#this is the part where Polites would likely argue the opposite

[isp-annafer]

Ohhhh my god I love this.

[medicinemane]

The problem with people who are "right" because they insist they're right, and the only way to be right is to simply perfectly follow their every dictation on the subject unquestioningly is this...

Ok, let's just take it as a given that you're right... the problem here is that if that's what's right I'm afraid I have to dig my heels into being wrong. If you are as righteous and just as you insist you are then I've got no choice but to be the villain because I can't stand what you're saying I'd have to do to be good

Shockingly I even think it's wrong, which is odd because we've already defined it that you're inherently and unassailably right... yet here we are

Worst part is there's a lot of these things where I'm not even full stop against it, I actually might be on their side if they could stop and address a couple of issues I consider kind of important... but they won't, because they're morally right and don't have time for addressing nonexistent issues I'm clearly just dreaming up

Undoubtedly right they are, the defect must surely be my own... and yet here we are. Vile and wicked as it might make me, I still can't just go along with you

[luminiamore]

I'm in an Eren mood, and just found your bomb fics🫶🏾!! I was wondering if you can do a tomboy/boxer(or weight lifter) reader who has a smart mouth with Eren, they're really competitive and always arguing(jokingly, because they both have smart mouths) it can smut or not whatever you feel🩷🩷

SUCKER.

best friend eren x boxer black reader

warnings: ex jean, eren HATES jean, pussy eating, recording, great sex/mean ren

a/n: doing a part two 🫶🏾

masterlist

Friday night, 11 p.m.

A small gathering was taking place while you were at Connie’s house. Your friends, including your annoying best friend Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Historia, her girlfriend Ymir, and your ex-boyfriend, Jean, were there. Your use of the term ‘friend’ for him is rather polite. You were here, drinking rather than mentally preparing for your match in the upcoming week at home.

You were lying on the couch. Eren lazily leaned his head on your lap, entertaining himself with random Instagram reels on his phone while holding a bottle of Cognac in his unaccompanied hand. Card games were being played by the rest of the crowd to entertain themselves. As you were all quite drunk, Connie made the decision to introduce a drinking game.

“Not gon’ play with them?” He whispers, the sound still rumbling against your exposed thighs.

You sigh, actually contemplating it. You probably would’ve said no if you were sober —scratch that—you definitely would’ve said no. You know that Eren wouldn’t play unless you did. His ego is too big to admit it, but he followed you around like a lost puppy. The only reason he came here was because of you.

“I might. Join me? We should keep a score to see who gets the most points.” You grin, head spinning when you abruptly shift your position.

“Compelling. What kind of points?”

“Isn’t this game like you have to answer a question or drink? I get to drive your beamer for a week if I answer the most questions. And you have to buy me new gloves for my match.” You poke his shoulder as you speak. You see his eyebrows raise up in amusement.

He snorts, “And what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want? And don’t say nothing crazy, I’ll fuck you up.”

At that, he gives an amused laugh, “Girl, please. You can’t even reach my face. Short ass.”

You flick his forehead with your finger, snickering when he groans a bit. “Reached it now, didn’t I?”

“You’re not funny. Nobody laughed, actually.”

“I did. Now, answer the question, fore’ I do it again.”

You get an eye roll and a sly smile on his pink lips as if he has come up with some devious plan. You would’ve started regretting this, but you’re not a quitter. You started this shit, and you’re gonna finish it through.

“You have to do anything I say for a week.”

You suck your teeth, “We not in some video on Pornhub, boy. Be for real.”

“Any video starring you and me in it would have Hollywood rushing to put it on the big screen. You be for real.”

That renders you silent. For a moment, no one says anything. Eren just stares intently into your eyes, waiting for your response.

“.. That’s what you want?”

“That’s what I want.”

There’s nothing much to say after that. You push Eren’s head up so you can stand, ass jiggling in the shorts you were wearing. As if by magic, he follows behind you, with you failing to notice his gaze drifting downwards to give your ass a drooling gaze.

They gathered in the living room and sat in a nearly perfect circle. You opted to seat yourself right next to where Sasha was sitting. Eren, of course, shoved Jean, who was sitting on the opposite side, to sit next to you. You would have said something before you and Jean broke up, but that isn’t your man.

Your relationship with Eren was a source of jealousy for him, leading to your split. For years, you and Eren had been friends; you had practically grown up together. Your moms had been friends, so by default, you two started hanging out every single day since grade school. The two of you were very close, extremely close. You slept in the same bed together; he was your first kiss, and you were his. You even lived in the same apartment.

You’re not oblivious. At least you don’t think you are. It was always clear to you that having a boyfriend would necessitate changes. The act of sleeping in the same bed and cuddling with Eren would necessitate changing. Eren reluctantly understood, but there are times when you wake up in the morning and find him fast asleep on your stomach.

Every day, Jean would complain about Eren being too close to you and how he doesn’t like him living with you. He suggested that you move in with him a month after you started dating. You two hadn’t even fucked yet.

You would never drop Eren, he was too important to you. So, it’s safe to say your relationship with Jean didn’t last long.

You ignore his gaze on you as you giggle at something Sasha said. Connie finally comes back with a stack of cards that say ‘Truth or Drink: Dirty and Sex Edition’ and a bottle of Hennessy.

“Ya’ll know the drill, answer the question, or take a shot. Don’t be pussy, though.” He addresses the group over music playing.

The game gets off to a fast start. The questions began simple, such as ‘Are you a virgin?’ or ‘How many bodies do you have?’ These are not things that should make anyone feel ashamed. Eventually, they became a bit more intimate, at least for you. You had 9 points, and Eren was in the lead with 12 points.

“Your turn, (☆).” Connie addresses you.

After pulling a card from the pile, the next question causes your breath to pause. Swiping the bottle, you take a deep breath to prepare yourself for the burn this drink will give you.

You’re stopped short by Eren, “Aht— you gotta tell us what the question says.”

“Not important.” You take a sip, gagging when the flavor finally hits your mouth. You’re too occupied to notice Eren quickly removes the card from your lap. When he reads it out loud, you almost choke on your spit.

“Have you ever hooked up with a friend?” In response to the rest of the group’s ‘Ooohs,’ he snickers at you.

You smack his head lightly, “Asshole.”

“Who you fucked, girl?” Sasha pokes at you. The attention is entirely on you, causing your face to flush in embarrassment.

“I plead the fifth.”

“Was it Eren?” Jean’s voice prompts a quick turn of your head. He looked so angry, so ticked that he could explode if you said one wrong word. You answered to avoid causing a scene,

“No.”

You’re nearly afraid to look at Eren, yet you realize he’s staring at you. His gaze was burning on the side of your face, making you squirm. Jean’s scoffing shows he didn’t believe you, but you’re not here to argue with your ex. Connie recognizes that you no longer want to talk about it, so he turns the spotlight on him when he pulls another card.

You’re about to send a grateful glance to him for that, but your body stiffens when Eren whispers in your ear,

“You just gonna lie to him like that?”

You grit your teeth, keeping your voice as low as possible, “Shut up.”

“What, you gonna protect his feelings?” Eren’s energy is condescending and irritable, to say the least.

“I’m protecting your frail ass ego. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you when I tell them you didn’t even make me cum.” You lie through your teeth, smirking, thinking you won.

You almost yelp when you feel a pinch on the side of your hips, “C’mon, mama. Your body never lies, especially not to me. Remember those pretty moans clear as day— ‘Oh, daddy! Right there— gonna cu-’”

Your hand covers his mouth, and you’re about to smack him again when you feel that stupid, cunning smile against your hand. You pause and sigh in relief when you realize that no one has heard him, as they’re too preoccupied with Sasha, who’s indulging in the bottle. No one except Jean, who’s practically seething in anger as he glares at Eren.

- -

It was now one in the morning. Most people were passed out because of how drunk they were. Only you, Eren, and Jean were awake, with Jean nearing sleep while staring at his phone. It goes without saying that Eren won the bet; he had no shame when it came to his sexual innuendos.

You’re about to get up from your seat on the floor, but Eren’s grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. You try to look at him but realize he’s not even paying attention to you. Instead, his eyes are intently focused on the shorts you’re wearing with a frown.

“You good?” You speak, thinking that your sudden voice will dislodge his gaze.

“Hmm. These shorts aren’t easy access.”

That’s the message the liquors are trying to convey -- it must be. You and Eren only slept together once, but you assured him that it was a mistake that wouldn’t happen again to keep your friendship intact. He handled it well, perhaps too well. Almost like he was expecting you to say that. As if you hadn’t experienced heaven on Earth that night, you both returned to your normal lives.

“Eren, there are people here.” You whisper rather harshly.

He unbuttons the only button on your garments, “I don’t see anyone.”

“Jean is right there.”

“..Anyone important.”

Your eyes widen when he plays with the hem of your peaking panties now that your shorts are loose. He’s so stealthy with it, too, like he’s not doing anything wrong. You have to snap out of it when you realize you’re in a room full of friends. You slap his hand,

“We’re not doing this here.”

His response is quick, “Oh, so if we weren’t here, you would?”

“If you two are gonna fuck, can you do it somewhere else?” Jean is downright peeved by the sexual tension that is erupting between you two. At this point, he’s just annoyed. Annoyed that his suspicions were confirmed. You two are definitely more than just friends.

You freeze, failing to remember that he was still awake for a moment.

“Jean, it’s not like that-”

“It is like that. I might take you up on that offer, Jean boy.” Eren abruptly ends your sentence with a gleaming smile, making it clear that he’s only trying to annoy him. He’s petty like that. You’re tempted to hit him again.

“No, it’s not. Stop being petty-”

Eren turns to you abruptly, eyes zeroed in on your lips. His voice is purposely loud so Jean can hear precisely what he’s saying to you. “Will you let me eat your pussy again if we leave here, (☆)?”

You gasp, your pussy tightening a bit at how desperate his tone is. You really want to say yes, but you know that’s the liquor talking. It has to be. Jean scoffs, pulling you out of your daze.

You scowl and push his hands off you, “I’m leaving, and I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

When you stumble to stand, he watches you, his eyes fixed on the fatness of your ass and its movement. These shorts are a favorite of his. He sighs, his lips twitching as he speaks,

“Can I-”

“No.” And with that, you stumble off to the room, making sure to lock the door behind you.

Eren makes the decision to return to the couch in the living room to sleep. Jean’s eyes never leave him all the time, and when he catches him staring, he doesn’t fail to stare back,

“The fuck are you looking at?”

Monday afternoon, 3 p.m.

“Imma be real with you. I’m all for equality and shit, but seriously, you hit like a girl.”

The deep voice of your best friend flutters in your ears as you throw another punch at the hand he’s holding up. You’re both in the boxing ring at your local gym, practicing for your next match.

As always, your best friend is there to help you and throw some lighthearted insults your way.

“Eren, please don’t get fucked up.”

He gives a laugh, a genuine one that makes you roll your eyes, “Oh yeah? With those weak ass hits? Forgive me if I’m not shaking in my shoes right now.”

You throw another hit at his wrapped-up hand, harder this time. You can tell by the way his unwavering hands move a little. You grit your teeth at the fact that he doesn’t wholly stumble back.

“Yo,’ ass was damn sure shaking in your shoes when I almost folded you.”

“So, we lying now?” That little smirk that was forming on his face never backed down.

It almost irritates you how arrogant he is. Connie and Eren always get into these friendly play fights, never anything serious. But that’s just your best friend. If anything, you would probably chew up any other person with your mouth. Connie, for example. Not Eren, though; he always had something to say back.

“Every word that comes out your mouth is a lie.” Your whisper

“You not any better.”

You hit his hand again, “Now, what the hell are you yapping about.”

“Why would you lie to your little boyfriend yesterday?” His voice is low and calculated as he questions you. He was getting heated again.

“Ex. And I’m not sorry. I didn’t want to tell the man who’s been worried about us the entire time we dated that I got your dick wet.”

“Dated. Past tense. So, why the fuck are you worried about it?” Now, he holds your hands to prevent you from moving.

You huff, “I’m not rude, Eren. I have no beef with the man. Now, let’s keep practicing, please.”

You think he’s going to release your hands, but he only stares at you. Your heart is racing. Does he really feel upset about this?

It seems he is because Eren pulls your body out of the ring and drags you to the nearest locker room. The gym is closed today, only opened to the two of you because he’s friends with the owner. Now that he has you to himself, he has no worries about anyone ruining this moment.

You would have protested; your resolve is usually stronger than this. But it’s Eren. Your Eren. Your best friend who happens to be really good with his tongue, his fingers, and that absolute monster in between his legs.

Fuck it feels so electric when his tongue laps in between your wet folds, your body squirming on the bench he seated you on. You can’t stop twitching, your arousal just overflowing on his tongue.

“Thought this was a mistake? ‘It can never happen again’, that’s what you said right?” He lightly bites on your clit, relishing in the gasp you emit.

“Look at you now, letting it happen again.”

He pushes two fingers past your walls and rapidly moves them in and out, grazing your spongy spot. They’re curling inside you, and with every stroke, you feel yourself falling more into a haze. Your eyes start crossing as Eren stirs up your insides.

You whimper out, “S-Shut up. Shitt.”

“Oh, no. You’re gonna listen t’me today. Maybe we should send a video to Jean, show him everything he could never do to you.”

You hate yourself for it, but the thought of it gets you even wetter for some reason. With the way your best friend chuckles against your core as the squelching sounds coming from you get louder, he can tell, too. Your pretty brown pussy is just splashing on his face, he’s in love with it— in love with you.

He rasps out breathily, “Wet my face, baby.”

Your face twists as he works his fingers against your cervix. The sounds coming from you are simply divine. The heat in your stomach is palpable, and the heat in every crevice of your body is sizzling and electrified.

“Want me to fuck you, right? Cum then, (☆).”

It’s as if your body knows what he’s saying because you release immediately. Your body shakes when you squirt. Your addicting juices spraying all over his fingers— his face. Eren slurps up everything you have to offer, and its sounds are just so obscene that you’re sure anyone would know what’s going on if they just walked by the door. Your loud moans would probably give it away, too.

Eren deliberately takes his time creeping up to your panting lips and pulling his thick fingers out of your walls. Your breath is sucked out of your lungs when he kisses your lips. The taste of your essence makes your pussy drip as he sucks on your tongue. You love it, so drunk off the taste of him.

You frantically pull his hips onto yours, unaware that he’s already pulled his dick out. It’s not much for his tip to force itself inside of you. He has to do most of the work to fuck the rest of his inches in. You’re gasping against his lips, trying to moan, but he won’t let you. Every time, he swallows them.

It’s torture. He’s so thick that it stings a little. He gets a little impatient and slams into you all at once. Screaming in a muffled voice, you quickly press your hands on his stomach. He’s making your pussy sing some nasty noises that make you feel so good.

You’re squirming your body as Eren starts feeding you gut-punching stokes. That won’t do.

With a harsh grip on your wrists, he pushes them above your head with one hand. “I couldn’t make you cum, right?”

You huff, your eyes rolling back in your head when he abuses your cervix. It’s too late for you to realize when Eren takes out your phone. He knows your password and keeps thrusting in you when he opens Jean’s message thread. He scoffs when he realizes you haven’t yet blocked and deleted his number.

That catches your attention as your eyes struggle to settle on him, “W-What are you doing?”

He shuts you up by speeding up his movements. Shit. You almost choke on your spit when he leans his body on you so hard your legs are reaching your ears. The only inkling you get that he’s recording is when your ears catch on the sound it makes when he presses that red button.

You don’t stop him or even struggle against his hold. You can only morph your face into pleasurable expressions as he makes you feel euphoria. He sets your phone on the wall behind the bench, and he can see it’s showcasing the both of you. Good.

Eren, let’s go of your wrists to use both hands to press on the back of your thighs into the wood underneath you. You feel him deeper this way, his bulge pressing against your stomach every time his tip touches your womb. He finds joy in the fact that the camera captured that.

“Ren— baby— I’m g-gonna make another mess.” You whine, pressing on his stomach to stave off your impending orgasm—it does nothing. Nothing, but make him push harder so you can feel how deep he’s going.

“Go on then. Show the camera how messy you get for me and only me.”

Your breathing stutters, “Only you— fuckkk. S’too m-much”

“You love me, baby?”

You cum right then, choking on your moans as you barely get your words out, “Love you so much.”

He groans against your ears when he fills your pussy with his seed. It’s so much, too, so thick, you feel as if it’s coming out your throat. This is what you craved the most, the feeling of his cum stuffing you. You’ve dreamed about this since he did it for the first time.

Feeling worn out, you are basking in the afterglow while breathing heavily. Eren never takes his dick out of you, but he takes this moment to end the video and quickly sends it to Jean with a small message accompanying it,

she lied, lol. 😂

[anonymous-dentist]

Part two of the Catboy in the Village AU

-

Cellbit wakes up handcuffed, which really doesn't bode well.

He's... moving. He's sitting up with his head pillowed on something soft, yet firm, and he's moving.

Ah. So he has been kidnapped, then. Great.

Groaning, Cellbit hides his face in his pillow's shoulder, confident that he isn't sticking his face anywhere it shouldn't be. He knows this shoulder, it's one of his favorites.

"Buenos días, gatinho," Roier warmly says. A kiss lands itself in Cellbit's hair right between his ears.

Cellbit fights the urge to purr (not now!), and he murmurs, "Am I going to be angry when I open my eyes?"

"Mmm, probably."

Cellbit sighs. So it's like that, then.

Eyes still closed, he pricks his ears up and tries to take in his environment. Horses, someone guiding them. Wheels noisily turning. Roier breathing, Cellbit himself breathing, someone else breathing. Three people total in the carriage- because they have to be in one, Cellbit doubts a supposed "prince" would be left to travel in a simple wagon.

Absolutely no signs of Richarlyson and Pepito. No arguing, no crying, no complaining. Nothing.

Slowly, Cellbit lets out a breath. He's calm.

"Roier," he asks, "where are our children?"

Roier stiffens minutely beneath him. "Um."

"Your children are fine," someone else says, and, ah, it would be her, wouldn't it?

Cellbit swallows his anger. He's calm.

He sits up, scooting closer to Roier so their arms are brushing because he is not about to be away from him right now. He opens his eyes, and he stares at the woman who has to be the newly-crowned Queen of the Gato Kingdom, and he hates.

"Your highness," he coolly says. "Where the fuck are my children?"

The queen's eyebrow twitches. "Don't call me that."

"Your highness. My children?"

"Not... with us at the moment, but I have my finest knights searching for them as we speak. Once we find them-"

She screeches as Cellbit lunges at her with his fangs bared. He can't use his hands, but that's fine, he was in prison once, he knows how to tear a throat out without using his claws.

He "oof"s as he's swiftly kicked in the chest by a heeled shoe and shoved back into his seat opposite the queen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the queen demands.

Cellbit answers her with a snarl and a second attempt at political assassination. This time, though, he's stopped by Roier, who grabs him around the middle with both arms and pulls him to his chest.

Immediately, Cellbit feels his body relax. Damnit.

"I told you you'd be angry," Roier hums.

He slips a hand under Cellbit's shirt and just leaves it splayed across his stomach. The queen looks mildly disturbed. What, is she homophobic, too? Rich and homophobic? Pick a struggle.

"Of course I'm angry," Cellbit sneers. He glares at the queen, who glares right back. "We've been kidnapped."

The queen rolls her eyes. "You aren't being kidnapped. You are being escorted."

"In handcuffs!"

"Yeah!" Roier agrees. "Only I can put my husband in handcuffs!"

The queen's face goes mildly green. Oh, so she is homophobic. Great.

Cellbit, though, groans and slams his head against Roier's shoulder. Roier just grins at him, the piece of shit.

"Well," the queen hesitantly says, "it was either this or ropes."

Roier protests, "Only I can put my husband in ro-"

He cuts himself off with a moan as Cellbit pinches his thigh.

"Cállate," Cellbit huffs. "She doesn't need to know."

"I really don't," the queen agrees, complete with a nod of the head. "You're my brother, I don't want or need to be hearing any of this."

(Not that the 'any of this' is real. The most extreme thing Cellbit and Roier have done in bed is play board games and lose the pieces in their blankets, but it's just so fun to make people uncomfortable.)

"I'm not," Cellbit tells her.

He tilts his head back and looks up at Roier. "Did you know that she thinks I'm the missing Gato Kingdom prince?"

Roier laughs. "What, really? You?"

Cellbit smiles. "I know, right?"

"I'm right here," the queen flatly says. "And you are my brother. His name is Cellbit, your name is Cellbit. You have feline features. Only members of-"

Cellbit finishes her sentence for her: "-the Gato royal family are cat hybrids. I know. But you're wrong."

The queen crosses her arms and her legs, her foot bouncing impatiently on the floor.

"Oh, yeah?" she asks. "How?"

"Because," Cellbit simply says.

Nothing else.

Roier snorts. He adjusts his hold on Cellbit, halfway pulling him onto his lap and hooking his chin over Cellbit's shoulder.

Cellbit looks down at Roier's very un-handcuffed hands and pouts.

"Why aren't you restrained?" he complains.

"Because I haven't tried to kill the queen," Roier smugly says. He pokes Cellbit's nose, making Cellbit go cross-eyed. "This is what you get, pendejo."

"Fuck you," Cellbit grumbles. "You didn't try to fight her a little? For me?"

"Nah. I killed all her knights, though."

Gods.

Cellbit's eyes practically glitter. "Wow. I bet you got real sweaty."

Roier nods. "And I took my shirt off."

Gods!!

Cellbit turns to glare at the queen. "You made me miss that!"

The queen's mouth opens in shock. "You tried stabbing me!"

"And you kidnapped me! I think stabbing you would've been worth it!"

"Calma, gatinho," Roier lightly says. He slips his other hand under Cellbit's shirt; his two hands link together, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles above Cellbit's bellybutton. "Don't threaten royalty when I don't have my sword."

"You aren't being kidnapped!" the queen shouts. "This could've gone a lot easier if you had just come with me to begin with!"

"And why the fuck would I do that?" Cellbit sneers.

"Because I'm your sister, idiot!"

"I'm an orphan, idiot!"

The queen bodily flinches, recoiling into the back of her seat with wide eyes and a trembling mouth.

Sensing a tense moment, Roier takes the opportunity to say, "You know, maybe he isn't your brother. Maybe I'm your brother, hm? Maybe my ears fell off in the war."

It's just the kind of statement that would blow Pepito's mind. Pepito, oh, Pepito...

Cellbit wants his kids.

The queen ignores Roier. She continues staring at Cellbit, instead.

"What happened to you?" she asks, voice hoarse.

Cellbit gives her a flat look in response. "What hasn't. I'm not who you think I am. I'm... me. You have the wrong guy."

He twists his wrists in his handcuffs. They're simple enough...

"This really isn't a good first impression," Roier adds.

As Roier continues speaking, Cellbit pops his thumb out of its socket and starts subtly pulling his hand through the cuff.

Roier says, "Like, I get you wanted to see him, but this is kinda fucked, you know? You couldn't have sent a letter? We could have had brunch, but, noooooo, you just had to show up like this and freak him out."

"I'm not freaked out," Cellbit grumbles.

(And now the other hand...)

"I didn't want it to be this way," the queen says. She looks painedly at Cellbit. "It's- I- we need you back, Cellbit. Our parents- the king and queen are both dead. You promised that you would help me when I took the throne. I've been looking for you for years, and-"

"Okay," Roier interrupts. "See? Talking's good. Gatinho, do you have anything to say?"

"Yeah," Cellbit replies. He looks at the queen, and he says, "Guapito, hold on."

He sticks his tongue out at the queen (childish, maybe, but she's pissing him off), and he slams himself against the carriage door.

And... nothing happens.

He smacks his head, and he sees stars, and he falls backwards onto the carriage's floor with a pained grunt.

The queen gives him a mocking look. "What, you didn't think I would lock the door? You really are my brother, dumbass. You haven't changed a bit."

Roier, at least, looks somewhat pitying.

"That would've been cool if it had worked?" he tries.

Cellbit just groans in response and drops his head back down onto the floor.

He used to be an escape artist. And now he's trapped in a carriage with an insane woman.

"Sit tight," the queen says, settling back into her seat and making sure to kick Cellbit in the side as she does so. "It's a long trip back to the castle."

"If I don't see my children when we're there, I'll actually kill you," Cellbit threatens.

Her lips quirk into a smirk. "You can try."

And he hates her.

[night-market-if]

Answering some bulk questions

I am getting the same kind of questions in my inbox and instead of answering them all individually, I thought I would just make one long post. Hopefully that can clear some things up.

Why is m!pen white and f!pen black?

Mostly because the character of Pen is death. They have no form. Not a real one. Much like the MC, the image they are presenting is a construct. So, when I thought about that, I kind of thought it would be fun to play around with two very different aesthetics (I think in the final edit I might even write them a bit different). I did this for two reasons. One, because I haven't really seen this in ifs. And two, I kind of liked the duality of it. Opposites, really. It sat well with me for the character of death.

2. Why does nothing bad ever happen to Milo? Stop playing favorites.

Bad things have happened to Milo. More so than the other characters, I would argue. I have a feeling this is more from people annoyed that a very specific bad thing won't happen to Milo. Because Milo has watched Malcolm and MC die. Was beaten as a child. Orphaned. Didn't know where his real home was or who he was. Has a ghost for a sister. (who he also watched die). Has been responsible for keeping his best friend sane for quite a few years. And got the shittiest job in the world. He has also been stabbed at quite a bit. Betrayed. And used.

I do a lot of bad things to Milo. Favorites would be if nothing bad happened to him. And defending your characters decisions is not playing favorites. It is just knowing your characters as a writer.

3. Who is your favorite RO?

I have said before that Milo is not my favorite to write. So inevitably I get asked who is. I don't answer this question because I don't want the complaints.

4. Why don't you have stats?

Because I don't like them. I come from much more of a storytelling perspective than a game mechanics one. And don't get me wrong. People that do game mechanics are awesome. I admire them a ton and enjoy their games (though my field is more video games). But that's never what I wanted the Night Market to be. I just want people to be immersed.

5. Do you feel you have to have inclusivity as a writer?

I don't know why I've been getting this one a lot. Might be something going on in the community. The honest answer is no, I do not. I have never felt pressured to have a certain representation within the Night Market. That all being said, maybe I don't feel that way because I tend to have an organically more diverse cast of characters? But I can't say I have ever felt like I have to put a certain representation in. And I don't believe writers should feel pressure for that. Because a lot of times, if you are just putting in a token character to do it, it becomes a bit problematic.

6. What are your favorite IF's and do you have recomendations?

I hate to say this, but I don't read IF's. I've dabbled occasionally in the past but I find when I read IF's, it messes with my head and my ability to write. Now, I read a lot of novels. That is my preferred vehicle of reading. But as for IF's, I probably won't read a lot of them until I am officially done with the Night Market. I struggle to enjoy stories when I feel like it is a part of my day to day job.

7. Why don't you ever speak out politically?

Because that is private for me. I don't want to. I want to provide an escape from the world. Not add to discussions that are being had by people far more adept than me. I leave my political feelings and responsibilities at home.

8. Why can't you provide (insert numerous topics) to the route?

Because coding and writing are a bitch. There is a lot of work that goes into this stuff that isn't always fun. And sometimes, as much as I would like to put something in or have a new route, I just can't. I am one person. A person who has a pretty hefty personal life. I am doing what I can.

[juuuulez]

📰 | part ten: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, gun violence, father figure! Negan, soooomeeee ooonneee has a crush, teenagers in love.

summary: You tussle with your emotions regarding Carl, whilst Grimes and co pay a surprise visit to the Sanctuary.

omg i’m on fire!!!!! cliffhanger ending……but also next chapter will be similarly juicy so don’t fret! also half-written a carl x reader oneshot/drabble i’ll post soon between chapters :P

i’m so glad you all love my saviour reader story because i am her she is me…….this series is my CHILD i will defend it with my life!

-> masterlist <-

You hadn’t been to Alexandria in, frankly, what felt like years.

It was actually just weeks.

With an alliance between Hilltop, the Kingdom, and Alexandria, things for the Saviours were trickier than ever. Most of the time Negan spent in his office, trying to decode the best play. You helped, of course, and were practically running yourself ragged trying to keep things together at the Sanctuary.

It felt like everyone knew what was happening. Or they expected it, were waiting for it. It irritated you to no end, that others would blatantly show their disbelief in your cause, in Negan’s cause.

And then there was Carl.

You missed him, which was weird. He had become a constant in your life, the arguing and fighting, the pushing and shoving. But now your relationship had crested into something else… and you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you quite enjoyed kissing Carl.

Not that you’d admit that. To him, to anyone. Nobody needed that amount of power over you.

“You can go to bed, doll.”

You looked up from your lap, where a book of supply schedules was scribbled down. You were seated on that long leather couch in Negan’s office, whilst he worked on god knows what. Hopefully a viable strategy.

“No, I’m fine.” You tell him, politely. Too politely.

Truth is, you were hanging on by a thread. But with no supplies from Alexandria, nor Hilltop, the situation at the Sanctuary was becoming dire. You were trying to figure out how to jig things around so that everyone could be satisfied, or maybe even rethinking the points system, making the imaginary economy more competitive.

���I’m serious,” Negan insists, “You don’t gotta be doin’ this shit. It’s below you.”

You roll your eyes, “Who’s gonna do it, then? Simon’s corpse?”

The sarcastic comment earns you a glare in return, which does make you feel a little bad. You’d watched the brawl firsthand, and had almost tried to help Negan, if not for Dwight holding you back. Either way, it didn’t matter, for Simon was eventually strangled to death.

Brutal, but fitting.

Maybe you were trying to fill that void. The line between right-hand man and teenage daughter was thinning.

Negan rose from his seat, coming over to stand in front of you. He didn’t even need to lean down, swiftly plucking the tattered notebook from your lap, to which you groaned and leaned back on the couch.

He inspected it, reading over the numbers and scrawled figures. “You’re doing this wrong.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should start making your wives do the bookkeeping.” You grumbled, laying down on the couch in defeat.

Negan tossed the notebook onto the coffee table, sitting on the couch opposite you. “Doubt they can count past ten.”

It was a terrible thing to say, but got a smile out of you. It was difficult to be in a good mood on so little sleep, so the tiniest hint of happiness was well appreciated.

“When will we go to Alexandria again?”

You tried not to sound too interested in the question, but couldn’t help yourself, and needed to ask. Not for Carl, just for supplies. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Soon. Give it another week,” Negan confirmed, though his eyes said he knew something more. “Awfully interested in that shithole, aren’t you?”

This caused you to roll over, onto your side, so you could glare over at the older man. “We need that shithole to survive.”

There was a playful glint on Negan’s face, the words earning a small laugh from him. “Maybe you do. Bet you’re just itchin’ for your little cyclops.”

The joke causes you to bristle, irritation rising as you hoist yourself from the couch, making a play for the door. On such little sleep, you weren’t in the mood to entertain being teased.

But Negan stopped you, that grin still on his face. “Hey, c’mon, doll. You know I’m just tryin’ to rile you up.” He admits, coming to a stand.

The glare remains, but at least you stop your escape, instead just standing near the door with your arms crossed. You’d likely give some defensive retort, but Negan is already speaking again.

“Everyone has their first crush at some point. I’m just surprised it took you this long.”

“I don’t have a crush,” You practically snarl. “I’m not twelve years old.”

“Okay, sorry. Not a crush,” Negan approaches slowly, like you’ll run off again, though is pleased when you stand still. “Sounds like it’s past your bedtime.”

Your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowed in offence as he continues to treat you like a child. But you know he’s just making a point to tease you, judging by that stupid grin on his face, so you try not to react.

His hands bracket your arms, giving you a little spin so that you’re facing the door. But now you sigh, turning back around, unable to just drop this conversation all together.

“You don’t care?” You ask. “Like, if I did have a crush, you don’t even mind? Not that I do, I’m just… wondering.”

Negan smiles, finding your half-confession quite adorable. “That’s what kids do, darlin’. Besides, the boy’s got his head on straight. Certainly got more balls than his father.”

You look down at the floor, a little pensive. “I don’t have a crush on Carl.” You reiterate, standing your ground, trying to sound firm in order to convince the both of you.

He seems to get the hint, understanding that maybe you don’t even know what’s going on. “I know, doll. Don’t stress it too much.” Negan drops the subject, letting his arm encase your back for a small squeeze before letting you go. “Go get some rest.”

You muster up a little smile, finally accepting the offer and scampering back off to bed. After all, you were exhausted, despite that inherent need to make yourself useful. Supply counts could wait.

It was a comforting space, your bedroom, one you retreated to whenever things got overwhelming. It was filled with photos and trinkets, candy stashed away in the drawers, all the things you didn’t have when growing up. It was your space.

That night, you fell asleep weighing the severity of simply going to Alexandria yourself. You passed out a few minutes into debating what transportation to take.

Fortunately, or, probably unfortunately, that wasn’t necessary.

For Alexandria had come to you.

Gunfire was a familiar sound to wake up to. Usually, it was a low-level squabble, or maybe one of the Saviours proving a point. Either way, it never lasted long.

But this time, there was shouting, and more bullets. It was enough to jolt you awake, pushing past that bleary state of consciousness and waiting, still, for it to continue.

It did.

You climbed out of bed with urgency, moving on autopilot as you threw on some jeans, not bothering to change from your sleep tank before bolting for the door.

Just as your fingertips brushed the bat, you realised it wouldn’t do. That gun was still locked away in the bottom drawer, so you reached for it, shoving a handful of bullets into your pocket before leaving.

Now, you’ve never been a very good shot. That’s why you preferred using the bat, or at the very least, hand-to-hand combat. You had terrible aim. But maybe now was the best time to fix that issue.

So, you made your way through the Sanctuary, swiftly stepping through hallways, gun at the ready. You were outside in minutes, the shouting becoming much clearer now, a voice you could recognise:

Rick Grimes.

“Fuck this..” You grumbled, growing irritated with this relentless back and forth. And now, they were in your home.

Another shot blew out the glass from above you, forcing you further against the wall, as the shards piled on the concrete. Some littered your skin, your shoulders bare, due to still wearing a tank intended for sleeping. You didn’t even have a bra on.

But there were worse problems, you supposed.

The gun felt heavy in your hands, fingers twitching around the trigger. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to use it, though that seemed like wishful thinking. You wondered where Negan was, yet believed he could handle himself. You and this gun were the main concern, a gun you had no idea how to use effectively.

You hid behind anything available, crouched down, trying to survey the surroundings. From here, you could see the scattered factions of makeshift soldiers, though Rick was now missing. You presumed he had a similar thought process to you: Negan.

That was fine, for now.

Clutching the gun tightly, you shifted into view, holding it outwards and discharging a shot into the distance. It echoed in the nearby vicinity, though there was too much gunfire to distinguish where it had came from, luckily. It didn’t seem to hit anyone.

What a waste.

“Hey!”

It was a whisper-shout, one clearly intended to gain your attention. You spun your head around, searching for the voice, amongst all the yelling and fighting taking place within your home. It took an embarrassing amount of time until you saw him.

Carl.

Thank fucking god.

He’d been watching you, on alert for your figure the second they arrived. He clocked your creeping approach into the battle field, ducking behind anything possible. It was almost amusing, the stark contrast in how you usually chose to fight, but made sense after you fired that hopeless shot.

You had no idea what was going on, assuming that Negan and Rick were off fighting, whilst a few Saviours tried to keep the rival gang at bay. Or gangs, plural. You guessed that speaking to Carl would be your best chance at getting a grip on the situation. That, and you weren’t in the mood for a defensive Saviour to shoot him.

So, you tried to get closer, looking left and right to make sure the coast was clear before ducking behind rubble or vehicles, anything to provide cover. Carl was used to fighting, sure, but felt slightly anxious for a reason he couldn’t pin. It was just a bad feeling, like something was not right.

This time, Carl called out your name, causing you to look up and at attention. He held out his hand, despite being meters away, a signal to come closer under the cover he’d found.

You clutch the gun tightly, safety off, poised at your side. But it’s difficult to see everyone, from this position, forcing you to inch out from behind the truck in order to get a visual.

Still holding out his hand, Carl waits, watching as you peek your head out.

Pop!

A shot fires, crackling in the distance, though it takes you down with a solid thud.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

When you really think about it, Chloe is just a version of Azula written by people who failed to understand what made Azula work as a character.

They are both malicious 14 year old girls that have a final swan song where they fight the heros for the last time and have a breakdown when they lose. They both have neglectful mothers (but like at complete opposites of the neglect spectrum) that they crave love from, and they both have "loving" fathers that shaped them into the horrible people that they are today.

However, the writers of ATLA understood that Azula is the way she is because of her circumstances; if her father wasn't abusive fire Hitler that encouraged the worst parts of Azula's personality, and if Ursa was able to have a better relationship with her daughter, then Azula would not have turned out the way she did.

Meanwhile, the writers of ML honestly think that Chloe is a bad person only because of her choices, despite writing the exact opposite. Chloe got her ideals of Rich superiority from her Father who raised her alone for most of her life, who is also shown to constantly abusing his political power in the early seasons, but the show dosen't point out that obvious connection beyond "he dosen't punish Chloe enough because he loves her too much UwU". Chloe's mother straight up dosen't care about Chloe and acts like a meaner version of her, but Chloe is the one the Narrative treats as the big threat that needs to be stopped? Andre gets rewarded with a new daughter despite being the reason why the old one turned out so bad??

Azula and Chloe are both cogs in the evil machine that realize they are unloved at the end of their stories, but while ATLA puts the blame on the machine, ML puts the blame on the cog and it's really weird because they laid the ground work for the evil machine!

Also, Zoe is like a dollar store version of Zuko I guess.

Here's another thing that made Azula work: Her progression as a villain felt more natural.

During Season 3 of Avatar: The Last Airbender, the show acknowledged how screwed up she was mentally. After losing Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee and being made Fire Lord only for her father to crown himself Phoenix King, Azula's sanity gradually degraded, and it was played seriously. It was clear that as evil as she was, she has a lot of issues that make it hard to just write her off as beyond saving.

With Chloe, after the betrayal, the writers ramped up her evil moments while acting like she's always been this cruel. While you could argue these have been traits she's had since Season 1, there's no natural progression to her getting worse after she betrayed Ladybug.

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy. 

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work. 

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room. 

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. 

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned. 

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him. 

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped. 

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment. 

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement. 

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris. 

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem. 

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off. 

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship. 

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house.  He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose. 

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win. 

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise. 

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned. 

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away. 

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[avirael]

The Price of Failure

“Seven hells, A‘viloh! Open the damn door right now! I am worried about you, you idiot!”

After Haurchefant’s death the Miqo’te had locked himself up in a room at the Forgotten Knight and had barely spoken to anyone at all these last few days.

Go away - This is all my fault - They must hate me so - Stay away from me - I don’t want you to get hurt too.

With this and similar sentences, which Rael had day by day only heard muffled through the closed door, A’viloh had tried to get rid of them. Rael had expected the Miqo’te to blame himself for what had happened, they had even understood that A’viloh in his bizarre sense of self-loathing had decided to leave Fortemp Manor to not cause anyone any more pain. Anyone except himself of course.

Once again Rael felt so powerless seeing how A’viloh apparently saw all his fears confirmed, that as soon as he was involved in something, everything would eventually go horribly wrong and people would get hurt. Of course that was nonsense. But with the “evidence” at hand - and the poor Miqo’te really was a pretty unlucky fellow in this regard - it was also quite difficult to argue against it.

Seemingly he had also stopped letting Rael convince him of the opposite as they usually had so far. At least he had still talked to them. Through closed doors, but at least he had not ignored Rael entirely in another attempt to drive them away.

Well, not until today…

Another time Rael’s fist loudly drummed against the door.

“I swear, if you don’t open this damn door right now, I will break it down!”

Maybe getting angry at him was not going to encourage him any more than politely asking had but by now Rael’s patience reached its end.

“You are looking for the young Miqo’te, who’s living here since a few days, don’t you?”, a voice asked and Rael turned around to find the owner of the inn standing at the end of the corridor. “I saw you two together with mistress Tataru before.”

“I am.”, Rael confirmed and tried to look a little less like some hooligan about to trash the inn and attack its guests. “I am just worried about him…”

“Mhhh…”, the Elezen made a contemplating sound. “Well, all I can tell you is that your friend left a few hours ago and hasn’t returned since.”

“Left?!”, Rael blurted out, while their mind began to race. “To where?”

“That I don’t know, I am sorry…”, the man apologised.

It may have looked impolite but Rael left in a hurry without another word. Barely back outside they paused and realised that Ishgard was too big to just aimlessly run around and look for him. But where could he have gone?

At First Rael hurried to the chocobo stables. Somehow they had hoped to find him here cuddled to the bird Haurchefant had gifted him. It had been a naive hope, that of course proved wrong.

Then they ran to the city gates asking the guards if they had seen a person fitting A’viloh’s description leave the city and after that they did the same at the airship landing. Both times unsuccessful.

By now the sun, that had spent most of the day hidden by thick grey clouds, was slowly surrendering her last weak rays of light to the darkness of night. The lack of light would make searching even more difficult and Rael was out of ideas. Where else would A’viloh go?, they wondered when one last horrible idea crossed their mind.

As fast as Rael could they hurried back to the upper parts of the city, where at its highest point stood one of the most important places in town: The Vault.

The place where Haurchefant had been killed while trying to protect A‘viloh.

In a way it would be just like A’viloh to return here, if only to inflict more pain on himself and punish himself in the process. However as Rael walked towards the tall building they noticed the entrance had been sealed with a barrier and additionally a guard was stationed in front, informing Rael that the building remained closed for now due to ongoing investigations of the happenings around Thordan and his knights.

The guard hadn’t seen any Miqo’te around either and so Rael began to wonder what to do now. They could return to Fortemps Manor and ask Alphinaud and Tataru for help. Maybe even Artoirel and Emmanellain. Or go to the headquarters of the Temple Knights and speak to Ser Aymeric. Although every soldier in the city searching for A‘viloh possibly was a little exaggerated, this idea began to look more and more tempting to Rael with every passing minute. There was a nervousness inside their heart, a bad feeling, that was getting worse and worse with every passing second.

Rael had just walked down the first set of stairs when suddenly something in the cold night air changed. A strong breeze picked up, wind howling through the streets like a ghost. Feeling the strangeness of this sudden change Rael looked up to the night sky, where for a second they thought they saw the form of a bird circling in front of the glimmer of stars.

Then they blinked and it was gone. A shiver ran down Rael‘s spine. The feeling familiar but nonetheless in this case strangely unsettling, they gasped and almost stumbled. Their vision blurred for a moment and their eyes turned milky white, as Rael‘s mind was forcefully pulled away by a sudden vision.

Rael found themself standing on a square somewhere in Ishgard. It seemed familiar and Rael thought they recognised it from somewhere near Fortemps Manor. The air felt unreasonably chilling even through their warm clothes and Rael only slowly adjusted to the feeling of having a vision after none of them had shown up for so long.

Then Rael saw A’viloh.

There he stood, only a few steps away, at the edge of the square, where the higher parts of the city bordered onto the vast, foggy nothingness of the Holy Sea. But the Miqo’te’s tear-stained gaze was not focused on the bottomless depth below, but on the moon and the stars above.

This world… wouldn’t it be better off without me in it? No one would miss me at all…

A‘viloh did not say this aloud but Rael heard his voice just as clearly as if he had spoken instead of just thought it. It made Rael’s blood freeze in their veins.

Like petrified they watched A’viloh slowly raising his arms as if they were wings, like a bird that wanted to take flight.

Just that he wasn’t flying.

He was falling.

In an unnaturally slow motion he tilted forward, falling into the abyss and while Rael began to scream he was already gone.

[olderthannetfic]

I think the discussion about if loli guys are into actual children misses the point tbh. Even when they’re well aware that it’s not actual children and they don’t WANT it to be and they’re specifically into the non-realism of it…. A lot of loli (and moe, which is not unrelated since it’s rooted in the aesthetics of it but applied outside the specific genre) in anime is still about this fantasy of women as helpless and innocent and needing to rely on you and, above all, not having real world problems. Granted, a lot of romantic fantasy is like that, arguably especially stuff about women aimed at men…. But I think that is what personally makes me not really want to deal with guys who are super into it that in my own personal life. Like, let’s not pretend that a certain kind of guy getting used to expecting women to be like that in anime and video games hasn’t had some real consequences for women in nerd culture who insist on being full human beings over like, the past decade and a half lol. Like it’s just hard to imagine that being the fantasy of a guy who specifically wants a take-charge, dominant, independent kind of woman over like…. Idk, lady villains stepping on his face or something, lol

I’m hardcore anti-censorship and don’t believe that preferences in romantic or sexual fantasy in fiction has an exact relationship to what we want in real life…. But it seems strange and anti-intellectual to argue that media *never* has that influence. Like, just divorce this from arguments about porn and “problematic shipping” for a second. There are a ton of people, of multiple genders but especially over age 20 or so they’re more likely to be men, who seem to think that if they’re friendly enough to someone of their preferred gender (or really, opposite gender, since this is based on an “everyone of my preferred gender is a potential partner” norm that people into the same gender just can’t assume) they’ll eventually reciprocate their feelings, or they *should*. The Nice Guy thing. Do you really think that the numerous romantic comedies that have that as a dynamic, or the video games whose “romance” mechanic is “give them gifts and talk to them enough and they’ll eventually be a love interest possibility,” doesn’t play into that at least somewhat? Like, we’re all smart enough to know that Stardew Valley and Harvest Moon aren’t like real life romance, I think…. But did you know that yet when you were 13? Do you think *everybody* who plays those knows that?

Take it out of the context of romance at all. If you’re a lawyer, how many times have you heard people who have misconceptions about what you do based on legal dramas? Or for doctors, about medical dramas?

And that doesn’t put any responsibility on the creators to change stuff (I mean, the “reward = romance” thing is just a very easy video game mechanic for instance, and programming in something that more closely resembles actual romance would be impossible, and it’s not like it’s any less realistic than like, how you fish or mine or farm in those games), it’s still on consumers to think critically (again, that the video game that has you fighting slime monsters in mines or where you grow broccoli in just a few days and harvesting crops is just one click isn’t going for realism perhaps. People wring their hands about the general popularity of farming games like it’s yearning for some political/cultural thing, and forget that the specific fantasy is it without all the toil. Just like plenty of people love playing restaurant games who work(ed) in restaurants irl and hate(d) it). But like, we talk about “society” influencing people in terms of stuff like racism and sexism. Mass media is part of society. This is why a lot of feminist criticism over the years has focused on critiquing broad patterns that recur in media, to the point that they become societal trends — and a lot of people take this in *unconsciously*.

I think what that one earlier anon meant with “especially with porn” is that porn shouldn’t be like, an exception to this. It’s kind of weird how people who are all for media analysis of problematic patterns in other kinds of media think it suddenly doesn’t apply if it’s media designed for the purpose of getting off. And sure plenty of us are into things in porn we have no desire for IRL (I love mpreg and I love kidfic, I have less than zero desire to have kids and especially be pregnant irl, to the point that it’s actually a squick for me in *het* fic), plenty of people are into specifically the fantasy version minus the Issues they have with that stuff in the IRL version. But… that’s not everyone. Some people’s porn preferences do match up with what they’re into irl. Even when they don’t, as with the loli example there’s often some other particular reason they like that

I don’t think it’s right to go around asking strangers to go around explaining their porn preferences to you, but I think it’s fair to think about it yourself (in the interest of introspection if nothing else), and to critique broad patterns in fandom, same as we would for any other kind of media. Why is porn the special exception for which all the other rules about 101 media analysis don’t apply?

--

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad: Book 3, HMS Surprise (part 1)

This one, I made notes on my phone while listening to the audiobook, so we shall see how well I distill them.

The series is hitting its stride now as a series, I think. M&C was kind of oneshottish, no real expectation of continuation; Post Captain was the pleased "oh! i get another one? great!" where he then crammed in three books' worth into one, and now HMS S is "ah. this is a series! Settle this plot down, then." pacing-wise.

So we pick up with politicians wrangling over the aftermath of the previous book, which had seemed to end so tidily and on such a happy note. Of course that is not the end-- there's a series now.

So at the end of the previous book, Jack was one of five captains sharing out a prize of some several million pounds, and this would have made him enormously wealthy and guaranteed his marriage. Of course.

In the opening scene of this one we hear that, legally, Spain had not declared war on Britain at the time, so legally, that money is not prize money, so legally, it should just be kept entirely for the government and not distributed to the sailors and officers who actually did the fighting at all, despite that being the well-established custom of the day. Legally, see, they don't have to hand it out, even though the people who designed the mission, and the people who executed the mission, all felt certain that it was a legit prize at the time and acted accordingly.

Stephen's friend Sir Joseph, head of Naval Intelligence, is arguing that of course it should be prize money, for large numbers of very good reasons, not least that he designed the mission with that in mind.

But the new First Lord of the Admiralty is a civilian politician. And he openly mentions Stephen Maturin's name, despite the fact that Sir Joseph had stressed to him that the man is a confidential agent. The First Lord does not catch the hint. And then he asks who the captains are, and remembers that Jack Aubrey's father is an opposition member in Parliament, and immediately Sir Joseph knows that it's over; this is political wrangling now, and this man will make a decision that harms the national interest and the morale of the service and everything else simply because General Aubrey is a politician he does not like.

So there is no prize money. And Jack is not out of debt. And cannot marry Sophie. And, far far far worse, Stephen's name is now exposed to a crowd of non-confidential people of no particular discretion, particularly marked as a secret agent with knowledge of Spanish affairs.

Anyway-- zooming out from that crackerjack first scene, and it is despite how it sounds, it's really well-told political intrigue with a very good layering of easy-to-understand, easy-to-deplore bullshit (and Admiral Harte gets his shitty little nose in there being a massive hypocrite, have no fear) -- the general situation is thus:

Jack, still in the Lively, is in the Med bottling up the French fleet in Toulon, and is engaged to Sophie-- legally, with all kinds of avaricious wrangles from Mrs. Williams, all the terms and conditions he acquiesced to unprotesting, so that Sophie will legally own most of their joint property. Diana has run off to India with Canning; Stephen has been collecting intelligence on them, though mostly it seems for the purpose of hurting himself with it. Stephen is to go to Minorca to do more intelligence stuff despite the fact that his name has been exposed-- the news will not have reached them, Stephen says coolly, declining to cancel the mission.

The Lively has a schoolmaster to oversee the young gentlemen's lessons. (Prior to being a midshipman, a young gentleman will be expected to have served three years of sea time, with the status of First Class Volunteer; many are listed as servants during this time, and many of them do not actually report to the ship during this time-- entering a friend's son on one's books to say he was on a ship long enough that when he joins he can just start as a midshipman with no waste of time is a perfectly accepted kind of little fraud, very common in Jack's social circles. "Young gentleman" as a category seems to include both the volunteers and rated midshipmen. But the Lively has a number of quite young gentlemen actually aboard, including the five-year-old [or, seven. he was five in the previous book but in this book, some weeks later, he is now seven] son of one of the lieutenants, as he came home from a voyage to find his wife dead and no family remaining to care for the child, so the little boy has been onboard ever since. Apparently Babbington may actually have still been a volunteer during some of the events of Master and Commander, but of course this is not consistently represented. I fully support an author doing whatever the hell he wants with timelines, and it is absolutely consistent with the inconsistency of historical records, LOL.)

Anyway-- Jack also actually went to sea as a volunteer very young, and the ship he was on did not have a competent schoolmaster, so he has suffered his entire life from not a very good education. He is sitting in on the young gentlemen's lessons ostensibly because he is concerned for them and wants to ensure they learn what they must, but in practice, he is taking advantage of this opportunity to get a proper thorough grounding in his own education, belatedly, and is thereby unlocking a real true love of mathematics, heretofore only instinctively guessed-at.

The Lively has seen long prior service in the South Pacific, and as such has a number of Asian crew members aboard. (So we do now see the word Chinaman occur, which unlike Indiaman does refer to humans, but is used as a neutral descriptor; I will nevertheless henceforth be avoiding its use, though to be fair I think it only occurs once in the book anyway.) Jack is pleased with the Chinese and Malayan crewmen, largely, as they all are unfailingly polite and have a number of useful skills, and are excellent seamen. But he finds out during an elaborate cutting-out expedition that many of them had formerly been pirates; they slaughter their opponents with absolutely stunning efficiency in a quite practiced manner despite how little combat the Lively itself has seen.

They make for Minorca to pick up Stephen but he does not make the rendezvous. Another Catalan man appears, and says Stephen has been taken, and is being tortured by the French in Port Mahon. Jack knows the city. With the Catalans, he sets up a rescue mission, and frees the prisoners, burns the house (coincidentally, the house where Captain and Molly Harte used to live), and rescues Stephen, who has had all his fingernails pulled out and has been stretched on a rack. (Touchingly, he has hallucinated Jack coming in to rescue him before, and so when it truly happens, is surprisingly calm, mistaking it for another hallucination.) It is a taut little action, badass as fuck. The officers of the Lively are disappointed when Jack won't take them, but this is not an official sanctioned expedition and there will be no glory, no report, no credit, no advancement of career-- it is simply a pragmatic necessity, and he wants only people who know the ground (his own people, Killick and Bonden) plus enough to pad out the numbers to make it work, so he takes those of the Chinese and Malay pirates who choose to volunteer, since this is just the ticket for them. (All of them volunteer.)

(A side note. The Catalan who helps them is named Joan. The audiobook narrator pronounces this Catalan man's name, which in Spanish would be Juan, and is pronounced the same, as the English woman's name Joan. Come on Simon. I believed in you.)

They get Stephen and get out, and we resume the tale in England with Stephen staying at an inn in Portsmouth. The Lively has been handed back over to her real captain, Hammond, at Gibraltar.

Jack is immediately arrested for debt as he tries to get the invalid Stephen into a carriage to go from Portsmouth to London, so off he goes to a sponging-house, hero or no; he goes quietly and resignedly. Sir Joseph Blaine is shocked to hear that heroic Jack is imprisoned; he had arranged for at least a consolation, an ex gratia payment, for the captains who were denied prize rights over the Spanish treasure, but it comes out that the agent has been slow in paying it out, and Jack is helpless without it. Blaine resolves to see it settled, at least, and does-- Jack is released. At least provisionally; there are other debts.

Sir Joseph, in his gratitude for Stephen's rescue, gets Jack another ship-- HMS Surprise, on an errand to carry an emissary to Kampong. It's a good long mission in a lovely ship (in which Jack served as a midshipman long ago), and he hopes it will give Jack's affairs time to settle.

Stephen turns to Bonden, asking him to write a letter for him, since his hands are so injured, and it comes out abruptly that Bonden is illiterate.

'Bonden,' cried Stephen, 'take pen and ink, and write -' 'Write, sir?' cried Bonden. 'Yes. Sit square to your paper, and write: Landsdowne Crescent - Barret Bonden, are you brought by the lee?' 'Why, yes, sir; that I am - fair broached-to. Though I can read pretty quick, if in broad print; I can make out a watch-bill.' 'Never mind. I shall show you the way of it when we are at sea, however: it is no great matter - look at the fools who write all day long - but it is useful, by land. You can ride a horse, sure?' 'Which I have rid a horse, sir; and three or four times, too, when ashore.'

Bonden takes the message on foot, and goes and fetches Sophie and Pullings, Sophie to write the letter from Stephen to Jack, and Pullings to carry it. This allows them to arrange for Sophie to come along to the rendezvous, so that she can see and speak to Jack briefly without her mother's knowledge. Jack had tried to release her from the engagement when his renewed troubles with debt became apparent, but she wished to refuse, but could not speak to him directly about it, so this is their chance.

She sneaks out at night and goes in the coach with Stephen, and there gets a half an hour (well, forty-five minutes; Stephen with the timepiece is soft-hearted) of conversation with Jack before they must part ways, her to go home and sneak back in to her house, Stephen and Jack to go on to the Surprise, waiting in Plymouth.

The Surprise makes her way off around the world, saddled with a moderately ineffectual but amiable first lieutenant named Hervey who has influential friends, and a second lieutenant named Nicolls who is inoffensive if clearly suffering from major depression, but with Tom Pullings as the third lieutenant, competent and familiar. They are becalmed awhile, and Jack teaches Stephen to swim-- badly, but at all, which is an accomplishment.

'Did you see me?' [Stephen] cried as Jack came nearer. 'I swam the entire length: four hundred and twenty strokes without a pause!' 'Well done,' said Jack, swinging himself into the boat with an easy roll. 'Well done indeed.' Each stroke must have propelled Stephen a little less than three inches, for the Surprise was only a twenty-eight gun ship, a sixth-rate of 579 tons - the kind so harshly called a jackass frigate by those not belonging to her. 'Should you like to come aboard? Let me give you a hand.'

Some of the men get scurvy. They run short of supplies and are down to eating rats, which they euphemistically term "millers" out of absurd delicacy. Stephen has pet rats, he is feeding them madder as an experiment.

They find St. Paul's Rocks, where Stephen begs to be put ashore for a moment to study the birds. Jack declines, as it is Sunday and one cannot ask the men to work on Sunday, but the second lieutenant Nicolls volunteers to take him over in the little rowboat for a few hours.

A sudden squall damages the ship and washes poor depressed Nicolls away, along with the little boat; Stephen survives, but is stranded, and the Surprise driven away by the wind. Some undefined time later (two days?), Babbington comes in the barge with Bonden and others rowing double-banked in a great hurry straight into the eye of the wind where the ship herself could not come, certain the Doctor must be dead but hoping against hope to find him. They do, alive, and bring him back to the ship.

Stephen claims that the extreme heat on the shelter-less rock has worked miracles on his torture-twisted tendons.

'I wish you joy of your rescue, Doctor,' said Mr Atkins, the only man aboard who was not pleased to see the barge return: Stephen was attached to the mission in an artfully vague capacity, and the envoy's instructions required him to seek Dr Maturin's advice; Mr Atkins's advice or indeed presence was nowhere mentioned and he was consumed with jealousy. 'May I fetch you a towel or some other garment?'- with a look at Stephen's scrofulous shrunken belly. 'You are very officious, sir; but this is the garment in which I shall appear before God; I find it answers pretty well. It may be termed my birthday suit.' 'That has choked the bugger off,' said Pullings to Babbington, just above his breath, out of a motionless face. 'That is one in his bleeding eye.'

During Stephen's absence, however, he finds that someone has stolen his rats, and he is furious.

Babbington is given an acting promotion to lieutenant to replace Nicolls. His perfect delight in this is marred only by his guilt at having, along with the rest of the larboard midshipmen's berth, eaten Stephen's rats, and he blubberingly confesses. Stephen revenges himself only mildly for this offense.

Jack wished to avoid putting ashore in Brazil, to avoid official delays, but Stephen suggests they just find a village and buy green stuff there, which works. Stephen of course has to go ashore. He promises not to return with any vampires, but in the event comes back with a three-toed sloth, which does not like Jack. Jack wins it over by giving it grog, in time-honored sailor fashion. Stephen discovers this and is indignant, leading to possibly the funniest line in this book:

Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, 'Jack, you have debauched my sloth.'

The dignitaries aboard are annoying and take up an enormous amount of space, including Jack's entire great cabin, so that he must room with Stephen in a smaller space. The envoy himself, a Mr. Stanhope, is dignified and kind (though a bit remote: "Once he had established that Jack and Hervey were connected with families he knew, he treated them as human beings; all the others as dogs - but as good, quite intelligent dogs in a dog-loving community"), but his head secretary, Mr. Atkins, is an officious, self-important, tale-bearing busybody universally loathed onboard.

Stephen teaches Bonden to read and write. They have their lessons up in the top, for privacy-- Bonden is not keen to be mocked on his scholarly habits, and hides the book when the midshipman Callow comes up to deliver a message. Stephen doesn't notice this.

They get, finally, to the high latitudes, where there is a huge blow, though Stephen is consoled by finally seeing the albatross. The dignitaries complain that the ship leaks and demand better accomodations. Stephen refuses to pass the message and tells the officious secretary to go tell Jack himself. The man declines to do this, as Jack is currently lashed to the wheel in the driving rain working like hell round the clock with all hands to keep the ship from broaching-to and foundering, and indeed shortly after winds up clinging for his life to a broken mast in the front of the ship trying like hell to keep the sea from overwhelming them. Surprise is damaged internally, her timbers strained, and they have to limp the rest of the way. Not a single rat is left in the ship, the stores are dangerously low.

I wasn't going to do this but I'm going to divide this. I swear I'll get better at making these short. I'm kind of doing a... rehabilitative exercise on my ability to write, here. Coming up is part two, Bombay! With critical updates on How Many Indiamen Tom Pullings Has Been In! And you'll never guess who gets the clap!

[starsreminisce]

Every once in a while, there is some comment that suggests Elain and Lucien's mating bond is off or fake. I actually argue quite the opposite, and I think Lucien is intuitively attuned to Elain's emotions, and their bond is the strongest between the three sisters. I also think that when Elain is not doing well, Lucien starts showing up more.

This makes his appearance during ACOSF solstice even more interesting to me, given that he was absent for ACOSAF's solstice, both of them declaring that they can't stand to be around each other.

Feysand's bond is mental, Nessian's bond is physical, and Elucien's bond is emotional. I also think this manifests in how each of the sisters pushed away from their mate: Feyre thinking she should still be with Tamlin, Nesta randomly hooking up with random males. I also think it's how their mate helped their respective partner heal. Feyre and Nesta are similar in that both don't want to be weak or helpless anymore, but the end of their healing was marked differently. Feyre's was marked when she secured the Ouroboros with a message that suggests the mental power needed with a statement like "Only you can decide what breaks you," and Nesta's was marked by the Blood Rite.

We can go through the end of ACOMAF and the parts in ACOWAR where Lucien has been the only one advocating for Elain and just knowing what she needs while giving enough distance to prevent overwhelming her.

The part that sticks out to me was when Lucien decided to find Vassa, and he specifically said that "I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to." They were left alone for the first time, Elain wanted to stop him but she didn't, and he left to fulfill her prophecy.

The next scenes we had Elain enjoying herself to make bread (an act associated with accepting the bond, just saying), Elain speaking up to use her to convince Graysen to do something for the humans, we find out that Lucien is the heir to the Day Court (fulfilling Elain's need for sunshine), Elain's “His name is Lucien."

When was the next time we saw Lucien and Elain together? After Hybern had been defeated, and he came running to her, spying the blood on her hands and asking if she was okay, then offering his condolences and then his praise. I also have to remind y'all that Azriel saw her first and said nothing when she forced Truth-Teller back to him. In his bonus chapter, he didn't have a thought in regards to this either.

In ACOSAF, people also ignore that Lucien tried to be there for Elain, and she was "too polite" to turn him away until he got the hint and left. What stood out to me, though, was during the Solstice, it was Lucien who told Elain not to be troubled because he wouldn't be staying for long, and it was Lucien who turned down Feyre's invitation to both stay for the festivities and stay in Velaris for two weeks to "get to know Elain" before announcing that he would be moving in with Jurian and Vassa. Elain was in a pretty good place at this point in time.

However, in ACOSF, we get this little nugget:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

On top of that, Elain and Nesta became estranged, Azriel pulling back his interactions with her, her being denied to search for the trove or being prevented from doing more than just tending to her little garden.

Is it a coincidence that Elain insisted on attending the Hewn City Solstice, knowing that its cruelty bothered her, was described as wearing pearl barrettes, and then the following day, Lucien was at the Inner Circle solstice, seemingly recanting his stance of not being able to stand to be around her for two minutes and his present of pearl earrings.

I don't think it's meant to be cruel on his behalf, considering he tried to hide his disappointment from her reaction upon receiving his present, but I do wonder if it's meant to be a statement that he sees what she's trying to do and trying to be as supportive as he could while still allowing her to dictate how their interactions would go.

Some people demand two extremities: either he is around too much or he doesn't care enough to try, but they fail to see how perfectly middle-ground Lucien is being. He is still accessible for her while allowing her to choose if she wants to interact with him.

ACOSAF Solstice = Elain happy and excited over cooking for everyone = Lucien saying he is not staying.

ACOSF Solstice = Elain pushing back on attending Hewn City, a place that brings her discomfort = Lucien staying for that Solstice.

Elain and Lucien are both capable of voicing out when things bother them, especially towards each other, as seen in ACOSAF, but I don't think if Lucien knew he was not wanted by her in ACOSAF solstice, he wouldn't have attended ACOSF solstice. He also would not have attended the Starfall in the later months, especially if there had been secret progress between her and Azriel.

Rhys came to Feyre's aid when she called for help mentally as she walked down the aisle, Cassian came to Nesta's aid when she was physically at her weakest, so it makes me wonder if Elain is approaching an emotional tipping point where she can't keep pretending that everything is fine when she sees both her sisters successfully moved on from their trauma because of help from their mates, Nesta especially.

We also have to acknowledge that the scent of their bond is strong a year later. I wonder if this manifested with Cassian asking Lucien where Elain was when he visited their training and Nesta calling Elain a wrench for staying far away from him as confirmation they too smell it. I would go so far as to wonder if that's why Rhys specifically brought up that Lucien has a right to the blood duel to Azriel because he smelled their bond. The only person that smell mattered to is Azriel.

So yeah, all in all, if SJM wanted to continue the train that Elain would reject the bond, she would have made other choices in ACOSF, starting with Vassa's development, Cassian's observations that Lucien is adamant about not being in Velaris, Elain trying to get closer to Azriel, Nesta flat out saying that it was Elain that Azriel was pining over by the fire, and it would have continued after Solstice where Azriel and Elain nearly kissed.

Instead, SJM chose to make their only interaction with that Lucien still looks at Elain with longing and Elain's bravado disappearing when he did.

[gaiuskamilah]

Bloodbound and the Politics of Dominance and Submission, Part 1: Do You Consent?

CONTENT WARNINGS: contains discussions of sexual assault, rape, and imperialism

“You know the money shots in porn films? Well, this was just a different substance: it was red.”

— Roberta Findlay on the relationship between pornography and horror

If you have ever read, watched, or paid the least bit of attention to Fifty Shades of Grey, you would know that the story revolves around the controversial or putting it lightly, questionable, relationship between the 21-year-old college student Anastasia Steele and 27-year-old billionaire CEO, Christian Grey. I watched as Christian led Anastasia into a new world of sexuality she knew little of, presented her with a neat contract outlining the nature of their sexual relationship, and yet constantly violated her boundaries outside of the bedroom. The series was of course met by disdain from people from the BDSM community, as Christian’s behavior was the exact opposite of what BDSM practitioners actually do. Boundaries, and of course consent, are gospel and ensure that all parties involved feel fulfilled. 

In the introduction, I outlined the obvious references to Fifty Shades in Bloodbound. Despite these references, funnily enough, it became seemingly apparent that the eternally 28-year-old Adrian does not actually act like Christian to his 22-year-old assistant. In the first few chapters, the importance of consent—boundaries—are highlighted, at odds with Christian and Anastasia’s story.

MC first discovers that Adrian is a vampire by the end of chapter one, walking in on him feeding on Nicole. In chapter two, Adrian confronts MC right after—he assures her that everything was consensual, and with her now knowing he is a vampire, then invites her to accompany him through the night as his assistant. He then tells her of the two principles the Council was founded upon: 1) vampires are only allowed to feed off of willing humans, and 2) the creation of new vampires is strictly limited and subject to the approval of the Council. Consent, and how apparently important it is to the Council, is highlighted over and over again in chapters two and three. 

Adrian and MC in B1Ch02

However, as the story continues, it becomes apparent that the opposite—the lack of consent—is a persistent theme throughout the series. Two important beginnings in Bloodbound involve unwanted advances, dismissal of consent, and an overall violation of boundaries: in B1Ch01, MC is subject to unwanted advances from Lester, who continues his sexual propositions throughout the books despite this rejection. Meanwhile, in B2Ch02, it is revealed that Rheya was banished for rejecting King Kaelisus’ advances, an event that leads to her becoming the First Vampire. Both the MC and the final antagonist experience unwanted advances, cementing lack of consent as an important stone in the thematic foundations of Bloodbound. 

B1Ch01 with the narration if the ‘How dare you!’ option is picked

B2Ch02 tapestry scene

While there are more instances of unwanted advances in Bloodbound (for example, Priya’s entire character—how she constantly tries to convince Amy to be her pet, her treatment of her houseboys, her extreme sadism), those explicitly romantic scenes are not the only times where lack of consent is shown. Despite its pact upholding consensual feeding, the Council is the biggest violator of its own principles. It is then followed by Gaius’s own heightened dismissal of bodily autonomy, and taken to further extremes with Rheya. One can argue that these scenes of feeding, Turning, body puppeteering, and mind control are not explicitly romantic nor sexual. Thus I posit a framework to view these as sexual, drawing from staples within the vampire literary genre and how they are portrayed within Bloodbound. 

Vampires have long been linked to sexuality, as authors write:

“The vampire can be a vehicle of or symbol for any desire, in part because it is a symbol for all desire. Noll cites the 1733 Dissertatio de Vampiris Serviensibus, which declares of vampires, “They beset men, women, and children alike, sparing neither age nor sex” (8). The protagonist of “Cinnamon Roses” says almost the same thing about her prospective partners—”straight or gay or female or male body…Age isn’t a biggie either” (Charles 23)—but in that story this diversity is positive, inclusive rather than indiscriminate, as it is sharing rather than predation. In Hodge’s “Alchemy of the Throat,” the vampires are promiscuous and perverse (272-78), but the polymorphous inclination is displaced onto the narrator, a castrato: “alluring to many women and to no few men…We were androgynes whose service to either sex was limited only our inclinations”.  (...) “Sex and horror are intertwined,” Kilpatrick observes, “because they are two taboos in our society”: she sees vampire erotica and pornography as, in part, about “moving beyond limitations,” which can be threatening to some—and satisfying to others. Most of these stories do not only make explicit what was implicit in earlier vampire texts, but also take what was a source of mixed fascination and revulsion and transform it into an image of desire and satisfaction. It seems that vampires function on the margins of sexual discourse, and show that those margins not only have expanded greatly, but are continuing to expand.”  — Bernadette Lynn Bosky, “Making the Implicit, Explicit: Vampire Erotica and Pornography” “...the importance of sucking and biting, and the fact that most acts of vampirism take place in private spaces such as bedrooms and at night, speak for themselves.” — Anna Katharina Schaffner, “Exhaustion: A History”

Choices's vampires are no exception to this use of vampires. Immortal Desires, its latest vampire series, is laden with vampirism as a metaphor for sex, particularly in its second installment. Bloodbound is even more so, with its Fifty Shades inspired cover and opening chapter. In Bloodbound, a vampire piercing through skin and drinking their blood is a not-so-subtle allegory for sex. Drinking blood is constantly described to be a physically pleasurable experience for both the vampire and the human, and scenes are laced with sexual narration. The first time Amy can let someone drink from her is with Jax, where the other vampires look away to give them privacy. Amy letting Lily drink from her in B1Ch11 can lead to a threesome with Lily and Jax—notably the first instance of a threesome in Choices. In some scenes, drinking blood is mixed with sex scenes itself, furthering the connection.

Jax feeding from Amy in B1Ch04

Sex scene with Priya in B2Ch05

Sex scene with Adrian in Bloodbound: Dark Solstice / Threesome with Adrian and Jax in Bloodbound 3

A vampire drinking blood is not the only instance of sexually charged blood metaphors in Bloodbound. The act of being branded is erotic, as the barriers between two people become less definite, and the one receiving a brand takes in the brander’s blood in their body. Being literally bloodbound is a metaphor for sex. MC can first receive a temporary brand in chapter four of book one, and a permanent one in B3Ch01. 

MC receiving Adrian’s temporary brand in B1Ch04

MC receiving Jax’s brand in B3Ch01

Now that the connection between vampirism and sex has been established, I return to the topic of the lack of consent. More often than not, monster stories tend to be a reflection of the fears of the time. Nina Auerbach chronicles this evolution of the vampire as a representation of fear in the Western world in her book, Our Vampires, Ourselves, where she writes: “...vampires blend into the changing cultures they inhabit. They inhere in our most intimate relationships; they are also hideous invaders of the normal.” With regards to fears surrounding gender and sexuality, Le Fanu’s Carmilla can be read as fear of the intimate relations between women, which would undermine the patriarchy’s control over society. In Stoker’s Dracula, it was the inversion of gendered norms, women who took on more “masculine” and active roles, and homosexual relations between two men. 

I argue then that sexual violence is one of the many fears in Bloodbound. Putting it in context, Bloodbound was released on March 30, 2018, at the height of the #MeToo movement, where numerous instances of sexual violence perpetrated by powerful people in industries worldwide were brought to light. Bloodbound is full of instances of metaphorical rape and sexual assault, and these instances are made possible by societal structures and the power dynamics that both result from and sustain these structures. This invasive violation of bodily autonomy both sustains political hegemony and allows for it to happen. This idea will further be elaborated upon; for now, I want to highlight a few moments in the series where this metaphor is most prevalent.

The first instance that I want to bring up is Kamilah’s turning scene. Gaius holds her down on the desk, he penetrates through her skin with his teeth, drinks from her without her consent, and binds her to him by forcibly turning her, a process that involves making her drink his blood. The scene can be read as a metaphorical rape.

Kamilah's Turning scene in B1Ch12

The second instance I want to highlight is Jax’s Turning, more emphasis put on the events leading up to his Turning rather than the Turning itself. Jax was led on by Margot, a member of Priya’s Clan, to believe that they were going to have consensual sex. Instead, she bit and drank from him without his consent, and left him to die. I posit an understanding of this within the blood drinking-as-sex framework (for lack of better term), where she went too far and engaged in sexual acts without his consent. Coincidentally, though I assume it is not by coincidence, this scene is sandwiched between a scene with Amy and Lester and one with Amy and Priya, both scenes with the Council vampires sexually propositioning Amy. 

Jax and Margot in B2Ch05

The third instance to be highlighted is that of Liv Denara’s. Like Kamilah, she was Turned without her consent, and like Jax, she was preyed upon by a member of Priya’s Clan. It does not go unnoticed to me that Jax and Liv’s assaulters were both from Priya’s Clan, led of course by Priya, who is known for her extreme hedonism and sadism. When Liv refused the advances of a Clan vampire, he Turned her against her will and left her alone to go feral. Viewing feeding and Turning as a sex act, him leaving her to go feral is akin to denying your partner aftercare or leaving them with no support system after an assault. Much like how rape is used as punishment for people who resist, Turning, and specifically the abandonment of a person newly Turned, can be seen as a form of punishment. Liv’s case is one of revenge rape.

Jax explaining the circumstances of Liv’s turning in B1Ch11

This lack of consent, of course, is a recurring theme for the Clanless. Majority of them were Turned without their consent, and most importantly, were isolated from systems that could help them better adjust to their new situation.

Jax in B1Ch04

The next few examples will explore an even more metaphorical expression of sexual assault, but none the less is one of bodily violation, a non-consensual blurring of boundaries for purposes that only benefit the perpetrator. 

First is Gaius’s ability to control the bodies of younger vampires. He typically employs this to subjugate vampires who turn against him. His blood being purer makes him stronger than his progeny, and it is this in part that he is able to exercise power.

Gaius controls Banner in B1Ch10 / Gaius controls Adrian in B1Ch16 / Gaius controls Adrian, Kamilah, Lily, and Jax in B2Ch16

The second example is Rheya and her level of control over other vampires’ bodies. Being The First, she has blood purer than Gaius’s, and as a result can control their bodies and minds on a level that Gaius cannot. The deliberate choice to describe her controlling their minds as them being “violated” not once but thrice by three different characters, as well as the overarching erotic themes of the series, leads me to read it as a metaphorical rape.

Kamilah in B3Ch08 / Gaius in B3Ch13 / MC in B3Ch12

Of course, a case can be made for mindreading and warping not necessarily being a sexual act, but within the themes of Bloodbound, I choose to read it as such. There are also cases where MC’s psychic abilities come into play during intimate scenes. In B3Ch01, if you choose to kiss your LI in the diamond scene, a vision from their past emerges while they and MC make out. Meanwhile, if you choose to sleep with Jax in B3Ch04, you have the choice to access his mind while having sex.

Vision of Lily's past in B3Ch01

Sex scene with Jax in B3Ch04

Bloodbound is arguably Choices’s first smut book. It pushed the boundaries on what exactly they could portray on the app. Books preceding Bloodbound had sex scenes, but no story as sexually overt and charged as Bloodbound. But beyond the explicit playable sex scenes, the charged narration, and the use of the vampiric metaphor, to what end is this use of sex, particularly one that lends itself to be read as rape? The crux of my argument is this: Bloodbound uses vampirism to allude to sexual violence as a natural result of oppressive political structures, as a tool for political hegemony to continue, and as metonymy for other kinds of social violence that allow for imperialism to function.

It was during the feminist movement in the 20th century that conversations around sexual assault started seeing rape as an act of violence. Numerous strains of feminist thought surrounding sexual assault have emerged since then, with my own personal preference being that of intersectional feminism. Intersectional feminism takes cues from radical feminism (not to be confused with the trans-exclusionary brand of “radical feminism” popular amongst “radfems”) and Marxist feminism, where the former acknowledges sexual assault as a form of violence under patriarchy and the latter supplements feminist thought with that of class analysis, where sexual violence is seen as an extension of class inequality. Intersectional feminism addresses the shortcomings of radical and Marxist feminism, with Canan and Levand calling for an “intersectional imperative” to viewing sexual assault, where factors such as gender, race, class, and politics are taken into account in the conversation:

“Our first and foremost recommendation is that it is imperative to see sexual assault as intersectional. (...)  Perpetuating a belief about where or how sexual assaults happen while overlooking evidence contrary to this belief, holding a single group of people responsible for perpetration while ignoring other types of perpetrators, or believing that sex and power are the only dynamics that exist in a sexual assault are all examples of nonintersectional ways of working around sexual assault. We must first break free of the narratives ruling the sexual assault discourse that prevent us from seeing oppression in all forms caused by sexual assault—oppression of all genders, racial oppression, economic disparities, oppression of victims through legal channels, overlooking perpetrators, false accusations, or allowing sexual assault to be tolerated in society.” — Sasha N. Canan and Mark A. Levand, "A Feminist Perspective on Sexual Assault"

It is with this framework that I return to the topic of rape and sexual assault in Bloodbound. When looking at the instances of assault in the series, one common denominator stands out: the perpetrators are people with power, whose privileged positions allow them to carry out assault and delay or even evade negative fallout for their actions. 

This is most overt in book one, where the Clans hold power in almost all sectors of the city. Their material and political advantages allow them to carry out assault with impunity, their principle of only feeding and Turning people with consent nothing more than an ideal with them being the biggest violator of it. Clan vampires admitting their hand at this violation of bodily autonomy would also be admitting the flaws in their system, which would eventually lead to either a reformation or toppling of the said system, forcing Clan vampires to give up a significant portion of the power they have. This is why their policy with Clanless vampires is to oppress, silence, and eventually kill them.

Jax in B1Ch04

Apart from institutional mandates allowing Clan vampires to assault with impunity, assault and the violation of bodily autonomy itself is also the currency on which power is maintained and gained. Book one’s most obvious example of this is Senator Vega—who Adrian describes as someone who “craves power” and hates the Clanless the most—and his use of the Feral crisis to further consolidate power. He took advantage of the Feral crisis, Turned numerous people without their consent, and unleashed them at the Awakening Ball. He pinned the blame on Adrian, the Council member most sympathetic to the Clanless cause. Additionally, Vega also unleashed a truckload of Ferals onto Adrian and Kamilah, using what he sees as expendable, assaulted bodies to eliminate his political rivals.

Vega in B1Ch15

A similar trend can be seen with Gaius, where his physical power and political posturing of himself as King provides in-universe justification for his violation of bodily autonomy. He is King, the domineering patriarch from which his descent from the goddess-figure of the First Vampire provides divine right for his rule. Gaius is also Roman, and the story has postured him more than once as an imperialist using Greco-Roman aesthetics, and throughout history romanticized Greco-Roman ideals, philosophies, and aesthetics have been tools for oppression and fascism. I cite two examples of Roman aesthetics in Gaius’s posturing as an imperial patriarch: first is that he was a soldier in Octavian’s army during the War of Actium, where his Turning of the then-nomarch Kamilah symbolizes Rome’s imperial annexation of Egypt (more on this here). Second is the Council’s coup in the 1920s, which draws comparisons to the assassination of Julius Caesar, with Gaius as the dictator Caesar and the Council members being the Roman Senate (comparisons with Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Julius Caesar here).

Because he is King, he can violate with impunity, as seen with him puppeteering the bodies of younger vampires. He forces into submission via bodily violation those who stand against him—Banner in B1Ch10, the Council members (sans Kamilah) in B1Ch16, and Adrian, Kamilah, Lily, and Jax in B2Ch16. When this ability is first portrayed in-game, Kamilah, his Queen and right hand, did nothing to stop him from violating Banner after Banner turned his back on Gaius. He is “the only vampire [Kamilah] ever feared” and no doubt his ability to control and violate people the way he can has fuelled that fear. Her fear keeps her subservient, and his rule unchallenged.

There also existed Gaius’s plan to turn humankind into cattle, taking them only for the pleasure and sustainment of vampire political hegemony. Like with Vega and ferals, the lack of regard for the autonomy of others is the foundation of his empire. When put within the framework of vampirism and sexuality as previously detailed, this disregard for life becomes both a metonymy for and enabling of sexual violence.

Gaius in the B1Ch13 tapestry scene

Vampirism, sex, and violence become even more intertwined with Rheya, whose villainous reveal happens at a Bacchanalia. She lies in bed with multiple dead partners, whose blood she consumed. It is later revealed that she, a goddess-figure set on imposing her empire, consumes blood to gain power. Like Vega and Gaius, it is through metonymic sexual violence—the desecration and cannibalization of others’ bodies for her own sake—does she gain power. It is also through violation of her progeny’s minds that she sustains political power, as Kamilah, Gaius, and Amy all describe Rheya’s intrusion as having “violated” them.

Rheya in B3Ch08

Truthfully, one does not even have to go so far into the story to see this intrusion of body and mind as a way to preserve the status quo. In B1Ch03, after learning of Adrian’s vampire nature and spending the night as his assistant, Adrian takes MC to Scholar Jameson to be “debriefed” i.e. have her memories erased. He does this without informing of what the procedure entails until Jameson has his hands on MC’s head, and only when she demands an explanation does he answer and ask her: “Do you consent?” (this is not even the last time Jameson is called to infiltrate Amy’s mind for political purposes; book two opens with him using his abilities on her for Gaius’s political machinations)

Adrian in B1Ch03

The more I look at the series as a whole, the more I come to appreciate the first few chapters of the first book. Amy’s decline of a debriefing, choosing to remember and face the truth, is such an important part of the series’ themes, especially adding to her role as the Bloodkeeper. It lends itself to the overall theme of destroying the cycle of violence, of doing away with systems that only perpetuated harm.

But before fully diving into the discussion of ending the cycle of violence, the machinations of the wheel need to be established. So far, I have discussed the connection between vampirism, sex, and sexual violence as a tool of political hegemony and empire, and the context which allows the said violence to happen. However, I do not think Bloodbound limits the conversation to only that. I believe Bloodbound correctly identifies the beginning of unequal submission in a unit frequently relegated to an untouchable status: the family. This exploration of vampirism and the family unit will be discussed in the following entry into this series, Your Blood is Mine.

[PREVIOUS]

[NEXT]

references:

Alexander Heller-Nicholas, What’s Inside a Girl?: Porn, Horror and the Films of Roberta Findlay. https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2016/american-extreme/porn-horror-roberta-findlay/.

Anna Katharina Schaffner, Exhaustion: A History.

Bernadette Lynn Bosky, Making the Implicit, Explicit: Vampire Erotica and Pornography in The Blood Is The Life: Vampires in Literature, edited by Leonard G. Heldreth and Mary Pharr.

Nina Auerbach, Our Vampires, Ourselves.

Sasha N. Canan and Mark A. Levand, A Feminist Perspective on Sexual Assault in Handbook of Sexual Assault and Sexual Assault Prevention, edited by William T. O’Donohue and Paul A. Schewe.

tags | @kainebell @itlovesinthewoods @peonyblossom @dutifullynuttywitch @icanmakewords

@sharpstake @bedtimegiraffe

(let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from this series!)

[slotumn]

Many people like considering fix-it/golden route fics for 3H. But for sickos like me, I present you:

What is the worst outcome for Fódlan? What would be the opposite of a golden route and the most horrifying bad end, not just for the individual blorbos but on a continental, societal scale?

First off, for this to happen it requires that there is no Byleth or Shez at the time of canon. Maybe they died, maybe they never existed, maybe they aren't born yet, but either way there is no superpowered homunculus choosing one faction over another and giving the kind of advantage that either lets them win and end the war (Byleth) or at least continue with a decisive advantage that makes them likely to win/let them negotiate from a strong position (Shez).

So, without a tiebreaker like the superpowered mercs, I think it's fairly likely that if a war broke out in Fódlan, it would basically continue in a deadlock until all three fell apart. Because literally none of the three nations are in good situations, if you take a closer look.

We already see that Kingdom literally starts the war with half of their territory falling under Imperial control, and in Houses their ruler disappears early on. Alliance/Federation struggles with internal unity and generally doesn't appear to have the military strength of the other two. Adrestia starts off with an advantage wrt military, but it's also implied to have a lot of internal problems wrt corruption and whatnot; even if they can get a military victory, it'll very likely be a pyrrhic one. And whether they're allied with Agarthans as in Houses or kick them out as in Hopes, there is no way Agarthans won't try to sabotage and fuck them over at every turn.

Now, it would be one thing if Fódlan just collapsed by itself. But you gotta remember that the continent itself surrounded by other neighbors who can and will invade. Dagda, Sreng, and Almyra would absolutely not leave a weakened Fódlan alone, and Fódlan could very well go through a second war where they become a battlefield for external forces. And that war would probably end with Fódlan being divided among the external forces without Fódlani input being considered.

And like, all that sucks, but surely at some point a Fódlani resistance movement trying to regain their independence would arise. Or at least smart politicians who try to get their regions integrated into whichever nation they've become a part of and elevate their economic/political status so life doesn't suck as much.

But unfortunately, Fódlan has been isolationist for 1000 years and a vast majority of competent people got killed in the wars. Which means that the above resistance movements and politicians/diplomats don't know how to strategize or negotiate with the outside world and keep shooting themselves in the foot with the stupidest decisions possible. After two wars and continuous subjugation, Fódlanis keep being stubborn and prideful and refuse to adjust to the point that many would argue they brought their awful fate upon themselves.

The worst part is, none of the changes the lords wanted for Fódlan happen, and the problems they wanted to fix actually get worse. Feudal inheritance based on Crests get stronger, as what remains of local elites try even harder to cling into what little power they have left, and the religious fanaticism gets worse in reaction to subjugation by external forces. There are no social safety nets and the people's opinions are not taken into account by governments because both local and foreign rulers are busy exploiting the hell out of Fódlani subjects. Xenophobia and racism gets even worse, again in reaction to subjugation and humiliation by foreign powers that the Fódlanis once considered "barbarians."

And, what I think would really top this AU as being a bad end is this:

Years after the disastrous wars, Byleth and/or Shez are born to the devastated and exploited Fódlan. (Whether they're literally Byleth and Shez or reincarnations or just people with similar appearances and personalities doesn't matter.) Upon coming of age and looking around the land, they come to the conclusion that the place is hopeless and beyond saving.

Then they leave, abandoning Fódlan forever.

[antash]

뱃긴 my heart pt.1

warning: weird pov (it's both 2nd & 3rd omni), language (one curse), sungchan feels annoyance/jealousy, liking/drinking milk

synopsis: An seemingly regular day in Y/N's life. She goes to school with her friends, gets assigned projects and discusses homework, and goes to work. But of course there's the little things, like her secret admirer and the feelings one can't control.

note: not a lot of sohee or anton; and no shotaro, wonbin or seunghan in this part. i made a post of the seating chart for anyone curious

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Y/N, Hurry up! You'll miss the train!" your mother called out to the girl. You stumbled as you hurried to put your socks on.

"I'm coming! Is Yedam waiting outside?" you yelled back as you walked into the hallway. You rushed down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the toys left.

"Of course, he is. When is that boy not waiting for you?" she said, turning to look at you from her spot in the latchen. Your mom pointed to the three boxes next to where your bag laid. "Tell me what you and the boys think. I tried something new" she mentioned before turning around to focus on the stove.

"Thank you, love you" you told her as you struggled into your shoes and blew her a kiss. Opening the door, you were greeted with the sight of Yedam's back. He turned around, giving you a smile.

"Late night?" Yedam asked, raising his eyebrow at you. While Y/N's hair was styled and her uniform neat, the male knew by the way, she was still wiggling into her shoes and the open backpack hanging on your forearm. The girl mockingly laughed back in response.

"Very funny, Damie. Ms. Choi's project kicked my ass last night" you told him with an dramatic sigh. He only laughed back, reaching over to zip up Y/N's bag.

"We had two weeks. Don't tell me, you waited to the last minute?"

V/N scoffed as she bumped her shoulder with the male. "No. It was only little details". The girl shook her head with a little wave of her hand as she spoke. Yedam laughed again, bumping into Y/N again. "Oi! Sungchan, Jung Sungchan!" Y/N raised her voice, calling out to her best friend.

"I hear AND see you. There's no need to yell my name out like that" the tall male told her in fake annoyance. Sungchan knew that the girl would argue with him meaning that her attention wouldn't be on the other boy. The trio playfully fought (Y/N and Sungchan or Y/N and Yedam) and politely conversed (Sungchan and Yedam) as they walked into the subway station. As they settled into the cart, Y/N pulled out two boxes from her bag, handing it to the two males.

"Mama said she wants feedback. It's something new." you told the two of them. Sungchan playfully saluted while Yedam nodded.

"I'll text her" Yedam said as he placed the box into his own backpack. Sungchan scowled at the boy's words. The both of them had Mrs. L/N's number but it felt Yedam was rubbing it in by saying such. It annoyed Sungchan to no end when the other boy did things like that.

Y/N lightly elbowed the tall male, gaining his attention. "Are you okay?" you whispered to Sungchan.

"Yeah" he responded back, also in a whisper. Sungchan poked at your head causing it to move to the side. You shot him a glare back but he thought you looked cute with your pouted lips. Sungchan just laughed, covering up how his heart fluttered.

ᡣ𐭩

"Meet me in the courtyard after putting your belongings away" you told Sungchan as he head in the opposite direction. Y/N and Yedam walked into their shared classroom. "There's bread and milk on my desk again" you said to the male by your side, stopping at your desk.

'Must be your secret admire again" Yedam teased as he went to his own desk. "Who do you think it is?" he continued, seating down in his seat but facing in your direction. Y/N only shrugged her shoulders in response. Yedam could see that she was thinking by her furrowed eyebrows.

"Sohee, do you see who's putting the items on my desk? You're always here before we get here" I/N asked the male sitting next to her. Said male looked up, pulling his attention away from the book he was reading.

"No, no clue. It's there before I come in" Sohee explained, his large boba eyes meeting yours as he pointed to the food items. Y/N nodding though she pouted and mumbled an okay in response. Sohee's heart fluttered at the action, and he sharply looked awav before anyone could catch the heat growing on his cheeks. Anton looked over, silently watching as Y/N stuck a straw through the milk. He smiled as the girl happily drank the vanilla milk with a smile on her own face.

I thought you didn't like it without chocolate?" Yedam asked the girl who was busy fighting against the bread packaging. Y/N ignored him in favor of eating the soft bread.

"It's from my secret admirer~" she sung as spun on her heel. "So I have to enjoy. They at least knew that I liked Vanilla milk" Y/N continued with a happy hum, making her way out into the hallway.

╭──────────.★..─╮

Taglist

@dimplewonie

╰─..★.──────────╯

[starlostastronaut]

DAY 22 | PICTURE FRAMES

PAIRING: kim seungmin x reader

GENRE: fluff, non idol au

WC: 1.06k

CW: photographer!seungmin, model!reader, reader reffered to as girlfriend and queen, implied fem clothing for reader, attempt at humour? (kinda? idk)

PROMPT: he asks you to be his model

my last two braincells wrote this at 1am, so thats about all the explanation you'll get for this... thing. enjoy reading <3

title from paper rings - taylor swift

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

Immediately after entering the studio, you were swarmed by a group of stylists and makeup artists. Despite being in the industry for a few years now, this was something you were still getting used to. You weren’t a risk-loving person, quite the opposite, actually. You liked to have everything planned out beforehand and to know where you were going and what you were going to be doing. You liked to be prepared. You liked control. Nonetheless, photoshoots were not that kind of thing. It usually depended on who you were working with, but more often than not, you weren’t told what you were going to shoot. The company would provide a short questionnaire about things you were and weren’t comfortable with, but they barely told you the theme. And even though you loved being a model, this part of the job was not your favourite.

And Kim Seungmin was the worst of them. He was a freelance photographer, a highly demanded one, but he often set aside the time to do some photoshoots of his own to update his portfolio and Instagram. And he liked to rope his friends into modeling for him. Having met him all the way back in high school and being a professional model on top of being his girlfriend, no wonder you were on top of his list. Unfortunately for you, he liked to keep his concepts a secret, refusing to tell you anything except the time and location. For reasons unknown to you, you always said yes, though. Maybe it was the pleading puppy eyes he mastered over the years, or because you knew he would never make you do anything you were truly uncomfortable with. And so he kept asking, and you kept agreeing.

And that was how you found yourself in a makeup chair in front of a not very stable table with a mirror placed on top of it. It certainly wasn't the best makeup station you saw, but on the other hand, you were in an abandoned warehouse that supposedly inspired Seungmin, so it could have been worse. At least three stylists were currently occupied by your hairstyle for the shoot, while others argued about the shade of your eyeshadow. You sighed and relaxed in the chair. This was going to take some time. 

Three braids later, some comotion could be heard by the entrance. When you turned your head to the source, you saw Jeongin walking towards the makeup station, looking excited. You should have guessed he would be here. Besides you, Jeongin was Seungmin's favourite model. And he especially liked photographing you two together, claiming the visuals were out of this world.

You greeted Jeongin politely when he sat down. Despite him being Seungmin's best friend, you never hung out much with him, aside from photoshoots. You tried to make small talk with him as the stylists were getting both of you ready, but it was so awkward that you were glad when the makeup artists told you to be quiet so as not to mess up the makeup.

Seungmin arrived soon after. He came by the station to greet you and Jeongin. “Any guesses on the concept yet? This one is pretty obvious,” he smirked, tilting his head to Jeongin, who was now dressed in a loose white shirt and tight pants, with knee-high boots ready. You shook your head. Well, you had your ideas but didn't want to say them out loud in front of Seungmin. He made it a game to let you guess the themes for photoshoots, rewarding you with a kiss whenever you guessed right. More often than not, you didn't, though, and he would mock you for it (with love, of course). So you started to refuse to tell him, making him pout about ruining the game. It was an endless back-and-forth, but that was just how the two of you worked. Love disguised as bickering and teasing.

Half an hour later, when you were in your costumes, the concept finally became clear. Faeries, specifically a faerie queen and a king. While you and Jeongin were getting dressed, Seungmin and the rest of the crew created a scene that looked like something out of a dark fairytale. The old warehouse was decorated with lights, sheer fabric, flowers, and all the typical faerie items, which strongly contrasted with the ruins around you. Someone even made a half-broken throne, and after the first few poses, it was explained to you that you and Jeongin represented the faerie conquerors after their victory, claiming the throne of the land they left destroyed. The concept was a complex story that made your head hurt a little bit trying to fully understand the vision, but that was normal for Seungmin. You let it go and focused on being the best dark queen you could be.

After the shoot, Seungmin asked you to stay for a little bit. You sat down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and leaning into his side. Seungmin shoved the camera in front of you. “You looked beautiful,” he said, showing you the first couple of pictures. “My scary queen.” Looking at the pictures, you had to agree with him. You looked majestic, with the background and your costume creating this mysterious and dangerous aura around you. You went over the rest of the pictures with him, smiling when he paused to point out a detail, excitedly telling you how you captured his vision perfectly.

“I knew what I was doing when I started dating a model,” he mused, yelping in pain when you smacked his shoulder playfully. 

“Hey.” You put on an offended face. “So that's the only reason we're dating, Kim Seungmin?” You cocked your brow and watched him agree with a mischievous smirk on his face. "Well, you should know that I only agreed to date you because you take pretty pictures,” you replied, suppressing a smile. You needed to keep up your mock offense a bit longer.

“See, it's mutually beneficial,” Seungmin shrugged and swiftly avoided another hit to his arm. During that, he lost his balance and fell from the bench, his camera still in his hands. You couldn’t help but laugh as he went down, desperately trying to shield the camera from the impact. When he looked up from the ground with furrowed brows, you only laughed harder.

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings @darkypooo @sleepyleeji

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission