#thanks for writing this all out wow

[everybody-loves-purdy]

The Genetic Journey of Two Sisters: an Analysis of ThunderClan’s Gene Pool

Flashnose and Daisytoe made their debut in Goosefeather’s Curse, and are revealed to be sisters born to unknown parents. Although these sisters fade into the rest of ThunderClan’s old history, their genetics encompass the entirety of ThunderClan, bleeding into two other Clans. Here is an analysis of their profound genetic impact, starting with Flashnose. (Cats who’s names are red have kits)

Flashnose + unknown tom have a single daughter together: Swiftbreeze. Later in life, Swiftbreeze and Adderfang have five children: Leopardfoot, Patchpelt, Redtail, Spottedleaf, and Willowpelt. Leopardfoot and Pinestar have Tigerstar, Mistkit, and Nightkit. Patchpelt and Goldenflower have Swiftpaw & Lynxkit, while with Robinwing, he has Longtail. Willowpelt, with unknown toms, have Darkstripe & Graystripe. With Whitestorm, she has Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur.

→ Tigerstar and Goldenflower have Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, and with Sasha, Tadpole, Hawkfrost and Mothwing. Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight have Sparkpelt, Alderheart, Dandelionkit, and Juniperkit. Sparkpelt and Larksong have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit. Tawnypelt and Rowanclaw have Tigerstar II, Dawnpelt, and Flametail. Tigerstar II and Dovewing have Lightleap, Shadowsight, Pouncestep, Birchpaw, and Rowankit, while Dawnpelt and Crowfrost have Strikestone, Sleekwhisker, and Juniperclaw.

→ Graystripe and Silverstream have Feathertail and Stormfur, and with Millie, he also fathers Briarlight, Blossomfall, and Bumblestripe. Stormfur and Brook have Pine that Clings to Rock, Lark that Sings at Dawn, Feather of Flying Hawk, and Breeze that Rustles the Leaves. Blossomfall and Thornclaw have Stemleaf, Shellfur, Plumstone, and Eaglewing. Stemleaf and Spotfur have Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw.

→ Sorreltail and Brackenfur have Cinderheart, Poppyfrost, Honeyfern, Molepaw, Lilyheart, and Seedpaw. Cinderheart and Lionblaze have Fernsong, Sorrelstripe, Hollytuft, Spotfur, Snaptooth, and Flywhisker. Fernsong and Ivypool have Thriftear, Flipclaw, and Bristlefrost. Sorrelstripe and Dewnose have Bayshine and Myrtlebloom. Spotfur, as previously mentioned has Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw with Stemleaf. Thriftear and Bayshine have Moonpaw.

→ Poppyfrost and Berrynose have Cherryfall and Molewhisker.

→ Lilyheart and Snowbush have Larksong, Honeyfur, and Leafshade. As previously mentioned, Larksong and Sparkpelt have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit.

This wraps up Flashnose’s genetic line, moving us into Daisytoe’s genetic line.

Daisytoe and Rooktail had Moonflower and Goosefeather. Moonflower and Stormtail had Bluestar and Snowfur. Bluestar and Oakheart had Mistystar, Stonefur, and Mosskit. Mistystar and Blackclaw had Reedwhisker, Primrosepaw, Pikepaw, and Perchkit. Snowfur and Thistleclaw had Whitestorm. Whitestorm and Brindleface had Ferncloud, Ashfur, Elderkit, and Tulipkit. With Willowpelt, he also had Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur. Ferncloud and Dustpelt had Spiderleg, Shrewpaw, Birchfall, Larchkit, Hollykit, Foxleap, and Icecloud. Spiderleg and Daisy had Toadstep and Rosepetal. Birchfall and Whitewing had Dovewing and Ivypool, who’s mates & kits were previously mentioned.

Although Daisytoe and Flashnose’s bloodlines began separately, they converge at certain points (i.e. Whitestorm x Willowpelt, Tigerstar II x Dovewing) to form an extensive genetic pool that is responsible for 30/46= 65% of the current ThunderClan population (as of Wind) & 6/30= 20% of the current ShadowClan population. Holy shit.

I’d add Robinwing x Fuzzypelt as an honorable mention, but given the fact that their son (Dustpelt) and their granddaughter (Ferncloud) have kits, their line merges with Daisytoe’s since her great-grandson is Whitestorm, who’s also Ferncloud’s father. Alternatively, we could focus on Frostfur, but since both of her sons took mates from Flashnose’s genetic line, their entire family line is one with Daisytoe & Flashnose’s.

Times like this make me feel very fortunate that certain information was retconned. If the fact that Redtail & Brindleface had Sandstorm remained canon, this would make Squirrelstar, Leafpool, Lionblaze, Jayfeather, and Hollyleaf all related to Flashnose. Which raises that ThunderClan percentage from 65% to 76%. This would also make Lionblaze and Cinderheart related.

Seeing how much ThunderClan grew from these pair of sisters is always a “wow” moment for me. Their spirits have likely faded from StarClan’s ranks, but I can’t help but wonder if they ever looked down on their descendants and felt proud of how big their families have grown.

I’ve never seen the exact percentages before that’s absolutely wild. It’s insane how these one off characters that no fan would really remember otherwise, let alone remember they are sisters, have ultimately become the root of most of the current ThunderClan incest problems.

[tmos-time]

hi

so uhhh this line in your erisol understuck post "not getting into all the ELABORATE thoughts i have on how the geno route would go"

…………can we have some of it????I'm dying of curiousity ever since I read that post lol

also just to let you know that your aus are all very fabulous and they live in my brain rent free all the time. i was wondering do you mind fanart??

aww thank you, i don't mind at all! would love to be tagged if anyone makes any <3

as for the understuck geno route; here's a loose plot path for it!

basically, the plan would be to have a split in how the route could theoretically go; a normal version of the route following close enough to undertale's canon events with the characters given, and a secret route for speedrunners because sollux deserves to have a proper battle at the chagrin of people trying to speedrun LOL

[desceros]

Mr. LEON (think late 30's/early 40's) reuniting with his spouse after a long time away. It's sweet, it's silly, it's followed by absolutely nasty half-clothed, sweaty sex.

me, asks for rise leo prompts, instantly regrets it also i'm not saying this is a tactical!leo fic, but i'm also... not NOT saying it leonardo/reader, EXPLICIT, female reader, 2.6k; leo comes back and wants to smell like home again. filthy nasty smut, soft doki dokis, lame married people jokes, one (1) defiled couch

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, you don’t think twice when you see the rustle of your curtains. Not when you’ve finally, finally trained your stupid heart into not thundering out of your chest when you see it, thinking he’s back when it’s just the breeze. Today, you hardly even glance at them as you continue watering your plants, unbothered, humming, unsuspecting.

It’s so, so typical of him to wait until now to come home.

“Boo!” 

Your scream fills the apartment as you flail, pulse rocketing to the atmosphere in panic when you’re very suddenly not alone. Hands catch you mid-flinch, and it takes you a second to realize that your assailant is, in fact, perfectly safe and didn’t deserve the mighty swing of your watering can. 

Except actually, yes he did, this little asshole—!

“Leo!” you wail, letting him gather you close and press him to his plastron. Your hands clutch at the edge of his keratin, face burrowing in his throat. “You fucking asshole, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t resist,” he says, his laughter still rolling at the crown of your head as one hand spreads into your lower back to press you close and the other cups your nape. “You just looked so cute, y’know? My adorable little wifey, wearing my shirt and humming in our living room.”

“Stop talking,” you mutter sulkily, wrapping your arms around his neck and swallowing the tears you feel burning at your eyes as happiness swells in your chest like a mighty wave. He always makes fun of you for crying when he comes home, and you’re already a little miffed. 

Your ire dies as you feel him nuzzling behind your ear with his beak, his lungs expanding as he inhales your scent. He’d confessed to you once, a few years into your marriage, that this was his favorite part of coming home; more than the sex, more than the home-cooked meals, more than sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row. He caresses the line of your throat with his beak, stitching your natural perfume back into place in his mind, sinking into you because it’s not the walls around you that he calls home.

“…Missed you,” he murmurs, making you sigh as he brushes lovesick kisses to your shoulder. 

“You were gone too long this time,” you tell him, lowering one arm to press a palm to his plastron when you feel his lips seeking more skin, letting him pull the neckline of his shirt away from your clavicle. “Thought you were the breeze, coming in.” 

His mouth curves into something filthy at the dip of your throat, his hands finding your hips and giving them a squeeze. “Yeah? Funny. I plan on coming in something, all right.”

You laugh way too hard, a little mortified that after all these years you still find this clown funny at the lamest lines. Worse still is how he watches you do it, his face going stupid with naked fondness like making you laugh is the best thing he’s done all day.

“You are such an unfunny loser, oh my god,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. 

“And yet you’re still laughing,” he says, his smile widening when you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve been stockholmed,” you tell him, reaching up your hands to cup his beak and pull him into a kiss. 

Leo has always been good with his mouth, in every way, all the years you’ve known him. His kisses are no exception; seconds into it you’re purring, the sweet friction of his mouth against yours warming you from the inside, parting on a soft sigh when a hand grips your nape and tilts you just so. 

“I wanna fucking eat you alive,” he mumbles against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and tugs. You tremble, and you know he feels it as his hands go a little tighter. “Missed you.” 

Your fingers find the tails of his mask, tangling in them and using them to pull his face away, just a little. He growls, but you ignore him easily. “Don’t you want to take a shower, baby? Get comfy while I cook you something to eat? You smell like work.”

“I know,” he says, his other hand sliding down to the cloth shorts that are barely visible beneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers gliding up the back to cup the curve of your ass. “And I wanna smell like you, now.”

…He gets like this, sometimes, when he comes home. Touchy. Possessive. You’ve always wondered if it has to do with how he doesn’t smell himself on you when he’s been gone, or if it’s because you start wearing his clothes like he’ll feel it wherever he is. The longer the separation, the worse he gets. 

The worse he gets, the better it is.

“Yeah? You wanna smell like me?” you echo as you trail your touch along the red crescents prettying his face, playing into his turtle-brain, feeling your eyelids close as his fingers flutter on your skin. Oh, he wants it bad. “What do I smell like, handsome? I smell good?” 

“So fucking good,” he groans, his huge hand releasing your nape to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that’s wet and deep. It feels good, claws a mangled moan from your chest that has him mirroring the sound himself. He pulls his head back, pressing his thumb to the corner of your mouth and sliding it under your lower lip where you feel the slick mess of his kiss. “…Open,” he says, making your lip pucker under his touch. 

You obey, watching his pupils dilate as they lock onto your mouth, then your tongue when you let it press against the pad of his thumb where he’s holding you open.

“Shit. You’re so hot,” he says, a wounded rumble that makes your lips curl into a coquettish smile before you wrap them around his thumb, sucking and lathing it with your tongue, pressing your teeth in and closing your eyes when you hear him moan. 

“Not gonna smell much like me by staring at my mouth,” you tell him when you let him go, your hooded eyes meeting his as you smile.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he wheezes, and with three steps he’s got you splayed on your couch, the weight of him pinning you to the cushions while his mouth fucking devours you. All you can do is hold on, one hand tangling in his mask tails and the other clutching as his carapace, crushed and absolutely thrilled about it.

When he breaks the kiss to grip his hands in your shorts, pulling them down, you laugh, drawing his hungry gaze even as he doesn’t stop disrobing you. 

“What?” he asks, mouth going just a little crooked in a smile of his own as you shake your head, staring at him adoringly. 

“Just love you,” you tell him, shifting your legs to help him out a bit and biting down on a grin when you can finally spread them and slink your knees to either side of his hips. You slip one of your arms over your head to grip one of the throw pillows, your other trailing down your throat to entice.  “C’mon, pretty boy. Let me see you drop.”

Leo maintains the stare as he straightens his spine, his hands going to his belt buckle to slide it out of place with a metal clink. The button is quick to follow, and when he unzips and slides his pants down just enough for his cloaca to glisten in the afternoon sunlight, you press your fingers to your mouth, tongue instinctively seeking contact. 

“God, look at you,” you whine, your thighs rising to cup his hips and squeeze. “I wanna lick you. Come up here?”

He shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into your open mouth and pressing on your tongue. “Later, baby. If you want a show, you’ve got, like, thirty seconds for it.” 

Moaning, you soak his fingers with your spit, watching with hazy eyes as he brings them to his cloaca and slides in to the knuckle. He’s always rougher with himself than you are with him, even though he’s told you again and again he prefers it when you’re the one fingering him. 

He makes pretty little gasping moans as he fingers himself hard, his arm flexing and drawing your hungry gaze. He’s gotten so god damned big over the years, making you feel small every time he does something that highlights the difference. It feels good, makes you feel kept, protected. So long as Leonardo Hamato draws breath, no harm will ever come to you, a promise he has the strength to keep.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut as the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of himself get wetter. It’s a familiar sound that makes you ache, craving the thick cock you know is about to slide out like it’s air. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, Leo,” you babble in praise, knowing he likes to hear it, that you like telling him. “Handsome as fuck. God, I can’t believe you’re mine, that you let me see you like this—”

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing his cloaca to your cunt, his wet fingers gripping at your hips as he rubs your slick against his. “You can’t talk like that, baby, I’m gonna—”

He cuts himself off on a low groan, his hips rolling against yours and his tail pressing hard between your thighs to garner the friction. It feels so good, so fucking good, your skin burning hot with each messy glide of him against you. Your head rolls, fingers gripping in the pillow behind your head and back arching to try and writhe closer. 

“Leo,” you keen, breath heaving when he releases his death grip on the back of the couch to plant his hand by your head, his back arching over you and blocking everything else out. 

“Don’t come, don’t you dare come,” he hisses, lips curled into a bit of a snarl. “Not until I’m inside, understand?” 

Eyes wet, you nod, choking back the shimmer on your skin that builds as he keeps rubbing cruelly. With one particularly good roll of his hip, you snatch a hand to his bicep, trembling. “Stop, stop—!”

He pauses, letting you claw away from the brink to obey. Sucking in a long breath, you open your eyes and see that he’s staring at you like he’s gone mad. 

“Okay?” he asks, voice fucked out, and you nod, whining when he resumes rubbing his cloaca against you, your eyes falling shut and head lolling to the side as you start the burning process all over again. 

“Feels so good, Leo,” you breathe, skin glowing when you feel him duck in close and glide his tongue up the side of your neck. You’re soaked all over with sweat and slick, every muscle in your body trembling from taut desire that’s just shy of too-much, leaving you delirious and stupid.

With a hitched breath, Leo reaches between you, fingers preparing you for the familiar penetration you want more than anything else. With a hiss, his body goes taut, his cock dropping and sliding inside like his katana into its sheath; like you were made for him, perfectly molded, expertly designed. 

“God, fuck,” he wheezes, his forearms framing your face as he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss that breaks on a low moan. He pumps his hips against yours slowly, shaking with each breath that has him bottoming out where he belongs. “You feel so—I missed you.” 

Floating with pleasure, you cup his nape, wrapping your legs around him as best as you can to pull him deeper, needing to feel him in your throat. Your hands find the back of his head, sliding easily on his rough, sweat-slick skin, seeking his kiss and finding it. “Oh, Leo, love you, love you so much.”

He marries his mouth to yours as he fucks in in in, feeling a bit like he never pulls out for how full he leaves you. Every neuron in your body stands at attention, taking note of his weight crushing you, the smell of his salty skin, the taste of his tongue as it curls against your own. 

“Look at me, look at me when you come, pretty girl,” he chokes, because he knows your body better than you do and can tell you’re close before you feel it. You open your eyes and meet his, untying his blue mask and letting it slide to your chest right as you feel your orgasm rising. 

“Leo, gonna come,” you whimper, watching as he nods, one hand finding your cheek, his thumb tracing under your eyes where they’re wet. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel it.” 

Like you do with everything else, you obey and come. It’s a long, wrenching thing, the pleasure washing over you like waves of a mighty ocean as he keeps moving, prolonging it, intensifying it. On and on it goes, your body awash with ecstasy and Leo, always Leo, there to hold you and let you fall. 

“Please,” you gasp, clenching at his carapace, begging him to meet you here in the glow. “Leo, please—” 

His hand drops down to your throat, fingers ever so slightly curling around as his hips thrust a little harder, the wet sounds of your hips meeting loud in your ears now that you’re listening for it. It’s filthy, his mouth hanging open and eyes going wild as they gaze at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. 

With a wounded sound he comes, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and hand going a little too-tight on your throat as he fills you over and over again, each hot thread coating and claiming in equal measure. You let one hand grip the back of his wrist where he’s choking you, crushing him in harder as he groans and presses into you even further as he finishes, watching as the edges of your vision go a little hazy before he releases you and lets you suck in a gasp of air. 

After a few moments of catching your breath, he picks up his head, his beak wrinkling a bit as he stretches his leg out with a hiss. “Gah, fuck, we’re getting too old for couch fucking. Made a fucking mess.”

“Never too old for couch fucking,” you rasp, causing his eyes to fall to where there’s a mark on your throat in the shape of his hand. He licks his lips, and you feel his cock give an interested twitch. “Oh? You gonna make good on that?”

“Too old for back-to-back marathon fucking,” he pouts, though he does arch his hips once in a good sport try that makes your skin light up a bit. “Gimme like, fifteen. I’ll eat you out while we wait, then we can do something about it.” 

You raise an imperious eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes of you eating me out? You? Leonardo Hamato? Only fifteen? I can’t believe an imposter of my husband is here when I was so sure it was him.”

He grins, a boyish thing that makes him look younger and captures your heart all over again. “…Yeah, okay. Let’s be ambitious and say half an hour.”

You settle into the couch, waiting for his cock to retreat back into his cloaca and spending the meantime trailing your fingers along the back of his nape, sighing out in delight. 

“…I missed you, too,” you tell him, watching as his face smooths out and every concern flies away like a butterfly startled by the breeze because he loves you so, so much and you know it. Then, realizing you hadn’t said it yet, “…Welcome home, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, bending down and nuzzling his beak against your temple, inhaling deeply with a smile. “I’m home.”

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[triglycercule]

WOOOO!!!!! 2025!!!! NEW YEARS AT TRIGLYCERCULE'S!!!!!!

this is gonna be technically my second year using tumblr during new years heheheh BUT IM NOT COUNTING 2024 (because i dont remember it) but i just wanna really say thank you for how this year went :3 <333

murder time trio. murder time trio I STILL LOVE MY AMAZING TRIO EVEN AFTER ITS BEEN A WHOLE YEAR (which is crazy!!!) I WANT TO KEEP ON LOVING THEM (and they keep loving eachother hehe x3) FOR MANY MANY MORE YEARS TO COME!!!! they bring me so much joy,,,, i still have so MUCH i want to say about them i still have so many more ideas i want to draw and write and find new ways to show my love for them!!! I LOVE THE MURDER TIME TRIO SO MUCH!!!!!!! I AM THEIR NUMBER 2 FAN!!!! 💙💜❤️

ヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉ ME WHEN I THINK OF THE TRIO :3333

and carrying on with my love for the trio,,,, I HAVE SO MUCH RESPECT FOR PEOPLE WHO MADE ART OR HCS OR FICS ABOUT THE TRIO!!!! I APPRECIATE YOUR WORK SO MUCH I LOVE SEEING ANYTHING ABOUT THEM AT ALL (^o^) i see art of them and my mood instantly improves :3 i read a fic of them and i'm inspired for the next 3 days :3 i see an post talking about them and I WANT TO SHARE MY LOVE FOR THEM JUST AS THE POSTER ALSO HAS!!!!! here's to a year with so much more trio x333

and i especially want to say THANK YOU MY MUTUALS!!!!! me when i see my mutual post (yippee (^o^)／) ME WHEN THE POST IS TRIO RELATED (💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥) but fr being on tumblr this year was fun ofc bc of my trio BUT ALSO BECAUSE OF MY MUTUALS!!!! past triglycercule wouldnt actually believe i was hanging out with people online and it was one of my favorite parts of the year :D my favorite silly bit must be diglycercule (those who know) AND OF COURSE MTT NATION!!!!!! proud council member of mtt nation citizen count 4 :3

as i type this it's not 2025 yet (10 pm :3) but i still wanted to make this post. this year has been soososososososo much fun and as always im grateful for the creation and passion this fandom has and the people i've come to meet through it, mutual or not!!!!!!! and of course the murder time trio!!!! 🔪🧣🪓 here's a year of much more fun and much more trio THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡

triglycercule OUT HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! (on my way to play rain of dust and have the beat drop right as the clock strikes 12 :3)

[chasedeys]

my unpopular opinion apparently is top joe

noooo don't worry i get you 😭 holding your hands very tenderly and saying i get uuuuuuuuuu, and i am. so thrilled. that u get me. would u like to get married. jk jk i plan to die alone <3 ANYWAYS because you mentioned top joe and im quiet literally in the process of writing top joe i will share my writing in this ask <3

it's the joeteemarr fic under the cut btw lmaoooo when will this fic be done oh my god

you know what's hilarious is that. this is the sex part (every part of this fic is the sex part oh my god its supposed to be pwp tf happened). but this is just straight up YAPPING. the hell. BUT ANYWAY THEY DO HAVE SEX OKAY 😭 there is actual top joe action joe actually DOES fuck tee 😭 i just haven't written it yet....and like. i haven't really proof read anything so if there's any mistake in these screenshots look away i beggggg and like this part was written a mix of the exact night before and immediately after my shit exam so you can imagine the amount of cortisol in my body as i typed this shit out. might possibly have blacked out when i typed it actually wow.

i have written fucking 5.4k of this fic oh my godddd what the ever living hell.............and it's nowhere near finished. i have no idea how long it's going to be. it's literally supposed to be just pwp. porn without fucking plot. 3 parts. one of joe sucking tees dick. two of tee fucking ja'marr. and three of joe fucking tee. three because tee had three touchdowns for joe. why the hell is there 5k and counting. it's not going to be double digits but like. why the fuck is it 5k already. it's literally just smut but all of the sudden there was FEELINGS jesus. im blaming. the narrative. the fucking narrative 😭.

feel free to ask all abt it btwww like idk give me a random word and if there actually is the word and i'll give you the paragraph lmaooo this is mostly bc i don't know when i'll be able to finish it 😭 my schedule is getting shit packed fuckkk my life. or just ask me random shit about it i'll share a random part of it anyway i have no concept of self restraint <3 literally just ask me to share the title or the cover that i have already edited for some reason and i will happily 😭😭

[unsurebazookacore]

my mom very awkwardly coming into my room and handing me my freshly folded laundry telling me "you should be happy in life" 30 minutes after i finished a full mental breakdown in front of her because she said she's not paying for college unless I get into a top 30 university

[benevolenterrancy]

AND IT'S COMPLETED! Last chapter finally posted!

The Torchwood team manages to get themselves dumped into the middle of the Korean War and have to struggle their way through injuries, medical staff, time anomalies, demon hunters, and more general confusion than even they're used to dealing with on the regular in order to find a way home.

Meanwhile the MASH crew get a bunch of British spooks who just may win for being the weirdest patients they've ever had, and that's saying a lot.

[dreamerdrop]

One of my hobbies is taking characters from dating sims and romance games who are all meant to be paired solely with the player character and shipping them with each other instead.

[xlmibby]

i'm a bit emotional about being a guest in xlmi zine because i remember when i was a baby writer. back then, i used to watch big amazing famous writers creating for zines and having a lot of kudos under their fics and getting artworks and a lot of love for their works. one quiet thought in my mind was "i wish i could be like that one day"... and look at me now being like the writers i used to look up to😭😭

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[end-orfino]

ahhhhhh i remember why i dont read comics & books and watch movies as much as I should. Because they make me lose it

[despairforme]

[todayisafridaynight]

Hey so Snap this is going to be so fucking weird, but honestly don’t care. So I was watching a clip of Drag Race Philippines and it was the make over episode and I think they were making over family members and this father was all about getting into drag. So, I just wanted to tell you never forget how much of a lovely loving kind and caring father you have, who loves you and protects you and makes you feel heard. That’s all.

i'd have to die before i forget how great my dad is thank you for the opportunity to brag about him again anon

[writereleaserepeat]

Chemical Romance

Loosely inspired by @justplainwhump's story Pet Safety. In Pet Safety, the MC drops some details that suggest Romantics in their universe can be chemically altered to need another person nearby. I thought this was a brilliant idea and ran with it for a short story (that I haven't really edited or revised, fuck it we ball).

Summary: After countless trials and many failed experiments, X001 is the first chemically-altered Romantic available for sale. The scientist responsible watches over his subject as she is introduced to her buyer - and carefully-tailored chemical match - for the first time. X001 soon learns what it's like to need someone more than she needs life itself.

CW: institutionalized slavery, implied medical whump, chemical modifications, fade to black noncon/dubcon

X001 knelt patiently on the plush carpet beside the chaise. She could sense that her handler wasn’t quite as patient, particularly with the way he kept twisting the leash between his fingers, a gentle tug on her collar each time.

Perhaps her handler was just as excited as she was. Not just excited, but nervous. X001 hadn’t been this nervous since her first days in training. Today she was going to meet her new owner, her Master, the very person she had been working so hard to learn how to please. A chill ran up X001’s spine, a sensation she was barely able to swallow down. She couldn’t let her nerves show, not now, not when it mattered the most.

Voices murmured outside the door, warm words running together, the comforting hum of idle conversation. No commands came for her, not yet. X001 was certain if there was a command, she wouldn��t miss it. Every sense was attuned to her handler, and soon, to her Master. Her handler had told X001 that if her new Master was satisfied with their trial, she would get to go home with them.

Home was what she had been working so hard towards, wasn’t it? It's what she was made for.

---

“As you can see, ’01 is a physically spectacular specimen,” Val said as he gestured towards the one-way glass. The girl knelt unmoving where she was nestled in the thick pile of the carpet, her posture perfect, and her brilliant green eyes fixed glassily on some distant point. As unflattering as the training facility uniforms could be, it was hard to mistake the delicacy of her petite figure, and impossible to tear one’s eyes from the thick russet curls that cascaded down her shoulders.

At least, that’s what Val had been told to regurgitate from the facility’s marketing materials.

“That’s why I chose her,” the buyer said, his gaze transfixed on the subject, not once turning his attention back to Val.

Perhaps Val would have been irritated if he was in marketing. But that wasn't his business, never had been. He continued, unbothered.

“As you’ve surely been reminded by the purchasing agent, X001 is the first product available for sale with these particular modifications. Although our experimental models have shown great success and promise, there is no guarantee that X001 will perform to specifications.” Val also regurgitated this, all but verbatim, from the materials he’d been given. He wasn’t a salesman, no, he was a scientist.

It had been years of hard work and tireless nights. It had been dozens of destroyed products, specimens that were ruined beyond refurbishment, and millions of dollars of company money poured into equipment and supplies. It had been begging his superiors for another chance, promising them that he would make the company's next cash cow.

Eventually, it had also been a success.

“I hear you,” the buyer said, the patience in his voice slipping. “I’ve been told that same thing at least ten times now. I think it's worth the risk, especially for a pretty thing like that.”

Val’s grip on his pen tightened. He’d waited for this moment for many months now, and it was finally here. It was time to prove himself.

His heart thundered inside his chest, and Val nodded to himself as much as the buyer.

“Very well. Are you ready for your trial to begin?”

Lust dripped from the buyer’s tongue as he answered.

“Absolutely.”

---

A clicking tone came through the intercom, a sound which seemed to signal something to X001’s handler. She didn’t move as he unclipped the leash from the ring on her collar and pulled away. He took a single step, then paused, and she felt his hand rest gently on the top of her head.

“Remember your training. Don’t disappoint me, ’01.”

“Yes, sir.” The demure whisper was one she’d practiced until she’d become hoarse, but today, it was as smooth as honey. X001 was merely grateful it hadn’t cracked under the nerves that strained her body.

The comfort of the hand disappeared. Her handler exited the room, leash in hand, leaving X001 alone.

She knew what came next. It would settle in her stomach within the next thirty seconds, and over the course of five minutes, it would buzz throughout her body like electricity. That insatiable longing, the primal need to be close to a human person, would begin to broil to the surface. Her skin would get covered in gooseflesh, like she had been plunged into an ice bath.

To be isolated like this, utterly alone in a room, would slowly become agony.

X001 thought back briefly to the time before her body had been weaponized. Early in training, before she’d been dragged to the medical wing every morning for new injections and infusions, she hadn’t felt like this. She could be alone in her cell for hours, sometimes days, and be perfectly content with the solitude. Not just content, but grateful.

That had changed, though, and she didn’t know why. They'd done something. Something she'd never have the privilege of understanding.

All X001 did know was that she needed someone. She needed them now, at her side, before the pain in her chest became unbearable. Her handler, a different handler, her Master. Anyone would be enough to settle the unease.

---

“As you can see,” Val explained as gestured towards the subject that sat beyond the glass, “we’ve engineered a nervous response upon isolation from human contact.”

It had hardly been a minute since Handler Jones had left the room, and already X001 was trembling where she knelt. Muscles strained beneath her supple, tanned skin; her effort was apparent as she tried to keep still. Those stunning green eyes, once unblinking, now fluttered nervously.

The warmth in his stomach spread as he watched his experiment succeed, fulfilling his decade of promises to his superiors. Val continued his explanation eagerly.

“Part of this response is conditioning, and part of it is the chemical manipulation I discussed earlier. Her very brain chemistry and nervous system function have been altered to make her not just crave human contact, but require it for survival. The moment you walk in, you should notice her relax. She’ll be inseparable from you. Even in her sleep she’ll reach out for you, her body telling her that she needs your touch.”

The buyer hummed beneath his breath, and he watched ’01 tremble with a languid smile.

“And what if I do leave her alone?”

“That, sir, would be one of the most painful things you could do to her.”

---

Seconds became minutes, and the aching in X001’s chest mounted. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably, her muscles ached, and her head spun. Her training slipped away so easily when she got like this, when she was alone. The only thought she could hold on to was the thought of touching someone, curling up against their body, sinking against their naked skin. It was the only cure for her present sickness.

She dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. Her hands were still folded neatly in front of her, but the subtle flexing gave her something to distract from the pain wracking her body.

No, it wasn’t pain, not exactly. She knew pain, she’d grown accustomed to it. This sensation was need. It was like thirst, or hunger, or desperation for air. Every part of her thrummed in its cadence.

Then the door handle clicked open.

It took all of X001’s training not to throw herself at the man who’d walked into the room. In an instant the discomfort in her body began to ebb, but the fluttering of her heart continued. She wanted to be touched, held, comforted. It was the only cure for the ache deep in her bones.

Although she hadn’t looked up at the man’s face – she wasn’t permitted to – she was drawn in by the intricate designs on his well-polished shoes. The well-tailored pants and unscuffed leather dripped with and air luxury, and a scent of burnt vanilla and whiskey seemed to follow as he entered.

The man sat down on the chaise beside X001, and she had to clench her teeth to stop from leaning into him. Her handler had made it incredibly clear that she was to remain in position, as perfect as she had been trained, until she was granted reprieve. She listened attentively, straining for the sound of a command, hearing as he settled into the soft plush of the furniture, then-

“Release. Come up here with me.”

X001 didn’t need to be told twice.

---

Val couldn’t help but smile, his cheeks aching as he watched years of work pay off before his eyes. ’01 slunk up onto the couch with that effortless fluidity all Romantics were trained in. She slid into the spot beside the buyer’s body, already cozy against his chest without a moment of hesitation. Her chin tucked against his collarbone, her nose buried against his neck, and her body shifted with a deep sigh.

“Shit, she never had this reaction with the test sticks you had us use in training,” Handler Jones said with disbelief.

“That was a very low dose of the buyer’s pheromones,” Val explained, attention only partially on the handler. A mere handler could never understand the beauty and complexity of what was unfolding beyond the glass. “She’s never been given unrestricted access to the source. It must be overwhelming her.”

“Bitch better be able to remember what we’ve worked on these last few months,” the handler grumbled.

If she couldn’t, Val wouldn’t be surprised. The experimental models had been almost delirious when they were first introduced to their chemically engineered pheromone match. This had been the most successful of the chemical alterations he had been pioneering, and X001 was absolute proof of that.

All humans had this reaction, at least, to some extent. Despite having some of the weakest noses in the animal kingdom, the human body still sends messages to other humans in smelling distance. And in these messages the body conveys arousal, genetic compatibility, and desire.

What Val had done was nothing more than play with these senses inside a laboratory's sandbox. It had taken a couple of years of development and chemical tweaking, but Val had finally developed a course of treatments that would make the buyer’s scent irresistible to the product. The treatments overrode the product’s innate senses, the natural desire to find genetic compatibility, something that only the subconscious animal mind could know.

A few weeks of daily injections and that innate instinct was overwritten. The product's true nature had been wiped out, replaced instead with the extact chemical makeup of their new buyer. The scent of the buyer would be irresistible, intoxicating. It would immediately invoke lust, and when coupled with a Romantic's conditioning, it would naturally create the ideal product.

The waitlist for chemically-altered Romantics had already surpassed the waitlist for standard-issue Romantics. After all, who wouldn't want their perfect match, a divine creature that believed in its animal mind that its owner was its perfect match?

---

X001 had never experienced anything like it before. The scent flooding her senses was not merely sweet. Sweetness was something found in baked goods, or the treats that her handler snuck her when she was performing well. This was ambrosia, a full-body sensation that drew her ever-closer to the man on the chaise. It was like the space beside him had been built just for her.

No matter how close she drew herself to the man’s skin, she couldn’t get enough. It was all she could do not to drag her tongue across the hot flesh. She was burning with need, the urge to sink deep into him and never leave.

Hands ran through her hair, across her hips, but she hardly felt them. Instincts from her training took over and she let them move her body. All she cared about was getting closer, her skin warm with the desire for contact with his. All of X001’s instincts were filling her with the need to be with the man, a need even greater than her own need to breathe. It was beyond intoxicating.

Relief and pleasure coalesced as his smooth hands grabbed her hair, her waist, her neck. Bliss. Relief. The understanding in her mind that this was her purpose, and this man is exactly who she was meant for.

If this was truly her Master, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

---

"Hey, labcoat, isn't your job here done?" Handler Jones asked as the buyer began the more intimate engagements of his trial run with X001.

Val pursed his lips and reclined in the seat in front of the one-way mirror.

"I'd like to see the fruits of my labor in action. You've worked in X001 for what, four months? I've worked on this project for more than nine years. This is my moment, my success."

"Whatever you say, man," Handler Jones muttered. "Call me when the bitch has had her fun. I've got two new trainees to worry about, no need for me to watch the show."

Val merely waived the handler off. Solitude is what he needed now, the opportunity to bask in his own success. After all, he deserved it.

No, the thought idly as a grin crept onto his face, I deserve one of these for myself.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

heyyyyyyy hey wait I forgot I follow up on this, you mentioned there was tea regarding Adam’s dad and his first wife 👁️ is that something you’re willing to share bc I am all ears

ahhhh yes yes yes. my LORE!!!!!!! i am absolutely happy to spill that tea. i did indeed mention here that adam is the product of his father’s second wife, not his first. so let me divulge all the stuff that went down before adam came around!!

so, first, some backstory on louis, adam’s father. he was his father, king antoine’s, firstborn. four years later, he has a brother named adrien. adrien dies of illness around age five, and young louis is devastated, but his father is tough and hard and tells his son to buck up! crying is for the ladies. a few years later, louis’s mother, anne michelle, also dies. louis doesn’t cope well with this at all, but he’s so scared of his abusive father that he hides his feelings once again. soon, king antoine remarries. he and his new wife have a daughter, and they name her genevieve after her mother. they entirely dote on genevieve, completely neglecting louis, leaving him to his own devices. he becomes miserable and cruel, and an entirely reckless young man.

when prince louis is 24, king antoine has a health scare that causes him concern. he fears he may not live much longer, and he sees that his son is in no place to take the throne, should he die. so, he arranges for his reckless son to marry an upstanding young lady, to ensure that louis could become king at the moment of antoine’s passing. louis is less than thrilled about his bride, but when they meet on their wedding day, there is actually a spark between them. her name is agnès claudine marie. she was chosen because their marriage would be politically advantageous, as well as look very perfect to the public eye. louis was all ready to loathe this new wife of his. but he just… didn’t.

agnès was firey and stood her ground. she challenged him constantly and louis was pretty shocked by it. (but also… turned on by it as well.) louis was still a very shitty person, like, agnès did Not make him a better man. but they sort of got along in their own twisted way. they appeared a perfect, prim and proper couple to the public eye, but behind closed doors they were very just… toxic and messy. and what made matters worse was that king antoine died shortly after they were married, so louis had to grapple with his father’s death (sprouting the classic, complicated grief that comes along with losing an abusive father), and handle being king, all while never being mentally or emotionally prepared for it, nor having anyone to lean on in the process. it’s ROUGH.

louis had such a quick temper and was insanely jealous. he got pissed at agnès for even so much as talking to another man at a party, even if he was right there by her side. after the parties would end, he’d throw things and break things and scream at her and she’d scream right back, bullying him just as much as he berated her. these arguments almost always ended in ridiculously hot sex. which is funny and i don’t know why i feel the need to mention it but. as a fake historian it’s my duty to share all fake facts. anyway.

eventually, louis and agnès had a daughter. they named her claudine. louis doesn’t feel MUCH about this, as he very much needs a son to be his heir, but he does care enough about agnès to not completely despise his daughter. he’s a pretty indifferent father at this point. although i’m sure he always made claudine feel fairly useless, just for being a girl.

about six years later, agnès became pregnant with their second child. tragedy struck, however, when she died in childbirth. she delivered a boy, but he did not live longer than a day.

THIS is really the turning point where louis goes from bad to the absolute worst. it’s all buried and complicated inside him but he’s truly devastated by agnès’s death. she was always so alive with passion he just never expected to lose her. and the fact that he loses their son, HIS SON, within a day, it just breaks him for good. he goes from awful to downright ruthless. he grows more wicked toward his daughter, seeing too much of her mother in her and blaming her for it. blaming her too, for not being his much-needed male heir. he also becomes a terror in his court, and in general just a horrible person to be around.

unfortunately at this point, the psychological damage that has been done to him just really causes him to spiral out of control. he’s blinded by unprocessed grief and unfounded rage. and the people are in an uproar! who will be their heir! where is the dauphin of france!! all this just makes him desperate to find another wife to give him a male heir. it’s all he cares about now. so, less than a year later, louis found someone. it was similar to prologue adam’s parties where the villages and towns were taxed to send all their maidens. and renée elizabeth aubert was the only daughter of five children. her parents OF COURSE wanted to give her the opportunity to marry THE KING!

and… it worked. louis saw her and found her to be beautiful. (oh, shall i mention here that he’s 30 and she’s 17?) renée wasn’t as tenacious as agnès but she was gorgeous and held her head high. she intrigued him. (and her mentioning that she had four brothers was definitely a factor for louis.) so, he courted her and married her swiftly.

renée settled into her new life as queen. louis distracted and enticed her with the finest clothes and jewelry, making her feel so very adored. she tried to get along with her step-daughter, claudine, who was around 7 years old at this point, but poor princess claudine was so traumatized from losing her mother and from louis’s abuse, so she didn’t really want to connect much with renée. so, claudine spend the vast majority of her time with her governess, who was basically raising her fully at that point.

soon, renée became pregnant, and successfully delivered a boy! huzzah!! adam is here!!

for a few years, things carry on. louis grows more twisted and disinterested in his wife and children. he hardly sees claudine, and he’s disappointed in adam thus far. (adam didn’t start speaking or walking until he was like 2-3, so louis was convinced he was just “stupid” and they all got worried he was possibly deaf. but renée knew her boy wasn’t deaf or stupid, because she actually spent time with him and could see that his mind just worked differently. and he always looked up at her when she called his name.) regardless, louis was also getting increasingly frustrated with renée, because she kept miscarrying pregnancies. (i think giving birth to adam very nearly killed her, and left damage that just made carrying any future pregnancy to full term impossible.) so, louis was now stuck with a useless daughter and a worthless son and a dysfunctional wife. and he made sure they all knew it! he continued to drink and be abusive. claudine sort of gets out of it, eventually going to live in paris for private tutoring and finishing school.

but! claudine would still come home for christmas, and other events. well, approaching one christmas, louis and renée had been away on a trip for diplomatic reasons. on the trip, renée had caught some sort of illness. when they returned, they kept adam away from her (for fear that the heir would catch it) but unfortunately, princess claudine was there, and caught the illness. renée recovered in a couple of weeks. the princess, however, died. she was 12 years old.

adam was 4, and doesn’t really have any memories of his sister claudine. especially since they didn’t really grow up under the same roof. but anyway, louis is just angered by yet ANOTHER death in this godforsaken family of his. and he, despite caring very little for claudine, IS saddened because she WAS his last piece of agnès. he decided to blame renée, since she’s the one who brought the illness home.

well. time carries on. some years later, when adam is nine and a half, he loses his mother, queen renée, to illness as well. he’s left alone with his father, and you know how the story goes…

anyway my take is that the de beaumont family is quite literally cursed by death and for generations they’re just plagued to lose people but Just Enough survive to maintain the family line. and adam, breaking his own separate curse by the enchantress, does then, in turn, break the beaumont family death curse as well. because true love conquers ALL. thank you 💙