to go with that love, and she has offered her cracked heart in vain to her murdered parents, who she actively left behind and chose with her own agency for a parent that does love her.

so there are times when those around her she wonders because of the cyclops serial killings if they just are 'pitying her' when she relapses into her trauma, be it ptsd, or dissociating, or simply reading a smile wrong. be it wearing an eyepatch or aiba in her left eye, (honestly the dates for my default just share them but i'm so flexible!), she has a lot of issues, and wounds that just won't ever heal.

it's why mizuki is so angry at cruelty, and injustice, why she's the protector, and it doesn't allow her to keep the peace because she LOVES. despite everything, this girl loves so bad, and so hard, and she's scared, she's the most fearless girl around, the strongest in so many ways, but just . . . love. being loved after a lifetime of cruelty. parsing her memories in an unhealthy way because it's easier to assume it isn't positive. when date and the others actively do love her! iris loves her! hitomi loves her! boss and aiba and even ota and others! she just....there will always be times when she's taking a few steps back, and hopes with all her heart that the people she loves will still be waiting for her when she takes two steps back to them.

she's gotten a lot better as a teenager, and she in my canon at least, in private will call date her dad. usually with barbs and teasing that is sharp but hidden in affection. annoyance, all the family things you get. but love acutely terrifies her, because she never really got to understand why and how, even when she was born with innate love for others, so much that her drive to protect innocents and those around her is so strong it doesn't let her keep the peace.

she just needs patience, and gentleness, not all of it will ever go away, and so much is burned into her vision and heart.

she needs someone to hold onto her heart and she may need assurance many times even if she viciously hides it. but even mizuki gets afraid, and insecure, and unsure.

but she doesn't stop loving, as sharp as her mouth is. that's something her experiences and tragedies have never taken away from her, in any setting, any verse, any story we concoct, castmates or not. she needs patience, and she needs time, and probably always will, but the love you'll get in return...is tenfold.

[best-aroace-parent]

Best aroace parent; Semi-finals

Propaganda for Della Duck 💛; She’s literally the best mom ever (eventually) and this does not once take away her ability to be a character in her own right. She gets trapped on the moon for 10/12 years (sources vary) while her brother looks after her sons and she spends every single day of those years trying desperately to get back to them. Mid season 2 she finally gets back to her kids and tries her best to become the mother she missed out on being while her kids grew up. She learns that she doesn’t need to be the “perfect” mother, it’s just important that she’s there now. She bonds with her kids and is just overall an incredibly supportive and encouraging mother.

As for her being aroace, the father of her kids is never addressed and never even a question asked in universe. Imo she just had kids cause she wanted to have kids, all ready to be a single parent. She also really just doesn’t show attraction to anyone throughout the series so it’s fairly common to hc her as aroace.

Propaganda for Alfred 💛; He took Bruce in after the Waynes died and did his best to raise him. He also helped take care of Bruce's many children and loved them all dearly, even if he did nothing to curb their vigilante tendencies. Some adaptations tease a relationship with one of the older women in the cast, but most agree that Alfred is at his best when he's focused on the family.

[carb0n-m0n0xid3]

AAAAA

IM SUBMITTING MY POEMS FOR WRITING CONTEST IT SO SCARY

ughh i hate this i hope i do good

ive posted them here before but here they are again, i revised some i think

Enjoy :3

Winter sighs

Through the creaking bridge,

under where waters rush,

the rocks lie submerged

with crawling algae lush.

The soft snow décor

dresses the aging trees.

Falling to the floor,

from the sky they dance and flee.

A disturbance in serenity

calls a lonely cry,

echoing throughout the woods

and into the starry sky.

The moon looks down in pity

to watch the sunken eyes

of the vagabond canine,

barely grasping to its life.

Through the freezing night,

the sorrow dies down.

The animal of the forest

becomes part of it now.

Infatuation

We were never made to be alone,

as proven by our suffering

when cast aside by those

in whom we tend to lean close to.

But beyond the love of friends

and family comes another,

one that bonds two closer

to where they act as one.

The heart is a fragile organ,

but eventually there comes a time

where it is most seeking.

The new need of attention

claws at their young minds

as they begin to explore a new world.

A world not known by outsiders,

but more by those who dwell within.

The world of awareness,

love and affection.

This affectionate infection

has drawn my eyes to you

in hopes that you would notice

my yearning glance.

Yet, distanced our bodies stand,

across the plane of passion.

Mine longs your soothing embrace,

so our hearts be face-to-face,

beating rhythmically in tune

as a soft song for both me and you.

But all is just a persistent dream

I wonder with impatience.

Though, high hopes still remain

so sometime in the future,

maybe our souls may dance together.

Always and Forever

I glanced about the dark void,

seeing nothing, yet hearing something.

It was similar to a muffled panic,

echoing softly around me, following as I trailed,

taunting and teasing me as it grew loud.

Its annoyance increased as I covered my ears tightly,

wishing for these screams of terror

to just simply go away.

But they would not stop persisting,

swarming round and around me,

growing from whispers to wails in mere moments.

The horrific noises swirled around my head,

bringing to me unimaginable dread.

Yet amid screeching panic, it stopped,

the atmosphere growing calm and light.

“Child” called a booming, soothing voice.

I looked up whilst uncovering my ears,

and behold, a massive glowing figure appears.

Gently, He reaches down to me

with a loving, caring hand.

“Why do this to yourself?” He said,

the obvious concern echoing beyond me.

As He drew me closer,

I could make out worried features

etched across his warm, radiant face.

“What are you talking about?”

I answered back sheepishly,

watching the affectionate being.

“You know you cannot lie to me, dear Child.

You may think it is time, but listen,

You have much more left ahead of you.”

He had responded with a voice of pity,

knowing of my true intentions.

Thus, he had begun to retreat me

to the growing void beneath,

carefully placing me back down

towards the pitch-black ground.

“Now return to those who love you,

those who care for you so dearly.”

The figure’s light had begun to dim,

fading away completely just as

His words, echoing throughout:

“I am with you, Always and Forever…”

“Wait!” I say, feeling my face

wet with tears as I wake.

Huddled all around me

were my closest friends and family,

turning from melancholy

to a rather joyous state.

“Thank God, you’re alive!” few had said,

hugging each other beside my hospital bed.

They had longed to embrace me as well,

though refrained with compassion

at the sight of my fragile condition.

My heart twisted with throbbing guilt,

watching as my closest friend

approached with a sad smile.

She was the first to come near,

holding me tight with eagerness.

Her words shook when whispered out,

filled with remorse and tenderness:

“I know what you did,

what you have done to yourself.”

I tightened my weak grip around her,

painfully sobbing into her arms,

seeing my own weak and wrapped in gauze.

“I’m so sorry” I choked out,

realizing that my actions were quite foul.

How could I be so selfish?

How could I be so stupid?

“Do not apologize” she mumbled back,

tears freely flowing down,

landing on the soft blue medical gown.

“We’re all here for you, no matter what.

Always and Forever.”

SORRY FOR THE LONG POST, THANKS YALL ❤❤❤

[theodork]

Loveless Saiki x fem! reader

Hey team, I'm a college student so I've been busy.....but here is something I've been working on... angst and all that ya know....

(Y/N) was a fellow psychic at PK Academy, and she developed a close bond with the Pinkette boy. In fact, they had been in a loving relationship for a whole year. Feeling a sense of restlessness, she decided to pay a visit to Kusuo's house. Her steps were filled with joy and anticipation as she happily skipped along. Her affection for him was so intense that it colored her perception of everything, casting a rosy glow on her surroundings.

(Y/N) approached Saiki's residence, knocking on the door, humming a love song to herself. The door swung open, revealing Ms. Saiki with a warm smile. "Oh, (Y/N), come in! Kusuo's been waiting for you," she said, her voice dripping with maternal affection. As you stepped inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and Kusuo's unique presence enveloped (Y/N), making your heart flutter. (Y/N) loved Ms. Saiki dearly, and Ms. Saiki loved her, though, of course, Ms. Saiki would love Kusuo's adoring girlfriend. If it were up to her she would have Y/N move into the guest bedroom. As (Y/N) made her way to Kusuo's room, she couldn't help but notice how tidy everything was. It was as if the room itself reflected his meticulously organized mind. Kusuo, however, was not in his room at the moment.

Though that was no problem for the young girl, she sat on his bed and waited for her precious boyfriend to return. A few minutes passed, and just as (Y/N) was about to drift off into a blissful nap, the sound of the front opening and closing snapped her back to reality. Kusuo had arrived home, his footsteps growing louder as he approached his room. "You're here," he spoke quietly, his voice reverberating in.

The girl smiled at him. Kusuo watched her with curious eyes.

"Why are you in my room?”

"Because I missed you..." Her voice was soft.

“So you’re here just because you missed me..?” It was clear that the only emotion he felt towards this situation was bewilderment. And even that was faint. He looked at her with a blank expression, as if he had no idea why she was there. This did not dishearten the girl.

"Am I not allowed to miss you, Ku?" she said in a low teasing voice. Ku’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze softened and paused before shrugging in response, which was his way of going: ‘Sure, whatever.’

"So... you were bored and decided to nap in here?”

"Yes," (Y/N) said. Slowly nodding.

"Interesting..."

He remained standing, as he looked around his room for a moment before glancing down at his hands. Once he did that, he took his right hand out of his pocket and used the fingers to motion to (Y/N)

“Come here.”

She got off the bed and walked closer to him.

Now that (Y/N) was in front of him, he placed his hand on her cheek and tilted her face up slightly, staring at her. Once he was done looking at you in this way, he leaned forward for a moment before suddenly speaking into your mind again.

“You’re quite pretty.” (Y/N) was like a shield to most of Saiki's powers. He couldn't really read her mind, nor could he use his X-ray vision. His mind control was also pretty useless. Not that he tried to use it, but she was the only one who questioned his appearance. Which was probably why he started dating the girl. His powers, to him, meant he could find anyone attractive, but with this restriction gone, he pursued a relationship with her. His face remained blank throughout this interaction. She looked at him lovingly. She'd have heart eyes if that were physically possible.

"I think you are pretty too,"

"Hmm. Really?” Her words seem quite strange to him. He raised his eyebrows slightly. His face still seemed to be void of emotions.

"May I kiss you?”

"Yes, of course, you don't have to ask."

Kusuo was silent for a moment before he suddenly leaned down and gently kissed you on the lips. In spite of this, his expression was still devoid of any emotion.

"Is that okay?”

He continued to stare down at her. She nodded, slightly blushing. 

“Okay.. good. Hm.” he paused, “..There isn’t much for us to do here.”

Kusuo’s hands went back into his pockets, his head turning to watch his girlfriend.

"Yes but I like just being around you, even if we are just sitting in silence" (Y/N) truly loved being around him. He was her everything.

Kusuo raised his eyebrows a bit and nodded.

“..That’s sweet...May I hug you?” Kusuo asked.

"Yes of course, but you don't have to ask to touch me"

He did know this, but he was really asking because he was a bit hesitant himself. He wrapped his arms around her gently

“I'm just making sure you're comfortable with it.” she wrapped her arms around him in return. “May I pick you up?” he asked. She nodded. He picked her up, moving over to the bed and sitting down with her in his lap.

“This is comfortable?” 

“Yes” with that his grip tightened around her. 

“May I touch your face?” (Y/N) asked. She knew the answer, it would be a yes, but she didn't want to overwhelm him either as this was his first relationship.

“Sure” he moved his face closer, not objecting. (Y/N) cupped his face, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks, softly smiling. He didn’t react, perhaps a small untouchable blush.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

"Oh... yes," Kusuo replied, his gaze fixed on her, but his face remained as emotionless as ever.

"If there's anything else you'd like to do, I'm open to it," she said, trying to break the silence.

"Okay, Ku, I have to say, you're incredibly handsome," she continued. Kusuo raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Do you really think so?"

"Like a statue... you were carved by Aphrodite herself," she complimented him. He blinked, unsure of how to respond. Then, he studied her more closely.

"Really? You think that highly of me?" Kusuo appeared genuinely confused, and his blank expression started to soften.

She nodded, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You're quite the flatterer, you know?"

Kusuo continued to gaze at her, his blank stare slowly transforming into a faint smile. She felt a sense of accomplishment, as if she was finally able to help him express his emotions. It may not have been much, but she could make him smile and even crave physical affection.

"I might be a smooth talker, but I truly adore you," she confessed.

"I've noticed. Do you flirt with other guys often?" Kusuo asked, still observing her, his smile growing wider.

"Not at all. They don't even register on my radar," she shook her head. No other guy could compare to Kusuo, not even her celebrity crushes.

"Really?" Kusuo seemed pleased by this revelation, his smile growing even more. He clearly enjoyed the attention. Perhaps his love language was words of affirmation, but who really knows? He's an enigma.

"They can't even hold a candle to you," she assured him.

Suddenly, he leaned in and gently kissed her cheek. "Hm. I'm glad to hear that."

He continued to gaze at her in silence, his smile still genuine.

"I only have eyes for you," he whispered.

Then, he leaned forward and kissed her, his expression still filled with sincerity. The silence lingered between them as he settled back, gently placing her on his bed.

"Am I... a good kisser?" Kusuo's voice echoed in her thoughts.

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'd say you're becoming quite skilled."

"Thank you." Another moment of silence followed, but (Y/N) didn't mind. 

"Should we... do it again?" Kusuo's voice was tentative, uncertain.

"Ku, if I ever turn down a kiss from you, I want you to shake me," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more.

Kusuo reciprocated the kiss, his silence speaking volumes. When they finally broke apart, he gently placed his hands on her cheeks.

"Can I ask you something personal?" His voice was soft, but his eyes held a hint of nervousness.

"Yes," she replied, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

"Do... you love me?" Kusuo's question hung in the air, his hands still cradling her face. His smile was mixed with anticipation and vulnerability.

"There aren't enough words to express how deeply I love you," she confessed, her eyes shining with sincerity.

"Is this genuine... or just flattery?" Kusuo's voice remained within her mind, his gaze searching her face.

"Can't you tell?" She gently guided his hand to her chest, letting him feel the rapid beat of her heart.

As Kusuo felt her heartbeat, a brief pause ensued. His gaze met hers again, his expression becoming more neutral, yet filled with understanding. The silence between them carried a profound connection, reaffirming their love.

"I need to tell you something," Kusuo said, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze fixed on (y/n).

"What is it?" (y/n) asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Kusuo hesitated, his face tinged with sadness. "I've been lying to you," he admitted, his voice resonating in her mind. "I've never experienced emotions. I've never felt love or affection towards anyone."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Do you not love me?"

Kusuo struggled to find the right words to respond. After a moment, he let out a sigh and looked away. "I want to," he confessed, his voice still reaching her thoughts. "But I may be incapable of it."

He turned his gaze back to her. "I'm sorry."

Confusion filled her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Kusuo explained, his expression blank again, "I can't return your feelings."

His words pierced her heart, and she choked on her words. Kusuo stepped closer to her, embracing her gently, his voice echoing in her mind once more. "Please don't cry... I don't want to see you cry."

She let out a bitter laugh, her heart aching. Kusuo paused, his eyes meeting her tear-stained face. Then, he glanced at her chest, as if searching for the source of her pain. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I feel like I'm burning alive," she confessed, her voice trembling.

"I apologize," Kusuo replied, his face still devoid of emotion. It was hard to tell if he truly felt regret or not. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"No, I don't think so," she replied, her voice filled with resignation.

Silence enveloped them. Kusuo continued to hold her, but his embrace lacked the warmth she longed for. "I really am sorry," he repeated.

"I know," she whispered.

"Should I take you home now?" Kusuo asked, his arms still around her.

"I think I'll go home on my own," she replied.

"Alright," he conceded, another silence stretching between them. "Do you think you might be able to forgive me one day?"

"That's the funny thing," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Kusuo raised an eyebrow, curious. "And what is that?"

"I forgive you now," she admitted, her voice filled with a mixture of heartbreak and understanding.

Silence hung in the air once more. "You do?" Kusuo asked, his grip loosening slightly.

"Yeah," she affirmed.

"I'm absolutely heartbroken, but I don't think I'm able to be mad at you," she added.

Kusuo remained silent for a moment, his voice now tinged with sadness. "You're very caring," he remarked, his face still blank.

"To a fault," (y/n) dryly chuckled.

Kusuo stayed silent, a small smile playing on his lips. "Will you promise me something?" he asked.

"What?" (y/n) inquired.

"Promise to find someone else and give them all the affection I was unable to return," he requested.

"I don't know if I'll be able to keep that promise," she confessed. "That's the only thing I can't grant you."

Kusuo paused, his voice turning serious for a moment. "Alright," he said.

He released his hold on her and seemed lost in thought. "I'm going to leave now," he finally said.

"I'll walk you out, if you'd like," (y/n) offered.

"No, that won't be necessary," she quickly corrected herself, her voice breaking.

"Are you sure?" Kusuo asked, glancing at her with concern.

"Very sure," she replied.

Kusuo moved toward the door, stealing glances at her to ensure she was okay. She left in a hurry, barely holding herself together. Kusuo watched her exit, his face showing a genuine concern that had been absent before. He sighed and closed the door.

(Y/N) made her way home, shutting the door behind her and collapsing in front of it. Her world crumbled around her, but she couldn't find the tears or the screams. Kusuo, on the other hand, leaned against the wall outside his room, lost in thought as he stared at the floor. Guilt washed over him, along with a sense of emptiness that was all too familiar. After a while, he opened his door and returned to his room.

(Y/N) slowly rose from the floor and made her way to her bedroom. She wanted to cry, to scream, but the emptiness inside her stifled any outward expression of pain.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (46/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 5144

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Now that Aemond has broken his silence, what truths will he reveal?

Warnings: mentions of suicide and self-harm, Westerosi medicine

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104 @fall-myriad

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Truth

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”

Arianwyn could not help the desperate sob that tore through her at Aemond’s words.

His words –Aemond had spoken.

Never once in the fifteen years since he first started having his quiet days had he ever broken his silence so quickly.

And after what happened at Storm’s End, Arianwyn had expected this silence to last hours, perhaps even days.

But already, he spoke to her. He apologized to her…

Arianwyn looked up from his bloody, ruined trousers to his face. The beautiful face she loved so dearly, now marred with blood and tears and shadowed by grief and pain.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head as she took his hands. “No. You do not apologize.” She glanced down to his legs, where the barest hint of pale skin bruised black and the bright red of fresh blood was visible at the top of his thighs. “You did not do this. Luke – ”

Aemond pulled back, standing so quickly that the stool rattled to the floor behind him, and turned away from his wife. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, wincing away when Arianwyn reached out to help steady him. Then, in one swift move, he tore his trousers down, the once-sturdy fabric so soaked through with rain and blood that they ripped away from his legs as easily as if they were made of parchment. He tossed the scraps away like they were an angry viper and fell against the wall with an agonized scream.

Another sob wracked through Arianwyn.

Both of Aemond’s legs were crossed with four large wounds – great ropes of night-dark bruises, three fingers thick. The bruises hid a pattern of evenly spaced cuts, which Arianwyn could only see because of the some two dozen rivulets of fresh blood trickling down from each and pooling on the marble floor beneath him.

What had they done to him?

His voice was still raw and rough when he finally spoke again, as if talking was a mighty effort – and Arianwyn knew it likely was. “Lucerys – Luke – did not do this to me,” he said. He took a single, deep breath and slowly faced her again, his eye still cast down in shame. “I did.”

Arianwyn wanted to ask a thousand questions. Why had he done this? How had he done this? Why hadn’t he told her last night? How had he endured so much pain?

Even more, she wanted – again – to call for Orwyle. These wounds were harsher and more complex than they had anticipated, and she had very little faith in her ability to treat them, even with the Grand Maester’s instructions.

Desperately, in the part of her that still lived in fear, she wanted to throw herself at her husband’s feet and weep until the entire world had changed. Until Daemon and all their enemies were long dead, and the Iron Throne was little more than a worn lump of metal. Until they were both safe and all their troubles were distant memories.

Most urgently, she wanted him to sit. His legs were shaking terribly – with all the blood painting them, they reminded her of the trembling branches of the Weirwood tree beneath which they were married.

She moved without allowing herself to think too hard about what she was doing and slipped underneath Aemond’s arm. At her touch, his breath became more ragged, and he made a slight noise of protest, but he did not pull away. He followed her silent instructions, allowing her to wrap an arm around his waist and brace his arm around her neck.

After taking a moment to thank the gods that her husband was so thin, Arianwyn tugged him away from the wall, letting him use her as a crutch to support his weight as she guided him back to the stool.

Even once he was seated, Aemond continued to shake. And though he did not speak further, tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Arianwyn wiped them away and stood to press a kiss to his forehead. “I will be right back, my love.”

“No…” Aemond whispered, his voice growing to a shout as she hurried out the door. “No! Aria! Please don’t leave me! You promised!”

The pained desperation in his voice cracked something deep in her chest, and she had to fight her heart to not immediately run back to him. But she swallowed her tears, returning to him only when she had collected what she needed.

Aemond was leaning halfway off the stool with one arm braced on the bath when she reentered the room, as though he had tried and failed to follow her. His eyes had a familiar glaze, and she suspected his shaking was no longer entirely due to his wounds.

“I told you I was coming back, love. I was not leaving you,” Arianwyn explained, laying her gathered supplies before him – a pewter teacup, Aemond’s dressing gown, and the worn green ribbon she had taken from the twin bronze swords hung above the mantle after failing to find where Elsie kept her usual hair ribbons.

“You left,” he croaked as he collapsed back onto the stool, “You left me.”

“I only went to the other room,” she pleaded, tucking his reddened hair behind his ears. “And I came back, as I always do and always will.”

He held her hands against the sides of his face, nodding furiously in agreement and apology. His skin was too cool, just as it had been the day the King died. “I was frightened.”

“There is no need to be. You are home. You are with me. And I am going to take care of you,” Arianwyn hoped her voice sounded surer than she felt. She tried to take comfort in that his coolness likely meant he had not developed a fever.

Aemond sighed dejectedly, shaking his head and causing his hair to once more fall before his face. He slowly reached for the ribbon, twisting it between his fingers as he spoke. “It is I who is supposed to care for you, as your husband.”

“You have,” she assured him, “and will continue to do so. Of that, I am sure.” She pushed his hair back again. “But today, you must let me care for you, as your wife. Please?”

His only answer was the dipping of his head to make it easier for Arianwyn to reach his hair. Once it was clear of his face, she began.

Arianwyn did not want all the blood and grime on him to dirty the bathwater – the whole point of this was to get him clean, after all. So, after setting his robe safely atop the chest of drawers near the window, she stood before him with a small cloth in one hand and the pewter cup in the other. She made a note to personally apologize to whichever servant would have to clean the mess she was about to make and began.

She started with his hair, tipping back his chin with one gentle finger before dipping the cup into the still-hot bathwater and pouring it over him. As it washed through his hair and dripped onto the stone floor beneath them, it carried some of the blood with it, but not all.

Curious, she stepped behind him before she continued, not wanting him to catch any hint of her confusion and worry that the blood would stain his silver locks. Over and over, she wet his hair, combed through it with her fingers, and rubbed at it with her cloth, and yet still, diluted red streaks remained.

Aemond looked almost at peace, his eyes closed as he leaned back into his wife’s touch. He did not smile, but at least he did not frown. But if she told him that his hair, which he always took such pride in, was stained – possibly forever – with his own blood, his tentative peace would surely break irreparably.

So, she calmly reached over his shoulder to place her hand on his, which was still fiddling restlessly with the green ribbon. Once he was in the bath, she would again try to erase the stains with his hair soaps and oils. That is if she could find them amongst the vials Orwyle had left on the bath table.

“I need to tie your hair back until you get into the bath,” she explained in a gentle whisper.

“You’re making a mess,” he replied, but he obeyed, placing the ribbon in her palm.

She waited a moment to begin wrapping his hair around her off-hand, struggling to devise a reply. “Well,” she finally said with a breathy laugh, “I’m sure the servants have cleaned up worse than this. I dare not imagine what they may have found in Aegon’s chamber over the years.”

Much to Arianwyn’s disappointment, Aemond did not laugh or smile. He did not even grace her with one of his signature hums. He merely looked back to the ceiling and sighed.

After securing his hair, she again went to stand in front of him. He did not look at her until she took hold of his face and guided him back to her. “I need to wash your face, Aemond.”

He said nothing, but there was, for only a brief moment, a slight furrow on his brow.

“It may hurt, with…” she trailed off, gesturing to the scratches on the left side of his face. “Do you want something to numb the pain?”

“No,” the word was so soft, but absolutely firm.

“Very well,” Arianwyn nodded as she took a steadying breath. She drew another cup of water and poured it over a fresh cloth until it was thoroughly damp. When she looked back at Aemond, he had already closed his eye.

He flinched when she pressed the cloth to his face, whether at the heat from the water or the sting from the contact to his wounds, he did not say.

Arianwyn kept the cloth there for several minutes to ensure the dried blood had soaked through. Only then did she remove it, prompting Aemond to take a heavy breath as he released the tension he’d been holding.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied. Not entirely true, she knew. But it was permission enough to continue.

With short, soft movements – to not reopen any wounds – Arianwyn wiped the dampened blood off his face, discarding the cloths when they became too dirty. She soon decided she would have to apologize to the laundresses too.

Once finished with his face, she kissed his right cheek briefly before continuing down his neck and chest. The areas without wounds went much faster, although once she reached the marred mess of his legs, she wished she had taken her time.

Experimentally, she pressed a fresh cloth against one of the blood-coated bruises atop his right thigh, keeping the pressure feather-light.

Still, he hissed in pain, every muscle in his body tensing.

“That hurt?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yes.”

“Badly?”

He paused, then nodded again.

Arianwyn froze with her hands still holding her cloth and the half-full teacup. The paralyzing fear that nearly overcame her when she first saw her husband’s wounds again threatened to consume her. “I don’t know what to do.”

Aemond remained as silent as stone, but he moved. He grasped her wrist – the one holding the cup – and brought it over his leg. Then, he looked Arianwyn in the eye and whispered, “Trust me.”

Then he turned the cup, spilling the water across his leg, and bit back a moan of pain.

“Aemond!” she cried, dropping her supplies and holding to him as his breathing steadied. “Why would you do that?”

“Hurts less,” he answered, though she suspected it was a lie. “And it goes faster. Continue.”

Indeed, when she looked back down at his leg, much of the blood that had been touched by the water had started to wash away. So, she continued scooping water from the bath, pouring it on him, pushing past the heartache his every gasping breath inflicted upon her, and using a cloth only on the most stubborn spots.

At last, he was clean of blood. Arianwyn had expected it would make his wounds look less gruesome. But against the paleness of his skin, each bruise and cut was more stark and even more horrible.

Tracing the smooth skin just above one of the bruises, Arianwyn could not stop herself from asking, “Why? Why did you do this?”

“I – ” Aemond started, then dropped his head and sighed. “I needed to get away from her, but the chains and the straps… they held me to the saddle, and I couldn’t get them off. Not until we landed.”

If he had been trying to free himself before they landed… the horrid realization hit Arianwyn like a blade.

Aemond had tried to kill himself.

After Luke’s death, he had wanted to throw himself from Vhagar’s back and join his nephew in the waters of Shipbreaker Bay.

Though she hated herself for it, Arianwyn began to cry. She pressed her forehead to his and wept – both at the realization that he had been so distraught that suicide seemed his only option, and from relief that those godsdamned chains had prevented it.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, petting the back of her hair. “I am glad I failed,” he whispered. “Damned as I may be, I wish to spend every moment before being sent to the Hells by your side.”

At that, Arianwyn pulled back. “No,” she murmured through her tears, “you will not go to – ”

“I am a kinslayer, Aria!” he insisted. “I am stained in my very soul. There is nowhere I can go but the Hells.”

She only shook her head. “I do not believe that. I cannot believe that.” Aemond looked like he wanted to argue further but was too tired. “The Seven are kind. They are forgiving. They are good, and so are you! If this sin has stained your soul, then… then you must atone for it. That is all.”

Aemond looked at her skeptically, as though she had just suggested he stride through the Great Hall naked.

“Do you remember what Septon Eustace once told us?” she asked, tears beginning to dry as she stumbled upon hope – something she never thought she would have again. “He said, ‘Every sin can be forgiven, so long as the sinner truly repents and faces justice in life.’ I know you regret what happened, so all you must do is find a way to atone, justice will be fulfilled, and you will be forgiven!”

“My love… justice for kinslaying means death,” Aemond sighed. “The law demands that I be executed.”

Arianwyn quirked her head in frustration, her lips tightening as she struggled to convince him. “Your brother is the King. ‘Justice’ is whatever he determines it to be. Despite your past troubles, Aegon would never order your death.”

Aemond hung his head, squeezing her shoulder before letting his arms fall. “Aria… I am tired. And the bathwater is getting cold.”

The finality with which he spoke was surprising, but though she wanted to continue arguing, there were indeed smudges of purple beneath his eyes, and it had taken longer than she intended to get clean enough to get in the bath.

So, Arianwyn helped him stand and get into the bath, and they continued in silence.

-

After she finished helping Aemond bathe – he had been too tired to assist her by doing anything more than raise his arms or duck his head when prompted – Arianwyn carefully dried him with the softest and cleanest cloths she could find. Then, she draped one atop the stool for him to sit on while she worked to decipher the instructions Orwyle had left her.

“First, you must clean the wounds, so you may better assess their scope. If you believe they are severe enough to make their treatment beyond your ability, fetch me immediately. I don’t care what Prince Aemond has done or what he threatens to do to me should I enter. I just want to ensure he is well.”

Cleaning, she had already done. But assessing the wounds… Arianwyn knew so little about medicine. What, exactly, was she supposed to assess? All she could glean from their ‘scope’ was that they were awful, and must be very painful. At least none of the cuts looked particularly deep, so she would not be required to stitch them back together.

She looked to Aemond, sitting with his head bowed and eyes closed. Was he merely tired or in prayer? Usually, when he prayed, she could see his lips moving. But now, he was entirely still. Wishing that there was something she could say to him, but knowing that there was not, she instead looked back to the paper.

“Any cuts or lacerations must be cleansed with boiling wine – I have left three bottles by your hearth for this very purpose.”

Arianwyn peeked out the bathing room door to the hearth. Indeed, three bottles of clear wine were set on the mantle, and a fire had been lit in the hearth, above which hung a small, wood-handled cauldron. All she need do was pour the wine into the cauldron, wait for it to boil, and then…

She did not know how boiling wine was applied. When it had been used on her, she remembered it feeling hot but not quite boiling. And surely simply pouring it on the wounds while so hot would cause more harm than good? After again looking at Aemond and his still-shaking legs, she returned to the instructions.

“Let the wine boil for several minutes until the smell of the herbs is quite strong. I apologize, my dear, but I fear it will be rather unpleasant. Then, carefully remove it from the fire and let it cool until you can comfortably dip your finger within for as long as it takes to count to ten (do not rush your counting as you did as a child).”

Well, at least it wouldn’t be applied while actually boiling. Arianwyn turned back to Aemond, whispering his name to draw his attention. When he finally looked up at her, she continued, “I need to go in the solar for a moment. Will you be alright in here?”

He nodded once, then bowed his head again.

For every heartbeat that she was apart from him, as she waited rather impatiently for the wine to boil, Arianwyn listened for any sound from the bathing room. Either the soft sounds of crying, whispered prayers, or anything to suggest he had made the slightest movement.

She heard nothing.

And when she returned to the bathing room, cauldron in hand, Aemond looked exactly as he had when she left. He hardly even looked at her when she set the wine next to him, took a few items from Orwyle’s supplies, and sat on the floor before him. She had one more instruction to follow before applying the wine.

“Aria, before you use the wine, you must most strongly encourage Aemond to take milk of the poppy. There is a cup with lines marked in it, and I advise he drink an amount coming up to the third line. If he will not, as I suspect he will, try to at least get him to chew some willow bark. It is not as effective, but it may yet help.

“Aemond?”

He raised his head, just barely. “I’m so tired, Aria.”

“I know, my love,” she said, lacing her fingers with his. “I promise we’ll go back to bed soon. But I need to cleanse and bind your wounds first. Will you let me do that?”

After a long moment of silence, he squeezed her hand and nodded.

Arianwyn looked from the wine to the embossed glass bottle that held the milk of the poppy to the little cup Orwyle had indicated. An amount up to the third line was no little sip but rather more like a large gulp – perhaps more. When his mind went distant, Orwyle only gave him a few drops. What would this much do to him?

“Before I begin,” she took a deep breath, hating that she needed to ask this of him, “you should drink some –”

“No.”

“Aemond, Maester Orwyle said that –”

“No.”

“But –”

“I said ‘no,’ Aria!” he nearly shouted. The determined glint in his eye, harder than the strongest stone, suggested that his refusal was not entirely due to his aversion to the draught but something deeper. Darker.

Arianwyn did not want to imagine it. He had already shared a truth that had all but shattered her heart. And if she wished to remain able to continue caring for him, she must not risk breaking it beyond repair.

So, she simply set the cup and bottle aside and picked up an amber glass jar. “This is willow bark. It can also –”

“No!” Aemond seized the jar from her hands, throwing it with all his sapped strength across the room, the glass cracking loudly as it hit the stone wall. “I don’t need anything! Just…” he slumped on the stool, rubbing at his eye, “just hurry. The wine will cool soon.”

She followed his eye to the steaming pot. Of course, he knew what it was, what it was for, and how it was used. After spending weeks – or months – in the Rookery tower after Driftmark, he could probably give Arianwyn instructions himself. Perhaps he could even earn his own silver chain at the Citadel, citing his time with Orwyle as instruction. He had once entertained the idea of becoming a Maester, as she had. But where her dreams were snuffed out by her sex, Aemond’s were crushed by a stern conversation with his grandsire, which he never fully disclosed the detail of, not even to her.

He knew how painful cleansing the wounds would be, and he still did not want relief.

But Arianwyn would try one last time. She could not simply inflict that much pain on her husband. So, she squeezed his hand, stared into his eye, and pleaded with him. “My love, please. I do not want to hurt you.”

Aemond returned her gaze, his eye half-lidded. He did not seem concerned about what was about to be done to him. “Sweet Aria,” he murmured, stroking her cheek as he gave her the closest thing to a smile she had seen since finding him below the broken mirror. “You will not hurt me. You never could.”

The words were spoken with such surety, though there was also a sadness that Arianwyn could not decipher the source of. It was as if he had told her a riddle she had no hope of answering.

But then he guided their clasped hands down towards the wine and the small stack of cloths next to it. “Soak the cloth fully,” he instructed, “then press out some – but not all – of the excess.”

Orwyle’s instructions said almost precisely the same thing.

Arianwyn obeyed, submerging the folded cloth in the wine, now cool enough that she could leave her finger in for longer than a count of ten, then pressed it between her palms until it barely dripped.

“Where should I begin?” she asked, running her eyes across all of his many wounds.

Aemond lowered his head and turned so his scarred side– the side he had again ripped open with his own hands – was facing her. “Here.”

She raised herself onto her knees, wrapping one arm around his shoulder to grip the back of his neck to keep him steady. When she took a deep, anchoring breath, Aemond breathed with her, so perfectly in harmony they could have been one soul.

Then she pressed the wine-soaked cloth to his face.

He did not scream or flinch as droplets of wine began to spill down his chin. While he did tense, and his breath immediately deepened, he held the cloth in place with a hand on Arianwyn’s wrist and pressed further into it.

After silently counting to five, as the instructions said, she moved to pull away, but Aemond held firm.

“To the count of ten,” he hissed.

“Orwyle said only five,” she countered. But he held her in place, his gaze locked with hers, until he had finished his count.

Only then did he release her. “Five is for the battlefield,” he said between heaving breaths, “We are not on a battlefield, and these are not battle wounds. Orwyle is trying to spare me pain.”

Arianwyn folded another cloth and submerged it in the wine, then looked up at Aemond with tears in her eyes. “You do not wish to be spared unnecessary pain?”

For a moment, he almost looked regretful. Then his jaw set in unwavering determination. “I do not.”

She did not argue as she laid the new cloth across the first of the wounds on his left leg. Again, he tensed and sucked in a harsh breath but made no other sound. This time, she counted to ten before removing the cloth, hating every moment, every number.

Though she hated herself even more for the question she was about to ask.

But it had to be now. She did not know when he would again feel well enough to talk rather than stay indefinitely in self-imposed silence. And she wanted the first time to be with just her, without the pressures his mother and the Small Council would place upon him.

So, before laying another cloth on the next wound, she lifted his chin with a finger. She met his shadowed eye and asked unevenly, “Aemond, what happened?”

The shadows seemed to spread. Not only across his face but over the whole room. As if the sun itself had no desire to hear what the Prince would say next.

When Aemond finally replied, Arianwyn had applied and removed two more cloths – he did not react to either. His voice was low, so quiet that she had to strain to hear, and it held a hollow quality. It did not contain the same careful pronunciation she was so used to, nor did it sound as lyrical as when he read to her. It was just… empty.

“I went to Storm’s End,” he said, looking not at his wife but at the intersection of two stone tiles on the floor next to where she sat. “I obtained the loyalty of House Baratheon and arranged a match between Daeron and Lord Borros’ youngest daughter.”

His brow furrowed, and his lips pursed slightly. “I had finally done something,” he nearly spat. “After all these years, I finally had the chance to do something real for my family and the realm, other than stand behind my father or brother. Something to make them proud and prove to everyone – every person who hates and reviles me for being the One-Eyed Prince – that I was more than that. More the monstrous spare son resentful of his fate to die in battle on Aegon’s behalf or to dutifully serve him as my King and never claim anything for myself.

“Yes, I have occasionally entertained the idea that I am better suited for the throne than Aegon. But they are only ever thoughts. I have never once acted on them or even truly wanted to,” he looked pointedly away from Arianwyn – she already knew that he had encountered an opportunity to take the throne for himself and been tempted to take it. But still, he had refused. “If I did this, won Storm’s End, they would all know it. That I was happy to serve my brother – proud to fulfill my duty.”

“But…” The skin around his missing eye visibly twitched, and he quirked his head several times in response before continuing. “Just when it was finally in my grasp, he came to take it all away from me again!”

There was no questioning who ‘he’ was – it could only be Luke.

“The same way he took away everything that made me happy that night on Driftmark. My joy at finally claiming my birthright. Whatever measly shreds of my father’s love and respect that I once had. My eye.” Aemond suddenly snapped his head up, looking at Arianwyn so intensely that she almost shied away. His hand flung out to grip the side of her face, his fingers weaving tightly into her hair while his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. “Like he took you. And he got away with it! By the gods, he was never even scolded for it! I couldn’t let him take any more. I wouldn’t.

“My anger at what he had done and my fear that he would somehow take it all away again… consumed me. I demanded too much, I know it. I went too far. I did not think. But I swear, I never meant for this to happen.” He tugged a little on Arianwyn’s head, a silent pleading. She blinked and nodded, letting him know she believed him – that she would always believe him.

Still, his frown only grew. “I just wanted… well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted anymore. The reason doesn’t matter.” Aemond dropped his hand, and the skin where his hand had laid on her cheek seemed to burn cold from the loss.

Aemond looked away again before continuing. “I killed him. He was my nephew, and I killed him. So I am cursed – damned. I have proven myself the monster that everyone else already knew I was.” He shook his head and made a sound almost like a wry scoff. “They were always right. It seems I was the only one who did not know it.”

Then, he fell silent.

Arianwyn felt as though time had stopped, trapping her in this horrible moment. It was only when the sun streaming in through the sheer silk curtains finally rose to shine on Aemond’s face. Immediately, he turned away, as though he could not stand to have the light upon him.

Realizing that she would have to reboil the wine if she did not continue her work now, Arianwyn dipped another cloth into the cauldron and laid it across another strip of wounds.

“You are not a monster, Aemond,” she whispered as she counted in her head.

“I am.”

“No!” Aemond opened his mouth to insist that he was, but Arianwyn pushed down on the cloth to stop him. “You regret what happened to Luke and what you did to Kiran. Monsters do not regret their actions; they revel in them. Like my father. You have made mistakes, but you are still good.”

He dropped his head to touch their foreheads together, but he made no reply.

So, as the silence overtook them once more, Arianwyn continued to try and heal her husband.

Next Chapter

[literalite]

I remember you saying you liked young justice so I wanted to know who's your favourite character or the one you think is most like you? I've been attached by the hip to this show since I was 13 so I'm a little... not normal about it lol.

also opinions on s3?

YES oh my god it was like formative media for me genuinely and i still love yj dearly i was rewatching it like last month actually along with yaboyroshi's reactions to it 😅 we are both a little not normal about this show dw 🤝🏼 im putting the rest of this under a cut because i start Yapping

my fave characters were dick, artemis, jaime, bart, and zatanna! dick i was Obsessed with from the moment i laid eyes on him in hindsight for gender reasons, probably but artemis always meant a huge deal to me as a kid because she was like the only vietnamese character (and with a skintone like mine!) that i'd ever seen on a screen. i loved everything about jaime's character and personality and arc and i had a really soft spot for bart because characters who are very outwardly upbeat and fun but are going through a lot of shit and hiding it are my favourites ever usually 😅. i also liked rlly them as a duo. zatanna's sort of cool-girl sass was always really fun to see and i think especially in s4 where her sort of less-rigid morality had more room to shine, really made me appreciate her character more. OH also when they introduced cassandra wu-san/orphan in s3 i like literally cheered out loud 😭 shes one of my fave characters from dc comics in general, so i was already biased towards her and i really liked her depiction and the room they made for her arc

i'm actually not sure which character is the most like me... i think because i watched it so young a lot of the characters kind of made their way into my personality in one way or another. i think irl im most like dick but it could be wishful thinking 😅 i'm not as cool as he is for sure

season three.... i'm kind of on the fence about it? i will say though i think it was a little rough with the dialogue especially, and i definitely didn't bond as well with the outsiders as i did with the original team and then the s2 cast. violet was the most likeable of the group by far but i think i was really put off by the fact that they kept killing them 💀 like i get that you guys can do this now with the higher rating but there are better ways to show off your newfound creative freedom than repeatedly brutally killing them. it was offset with the majority of the other characters suffering from basically no visible injuries too- if they'd been hit with bruises or scrapes or broken bones or ANYTHING and reduced the harm dealt to vi then i would've been less urgh by it.

i also wish they'd introduced victor a bit earlier into the season instead of spending sooo much time with brion because cyborg's story felt a little tacked on at the end, and um i was annoyed by brion from the jump 😭😭 tried so hard to sympathise with him because to be fair he went through a Lot but he just kept being such an aggressive ass to like everyone. which i guess was the point.. didn't make it any more fun to watch though.

i do like that they kept with the huge mass of entangled threads of the plot that were to me the hallmarks of the earlier seasons, picking apart scenes to try and work out how things interconnect was always my favourite part. i think the cast of the show at this point for what they were trying to do and focus on may have exceeded the show's bounds though- it was still a compelling narrative but i imagine for a casual watcher who isnt as meticulously invested in who is who and can recognise adaptations of arcs from the comics it can get very confusing or frustrating. its hard because i Love the og cast too but i think with s3 they couldn't decide on letting them go or letting their new characters shine and it ended up muddying the waters a bit, with the outsiders suffering the most from it due to no nostalgia or prior narrative heft to keep them from looking secondary to the original members of the team.

with s4 they chose to throw their lot behind the old team, which i appreciated and it neatened the rough edges of the show more, but i do still miss the s2 cast quite badly so i actually kind of wish they'd kept expanding the cast but just narrowed focus onto the new characters for every season. the title of the show is young justice, so i personally would've liked to keep seeing a focus on the newer and rising heroes of each successive generation as opposed to returning again and again to the originals

sorry that this is such a wall of text 😅 but i think this is one of the shows that i could genuinely just like sit and talk about for ages and ages... even the characters i dont like at all have a fair amount of gravity and heft to them that i love. wally is still alive btw i will never stop believing 😤 get that man out of the speed force!

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

Could I request a neytiri x fem reader from the first movie?? The reader is falling in love with her a similar way as jake. Maybe she doesn’t allow them to destroy the tree? That would be so great!!! I just love your writing!!! <3333 Thank you!!

“Tʜᴇ Lɪɢʜᴛ Sʜᴏᴛ Dɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅs Fʀᴏᴍ Hᴇʀ Eʏᴇs”

➜ Pairing: Neytiri x fem!reader

➜ Summary: You reflect on the past few months under The Tree of Voices, regretting the lies you'd fed the girl who lay next to you.

➜ Warnings: Guilt, light angst, fluff

➜ Word Count: 1.5k

➜ Notes: This took me an ungodly amount of time to write, my apologies.

A liar.

That’s what you were. There was nothing about the past three months that hadn't been a lie, and this was by far the cruelest one you’d ever told, because this lie would destroy everything The People had ever known. They’d been rightfully skeptical about you, shunning you and casting you glares for the first few weeks, but as your lessons progressed, they’d warmed up to you and slowly you’d gained their trust. Just like you’d been sent to do. Well not all of them, mostly the children, but most of the older Omitikaya still resented you.

Neytiri had been the former, warming up to as you learned, and you wished she hadn't. Now you wished so badly that she’d never began to trust you. Maybe then it would save her the betrayal.

The People didn’t deserve this – Neytiri didn’t deserve this.

You deserved to be beaten until you were bloody and bruised for the façade, you’d put on for all these weeks, not smiled down upon by an angel such as herself as she led you through the most beautiful of places on Pandora. Your heart was heavy with guilt as you watched her in front of you, the knowledge of the evils you were about to bring upon her and her people burning it.

Neytiri was bright, she was brilliant and beautiful. She loved her people dearly, they were family, her fortress. She loved the animals and the forest, she had a deep bond with Eywa, and her love for the Great Mother only seemed to grow by the day. She was adventurous, basking in the thrill of a close call just like you. She was empathetic and caring. She was skilled with a bow, being able to shoot an arrow like no other, and she was proud. So very proud, and you could only predict that it would get her into trouble one day. The thought made you laugh a bit. She didn’t like the thought of being bound by responsibility, simply wanting to live her youth. She was everything you could've have asked for and more.

She deserved the world.

But you couldn’t give it to her. Only destroy it.

You supposed not everything was a lie. At least not anymore. Your love for the forest wasn’t. Neytiri had grown and nurtured it, showing you every beautiful detail in the endless landscape of vines and trees that were home to amazing species of animals, decorated in bright colors and stripes. There was nothing that she had missed to teach you about when it came to the forest and her people. She would go on and on about networks of energy that flowed through every living thing. She spoke about the value of every life, no matter how small or large, sophisticated or crude. At first, you’d discarded her words, nodded absent mindedly and internally scuffed at their teachings. Day after day she spoke of it though, and slowly you began to see the forest through her eyes. Slowly you understood.

You understood the way the Na’vi lived was beautiful, something that you’d never realized you’d earned for until you’d come here. You admired the lack of industrialization and the simplicity of their way of life. The harmony they lived in with the animals, the value they placed on life – something that had somehow slipped from the hands of humanity. There was nothing savage about these people, quite the opposite in fact. They were honest and kind. They viewed each other not as simply neighbors, but as family. The only crime they had ever committed was not allowing humanity to walk over them.

Neytiri had opened your eyes, taught you how to see. Now you’d pay her back with the blood of her people and the sting of betrayal.

Much like the forest and Pandora, every little thing about her had become beautiful to you. The sparkles in her eyes as she spoke about something that excited her and the way her voice rose a pitch higher, her words becoming faster ever so slightly. The subtle sway of her hips as she walked, or the way her braids moved delicately with each step. The way her skin shone as the light hit it and her lips that stretched into a wide smile when you’d say something not so funny, but she’d laugh anyway. Her voice, smooth and sweet. You could listen to her talk for hours.

Every moment with her had been magical, each one more rose tinted then the last as you fell harder and harder. Archery lessons would make your stomach burst into butterflies at the close proximity the two of you shared as she made sure your form was proper and bow was lined up with the target properly. At first, she had kept the contact at a minimal, jumping away from you as if your touch had burned her, but now she would take her time, easing into your presence.

Ikran riding was one of your favorite pass times with her. Watching as the window blew through her hair, the light cascading down on her skin, casting a beautiful – almost angelic – glow as she maneuvered through the sky. Language lessons were hard, but she made it all the better, and despite your frustration you couldn’t help but grin as she shook her head at your stupidity.

There was a pond not too far away from Home-Tree that Neytiri would drag you to before dinner, but after it had gotten dark, leading you into the water with her for a nightly swim. The water was always a lukewarm temperature, and it was always refreshing after a long day tracking through dirt and mud in such a warm climate. Sometimes the two of you would only stay in the water for a short while, getting out before even thirty minutes had passed. Other times you’d stay in for an hour or more, only getting out when your fingers began to prune or you were sick of watching fish dart through the water, their underbelly's illuminated in greens and purples from the luminescent pond floor. Then when you’d get out, you’d dry yourselves and help Neytiri squeeze the water out of her hair, insisting that she never got all the water out and you’d do it for her. Just another excuse to be close to her.

But today, today held all your favorite moment with her by far. You’d officially become part of the people that day, and the already high tension between the two of you had risen even higher, like water boiling over as she painted you with white lines that ran from your head to toes. Each delicate drag of her fingers setting your skin ablaze under them. The scene had felt intimate, maybe more than it was, but to brief for your liking before you had to step out and presenting yourself to the rest of the clan. Her mother had placed a hand over your chest, her father to your side and Neytiri to your left. She’d beamed up at you, smiling with what could only be describes as pride and it made your chest warm to know you’d made her proud.

That night she’d dragged you away from Home-Tree to, Utral Aymokriyä, The Tree of Voices. You’d pretended to be reluctant to go with her, trying to hide how eager you were to get a moment alone together. She’d run through the forest with such energy and excitement to show you this place that was so sacred to her people it was you’d hardly been able to keep up. That’s when the tension had broken between the two of you, under the purple and pink lights of Utral Aymokriyä and you were so glad it did because whatever new found thing you had now was so much better than the dancing around your feelings had been. It was real, and beautiful, genuine, and pure.

Well as pure as it could have been with the type of secret you were keeping.

“What are you thinking about?” Neytiri whispered, pulling you from your thought, her eyes scanning your face tiredly as she lay against you. Her legs were tangled between yours, one arm slung around your neck and the other by her head on your chest as she lay on your chest. You looked down at her.

“You,” your answer made her lips stretch into a small smile, a soft giggle escaping her. The sound made your heart flutter.

“What about me?” She pressed. You grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead with a thoughtful hum, pretending to take a moment to think.

“Everything I love about you,” you finally said after an exaggerated pause. Her sleepy smile only widened.

“What are those things?” her eyelids begin to slip shut as she finishes the question, the smile on her face beginning to fade as exhaustion takes hold of her.

“The list is to long to start now, we’d be laying here all night if I was to begin,” you whispered to her, raking a hand through her hair soothingly, lulling her to sleep. A moment later her chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, her breath evening and her face relaxing, the peace of sleep pulling her under.

“Get some sleep my love,” you whispered to her sleeping form, “tomorrow's going to be a long day.”

Taglist: @cherridile @aonungmybf @aurora-starwars 

[forgedbondspod]

Speaking of our crowdfunding campaign, it's time for our next cast and character shout out! Yesterday we journeyed to the Underworld to meet Persephone; today we shall meet with her husband Hades and his incredible voice actor Khai Truong!

Like with Persephone, you likely are already fairly familiar with Hades and the mythology surrounding him. He is the eldest of the Olympian gods, the first of his siblings to be eaten by Kronos, and the god of the Underworld. This is different than being the god of death (that's Thanatos) but he still is heavily associated with death. He's seen as an opposite to his wife- she's spring and life and light, he's death and darkness. But he loves her dearly and she loves him in return. We're leaning heavily into them having a healthy and supportive relationship because I think they deserve it

Hades is being voiced by the wonderful Khai Truong! I was introduced to Khai's work with his audition for the show and instantly loved the soft kindness he brought to Hades. There's a lightness in Khai's performance that breathes so much life into Hades as a character and I knew I'd regret it if I passed up on the opportunity to explore and expand on that type of performance. You can hear more from Khai in Breathing Spaces and be sure to follow him so you can see what the next thing he's doing is. I have no doubts it'll be incredible!

If you would like to support Khai and the rest of our fantastic cast, you can visit our indiegogo campaign! We're just over a week in and would love to have your support

And to Khai specifically: Everything that you've submitted so far has be more than I ever could've dreamed for Hades and I know people are going to love your work. Thank you for coming along with us on this journey, I couldn't imagine a better Hades and can't wait to share it

[whiskeysmulti]

Perfectly Imperfect (KHR Flufftober)

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn Ship: 6996 (Mukuro Rokudo/Chrome Dokuro) Wordcount: 1,005 Prompt: Left! No, other left! Event Host: @flufftober

Battle was hard enough, but to make matters worse, Chrome was facing the inevitable now, she may never get her sight back in her right eye. Nagi had perfect vision once, but Nagi was gone. In her new life as Chrome, it was hard enough getting used to illusion organs and now she had to learn how to read and see all over again. However, in spite of all of this, it made her happy. She finally had a place in the world where she belonged, where she was loved even if some of the guys picked on her, it was still better than going back to the biological mother who almost let her die.

In fact, Nagi as she'd been known was dead now, Chrome was all that remained and it was honestly how she wanted it. She had found her place in the world with Kokuyo and found love in the most unexpected place. A dream world where she thought she'd died. In a meadow stood a boy, a boy who looked oddly familiar to her. Chrome had survived the car accident and found her place in this world and now all that was left was to start her training. However there was just one little problem, she needed to get used to using only one eye now as her other was lost in the accident.

That's where Mukuro stepped in. He couldn't let anything happen to her and if Chrome couldn't figure out how to navigate her visual impairment in battle that would make her an easy target. He refused to lose her, even if he had to take her out to spar every day, Mukuro was determined to help her learn to cope with her newfound disability.

"I'm ready, Mukuro-sama!" She called out and it began.

Mukuro instantly used an illusion technique on her casting a flock of crows towards her from her blind side. He wouldn't go easy on her, he had to know if she could protect herself or not against powerful real illusions like these still. He wouldn't let he become a sitting duck so to speak, paralyzed with fear and unable to fight back. She needed to learn now, so he sent a crow towards her right and hoped she could dodge.

"To the left, Nagi and you'll be able to escape it!" Mukuro called out. His hand smacked his forehead in a facepalm as he watched her jump right into the line of sight of the crow. "Other left, damn it!" He yelled out and dismissed the crow for now. They could work on training more later. He didn't want her pushing herself too much since she was still getting used to this. "Let's take a break. I don't want you pushing yourself too much."

"Yes, Mukuro-sama!" She called out, feeling slightly sad at the training ending so easily. Chrome put her trident down and walked across the training room to pull out a picnic lunch she'd prepared herself just for the two of them. "Would Mukuro-sama like to eat with me?" She blushed, it was no secret she loved him and he loved her dearly, the two were practically soul mates and two sides of the same person when you studied their bond.

Chrome might still be having trouble telling her right from left just yet as the injury did cause her a little confusion as well as the sight problem, but there was one thing she wasn't confused about whatsoever. She loved the man sitting next to her with all her heart and honestly thought of him as her savior.

As she got out the sandwiches and fruit she'd prepared she thought about what her future would be like and something in her told her she wanted him in it no matter how it was, as a husband one day, as her leader in the gang, as a friend for the rest of her life, Chrome was just happy as long as Mukuro was there. She finally found her place in this world and it would always be with him. She might not quite know her right from left yet, but she knew she loved him and always would.

However, that left her to question. How did he feel about her exactly? It's painful when someone you love so dearly and practically idolize doesn't see you in the same light. If she felt he was her left half and she was his right, but to him she was merely a fellow gang member, a friend or god forbid even a burden, Chrome would be absolutely devastated.

However for a guy like Mukuro who had never been shown kindness and love in his entire life, expressing love and tenderness was something hard for him. It was much easier to protect and serve her than to actually say those three little words be it a simple sparring like they had today or swapping places with her on the battlefield so she was safe, Mukuro would never let harm come to her. They loved and needed each other desperately, neither of them could afford to lose the other, it would prove devastating.

They both had their own flaws they needed to work on, neither was perfect and that was how they both wanted it. "Nagi, can you pass me a napkin?" Mukuro asked. "They're to your left." He smiled.

Chrome turned red with blush and reached for the right.

"Other left, Nagi." Mukuro chuckled.

They were two halves of the same soul and couldn't live without each other, even if it meant going to extreme lengths to protect one another, even if it meant risking everything for the other and even if it was just a simple training to help the better recover from an injury and adapt to a newfound disability, Mukuro and Chrome would always love and support one another.

It wasn't a perfect romance if they were both being honest. It was perfectly imperfect, and that was exactly how they wanted it to be.

[coco-bean-1218]

It was requested that I make a part 2 for this post

Here is the chaotic ending me and @xxluckystrike have been talking about. I can also make the wholesome ending if anyone wants that instead!!

The inspiration

---

The September sun poured through the stained glass windows of the quaint Louisiana church, bathing the aisle in a kaleidoscope of colors. Arm in arm with her father, Claire glided between the pews like a vision from an old Hollywood film. Her brown hair, set in soft waves, framed her face—a visage of quiet strength honed from her time as a combat medic with Easy Company. Her glasses caught a glint of sunlight as she took each step with poise, her tall figure draped in ivory lace.

"Look at her, Grant. Ain't she something?" Talbert whispered, his dark blue eyes focusing on Claire's graceful advance toward Eugene, who stood at the altar with an air of dignified anticipation.

Grant felt the words catch in his throat, unable to tear his gaze away from Claire. His best friend was right; she was a sight to behold. But it wasn't just her outward appearance that captivated him—it was the way her brow would furrow in concentration or the slight crinkle by her eyes when she laughed.

"Beautiful," Grant finally managed to say, but the word seemed insufficient to describe the torrent of emotions he felt. His blue eyes, usually so calm and serene, blazed with an intensity that betrayed his stoic exterior.

"Easy there, Romeo," Liebgott chided softly from Grant's other side. "You're gonna burn a hole through the bride with that stare."

Grant offered a weak smile, trying to mask the inner turmoil that was threatening to spill over. He could feel the heat of the Louisiana afternoon seeping into the church, or perhaps it was the heat of his own inner conflict.

"Can't help it," Grant muttered, almost to himself. "She was always..."

"Meant for Eugene," Talbert finished the sentence with a knowing look. He placed a hand on Grant's shoulder, grounding him. "You know that, right?"

"Right," Grant said, but his voice lacked conviction. He watched as Claire reached the altar, her father lifting her veil before placing her hand in Eugene's. The two exchanged a look that spoke volumes—their shared history, their bond forged in the crucible of war, their future laid out before them.

"Should've been me," Grant breathed, so faintly that only Talbert, leaning in close, could hear.

"Hey," Talbert said, squeezing Grant's shoulder a bit tighter. "We all have our paths. Yours is still unwinding."

Grant nodded, knowing his friend was right, but feeling the weight of what could have been pressing down on him. He forced his attention back to the ceremony, to the moment unfolding before him, but the image of Claire walking down the aisle was etched into his memory, as indelible as the scars they all carried from the war.

The organ's solemn hum filled the small church, casting an almost ethereal veil over the congregation. Grant's hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles whitening as he fought a tumultuous battle within himself. The scent of lavender and old hymnals mingled with the whispers of fabric as people shifted in their seats, all eyes forward on the bride and groom standing before the altar.

"Dearly beloved," the reverend's voice resonated through the silence, "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

Grant's throat tightened at the words. He could feel Claire's presence, an invisible force that seemed to draw him in, even as she stood at the altar ready to pledge her life to another man. His jaw clenched, blue eyes flickering with emotions he was struggling to contain.

"Love is patient, love is kind," the reverend continued, unaware of the storm brewing within one of the guests. 

"Damn it," Grant muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the wooden pattern of the pew in front of him, as if it held the answers to the turmoil inside him.

"Easy, buddy," Talbert whispered from beside him, sensing the struggle within his friend.

"Feels like I'm being torn apart," Grant confessed softly, just as the reverend's voice reached the pivotal moment.

"If there is anyone present who has cause to believe this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

A palpable stillness descended upon the room, every heart seemingly pausing mid-beat. Liebgott turned his dark eyes towards Grant, an unspoken question lingering between them. Talbert's gaze followed, both men holding their breath, waiting for what might come next.

"Grant..." Liebgott began, but his voice trailed off as they watched, knowing the weight of the moment rested heavily upon their friend's shoulders.

Grant's chest rose and fell with a deep breath that he didn't remember taking. His palms were damp, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain the entire church could hear it. He gripped the edge of the pew, feeling splinters threatening to pierce his skin—a sharp contrast to the softness he associated with Claire.

"Stay put," Grant commanded himself silently, every muscle tensed against the urge to rise, to speak, to shatter the silence into a thousand pieces with the truth.

But the moment passed, the reverend nodding slowly, satisfied with the quiet assent of the assembly. The ceremony proceeded, yet Grant remained locked in his internal struggle, a silent war raging as fierce as any battlefield he'd known, his love for Claire, the opponent he wasn't sure he could defeat.

The quiet murmur of the congregation served as a backdrop to the roaring in Grant's ears. His fingers tensed, nails digging into the polished wood of the pew as he rose abruptly to his feet, a statue breaking free from its pedestal.

"Grant, sit down, you're embarrassing us!" Talbert hissed through clenched teeth, his words a sharp whisper meant only for his friend's ears. The dark blue of his eyes flashed with alarm as they darted from one strained face to another, gauging their reactions.

Liebgott, ever the stoic, shook his head slowly, an imperceptible movement to all but those who knew him best. He brought a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose—a silent testament to the pressure building behind his brow.

"Can't," Grant barely uttered, his voice a ragged thread of sound, barely audible over the rustle of satin and the soft clink of jewelry as people shifted in their seats, sensing the disruption.

"Grant..." Talbert implored again, reaching out to grip his friend's arm, trying to physically anchor him to the reality they were living—a reality where Claire was moments away from belonging to someone else.

But Grant stood there, immovable, his gaze fixed on the aisle, on the woman with flowers in her hair and promises on her lips—his own promise, unspoken, clawing at his throat.

"Sit down, or I'll drag your ass out of here!" Liebgott muttered, more to himself than anyone else, releasing a long breath that did nothing to ease the tension coiled within him.

"Can't," Grant repeated, the word slipping out like a prayer, or perhaps a curse. His heart was a wild thing, pounding against the confines of his chest, threatening to leap out and land at Claire's feet. His mind spun with images of her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was truly happy.

"Jesus, Grant," Talbert groaned under his breath, a mix of frustration and concern etching lines into his youthful face, the church suddenly feeling too small, the air too thick.

"God help me," Grant whispered, not to Talbert, not to Liebgott, but to the part of himself he was about to leave behind. He swallowed hard, tasting the bittersweet tang of regret and longing intertwined.

"Here we go," Liebgott said quietly, giving up the fight to control what wasn't his to command. His hand fell away from his face, and he leaned back, resigned to witness the unfolding drama, the script of which had been written in the hidden chambers of Grant's heart.

In the stillness, the reverend cleared his throat, ready to continue, but the words hung suspended, incomplete. Grant's eyes, bright and fierce, were oceans storm-tossed by love and desperation—a beacon calling out to the shore he could never reach.

The reverend's voice quivered like a leaf in the breeze, words stumbling over themselves as he tried to navigate the sudden tension that had woven itself into the fabric of the ceremony. 

Grant sank into the wooden pew, the aged oak groaning under the weight of his decision. Around him, the congregation was a sea of expectancy, the air thick with unspoken questions. Eugene turned to look at Claire, his eyes the color of a stormy sky. Their glance was a silent conversation, a momentary connection that only deepened Grant's resolve.

His heart hammered against his ribcage, a frantic rhythm that threatened to break him. "Claire," her name, was a mantra in his mind, a prayer for courage. He watched her, the brown waves of her hair framing the glasses perched on her nose, a testament to the sharpness and clarity she brought to every battlefield, every challenge, including the one he was about to present.

"My mother's gonna kill me," he murmured. And then, like a man possessed, Grant rose again. The reverend’s mouth snapped shut, his awkwardness transforming into surprise as Grant stepped into the aisleway, his shadow falling across the petals strewn along the path.

"I love you, Claire," he said, his voice steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. The congregation held its breath. "I always have." His eyes locked with hers, willing her to understand the depth of his truth. "I love everything about you. And I want you with me."

The world seemed to stand still, the church’s stained glass windows casting a kaleidoscope of colors over them, blessing or condemning, he wasn't sure which.

"I love you," he repeated, each word a declaration, a vow. "And I think that you love me too. Do you?"

Claire’s brown eyes, wide behind her glasses, were oceans of emotion, a tide of conflict rising within them. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged, the answer hanging between them, unspoken yet deafening. The guests shifted uncomfortably, caught between scandal and storybook, their expressions a mosaic of shock and anticipation.

Grant's plea hung in the air, tangible and raw, a confession carved into the very walls of the church, inscribed in the hearts of all who witnessed it.

The moment stretched, a single heartbeat echoing through the hallowed space of the church. Liebgott's groan was audible, a sound of exasperation that sliced through the tension. He rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent prayer for patience—or perhaps salvation from this social disaster.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips. His dark hair seemed to absorb the light filtering through the windows, his brown eyes reflecting none of the colors that played upon the faces around him.

"Grant, what are you doing?" hissed Talbert from beside him, elbowing Liebgott as if to jolt him back to reality.

"Wouldn't you like to know," retorted Liebgott, his whisper laced with sarcasm, "Golden Boy, here..."

Meanwhile, Grant remained oblivious, his entire being focused on Claire. The rest of Easy Company, scattered throughout the church, exchanged bewildered glances, their camaraderie fraying at the edges as they tried to make sense of the unfolding scene. Some eyebrows shot up; others' mouths hung agape. They were soldiers who had faced the unimaginable together, but nothing had prepared them for this.

"Can you believe this?" Luz whispered to Perconte. His voice was low, but the incredulity rang clear.

"Never saw it coming," came the equally stunned reply.

"Should we do something?" Webster asked, his hand awkwardly patting the leg of his uniform, searching for an absent rifle out of habit.

"Like what? He's made his bed," Martin quipped, though his tone carried an undertone of concern.

Inside Grant's chest, his heart pounded, each throb a drumbeat calling him to battle. The scent of polished wood and floral arrangements filled his nostrils, but he could only taste the bittersweet tang of vulnerability. He couldn’t look away from her, couldn't break the connection that had suddenly become the axis upon which his world spun. 

"Damn fool," Liebgott murmured again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're gonna regret this."

But Grant heard none of it. All that existed for him was Claire—the way her dress hugged her figure, the slight tremble in her hands that betrayed her turmoil. She was the question and the answer, the beginning and the end of every path he’d ever trodden or wished to tread.

He took a step closer to her, the distance between them closing like a gravitational pull. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, deafening in the silence of the church. The weight of his words hung in the air, waiting for her response.

Claire's eyes searched his face, searching for something, anything that would give her the courage to speak. Her voice had abandoned her, lost amidst the chaos of emotions swirling within her. She had never expected this moment, never anticipated the unexpected turn her wedding day would take.

The congregation held its breath, suspended in time, as Claire's gaze flickered with uncertainty before settling on Grant's unwavering stare. A flicker of recognition passed between them, a shared memory of battles fought and victories won.

Her heart pounded in her chest, competing with Grant's own wild rhythm. It was as if the universe held its breath alongside them, waiting for Claire's response to unravel the tangled threads of fate.

---

Sunlight broke through the stained glass windows, scattering colors across the aisle as the church doors swung open with an urgent creak. The sudden burst of light seemed to ignite a fire in Claire's eyes, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world, standing on the precipice of forever.

"Grant, what are we doing?" Claire's voice was a mix of fear and excitement as they stumbled down the steps, her gown billowing behind her like a white sail caught in a tempest.

"Living," Grant said, his words punctuated by their hurried breaths and the rapid drumming of their joined hands swinging between them. "We’re living, Claire."

The outside air hit them, humid and heavy, but it felt like a crisp autumn breeze compared to the stifling atmosphere they had left inside. The old oak trees stood as silent witnesses, their leaves whispering secrets that only the wind could understand.

"Are we crazy?" she laughed, the sound dancing through the air and mingling with the rustling leaves around them.

"Absolutely," he replied, grinning wide enough to feel the stretch in his cheeks. His heart was a tumultuous sea within his chest, waves of elation crashing against the shores of reality.

They reached the bottom step, and Grant paused, looking back at the church. Through the open door, he saw the shadows of figures moving, the murmurs of confusion and disbelief spilling out into the daylight.

"Grant..." Claire's grip tightened, a silent plea for assurance.

He turned his gaze to hers, locking onto the deep brown whirlpools that promised adventure and the unknown. "I've never been more certain about anything in my life," he confessed, and he meant it. Every cell in his body vibrated with the truth of his words.

They ran past the rows of parked cars, past the faces peering out from behind curtains, past the boundaries that society had laid out for them. At this moment, there was no war, no duty, no past or future—only the present, only the wild rush of freedom and the heady intoxication of love unrestrained. Their laughter echoed in the warm Louisiana air as they disappeared around the corner, leaving the church and its stunned congregation far behind.

---

WHAT HAVE I DONE??????

[tharizdun-03]

Okay, so I liked my overall time with Nijigasaki. It's a generally cute time. It looks quite good (even if the production seems to have been tight so the general animation is sometimes stiff when it doesn't need to be more), and the music video style for the solo performances is something I'll dearly miss if it doesn't carry over into future series.

But I have two main problems with Nijigasaki:

1) It's not goofy enough

2) Too many characters so we don't get sufficient character work

The first thing is more so just a personal preference. Yes, maybe Chika jumping into the ocean and Riko rushing after her because she thinks she's committing suicide, but then it turns out that she was just taking a dip to clear her head and then all the girls have a big gay moment in the water as Chika cries, is a *bit* much. (love that moment tho)

I think for the drama, the more subdued approach sometimes works. Yes, instead of the above moment, the characters in Nijigasaki just talk things out. I like that. Not necessarily at the expense of the other approach, but it's a nice change.

But, it doesn't led itself to the comedy well, and I mainly enjoy Love Live as a sitcom. The characters in Nijigasaki, because they take a more subdued approach, are also just too bland. They're too normal. What is the weirdest quirk in Nijigasaki? Well, Shizuku was scared that people wouldn't like her when she was young because she liked old movies (something that is NEVER brought up again btw. a consistent issue). Compared to Yohane, who falls out of trees and then calls herself a fallen angel, so there's a legitimate reason to be worried that people won't like her lol. Like, the Nijigasaki girls are all too saccharine, they're too smoothed over, they're too boring.

The second thing is that we just have too many characters. Most of season 1 is spent about introducing each girl, one episode each, that we don't get the chance to actually build a group dynamic and individual episodes. Granted, the second season does try to fix this by making units, and I overall think it does improve things, but not everything.

The new girls, for example, get their one episode but don't have much of a build-up. Even with Lanzhu and Mia having struggles that should work, it often just makes me go "i guess that makes sense" rather than actually make me feel something.

Maybe Lanzhu's whole deal of pushing people away would've hit if we actually got more than barely a few actually significant conversations between her and the cast, and some interesting dynamics. Maybe we should've gotten more from Shirioko than just her one episode.

Is it the gayest Love live so far? Eh... Like, sure, it definitely has the gayest MOMENTS, but because of the lack of character work, we don't actually have as gay RELATIONSHIPS compared to Sunshine.

Think about someone like Rina (who should have the face board on way more often, so much missed comedic potential). Who do we ship her with? Ai (who is so flat as a character btw)? We barely get screentime with the two and they don't have much of a dynamic at all. And now Rina is holding hands with Mia and everything?

Or one episode, we get ship bait for Kasumi and Kanata. Does Kanata have any sort of relationship with anyone in the cast really? We haven't developed it. And Kasumin could have more stuff with Shizuku but we barely get anything. There are too many characters. We don't have clearly defined ships.

Why don't we have clearly defined ships? Is that all I'm looking for in this show? Gay stuff? No, but it points to the larger issue. It's because the character work is too vague, too fluid, too underworked. To the point that we don't actually have strong enough bonds between the characters.

Anyway, it's still a fun series. It is by no means close to the best Love Live has to offer for me but it's still a good Love Live series and I enjoyed my time with it. Hope the music video style continues somehow in Superstar. And Kasumin is still best girl.

[platinumaspiration]

The Cordial's Honeymoon + High School Graduation Vacation!

It wasn't Tara's idea AT ALL to share her graduation gift with her father and stepmother. She would have rather stayed on the other side of the island. She loves her dad dearly and if anything, a few more moments with him before uni is time well spent!

Tara: this is the worst. No straightener, no privacy, and watching my dad make out. Send me home, please.

Watcher: Kimberly, are you okay? 🚼 Armand, outside the bathroom: I've called the maid, don't worry about any mess, just take rest.

Kaylynn Langerak gets a free vacation to the island after getting an emergency work visa. Nice!

Meanwhile, Tara proves sims can really do anything when they put their mind to it. She makes walking on water look so easy!

Kimberly doesn't want the vacation ruined and powers through the nausea, convinced it's just the Luau Ribs from earlier.

She and Tara bond over playing pirates and meeting the Captain! They join together for an uproarious rendition of the Sea Chantey.

Armand: how are you and Kimberly getting along? Tara: She's all right, I never did not like her, Dad. Armand: Well, she likes you. You two have a lot in common. Tara: Doubt it 🙄

Armand still hasn't quite grasped the concept of fishing, apparently. It also seems that Kimberly has grasped the idea of being pregnant! She and Armand have been thinking and talking nonstop about it.

Tara and Kimberly become best friends over the course of the vacation. Both of them pulling only boots out of the ocean (Armand caught three fish! Must have been casting for hotdogs earlier that gave him the practice he needed). They also learned how to Hula Dance.

Kimberly: I think we can do this without help. What do you think? Tara: Oh, yeah, totally!

Time to go home! The gang puts on their BDC attire and heads back to the Cordial Home. Promptly upon arriving, Tara starts gossiping about Buck Grunt (one of her BFFs) and how she wants him... dead? Jeez, Tara...

And so, we wave goodbye to Tara as she heads out the door to start a new adventure at University!

Kimberly is suddenly awoken by a bump in the night. Her first trimester! Armand was so excited; he woke up and immediately went to feel for the baby. He's too precious.

Later in the morning, Kimberly began the thousand-year-old ritual. The First Warlock of the Cordial name would be born. In the dead of Winter he will arrive and become the most atrocious, most evil Warlock to ever live.

[auradon-bore-a-don]

Acadea Facilier! What powers does she have? What is her relationship with her sisters like?

This first question really got me thinking so thank you for that!

Acadea, like her sisters, have the ability to use Voodoo Manipulation, using voodoo magic such as spell casting, card manipulation, and cartomancy/fortune telling. As no magic work son the Isle due to the barrier, she and her siblings use their skills with cards to trick other inhabitants of the Isle. In Auradon, the Facilier siblings magic is usually green in color.

As for her relationship with her sister's, Acadea loves her family dearly. While Facilier puts a lot of pressure on her to take care of her sisters, Acadea takes on that responsibility of her own free will. She would do anything for her sisters, no matter if they themselves like it or not. Acadea and Freddie, like most siblings, have their ups and downs. Acadea is 4 years older than Freddie, 20 and 16 respectively, and while they are close they have their ups and downs. Acadea is the only one besides her father and Ursula who knows that Freddie and Uma are twins. Her father wants it to stay a secret as Ursula and Dr. Facilier split them up after they were born. The girls often butt heads when Acadea tries to keep her from learning the secret, as she can't come up with reasons that Freddie will believe. The older they get the harder it is.

When they aren't navigating the complicated nature of the secrets of their family, Freddie and Acadea bond over their grifts on inhabitants of the Isle. They often sell "potions" that claim to work but are really just creations they made with left over items sent to the Isle. When Freddie argues with their father, Acadea is always there to comfort her and be on her side. With Celia, who is 7 years younger than Acadea at 13, their relationship is smoother. Acadea is often a mentor to Celia when it comes to life on the Isle. She tries to keep Celia out of the stunts they pull on residents but it's hard to escape them on the Isle. Acadea uses her leverage of being a secret keeper on the Isle to make sure no one messes with her sisters. She's not afraid use others and her knowledge to protect them.

[dyrewrites]

Happy Blorbo Blursday! Since we have a wee bit similar WIP concepts (werewolves-wise) and a similar character name (I have a character named Odena hehe) please tell me more about Odea because she tickles my interest since day one.

Haha, great minds on the character name there. =)

Odea is a fun one to talk about, mostly because I don't know enough about her yet. Or, rather, I'm not as in her head as others. So I'm just going to list some things!

She had a loving mother she misses dearly.

She had a difficult past that began after said mother died (for which she blames herself).

She's asexual and has been all her life (she has no attraction to anyone, romantic or otherwise and her mother accepted this but the witches in their lives did not - in fact they tortured her for it when her mother wasn't there to protect her anymore).

Her favorite thing to listen to is dreary instrumental music but she also has a secret love of synthpop (specifically the vidstar Savor).

Her favorite stories, acted or written, are detective stories (she loves mystery), horror (she is very difficult to frighten) and romance (she is utterly fascinated by the aspects of people she doesn't share).

Her best friends are her cats, Kiki and KB, and her coworker Ron. She doesn't really like anyone else. Not necessarily because of a fear of people or social anxieties but because her powers let her see too much and feel too much from the living and it's overwhelming.

She is very short, about 4'11" and doesn't mind it. However, she is also what many have called "stacked" and she does mind that. So she wears baggy clothes and tries to not be seen.

She has glasses, and needs them, but she could have had a procedure to fix her eyes and chose not to. She likes the glasses.

Her netlink (tiny device that is similar in function to a smartphone and embedded in the ear, wherever one chooses, hers is in her earlobe) is missing its lense feature, she disabled it because there are enough things linked to the device and she doesn't like glowing lights so close to her eyes (there's enough of those around too). So she uses vidscreens (tablets kinda) and projects a screen from the netlink if absolutely needed.

She doesn't cook. She knows how, and used to be the cook for her coven when she lived with them, but now she refuses to. So she eats a lot of takeout and instant meals.

She is a phlebotomist now, having learned through the net while hiding from her coven. Her old profession was essentially magical tech support for the city and aiding her coven with their clients (selling blessings and curses and even healing, though she had to fight for those). She's tech savvy in a way only matched by Ron, in the main cast anyway, which is how they bonded so quickly (that and she can't feel anything from him).

[sanguineserrations]

Are we just going to ignore they pretended to be someone dead to manipulate one of our party members to do what they wanted?

Perhaps you haven't had that conversation with Minsc. Definitely one worth having if the topic at hand is manipulating people by pretending to be someone else- though in that case it didn't just take a form it thought would be favorable- it impersonated Dynaheir. From what he tells me, a Rashemaar is the constant companion to their Wychlaran- someone Minsc cared for deeply enough to devote his life to and would die for. The Emperor hiding their identity is one thing, but making someone think their long lost loved one had returned from the dead? Of course he's not going to trust once he realizes he was lied to, a much bigger lie than when the rest of us casts an illusion of Disguise Self. It must have crushed him to realize she was, in fact, still dead in the dungeons beneath the city of Athkatla. If I'm to believe what I've read here about alternate universes, if you disagree with The Emperor enough they'll even have the conjured image of Dynaheir try to kill Minsc and his companions or watch her die at their hands, but who am I to judge? It's not as if I'm a literal magistrate or anything. Ahaahaha! Though, I imagine that Jaheira's own husband also being killed by the same wizard is one of the reasons she's so loyal to Minsc. Misery loves company and all that- though, only if it's the same sort of misery. That and legitimately bonding through their adventures together- rather than stealing someone else's identity and established rapport.

How hilarious it is the person everyone thought the idiot is the one who most quickly realized The Emperor's deception- he knew it wasn't her. Can you really blame Minsc for not wanting to trust after that?

Surely you're aware of the number of Tavs whom their dream guardian appeared to as a loved one as well. I've seen many from other AU's- as well as my own. From his wandering mind she emerged, looking just like someone he loved dearly- though that's a question better answered by him if you really want to know. Quite a few Tavs I've seen here were lured into the comfort of letting their Dream Guardians emerge in a familiar, attractive, often loved form as well. It's a stretch to think it an accident- yet another lie of omission if you really think about how it came about, mmm?

The difference between The Emperor and myself is The Emperor is sloppy. It thinks it's so clever and then does the most idiotic things. One of the most important things about lieing is to not lie more than you have to- otherwise you get caught from being tangled in your own needlessly convoluted web.

I'm not going to pretend I'm the cute fluffy innocent Astarion everyone seems to want me to be- though my eyes are not blind to your criticism of me in the defense of someone else's actions. I am not without my mistakes or less savory acts. Many things are easier to criticize with the full image of hindsight, or from someone else's outside perspective- I won't deny there are some things I'd do differently knowing what I do now. That doesn't mean I regret the actions I made with what I knew at the time. Yes, I've done what others may consider terrible things because it was the easier path, or times I turned a blind eye not wanting to get involved in someone else's issues or carry their burdens. Very few living their lives do, honestly. Versions of myself in alternate universes have done unspeakable acts- though so has everyone else's. Wyll would murder Karlach and lie to himself she deserves it- he's victim blaming. It's easier for him to get a justice boner than accept the consequences for "doing the right thing" unless you twist his arm. Even ones who walk the path most would consider good demand a genocide of the goblins to remain by your side. The atrocities Shadowheart is capable of doing to a grieving mother to get her lover off and please her goddess are no better. Even goody two shoes Gale is capable of becoming corrupt if you undermine his self worth- he hates himself for it, but still complies doing what most would consider vile acts. We're all capable of making choices. Choices of selflessness. Choices where we leave ourselves vulnerable- and may be taken advantage of. Choices where we can do what's best for ourselves because the one suffering for that choice is someone else. And choices where we just do what's best or what's best for us with what we know at the time.

And isn't it incredible to have that choice? To make mistakes? To fuck up everything, or to see exactly what you hoped for fall into place? I'm far from perfect, even though I have hair that is. I've made choices that are selfish, I've made choices that are selfless, and a whole lot more that fell somewhere within silver.

Rarely are choices ever black or white.

I love myself for my flaws. My mistakes, my choices- good or bad, make up who I've become. If you love me, love the dynamic, flawed, corrupted, noble, and free version of me- they're all facets to the same person. Or don't, that's your choice too, I suppose. I'm not a flawless hero that self sacrifices at every turn. I don't have to be.

And neither does The Dream Guardian.

Yes, The Emperor can be an absolute monster. And they too have gone about some things in... ambitious ways that might be frowned upon. They, like me, are complex. And free to make their own choices too. Through it all they've proven to be a loyal ally... even if for some of it they haven't been the most upfront about things.

Truly accepting someone for all of who they are, especially if it goes against our own core beliefs, is what forges the bonds between allies and friends. It may not be easy, but few things worth having are. Our imperfections make us unique, much like our scars, a part of us that is traced onto the hearts of those we love. We all have secrets, only a fool would divulge them to complete strangers in unknown waters- but we've all swum them at this point. I won't deny subterfuge is useful, especially when showing someone things from your own point of view. What fun would the story we wrote together be, if it were all straightforward without a bit of mystery? Speaking of stories... don't you think you've spent enough time rotting your brain on that book of T'um Bu Lar for today, Astarion?

Fiiiine. Not like there's horribly much else to do at camp. As if I don't know Victor's always sending me back here so I don't see him being taken advantage of or doing other people's dirty work. On a completely unrelated note, if Wulbren Bongle ends up shanked you can't prove it was me.

The Astral Prism Isn't Grindr!- Why the Emperor didn't catfish you.🦑

Very long, rambling post I wrote while manic at 4 am. Enjoy!

I feel like the worst thing you can actually say about Emp in regards to his actions towards the player is that he lies by omission. But even then, to consider it lying you basically have to work from the perspective that you as a player, person, character or whatever, are entitled to know everything about someone you just met, who might have some very good reasons for not wanting to reveal certain things

He didn't "catfish" you the prism isn't grindr lmao?! And the game/companions/etc repeat to you over and over that the Dream Visitor is some kind of manufactured vision. You all have one and it's specific to your individual minds. He wasn't exactly doing some deepcover shit with a fake backstory to get your cryptowallet information or whatever real-life equivalence you keep trying to make. As if you run into alien squid monsters every day or something!

It's doubly bizarre because there is an extremely popular companion character whose entire arc is ACTUALLY lying to you about who they are, only admitting it when you catch them attacking you in your sleep, and then goes on to try to ACTUALLY manipulate you with sex and intimacy while at that point, not actually feeling it. This is the most popular character in the fandom btw- Astarion.

Emperor's morality is held up to a ridiculous standard. Not even the companions are held to that level- not even close!

A better equivalence to his situation than "catfishing" (a term completely exclusive to our world) would be if a sentient, alien creature was stranded on our planet and had to use a disguise to y'know....not be shot at and killed by confused humans? Why the heck would your brain first jump to catfishing? Girl if you approached your DG as a tindr date that's on you! Lliterally the only prompt the game gives you before creating them is "you need a guardian" (At least currently that's how it works, after official release.)

if you met a kind of weird guy and fell for him and he then revealed he's actually a sentient squid monster, I don't think your first response would be "OMG YOU CATFISHED ME?" I'm pretty sure it would be "HOLY FUCK A SQUID MONSTER!" because it would be very obvious and apparent (by virtue of them being a squid monster) that the intent was not to "catfish" you, but to survive a world that would be actively hostile towards him, on sight.

We accept this type of "ambiguous morality for the sake of survival" from characters like Astarion who are traditionally attractive, but we don't accept it from a being whose very appearance, forces them into that position of moral ambiguity. Emperor is not afforded the same privilege of even being able to consider full honesty, because just one look at him could make someone hysterical. Hiding himself from you is not an active choice he's able to make, anymore than a turtle can choose to break open it's shell- it will die.

Even if YOU wouldn't kill him, what about companions like Lae'zal, who are already suspicious of him and will definitely cut him down at that point? Even if you think that would be a good thing, you would then lose your protection from the tadpole/the Absolute. The game basically wouldn't exist without the Prism.

Let's also not use "well Astarion is traumatized" as an excuse here. Emperor is pretty obviously traumatized as well, in addition to being a brain-eating squid monster and having to manage that part of his nature, the way Astarion has to handle his. Yet he's still more up front than Astarion was. Astarion can accidentally kill you while drinking from you and he still doesn't reveal who he is to the others, AND pretends he doesn't know what happened to you lol.

Note my point here isn't "Astarion bad" but simply that if you have room in your heart to sympathize with characters like Astarion, then there's no reason you can't squeeze my man Emp in there too. He doesn't do anything significantly worse than any of the other main characters but is the most hated, and it's literally because of this ridiculous perception of him "catifshing" the player. The most media illiterate take I have ever seen in my life, honestly

Like first off, he's a squid, and secondly! ☝️ Read all that again.

tl;dr if you feel "cafished" by the Emperor you simply weren't paying attention for more than half the game. Fantasy might not be for you if you can't remove the plot from real life circumstances and turn complex fantasy monsters into human romance scammers, as if they're actually alike in any meaningful way.

Read more books maybe. That might help.

[solarosha]

Daisy has scoured her memories, and found information that she had sought.

She had found the process of which that Solovos/Solov used to create their seared stones. She found pale stones, and shaped them into tablets or into rays of sunlight. She did not carve them, she had slipped their forms into new ones. They never lost weight or mass or the state of being stone, but she had pulled on them as though they were silk and string or taffy and clay. And she seared them with speech and sight and sound and smell, without flame or heat, but with memory and thought and understanding.

She had found why Solov had sought the divine blood so dearly, that they would give away the seared stone containing all names of the first age, and still think it was not just to receive the blood in return. The blood was of the Wild Queen, of power and sense and of memory. The Queen of Beasts imparted the sight of nighttime predators, the hearing of the most cautious bats, and the nose of a hound great within her blood. His blood could hold memories eternal, so long as it did not dry, and they would not fade so long as the blood remained ageless.

And she has found scattered remains of Rovos, within the memories. It had felt through the city, and bonded dearly with its people. There had not been one soul, who did not find its presence enjoyable; though those from outside often found its brilliance a pain upon their eyes, such as they did with the stone body of the citadel god. Even the Rolukin beast which had plagued the city before it had been hounded westward, found it difficult to wish harm upon the kindly god. But harm it did wish, and harm it did cause. Solov's memories proclaim that the Youngest God had been assailed in the night, and the only way for it to survive was to join within them. These memories feel off, in a way which confounds Daisy.

She is glad of remembering how to make the seared stones, and begins wandering in search of suitable ones to practice with while contemplating the other memories. What had Solov wanted to preserve in the Wild Queen's blood? Or, had he sought something already inside of it? It was surely a powerful substance, either way, but not something traded for with no purpose decided.

She wondered if it was still within the citadel.

She found a slab of white marble, and began methodically attempting everything she remembered Solov doing, to see if it would work for her as well. Attempting to sear in the memories of her current life - of evenings spent with her love, Luna, and the children they had taken in. Of days of granting blessings of healing and purification to and through her followers. Of watching the crops grow strong in her light. Of watching the people here at OSHA and all their drama...

It took several attempts, but she thought the stone was beginning to respond to her like she wanted it to. Beginning to.

It was a grounding exercise - something she did not often need or desire, but which she found she did right now. She wanted so badly for the memories of Rovos's end to be wholly accurate... Not that she wanted for Rovos to have been hurt, of course, but it was the best reasoning she could have hoped for behind Solovos taking them into himself. One of the few reasons that would not have left a sour taste in her mouth, at having once been the sort of god who would do such a thing.

But they were colored differently, in a way Daisy found difficult to describe, than the rest of Solovos's memories. Each of her other selves had a distinct style to their memories, in the way their light cast shadows and how warm it was, and how big her body felt inside them, and a million other subtle ways which helped her to distinguish between them. She thought she had an understanding of Solovos's style, but these... This did not match, not quite. It almost did.

It was as if it was a clever imitation, or had been watermarked, or seen through a filter or was a warped reflection of itself... There were a thousand ways to describe the feeling of it, but none felt quite perfect. And nor did any give her insight into the cause behind the effect.

She almost wanted to dismiss the discrepancy - perhaps it was only the trauma of the moment - but she couldn't. She was a goddess of purification, and if these memories had been adulterated, been made impure, in any way she simply needed to know. To fix it. But how? Who would know more about such things than she, herself?

She continued practicing, in hopes that an answer may come to her.