#something something the sacrifice of self for devotion to another

[thychesters]

do you ever think about how zoro says “scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame” but one of the first scars he received after joining luffy was on his back after buggy stabbed him through the stomach, and not only that but it was for luffy, too.

[aslyran]

To be engulfed in silence

In your gaze where I’m seen

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson—He really enjoys winging it.

Yandere Dick Grayson thought you were a god(dess) from another world. He first became self-aware while on patrol. He got hit in the face and sustained a concussion after the fight. He saw you for the first time—only your face. He became aware of the pictures on the pages of the issue you were reading. You picked up another one and opened it up, and he was still there. You watched something with Dick Grayson, and he was there. It was so incredibly overwhelming for him. He simultaneously exists in so many forms of media. 

It makes it that much easier to stalk you.

He can just as easily slip out of a show or movie and watch you through your phone, maybe your television, or your computer.

Yandere Dick Grayson doesn't tell anyone about you. He asks Tim to search for alternate dimensions, but he simply brushes off Tim's questioning. He needs to know exactly what this is. He deludes himself into thinking you have chosen him. There has to be a reason you are now connected. You must be some sort of higher being that needs his protection and help. He needs to figure out how to get to you.

Yandere Dick Grayson talks to you a lot. He addresses you by name; he learned it by looking through your online accounts. He talks about everything from the most mundane to the most personal. He bares his soul to you. He hopes that one day you will do the same in return. After all, he's never been this vulnerable with you before. 

It's startling the first time, but you think it must be some strange side plot. He must have a new love interest with your name that the writers haven't introduced yet. 

Yandere Dick Grayson has an unbelievably arduous time maintaining normal romantic relationships. He is madly devoted to you, but he has to maintain his normalcy. His family may think he has lost his mind or had it manipulated if he told them what he sees and who he loves. He can barely find it within himself to go on dates with those who fancy him. He grows bored almost instantaneously. He imagines them in your visage, and it eases the ache in his heart a little. He needs you. He craves it so dearly.

Yandere Dick Grayson does the most rational thing he is able to think of. He makes a shrine devoted to you and offers things to it. You have to do a double take when you see this. You begin to ignore any media surrounding him. It just keeps popping up. He breaks the fourth wall and begs you to forgive him. He has everything he's learned about you. He needs you. He's so ashamed. He's so used to being confident and having it all together. When with you that all crumbles. 

Yandere Dick Grayson is willing to support you through his hard time. He may be having panic attacks and beating himself off the page, but he knows you'll come back to him eventually. His dear deity would never forsake him. You wanted him to love you after all. Right? You did, obviously! You're just shy. No mortal has willingly worshipped you this much before. You're just busy in your world. You'll come visit him again.

Yandere Dick Grayson who eliminates your distractions for you. He simply pulls a few strings, sacrifices some people, and offers lost souls to demons! They drag you into his world, and he is so overjoyed. You are just a little frazzled. That's why you look so scared. Don't you worry. He'll keep you safe for the rest of his life. He may even sell his soul to make himself immortal so he may stay with you forever.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it.  You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

 “I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

~

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

~

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

~

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

~

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

~

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

~

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment.  You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

[specsthesecond]

Witch Troubles #3

It's a fairly common practice among witches to form pacts with demons.

It's not necessary but it's an age old practice meant to strengthen ones connection to magic. The witch gains a stronger connection to magic and in exchange the demon gains easier access to the mortal realm.

You've debated this decision for awhile and you finally think you're ready to forge your own pact. Worst case scenario is the demon refuses your offer, which would be embarrassing but not the end of the world.

You shut the door of your room, close the black out curtains and light a few candles. Squinting at the diagram of the summoning circle in your grimoir you try to replicate it perfectly on the old wooden floorboards in white chalk. When it's done you dust off your hands and place the candles in the right places around the circle along with a good amount of enchanted salt around the circumference for your protection. You stand up and take a breath before reciting the ancient words in your book while channeling all your energy into the circle.

The flames burn higher, so hot you have to shrink back a little. It takes all your effort and concentration to keep the chant going without misspeaking or burning the house down. A giant fire now billows in the centre of the circle, something large rises from the middle. You finish the spell and the flames gradually flicker away to reveal exactly the entity you were trying to summon. The little candles around the circle are the only source of light now, barely illuminating your guest. Smoke smoulders off its skin as it rises to full height and stares right at you with it's flaming eyes.

The demon, male it seems, stands in the middle of the summoning circle as tall as your book shelf and just about as wide. True to the drawings and diagrams in your texts he stands on two thick furry goat-like legs. The soft looking tuft at the end of his long thin tail swishes against the old floorboards as they creak under his weight. The rest of his body is charcoal black but otherwise fairly human save for the large goat-like skull that is his head. Beautiful horns, much too majestic for a demon, sprout from the white bone and curl into a thick loop on either side of his skull.

In short; he's the definition of tall, dark and handsome.

Two flaming pits behind the eye holes in the skull serve as eyes, they burn red and hot like the flames of hell as he glares down at you. You assume it's a glare, it's hard to tell.

You clap your grimoir shut, unable to look away from the demon yet. He seems the same, quietly observing you.

"Good evening, I'm sure you know why I've summoned you."

You say as calmly as possible. The demon looks you up and down and hums lowly, sceptical.

He grunts and crosses his arms over his chest. You have to use all your self control not to look down at the incredibly distracting package he's carrying between his legs as it bobs with the movement. Obviously you were prepared for him to be naked, demons don't wear clothes but actually having to practice that self-control is another thing entirely.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when the demon speaks, low and gravely like you expected.

"Witches used to dance for us around fires, bathe in the blood of sacrifices, throw orgies. This is all I get for my pact proposal?"

That's not what you expected. You were expecting some doubt sure but he sounds... offended? He's complaining?

"I don't need to do any of that to show you my worth. You can already sense my magic capabilities, I can show you- ."

He growls again. When he speaks his jaw bone doesn't move, the voice sounds like it reverberates around the skull on its way out.

"Its about devotion, witch. You show me your devotion and I'll give mine in return. No one cares for presentation anymore."

Who needs presentation? Sure, devotion is important in a pact but he's being ridiculous. You look around the room for a moment before saying flatly,

"My apologies but I will not be sacrificing anything or throwing any orgies and I cannot dance."

The demon scoffs and adjusts his crossed arms, thick biceps flexing as he does.

"All witches dance. Your ancestors where very good at it."

You scoff, telling him about your magic capabilities definitely isn't going to work. Why'd you have to get a difficult demon? Why couldn't you get a normal power-hungry one?

"Are you truly that compelled by naked dancing women?"

You attempt to needle him in hopes of avoiding what you know is inevitable. He doesn't respond, just stands there expectantly.

Some demons may agree to pacts based only on the power of the witch but others don't care for power and value the devotion of the act much more. You were very much hoping for the former but you're going to have to deal with what you got.

After a few moments of staring at eachother you finally crack and bend down to make quick work of your shoes and socks. You dropped your skirt around your ankles, take a deep breath and slide your panties down your legs. You see the demon shift his weight in your peripheral but you don't look at him as you unbutton your blouse and unclip your bra. You leave your black pointy hat on your head, assuming that's part of the appeal.

You only look back at him when you're completely naked, standing Infront of him and crossing your arms over your tits, mirroring his own stance.

He seems amused at that, You can see the little flames in his skull move up and down in a way that indicates he's soaking in your nude body.

"Unfortunately, dancing naked around a fire was not passed down to me like the magic was."

"A pity."

You scowl and the demon huffs smoke through the holes in his skull, chuckling.

"You're a witch, magic exists in your very veins. Use it. Caress your body. Sway your hips. Feel the power in your body and worship it as you would a god."

He says it like it's incredibly obvious and you actually feel inclined to listen to him. You close your eyes and try to "feel the power" whatever that means. You uncross your arms and place them on your thighs, slowly moving them up your waist and back down again.

Your skin feels especially sensitive being completely bare in front of such a powerful being, who is also naked. Just the light touch of your hand makes your skin prickle as you move your fingers slowly across yourself.

You start to arch and sway, hands moving up your thighs, across your stomach, along your neck. You free yourself, offering your body to this demon. The demon growls lowly and says in a deeper tone than before,

"The point of the pact is the connection. You summoned me, This is your pact to forge so show me your devotion."

His fiery eyes follow your every move, every sway of your hips and bounce of your tits.

You carefully run your hands from your waist up to your tits, briefly feeling the soft fat before moving up your shoulders. You stretch your arms high, now putting your tits on full display for your demon guest, the attention and cool air makes your nipples harden.

You turn around, your back facing the demon and he huffs irritably at being denied the sight of your perfect tits. His grievances are smothered when you bend down and run your hands up the back of your legs all the way to your ass, gripping the fat just enough to make it jiggle for him.

You can feel the room getting hotter, you can see his cock getting harder and you can feel the wetness In-between your legs as you dance.

You give one last tantalising hip sway before slowly dropping to your knees in front of him, on the edge of the salt circle. You look up at him while sliding your hands up your thighs, from here you have a perfect view of his half hard cock, looking so thick and heavy the sight has you nearly panting like a dog.

You rest your hands behind you, now presenting your entire body to him, tits perked and pussy drooling, devilishly tempting.

"Does that satisfy."

You say gazing up at him sultry gaze flicking down to his cock, you swear you saw it twitch.

"You know exactly what would satisfy me."

His voice is deeper than before, more gutteral and it makes you squirm. You might have been embarrassed about being so open about his effect on you if it wasn't for his obvious arousal for you. You're honestly just glad this is going well so far.

You lean forward, shuffle closer to the salt barrier and stick your tongue out, mouth open and waiting, silently begging for him.

The demon's hand goes to hold his cock immediately and he steps towards the barrier holding his cock out, but before he can place the tip on your hot tongue, you pull back slightly with a sick grin on your face.

The demon tries to grab your face but you retreat further, past the salt circle and therefore out of reach. You look up at his collosal frame with a smug smirk as he growls in irritation and the candle flames flicker violently.

"Don't forget, this is a mutual pact, demon. You don't call the shots... I want to be on top."

"What makes you thin-“

"I'm on top or you can go back home."

He grumbles something unintelligible, shaking his head in disbelief. One hand goes back to his cock idly stroking the thick member as he nods his head, accepting the terms.

You stand and steel yourself before wiping away a portion of the salt line with your foot, breaking the circle. You reach out for his hand and he accepts it with the hand not stroking his dick, stepping out of the circle and into your bedroom. His hands are immediately on your skin, thick fingers running along your waist and down to your hip. His skin is so warm, like the blood running through his veins is boiling hot giving the surface skin a pleasant warmth.

He stares down at you in suspense waiting for your go ahead.

You bring your hands up his chest and around his broad shoulders, and pull him down to your height only to push him down your body until his skull face is right Infront of your pussy. You let him get a good sniff of your smell before pushing him down to the ground with your foot, standing above him looking very tryumphant.

He doesn't have much time to marvel at your figure above him because before he knows it you're sitting on his dick, pussy pressing right against his cock, he bucks on instinct, the wet warmth of your pussy against the heat of his cock makes him let out a gutteral moan.

You slowly rock your hips back and forth the length of his cock, an impressive length but one you could manage. Neither of you can stand the foreplay any longer, his hands grip your waist at the same time you finally slide his cock into your waiting cunt.

You both groan at the feeling as you pop the mushroom head into your cunt and you slide your pussy down to the hilt, feeling every vein of his hot cock against your walls. You're so slick and needy the fat cock slides in with surprisingly little resistance. That makes him chuckle, which you cut off with a deliberate thrust of your hips.

Your screams are muffled and gargled but the sound of your wet pussy slapping and squelching around his cock as you cum echos throughout the room. He growls and snarls into your mouth when he gets close, tilting his head back in absolute bliss.

You plant your feet on either side of his waist, moving all the way up back to the tip and then plunging back down again taking him as deep as he'll go. You bounce and hump on this demons fat cock, tits bouncing in tandem, pretty face in the throws of pleasure. It's a sight to see and he loves every minute of it, clutching your hips but letting you control the pace.

The fur covering his legs is soft and warm against your ass as you ride your new pact mate. Your hands rest on his strong chest as you lose yourself even more in the intense pleasure. Panting and groaning, as you approach your high, your thrusts get more frantic as if you're trying to get him even deeper into your cunt. Your eyes are locked onto the way his pretty cock disappears Into to your cunt, the fur at the hilt becoming wet with your slick.

"Ah~ cum inside, cum inside, cum inside me!"

Your frantic pleas are heard when he wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his other hand firmly on your ass pushing into you as deep as possible. You finally cum around the throbbing cock clenching your walls deliciously, pressed into his chest. He cums seconds after you, shooting abnormally hot cum deep inside you. Your body stills as you cum down, his strong arms move you body against him in shallow thrusts as he bucks up into you, riding out his high.

You limply lie on his massive chest catching your breath as you come down, ignoring the drool you left on his pec. You realise he's eerily quiet and look up only to find he's staring at your face in a manner you think is expecant? Only then do you actually realise that his dick hasn't gone down at all. You can't help but laugh, pussy involuntarily clenching making the demon clutch your hips tighter.

"Is this all for me or is it just a demon thing?"

He huffs out camp fire smelling smoke from his skull and leans up into a seated position. The change in position makes his cock adjust and you moan softly at the feeling while grasping his large biceps.

"You've got jokes."

He looks down at you, you try to read his expression but it's really hard when his hands are massaging your hips so nicely and his cock is touching new spots inside you making your head all fuzzy. He smoothly lifts your thighs and flips you both over so that you're laying on your back and he's hovering above you.

It's such a glorious sight. This massive sexy otherworldly creature staring down at you with such lust. You can't stop yourself from pulling him in closer by the back of his neck and mumbling,

"Do demons kiss?"

The demon huffs again and opens his jaw showing his razor sharp teeth, from the darkness behind the skull comes three appendages, long and wet. Those are his tongues, and you moan a little when you realise that. He leans closer and the prehensile tongues worm their way to your mouth where you greet them, mouth ready and open. All three appendages slip into your mouth to explore and rub against your tongue, it's so messy and gross it makes you clench around his cock.

He grunts and thrusts into you, thrusting his tongues deeper into your mouth making you gag. You stick your head in his open maw, pulling him in closer by his thick horns. You take the tongues with vigor and suck on them like you would a cock. He seems to like this quite a bit as he grabs both your legs and pulls your knees up to your ears, bending you in half and presenting your dripping pussy to him. He starts thrusting his cock much deeper in your pussy than before while thrusting his tongues down your throat simultaneously.

The pleasure is so intense as he gradually speeds up, working up to a brutal pace. He fucks you into the floor, so deep, so good. It's so animalistic it makes you go feral. He tongue fucks your throat with fever, his dangerous maw wide open. Knowing that he could tear your flesh easily if he just closed his jaws around your head turns you on an unthinkable amount as you take his tongues deeper down your already full throat.

You want him deeper in your throat even as you choke and gag. You want him deeper in your pussy even as he pounds you raw and hard, reaching so deep he kisses your cervix. Your brain is mush and your thighs burn, you scratch and claw his back for some kind of grounding as you quickly reach your peak again.

He wraps his arms under your thighs and around your back to lift you up and squeeze you against his hot body. He pounds you even harder now with gravity on his side, forcing you down on his cock as he thrusts up in time.

Suddenly your body gets hot, he gets hot. His hold is like a hot vice and you struggle against it on instinct but he just holds you tighter. You almost scream when you feel a red hot flash in every artery and vein in your body. The heat is gone just as quickly as it came and you sigh in relief before looking up at him in shock when you suddenly realise what he just did.

His tongues leaves your mouth suddenly as he cums hard, groaning loudly as he fucks his seed deeper into your already soaked cunt. With your mouth free you groan like an snimal, tongue out, tears streaking down your face, spit running down your neck. You soak up the feeling of being folded in half and filled to the fucking brim by this demonic beast.

Your moans mix in the hot air between you. His cum is so thick and hot inside you, filling you up once again. You're so full you can't contain it all as it pours out of you and onto the floor. He gives a few slow, deep thrusts, milking his cock with your tight pussy as you lay limply in his hold.

You sit on the floor for a few minutes holding each other close and catching your breath. He nuzzles his head into your sweaty neck and moves your body into a more relaxed position so that he's hugging around your waist and your legs rest around his torso. You feel each other for a moment, his cock still plugging up your messy cunt. Hes quiet, like he's thinking about something. You're not sure you can even speak but if you could you don't really know what you would say.

He leans back to look at your face, you realise you probably look an absolute mess, tear streaked face with spit all over your mouth and chin. He looks into your eyes like he's looking for something specific and you look back into his two small flames. He slightly nods and then holds you close to his chest once more, enveloping you with his body.

He accepted the pact proposal.

You let out a breathless laugh and lean up to place wet kisses all over his skull head.

He growls low and irritable like a cat.

"That's not necessary."

He grumbles like he's annoyed but doesn't move away from you as you give a few more kisses along his jaw. His tail swishes idly behind him.

"Well neither was fucking me. Twice."

You tease him while reaching for your discarded hat and plopping it back on your head. You shakily stand up on wobbly legs, he holds his hands out to your hips to stabilise you. Cum drips out of your cunt and his gaze is drawn to where it oozes down your thighs.

"Not that I'm complaining."

You balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders and clear your throat, trying to seem a little put together as he stares up at you. You very casually lift your leg to rest it on his shoulder, presenting your puffy, dripping cunt to him.

"Are you the fuck and leave type or do you stay for the cleanup? "

The demon chuckles and opens his maw again, wet tongues slipping out and reaching for you, licking up your cum covered thighs and up to the source of the mess.

You're both going to make very good use of this pact.

[frozenmoonshine]

How TR boys show affection/love?

Long time no write, but my hyperfixation is very alive and kicking, as always! And since the weather is getting chillier as we're approaching the full blown autumn, it's the perfect time for some cozy, fluffy thoughts! 🍂🍁☕️🧦

TW: none, just some slight exaggeration for comedic purposes; Reader's gender is not specified

MIKEY - bites.

You can't convince me this adorable, emo menace to society isn't a total menace in every other aspect as well! He likes you means he wants you. He also wants dorayaki because he likes it. Dorayaki is something he chews on. ........... You can see what I'm getting at. He'll just randomly start munching on any bit of your skin he can get access to. And if he gets carried away, he can bite for real! It's just Mikey logic, don't question it, there's no use. But, fair be fair, he also protecc!

DRAKEN - acts of service.

He's the type to reflexively take off his jacket and cover you when you're cold, or go get you a bottle of water when you're out in the hot weather and he noticed you struggling with the heat. He'll always carry your bags and stuff, and doesn't allow you to refuse. You need an errand done - he's already on it. And the best part is that he never thinks twice about doing any of that, it's simply his second nature.

BAJI - surprisingly... also acts of service.

CLUMSY acts of service, but acts of service nonetheless! He'll cook for you (as in, more than just instant yakisoba - an actual meal). He'll bring you a cat when you're feeling down to cheer you up. He'll teach you to fight if you need to blow some steam off. (And he'll happily spar with you, but beware - he has ulterior motives in that sparring session, iykwim 😏) Still, the biggest sign of his affection is if he lets you touch his hair!

MITSUYA - support.

I was tempted to say 'words of affirmation', but on the second thought, just support in every shape and form that you might need. He's your shoulder to cry on when you need to, someone who believes in you when you doubt yourself, and someone you can always rely on no matter if you're going through a petty drama or your world actually just fell apart. He's always there by your side, through thick and thin!

KAZUTORA - trust.

They say that jealousy is the sign of love, but it's the exact opposite in Kazu's case! If you really mean something to him, he won't experience the least bit of jealousy, even if he saw you sitting butt-naked in another man's lap! He'll also be fully comfortable being himself around you, and feel safe to share his past, traumas, mistakes, and his healing journey, without fear of being judged or abandoned. He will just know in his heart that you are his person no matter what!

KOKO - self-sacrifice & physical touch.

I think this is pretty much canon, but allow me to elaborate nonetheless.

Hajime is passionate. When he falls in love, he falls head over heels and worships the ground his s/o walks on! His devotion can sometimes border on obsession, and there is nothing he wouldn't be willing to do for his love! And I mean - nothing - literally no limits! He'd kill or die in a heartbeat for the one he loves, no questions asked! And, since he burns so fervently in love, he cannot help the urge to constantly shower the object of his affection in kisses, to hold them tight and just feel their skin, warmth, scent... Sidenote: he doesn't hug, he embraces!

[astrolovecosmos]

The Asteroid Frigga

A goddess of marriage, many have given multiple interpretations into the asteroid. Most can agree it is a "love/relationship" asteroid/placement. In this post I'll examine how Frigga can describe our commitment.

Frigga in Aries: Brave, impulsive, passionate, and decisive in their commitment towards someone. They may risk something by staying faithful and dutiful. There is a great drive for independence that may move them towards breaking commitment in favor of self-preservation or empowerment. A spouse who can support their independence is best.

Frigga in Taurus: Takes their time with commitment, REALLY takes their time, potentially favoring marriage at an older age. Gives all their heart to someone with loyalty, stability, security, and providing. But if their commitments do not bring material comfort or safety they may doubt. Giving up commitments tends to be a challenge for them.

Frigga in Gemini: Gemini may be known for always wanting change, variety, and for struggling with loyalty. But when Frigga is in this sign their commitment is based on open communication, mutual respect, and feeling free around another. Their flexibility, dual nature, and restlessness may cause temptations, but their actions will depend on how in sync they are with their other half.

Frigga in Cancer: Protective and sensitive in their commitment. Their commitment has the strength, depth, and intensity as loyalty to family, roots, or home does. Is intuitive, receptive, and empathetic towards their spouse. Caring and nurturing is connected to their loyalty. A lack of security can make them vengeful, grudge-holding, or cruel.

Frigga in Leo: Generous, passionate, and proud in their commitments. Is open and loud about who they are devoted to. A need for recognition exists on their end and a spouse must show their heart, passion, and intense devotion as well. This marriage is grand, dramatic, romantic, of legends.

Frigga in Virgo: Tries to be the perfect example of devotion and commitment. Is pragmatic, helpful, attentive, and thoughtful in their loyalty. Will know their spouse better than anyone else. Will always be by their side. Won't accept a spouse who has given up or doesn't value what they have.

Frigga in Libra: Their desire for their partner is closely tied to commitment. Is adaptable in their devotion, being open-minded towards their spouse. Devotion to them must be equally matched and a lot of the dynamic hinges on balance. Is peaceful and communicative in their loyalty. Once they and their spouse stop working together, it's over.

Frigga in Scorpio: Their commitment relies on passion, a deep and sturdy sense of trust, and emotional attachment. They are a ride or die spouse and their marriage must have a lot of emotional reassurance, rawness, and intuition. They want an almost psychic bond to their spouse and family. But they can be a very intense partner.

Frigga in Sagittarius: This placement indicates someone who may be very optimistic and quick with their commitment. They may not always realize or understand the challenges, ups and downs of long-lasting commitment and sacrifice. Their need for freedom and space may sometimes outweigh their devotion. However they can be deep, open-minded, adventurous, and passionate in their loyalty. They seek a spouse they can grow and explore with. If committed, they trust their spouse with their heart completely.

Frigga in Capricorn: A sign famous for commitment, you can imagine Frigga in Capricorn values stability and security in all aspects of their marriage. This placement will take their relationship seriously and can have a lot of integrity in their marriage, but they may hold their heart close. They might not always be the softest, most passionate, or reassuring partner. But Capricorn is a sign of reward or results coming after a long period of time. They can build a strong and enduring partnership that stands the test of time. Broken trust is what can damage their loyalty.

Frigga in Aquarius: Is devoted to the mind and values of their partner. Their ability to be friends with a partner is important for loyalty as well. Frigga in Aquarius may need space and autonomy within their commitments. They thrive in relationships that allow them to pursue their own interests and passions while still maintaining a strong connection with their partner. The devotion in their marriage must be clear yet adaptable, equal and respectful.

Frigga in Pisces: Is compassionate, sensitive, and giving in their loyalty. Needs a spiritual connection to their spouse. Approaches commitment with an open heart and a willingness to love unconditionally. They are likely willing to sacrifice their own needs for the well-being of their loved ones. What could break their loyalty is potentially a lack of depth or if something in the relationship hurts their soul, creativity, or kindness.

[radiation]

My Thoughts On MORPHEUS

Rewatched The Matrix yesterday. Everyone knows that Morpheus is fucking dope, but few realize he is one of the most moe characters of all time. Here is why:

Ok so at the beginning of the movie, Morpheus really appears to be this mythical figure, and that's how a lot of ppl view him. But something often overlooked is that, as the movie progresses, the more you see Morpheus acting mundanely, dressing normally, making mistakes, and getting the absolute shit beaten out of him & needing to be saved. Seriously, the gap between how he comes off when he first contacts Neo (larger-than-life, near-omnipotent) and when he gets kidnapped (totally fallible & vulnerable) is huge. You also see other characters doubt his absolute faith in Neo and it’s like wow yeah. This is really just some dude who is incredibly driven and passionate, and dedicated to his own ideals to a fault. He acts the way he does because he has a very clear image of the role he needs to play and has structured his life around it, choosing to embody this whole badass character in order to fulfill it. And from the way his appearance of perfection is shattered later in the movie in moments of monotony or when things spiral out of his control, I really believe how he acts when he meets Neo is suuuuper scripted. Like he has spent so much fucking time planning the perfect way to present himself and rehearsing exactly what he will say and do and how he will dress. And its funny to watch The Matrix knowing how totally badass & collected he is seen as in pop culture because he truly is incredibly incredibly dorky

This goes without saying but I also believe he is gay as fuck for Neo, but I need you to understand that the way he goes about it is sooo cute. I mean ok everything surrounding "You are The One and I've been searching for you for years" kind of speaks for itself. But also think about when Neo talks to the Oracle, she says this thing about like "knowing you're The One is like knowing you're in love". We can naturally really easily extend this metaphor to Trinity's explicit prophecy of her falling in love with The One, and knowing that's the case that also extends the metaphor to Morpheus knowing Neo is the one = Morpheus being in love with Neo. And I think how excited he acts around Neo, how physically affectionate he to him, arguably flirting with him during the dojo scene and shit bla bla bla sounds lame as fuck to write but I do think yeah whether literally or metaphorically that's kind of what's up. I think we can be confident that Morpheus loves Neo, and I think romantic love is a close approximation, or at the very least there are certainly real & valuable parallels to be drawn to it

But back to the previous paragraph, the specific kind of devotion towards Neo that Morpheus experiences where he is putting on all kinds of airs trying to mystify Neo, viewing himself as a supporting figure to prop up Neo as the savior -- Morpheus's underlying adoration is expressed through the language of respect, restraint, and selflessness, and a kind of self-sacrifice he is like...excited about. Feels very similar to the whole "best friend who is in love with the main character, but nobly tries to get him another love interest / somehow make his life better without any respect to his own desires". It's very sweet and well-intentioned, but totally excessive. Nobody else is asking you to go this far man this is just you. And it also comes off as a really big obfuscation of at least quasi-romantic feelings, both externally and internally, lacking a lot of self-awareness, so it makes it feel like Morpheus has this like elementary school crush he doesn't quite understand yet and it's really funny and delightful

There is definitely a certain writing style in The Matrix that is dramatic, over the top, and mythological, but compared to Morpheus, Neo and other ppl in his crew speak and act in ways much more grounded. Something I noticed a lot is just how much doubt and disillusionment all of the characters express in living life outside the Matrix, in the effectiveness of the revolution, and of Neo being The One, but Morpheus is totally an exception to this. The only person who puts on nearly as much airs, acting as dramatically and poetically as according to plan as Morpheus is Agent Smith, and like the dude isn't even a person he's a program. But even then Agent Smith expresses disappointment in his own life, and Morpheus doesn't. Seriouusly Morpheus is like the only guy in the movie who does this shit. By seeing himself as a mechanism in a prophecy to save the world and minimizing his own wants and discomforts for the greater good, he has kind of dehumanized himself in a way that's kind of sad. I think it's very easy to buy into it and take his self-perception at face value, and I think most people have, but there are a lot of moments in the movie where you can see through that. That underneath the appearance of a pure legend is a real person who means the absolute best, who is endlessly dedicated and adoring, but suffers from a one-track mind makes Morpheus a really fucking cool and unique character, and has one of the greatest impacts in making the movie's scenario feel believable. And also makes him sooooooooo cute. Anyways I forgoet what happens in the other mvoies this is only about the first one. Rewatch The Matrix 1 and open your eyes and you weill see the truth.

Also another thing I wanna mention that but its only tangentially related -- I think its very interesting how Neo is treated as a protagonist. I can't place exactly why but way the movie is written and shots are framed, he really isn't treated as an audience insert, and many moments in the movie are from other characters' perspectives (including their perspectives towards him, bereft of Neo's own expression). The movie honestly, more than identifying with Neo, expresses empathy and adoration towards him. So it kind of feels like literally everyone in the movie has a crush on him and so should you LOL. Morpheus is definitely a part of this, but I also appreciate the romance between Trinity and Neo feeling equally or more from Trinity's perspective, neither of them really being the object of desire, but if you had to choose one it'd definitely be Neo

Well let me know what you think & Dont try to troll this post because this is real shit

[november-rising]

This was supposed to be an ask for @thoughtfulchaos773 but it became something else…

I’m slowly going back through The Bear as I try to make sense of season three and my initial notes. The rawness and vulnerability and bare bones (season one) is what got me. Watching two people trust without trusting was foreign and needed in my TV watching landscape.

Season two was powerful but I didn’t understand why until season three. In hindsight it’s so obvious. As a Black female from the US, having a white male reorganize around your shared dream/goal is fantasy. To have this white male with all the accolades see and want you for your talent and who you are - for your fire…

That’s rarity.

And then you both endeavor upon a shared dream that is sidetracked by a white woman from his past - a safety blanket. A means to “heal” without trying. He’s searching and broken. And he had the privilege to hide and to be lost.

Sydney tried. She tried as all us Black women do. We shut it down. We shut it off. We cut it all away and deny ourselves in the necessity that is called preservation. Success. Some semblance of security.

Season two gave me hope. It gave Sydney hope. Even though this man with mental health and family trauma/trauma-response obligations, she had his acknowledged devotion.

And then the fridge. It was the summation of Carmy using anything (Claire) as a way to stay on the outside. Because, even though Syd and Carmy worked to grow, Carmy and Claire worked because of past hypotheticals.

They just work in the sense that Claire is easy. She is woven into a family he’s wanted but felt afraid to open up to - for valid reasons. This man has seen his older brother protect only to be sacrifice for the family. He found a way to survive and Carmy is living in his example - to survive and provide.

To me, this is the shift of season two and the dissonance I felt watching season three. It’s the progression of Syd and Carmy from togetherness to separation.

Syd was finding her footing and security in knowing that the most excellent CDC trusted her. She felt a sense of purpose in The Beef no matter the shenanigans. This Black woman was given some sense of control of the kitchen. Again, she was trusted. Season two, Carmy is out there processing his grief through Claire (a woman or feeling he attempted to avoid via fake phone number). Season Two, Sydney is out here, facing her fears and supposed failures, starting up another catering/restaurant venture with someone she thought she might be able to rely upon.

Season three ended with her trusting in this man who failed.

And he keeps failing.

Carmy is atoning through self-flagellation. Sydney is turning away to an apology that’s too late and too hollow. Too hollow because the last time someone attempted to apologize in this industry, it was performative. May it be the bank. May it be anyone at CIA. May it be clients prior to The Beef/The Bear. It was something people did for no reason but to assuage their own…whatever.

Carmy, at face value, was different to Sydney. Though an acclaimed white male, she felt heard. She was seen. But Carmy failed like all the others…and this time it hurts because she shared. She cared. Not with some idol but with a colleague and maybe more.

Season three breaks my heart. It’s two people in relation with each other, crying out but not knowing the radio station to dial into for each other.

[faelorelia]

Will’s Love for Mike: More than a Crush

Will Byers doesn’t just have a crush on Mike Wheeler. It goes much deeper and is more serious because he’s in love with him. And I’m going to explain why.

1. Behavior

Usually, when someone has a crush, it shows: they are shy, nervous, and excited around the person, they blush, and laugh at their jokes. Will doesn’t exhibit these behaviors (in fact, Mike does sometimes).

When someone is in love, they have accepted their feelings and feel comfortable around that person. They can be themselves without idealizing the object of their affection but accepting them for who they are and loving them unconditionally. That’s exactly how Will is with Mike: he doesn’t act weird around him (if anything, it’s the other way around), he is completely at ease with him. He behaves like Mike’s best friend, caring deeply about their relationship and always being there for Mike.

2. Deep Emotional Connection and Devotion

Mike and Will’s friendship has always been special, and throughout the series, we have seen how deeply they care for each other, what they are willing to do for one another, and how differently they view each other compared to their other friends.

Will has always looked at Mike with lingering awe, as if he were something special and precious (which he is to Will); he has always trusted Mike more than anyone else. He even promised Mike he wouldn’t join another party because no one is better for Will than Mike.

Even when Will moved away, he didn’t look at other boys. He silently and painfully continued to love Mike, pouring his feelings into art so they wouldn’t go to waste. Will consistently proves that Mike is the one for him, his best friend, and the love of his life.

3. Sacrifice

It’s heartbreaking and self-sabotaging, but the depth of Will’s love for Mike leads him to prioritize Mike’s feelings and well-being over his own. He goes to great lengths to make the boy he loves happy, even at his own expense.

Will believes Mike wants to be with El, so he tries to fix their relationship, encouraging Mike with pep talks. Will loves Mike so much that he bottles up his feelings and attributes them to El. He presents his painting – the product of his love – as if it were from El. He pretends that his adoration, his high regard for Mike, and even calling him the heart – that all of this comes from El, all to bring happiness to the boy he loves (because he thinks that’s what Mike wants). If this isn’t the ultimate sacrifice for love, I don’t know what is.

All of this makes it crystal clear: Will Byers loves Mike Wheeler, and it’s more than a fleeting crush. Will’s feelings are deep, tender, and genuine. And they’re not going away easily. It has always been Mike for Will. ❤️

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Give & Take VS Give & Receive

You best believe I wrote a meta around Sky/Prapai’s Episode 12 uncut NC scene. That’s the reality we’re operating in folks. So saddle up. Episode 8′s initial collision between Sky and Prapai is the epitome of Give and Take.

Prapai proposes that Sky ‘give’ him something in return for helping him. Sky very pointedly responds with, “just take what you want”, which carries an implied ‘(I dare you)’ in that rebuttal. It’s the resigned surrender of someone accustomed to others doing just that, with little concern over his wellbeing. There’s an air of ‘Fine, ruin me for all I care. If that’s how you want to play, then do your worst.’

Episode 8′s love scene revolved around Sky trying to pleasure Prapai, because that was the condition he was trying to meet. When you give and give till you’re running on empty, you can almost convince yourself you don’t care anymore. You flirt with self-destructive behaviour because you think you’re numb. Sky does this with evident reluctancy because he hates how much he does care.

Once Prapai falls in love with Sky, he no longer wishes to see Sky fall prey to this type of mentality. Sky telling him ‘he gives in’ is not the reaction Prapai necessarily wants. Because doing so would only make him feel like he’s taking advantage. What Prapai seeks is a mutual, reciprocal relationship with Sky. An equal relationship. He reiterates this by saying ‘just because I do x, y and z, doesn’t mean I expect sex in return’. Prapai is not okay with receiving if it means Sky always has to give. Sky’s tendency for self-sacrifice doesn’t sit well with him.

Fast forward to Episode 12, Sky declares “I’m yours. All yours.” and its embroiled in devotion and rapture. Instead of being resigned to his fate, he’s actively choosing his surrender to Prapai. Rarely do we see Sky make such an open admission such as this. Rather than ‘I’m giving myself to you because I see no other option’, this is ‘I’m giving myself to you because it’s my chosen option’. The implication is anything you take from me is warranted. I’m giving you the go ahead to do so.

Even in Episode 11′s love scene, Sky uses the words “please shut up and take me”. He’s still trying to downplay the gravity of what it means when someone does this. ‘Just take me already, stop being so considerate and sentimental. It’s no big deal’. Sky still believes he has to be willing for his partner to take in order to secure their affection, and be seemingly nonchalant about it. It’s all he knows.

How Prapai chooses to respond to Sky in Episode 12′s uncut scene is what makes it so important. Instead of just ‘taking him’ up on his offer, Prapai decides to give back in a different way. To reply to Sky’s admission with: ‘if you’re putting yourself fully in my hands, then I will take care of you. I’ll do more than just take care of you, I’ll cherish and worship you.’ It’s no longer about one taking and another giving. Prapai grants Sky full permission to receive. If you give, I give. If I receive, so do you.

Oral is an act of service. You’re prioritising someone else’s pleasure before your own. When Sky realises this is what Prapai intends to do, he reacts with complete giddiness, sweetly stunned by this gesture. The notion that someone would put him first is clearly unfamiliar and unexpected. We can safely assume that all Gun ever did was take what he wanted, how he wanted.

For Sky, it was never about him, even during the highest act of intimacy. So for Prapai to make a point of doing so, to put Sky’s pleasure first and providing clear indication that ‘It’s okay, I want to do this for you’ is a huge act of love where Sky is concerned.

What’s even better when compared to Episode 8 is that Prapai gazes up at Sky lovingly before he goes in. When Sky did it, it felt very detached, he was performing based on what he thought Prapai probably wanted or expected of him during their one night stand. This is a silent declaration from Prapai of ‘this is how I want to treat you, this is what you deserve, I’m prioritising you’.

The difference between taking and receiving is assertion. Taking implies acting on what you want, upon your own desire. Whereas receiving is allowing someone to offer it to you. It signifies patience. Selflessness. It allows for generosity. It says I’ll be grateful for whatever you offer me, but I’m not demanding it. I’m letting you decide how, what and when.

It matters immensely to Sky to feel in control; to feel he has agency and choice. That’s the ultimate act of giving, is allowing the receiver to decide if they want to return the gesture without expecting them to do so. It’ll mean even more if they do.

[rosys-fans-fics]

How Gortash reacts to Durge’s new lover Part 2

Part 1 here!

Thanks to @rainbow-spinelli13 for requesting this!

Halsin

Gortash is really taken aback by this big, tree hugging, bear standing right behind you. This is what attracted The Chosen of Bhaal? Gortash gets the physical attraction, he wouldn’t mind climbing Mount Halsin himself. But he never expected his love to fall for someone so devoted to nature.

Halsin’s physical attractiveness is the only good quality of his, on every other front, him and Gortash clash. Gortash loves engineering and advancing technology while Halsin loves nature and traditional hobbies. Gortash sees himself as the greatest having never done any wrong while Halsin is always second guessing his choices.

But more than a personality clash, Halsin makes Enver feel something he hates feeling, insecure. Halsin is so much bigger, more experienced, and doesn’t have a clear flaw for him to exploit.

Gortash hates feeling less than someone, his whole climb to Archduke was to feel above everyone else. Only to have someone come in who has taken the most important person from him. He hates it.

Halsin isn’t keen on Gortash and will advice you against reconnecting with him. This tips Gortash over the edge and gives him the push to get Halsin out of the picture. If he can’t be better than Halsin, then he’ll make sure the only thing he’s competing with is a corpse.

Part of Gortash wants to believe that you chose Halsin because he reminded you of himself. A strong leader giving his all but he doubts that’s the reason.

Karlach

Gortash has to laugh at the dramatic irony of your pairing. His former body guard not only fighting along side his nearest and dearest but becoming your lover? He has to laugh at it.

That amusement quickly turns to anger once he realizes that neither of you are grateful for what he did for Karlach. He took an up and coming youth and gave her the opportunity to truly become powerful. And you not realizing that just shows how far you’ve fallen.

Gortash would reveal that you actually agreed to send Karlach to Zariel 10 years ago because you thought she couldn’t protect him. He’d even exaggerate to drive a wedge between you two.

Gortash likes to think that you fell for Karlach because you missed how he protected you. Perhaps you saw him in a similar light and subconsciously craved to be with someone strong again. It’s just a shame that you chose Karlach.

He’s willing to let you both back into his life but only if you and Karlach acknowledge how great he’s been for both of you.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel reminds Gortash of what you were like before disappearing. Blunt, murderous, and singleminded in her goals. Gortash is disappointed that you chose someone similar to yourself instead of him but beggars can’t be choosers.

Lae’zel’s intense loyalty to the Gith is something Gortash believes he can manipulate. Perhaps he can turn that loyalty toward himself and Bane? Or he may find a way to get her out of your life.

If you and Lae’zel get the Orphic hammer by killing Raphael and then kill the Emepror? Gortash is more than ready to welcome Lae’zel in as the third wheel. She may never be as beloved as his favorite but she does have a certain charm to her. Killing an abusive father figure is probably the hottest thing only could do.

Gortash is not threatened by Lae’zel being your new lover. Of course you are with her because she reminds you of your old self! And the sooner you become your old self, the happier Gortash will be.

Any pushback Lae’zel tries to use will be seen more as a toddler throwing a fit that their favorite toy is being taken away rather than a serious issue. She should be honored to view this match of two chosen above everyone and only equal to eachother.

Shadowheart

Shadowheart is another person Gortash feels jealous of. To have parents that love you so much to go through decades of torture? Even willing to sacrifice themselves for her freedom? That’s something Gortash wants so deeply that he’s willing to tadpole his parents so they’ll say they’re proud of him.

Gortash also sees his life mirrored in Shadowheart’s. They both were taken by an evil servant working for a higher power, they were tortured, but Gortash escaped and chose his own god. Perhaps he would offer support for Shadowheart breaking away from Shar if you asked him to. She could make a loyal banite in her search for a new deity.

Or he’d give Viconia all the support she needs to take Shadowheart out of your life.

Gortash is fine with you keeping Shadowheart as a side thing. She can be pushed away and persuaded to back down, Gortash just needs the right thing to hold over her head.

Shadowheart’s openness to polyamory definitely wins her some favor in Gortash’s book as she can be convinced to let your old relationship flourish again.

Gortash sees Shadowheart as someone he can control. He knows the weaknesses she faces with her parents and is willing to exploit that. While envious of her parents devotion to her, he takes some solace in knowing it was her who hurt them.

Minthara

Minthara is similar to Gortash, both are ruthless, ambitious, and devoted to their goals. You missed him so much so you found someone who matches his drive. He’ll show you who has the highest goals and who will bring you to such great heights.

Minthara could make a good Banite. Gortash is willing to welcome her back into the absolute fold but with the curtain pulled back. Instead of following a false god, she can follow Bane and Bane’s chosen.

Minthara’s biting remarks and intelligent quips are greatly appreciated by Gortash. She can keep up with his and yours conversations.

But the deal breaker is Minthara’s intense possessiveness over you. Gortash is almost offended on your behalf for someone thinking the could limit your life. Enver would never try to limit your exploration, as long as you always came back to him.

If you truly want to keep Minthara, Gortash will get her to change her mind. Obviously the elder brain will need to be under his control, but once it’s is, everything can go back to normal.

[vigilskeep]

hi! ive seen you talk about your surana a bunch but i dont know if ive seen her full story. what were some of the pivotal decisions she made? i love hearing you talk about your ocs, theyre always so in depth and thought out!

oh thank you!! :) my surana is my Eldest Daughter from my very first full playthrough of a dragon age game, so i think a lot of people newer to the blog (like... from less than a year and a half ago probably lmao) have less of the context in complete form. so i will attempt to summarise!! it may be... long...

minerva surana is a manipulative, driven elven circle mage, heart-breakingly willing to sacrifice whatever she believes is necessary for her Grand Goals, who is often so busy playing 5d chess she forgets she’s a twenty-one year old with no experience of the world outside the tower

okay it did turn out fucking long the rest is under the cut its like 9 bulky paragraphs enjoy

her family were tevinter liberati, elven slaves who had devoted themselves to buying their way out and very recently succeeded. her parents were desperate to see her and her elder sibling grow up knowing only freedom, and sent their children south with another part of the family while they remained to pay off the last of their debts. the journey was long and difficult, and they had little left when they ended up in the denerim alienage. in a twist of bitter irony, magic that might have made minerva someone of value in the imperium saw her freedom once more revoked in the south. minerva remembers nothing of tevinter, and only a few fragments of what came next: of light through the vhenadahl’s branches glinting on a templar’s blade, of her sibling fighting them and being knocked to the ground, terribly still, with blood in their hair, and of her grandmother saying what she might have said many times on that long journey south: we can survive anything, as long as we never look back. ironically, minerva often took that to heart by denying all memory prior to the circle.

young apprentice minerva was a sullen child, with few friends; karl thekla took an elder brother’s interest, and jowan clung to her talent. she only really flourished when, after her terror of her natural gift for spirit magic saw her self-hatred turn dangerous in her early teens, first enchanter irving took an interest. he was a father figure to her, and he showed her how to channel her power into control, and her distress into ambition. newfound devotion to elemental magic saw her hailed as a prodigy, and surely a future first enchanter with irving’s tutelage. (only irving considered her too headstrong for the role. he never told her, fostering the drive he had cultivated, both fearful for the state she might return to if he didn’t, and curious as to what else she might become.) she grew up arrogant and beautiful and deeply loyal to the circle, learning that it was only the weak and the defiant who would fail to thrive there, and convinced she was neither. many of her peers wanted to be her, and few of them wanted to spend much time in her company. except jowan, still the little brother hiding in her shadow, and halliserre amell, a rebellious rival with a winning smile, who made up for their lack of her discipline and raw power with sheer brilliance, and whose heated arguments eventually developed into... ah, something else heated.

not long before the start of the game, amell told her they were going to accept tranquillity. it didn’t matter how clever they were; with their weak magic, they would die in the harrowing. they’d only been so defiant of the circle before because, having accepted their fate, the risks were nothing to them. furious and unable to admit it was because she was in love, the last thing minerva ever said to them when they were whole was that they were a coward not to try. when jowan told her he feared he too would be made tranquil, minerva was still recovering from the loss, not to mention flushed with even more arrogance than normal from her own successful harrowing. she had been the perfect circle mage all her life, twice as good as everyone else to make up for every rumour about where she was from. surely she had earned one defiance. surely she could save this one thing, her oldest friend. and she is a loyal person, in her way, emotion powering her fierce drive, incapable of abandoning what she has set her heart on. irving, from whom she had learned everything, was ahead of her every step of the way. he arranged for her to be taken in by the grey wardens. she had proved herself as headstrong and unsuitable as he had feared—and she was shocked and bitterly betrayed to finally see that—but he also believed this might bring her to where she would truly belong.

as a grey warden, minerva’s highest concern is perception. when the stakes of the game are revealed, she has enough hubris to see it as a chance to not just save but change the world. defeating the archdemon isn’t enough. she needs to be seen defeating the archdemon, at the forefront, as an elven mage; she has enough idealism to believe it will really matter for her and people like her, and enough shrewd cynicism to consider what she may have to sacrifice to achieve it. mostly she approaches problems with the skill for diplomacy and management that irving taught her, with that good good Master Coercion skill. she gets many of the “better” and certainly more peaceful quest outcomes, not always motivated by altruism, but determined to be remembered well when she leaves each faction behind. her one great sacrifice of this goal to be seen as the perfect mage is when she takes up blood magic, determined after she sees its power that she alone can handle it, to get the job done and keep what’s hers alive fight after fight. but that only makes her more dedicated to her actions elsewhere

the real test and most pivotal moment of her arc is at the landsmeet. she has arranged anora’s marriage to an alistair hardened for the role (once more following irving’s example, learning to teach ambition as he had taught hers. is there love in that, or just selfishness? she doesn’t know). all that matters is that the joint rule neatly fulfils her desire for compromise to please all parties. but then she struggles between two aspects of her goal: she wants to be seen, personally, as the victor; she does not want every noble in ferelden to see her kill the hero of river dane with magic. she knows how that scene will be remembered, in the end. when riordan suggests recruiting him instead, it seems the perfect solution to everything, the salvation of the day. and then she realises she’s broken alistair’s heart, just when he’s breaking hers. she is incapable of backing down in front of them all (it’s only to alistair, her alistair, but she can’t do it—not to a human, and not to someone part of her will always see as a templar—not when everything she wants was so close.) he abandons her for the throne she taught him to want. she goes on with loghain in the party, and eventually—unable to let loghain snatch the final sacrifice from her grasp, and realising she does want to win and live, after it all—convinces him to do the dark ritual.

in terms of her most important relationships with companions: minerva traditionally romances zevran, who is in many ways uniquely her match having learned the same bitter lessons with the crows that she learned from the circle, and who is so dear to her and capable of lightening her heart when no-one else can. i’ve also experimented with the idea of her romancing alistair, to really dramatise the Landsmeet Divorce and capitalise on future political shenanigans where she could one day be his mistress, but more traditionally they are simply an extremely closely trauma-bonded pair of people who are incapable, at least that year, of really understanding each other deep down. it falls into a pattern where she loves someone with all that fierce drive, enough to die for them, but she will always prioritise what she thinks they need over what they are saying and what they want, often with misjudgements and terrible consequences for them both. it was true with amell, it’s true for many others

she has something very intense and homoerotic going on with morrigan, she has a strained relationship with leliana and wynne, and she has respect and comradeship and a fair bit of fundamental disagreement with sten and loghain. the awakening squad are the people she will consider family for life, most notably nathaniel who she started out not liking at all and is now her work wife, her right hand, can finish her sentences, etc.; anders, who remembers her as karl’s annoying teacher’s pet telltale little sister and is still sometimes baffled by who she’s become; velanna, who makes minerva her most genuine self by having regular screaming matches with her as a sign of affection; and oghren who tried to quit drinking at the same time she tried to quit blood magic, leading to many conversations that deeply baffled everyone around them.

the “current” minerva surana is a sharp-tongued leader who was born for the role of warden-commander, who loves her work and that it matters, who has a truer confidence that is less blindly arrogant and more willing to admit to mistakes, who has worked her breathless way up to h*lding h*ands in public with someone she loves, who has finally learned the hard lesson that the world needs more than an heroic example who followed all the rules to truly be bettered... and who, as rebellion brews, has never been one to sit back and watch while others changed the world

[saintsenara]

What do you think about Tom Riddle Sr?And your thoughts on Tom Riddle Sr/Merope Gaunt as a ship? I read some of your answers on Merope Gaunt and I just adore your fic 'Enchanter's Nightshade'. I was curious as to what your thoughts are on his canon character, the way that he is treated in fanon and if you have any headcanons on his character

thank you very much for the asks, pal - and i'm sorry that i'd entirely forgotten that i had an answer for the first sitting in my drafts until the second arrived in my inbox...

[thank you also for the very kind shoutout to enchanter's nightshade!]

and i find tom sr. extremely interesting as a character, and he's someone i think quite a lot of compelling stuff can be done with in fanfiction - particularly in how fic writers can take a sledgehammer to how he's treated by the canon narrative...

which - of course - means that there is a trigger warning for a discussion of rape in what follows, which is under the cut.

tom and merope

it's worth starting by emphasising that the series never thinks of tom sr. as a victim. it treats love potions as benign and broadly amusing [the only time we ever see someone under the influence of one - ron in half-blood prince - it's played for laughs], describes merope's drugging of tom sr. as something she would consider "romantic", and never acknowledges that she was his rapist.

[although it is important to point out that the fanon that voldemort's issues with love come from the circumstances of his conception is something jkr never said. and i also think that it's important, when thinking about tom and merope's relationship, to recognise that all the evidence of canon is that she is subjected to incestuous sexual violence at the hands of her brother and/or father - she is an abused teenager with no meaningful understanding of consent or bodily autonomy, and she evidently views her "relationship", as she sees it, with tom as a means of escaping a life which is undeniable, unrelenting misery.]

[which is to say - i find tom and merope interesting as a pairing because of this inherent nuance, tragedy and violence.]

the series also criticises tom sr. for leaving the relationship - in line both with its broader disdain for absent fathers and idealisation of devoted mothers, and with its prioritisation of love-as-suffering and love-as-sacrifice over forms of love which are more self-indulgent. its view is evidently that tom sr. should have gritted his teeth and remained in merope's life in some way or another [maybe not as her husband, but also not as her survivor] in order to have been involved in his son's life.

indeed, it always stands out to me that - when discussing tom sr. fleeing his abusive relationship - dumbledore refers to merope as "merope riddle". emphasising that the two were married underscores the fact that the text views tom sr. as straightforwardly unadmirable - a husband and father who abandoned his family.

[and he gets his comeuppance. i think it's worth noting that the narrative isn't sympathetic at all about his death - the opening chapter of goblet of fire, where voldemort's murder of the riddles is described, states plainly that nobody likes them - and he finds himself unable to outrun the son he left behind when that son uses his bones in his resurrection ritual... the subtext is clear: abandoning your son was the wrong move, and since good people - like james and lily - don't abandon their son even after their deaths, tom sr. is therefore a bad person.]

that both dumbledore and harry see him like this makes sense within their watsonian characterisations. harry has - as he says when lupin tries to walk out on the pregnant tonks - the view that parents should never abandon their children unless they have literally no choice, which is a perfectly understandable opinion for an orphan who lost their parents in such traumatic circumstances to hold [he also takes a very dim view on merope for dying]. dumbledore, who recognises the dangerous paths overwhelming desire can lead one down, sees himself in merope, and is therefore less willing to examine the cruelty of her actions.

voldemort also thinks of him in this vein - his view of his father, expressed during his resurrection scene in goblet of fire, is that he abandoned merope [with whom he had a consensual relationship] in a fit of pique when she confessed to him that she was a witch. voldemort thinks of his father as a deadbeat who left him to rot - and the series never takes issue with him holding this view, even as it works to prove many of the other things he believes about himself, magic, and power wrong.

tom and voldemort

the role tom sr. plays in voldemort's narrative arc, then, is pretty much unconnected to his experiences at merope's hands - he is not considered by the text to be a warning about the corrosive, oppressive, violent potential of using magic against muggles which voldemort follows his mother in doing, for example.

his role in his son's arc across the seven-book canon is to underscore that voldemort will never successfully outrun his muggle heritage - the fact that his son has his face and his name [and the fact that dumbledore, and then harry, insist on using this name for him after voldemort sheds it, which is - and we should call it what it is, especially given jkr's stance on such things - deadnaming] serves as a way for the text to criticise and humiliate voldemort, undermining his belief that he's something pure and special [and undermining his pride in his descent from slytherin] by making clear that, when all is said and done, he's just an ordinary man with a muggle father.

and so his death occurs purely to enable this narrative treatment of voldemort. he has to kill his dad - because he's trying to eradicate anything muggle from himself - and so the action becomes all about him. tom is basically just there.

but this is something i really like playing with in my own work. i always end up writing tom sr. as not only physically resembling his son - except for the fact, and i'll die on the hill that this is the canon text's intention, that voldemort has his mother's eyes - but as being the source of his mannerisms and many of his non-childhood-trauma-induced personality traits.

partially this is because i think we might as well take the series' belief that voldemort can't escape the riddle genes and go the whole hog with it.

but it's also because i think it's worth skewering the series' view of voldemort's slytherin heritage as - essentially - dooming him to be incapable of change in either positive or negative directions. the way the gaunts are described in canon - violent, unstable, grandiose etc. - is set up to suggest that voldemort gets these aspects of his personality from them, that - like the parseltongue - being a terrorist with delusions of grandeur is just something the heirs of slytherin are bound to inherit.

but i like idea of these traits coming from the less mystical branch of voldemort's lineage - and his decision to indulge them being nothing more than deliberate choice.

tom riddle sr. character notes and headcanons

which leads us to the question of what tom sr. is like as a character separate from merope and voldemort.

we only see him once in canon - where he's talking in a carrying voice to cecilia about how much land his dad owns and correctly identifying morfin as a danger to society - and he's only mentioned a handful more times: his whirlwind marriage; his return home a few months later, which he explains as him having realised he'd been "hoodwinked"; the fact that he's considered even worse than his "rich, snobbish, and rude" parents by the villagers of little hangleton in the period immediately before his death; and that he dies in his evening clothes with a look of pure terror on his face.

his gravestone in the goblet of fire film has him born in 1905, and i like this [although i push his date of birth back a couple of years in order for him to have finished university when he's attacked by merope] because it enables him to be a stereotypical "bright young thing" - the sort of dissolute aristocrat, untroubled both by his father's victorian morals and by the devastating impact of the first world war on men a decade or so older than him, whose exploits dominate our image of the roaring twenties [or - at least - the roaring twenties in britain]. at the start of 1925, before his life all goes wrong, i like him as idle, profligate, bohemian, constantly partying, a keen user of cocaine, promiscuous, vain, and incredibly rude to his servants, tradesmen, and policemen and so on - spending his days in a whirlwind of hangovers, tennis, elaborate fancy-dress balls, modern novels, dining at his club, and piles of liberated flappers, vile bodies [and jeeves and wooster...] style.

and i do think the idea of him as lazy, convinced of his own brilliance, and complacent [personality traits not helped by an education at eton and oxford - he takes a fourth, the lowest-possible passing classification, on a degree in greats - which he has neither the intellect nor the work ethic to succeed at without the power of daddy's money] offers a really interesting side to him being preyed on by merope.

i like him as someone who thinks of himself as rational, cheerfully irreligious, and far too modern and well-bred to waste his time on the silly superstitions of the boring, ordinary people in the village. him mentioning to cecilia about the stories the villagers tell about morfin can be read as him being condescendingly amused by local folklore surrounding the gaunts - a sort of "would you believe it, one of our gardeners is convinced they're wizards! too, too funny!" vibe - and i really like writing him as someone whose total rejection of the possibility of magic and conviction that the gaunts are just pitiable and disgusting, rather than dangerous [the view of the rest of the village], means that when merope offers him a glass of shimmering water he thinks "why, what a lark!" instead of running.

when he returns home, however, i imagine him as profoundly changed - paranoid, beset by nightmares, increasingly superstitious [voldemort's own rather... catholic leanings being mirrored in his father going full sebastian flyte is delicious to me], unwilling to eat or drink anything he hasn't seen prepared [one of the reasons, perhaps, why the servants at the riddle house dislike him so much], unable to go anywhere near the stables and see the horse he was riding when evil befell him, unwilling to talk to anyone or receive visitors [hence his reputation for being snobbish and rude - the villagers interpret this as him thinking them beneath him], unwilling to spend money or give gifts because he's afraid of unwittingly finding himself ensnared again [giving him a reputation for being rather miserly], and so on.

i like the idea of him becoming incredibly reclusive, losing his interest in the social life he once enjoyed overnight, and spending his days sleeping poorly and staying inside. i imagine his parents being supportive to the best of their ability, but that tom's inability to speak openly what happened to him [he, like his son, doesn't like doctors because he fears they will accuse him of being mad] means they can only do so much. their understanding of tom's marriage is the same as the rest of the village's - that tom consensually slept with merope, she told him she was pregnant, he "did the right thing" and married her, and he then discovered she was lying.

[he knows - of course - that she was pregnant, and he is convinced in his bones that the child will one day find and destroy him...]

tom's obvious post-traumatic stress disorder would undoubtedly have been enough to exempt him from conscription when the second world war broke out - although, of course, his medical unfitness wouldn't have been described in these terms.

and i think it's really interesting to consider how this would be received in the village - especially since the riddles would have gone out of their way to conceal his mental state from the public [hence their performance of the rituals of aristocratic life - including taking their dinner in full evening dress - even after he comes home a changed man]. i really like the idea of the general view being that - unlike the ordinary, hard-working men of little hangleton - tom managed to buy his way out of service [not only in the army but also on the home front], and that, to be quite honest, it was no wonder wounded war-hero frank bryce snapped and killed him.

which is a nice segue into the fact that frank bryce/tom riddle sr. is a concept i've recently become completely convinced by. frank staying in the riddle house after he's eliminated as a suspect in the riddles' deaths is something i find really quite moving - not only because of what it says about the disconnect between the historical memory many brits have of the war and the war's reality that a disabled veteran would find himself with nowhere else to go, but because it must indicate a genuine affection for the riddles which nobody else shared. the garden bringing some comfort to tom sr. on his worst days triggering a solemn, steadfast love for him in frank [requited or not] which endured past his death really compels me.

[and i also think that frank having some deeper connection with tom sr. - rather than just being his gardener - provides a more satisfactory explanation for why voldemort uses him as a horcrux murder than we get in canon. voldemort seeing - in his father's mind or frank's - that the two were entangled in some way would only increase his fury that tom sr. abandoned him and his mother...]

i'm also hugely convinced by the potential of shipping tom sr. with dumbledore. i don't particularly like stories in which voldemort is collected from the orphanage and raised by his father - firstly, because most of the things i find interesting about him are so heavily rooted in his orphanhood, and secondly, because i think that tom sr.'s move would be to place his son as the ward of someone he felt certain he could pay to keep quiet rather than bringing him up himself. but i can see dumbledore becoming aware of a magical child lurking in a london orphanage years earlier than in canon, having some sort of misguided belief that he should track down said child's family, turning up on the doorstep of the riddle house with a sinister toddler glowering in his arms, and insinuating himself into tom sr.'s life in a way which is either very funny or very dark.

cecilia is also an incidental character i'm unjustifiably obsessed with. i like her as tom's casual girlfriend in 1925 - with neither of them imagining for a second that the relationship will ever be serious - who then turns into the only friend from his glamorous set who remains in contact with him when he comes home.

and - i'm afraid to say - the plot-bunny of cecilia deciding to try and unravel the mystery of what's made tom so ill and scouring london orphanages until she discovers tom jr. has now bounced into my head... joining the other tom sr. fic i would pay cash to see, a rebecca-style caper where the second mrs riddle is haunted everywhere she goes by the spectre of merope...

[maxphilippa]

something something about self sacrifice and boundless love but i really would like to talk about how golden cheese cookie is so SO devoted to her people and how her GREED is for THEM.

i'm sorry but i don't think i've ever seen one of the ancients so miserable over their people until her story arc dropped. sure, pure vanilla suffered, but his people STILL EXISTED, and his kingdom as well, even if it was on certain conditions it flourished and the main focus was DE alongside Black Raisin's story. Hollyberry's worries were most focused on her family (though you can see her love for her kingdom and Dark Cacao was an idiot of sorts (who was still manipulated but even then cared for his kingdom), but nothing like Golden Cheese.

Which makes SENSE. And it kind of gets worse when Dark Cacao confirms that he heard the news of her precious kingdom being turned to dust, and how they haven't seen her in SO MUCH TIME, it's obvious that Golden Cheese Cookie isolated herself the moment she got back to what remained from her home.

Something I would like to mention is how people were treating her as a cretin with the little details we found on the art book since she was described as "greedy" and like an... dictator of sorts? (however i don't think this part has been translated correctly). But in reality she turned out to be one of the most heartbreakingand caring characters in CRK ever, and her conversation with Gingerbrave made it so much worse for her.

Something I would like to point out is how yes, Golden Cheese is greedy. But the execution of how she was greedy was PERFECT. Of course a tirant wouldn't be an legendary hero, unlike what others might have thought.

Golden Cheese's greed is focused on her people, her so beloved treasures.

She always wants more and more, she always fights for them, for everyone who she thinks of as dear. Because they're HER people and she wants her treasures to be shinning and safe. Her greed is translated to her infinite love for them. She isn'tone give up just yet. So that's why she FOUGHT for SO MANY YEARS to KEEP THAT DIGITAL WORLD OF HERS SAFE. So of course it hurts to let go. You ever think of it. She PUT THEM ALL ON A DIGITAL WORLD, ALL OF THEM ON A SARCOPHAGUS, JUST TO MAKE SURE THEY WERE THERE, AND DISCONNECTED HER SOUL FROM HER BODY JUST FOR THEM. BECAUSE THAT WAS HER LAST OPTION.

AND EVEN THEN SHE WAS WILLING TO LITERALLY COMMIT SUICIDE TO MAKE SURE THEIR MEMORIES WERE INTACT.

And so that's why her parallels with Gingerbrave hurt me SO SO much. Think about it.

Both Gingerbrave and Golden Cheese think highly of their people- about their worlds themselves. They're both greedy on that topic. However Gingerbrave's greed was bigger than GC's at one point- just before she finally got back with her soul jam that is. Because Gingerbrave wanted to protect the whole Earthbread. Because HIS FRIENDS and THE FRIENDS OF HIS FRIENDS were there.

And this is no surprise since the very start Gingerbrave seems to put some reason to the ancients. No matter how deep in theor own thoughts they are, he always says something that breaks them in one way or another.

They both lost their people and couldn't do anything about it. However, GC finally got to understand that getting help wasn't bad and that she had to let go from that reality. Just the same way GB did when he escaped the oven. They both have endured so much pain.

So when GC's self sacrifice tendency clashes with GB's [greedy desire to help]... it hurts for her.

They both want a happy kingdom.

But for that they're going to still keep on trying.

I love you, Golden Cheese Cookie. I'll pay you the cost of therapy.