#those two are precious and i will defend them with my life

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hiya! If you're still doing requests can you please do one of Malleus having a dino s/o? Idk why, i just thought it was cute They could be considered reptilian lovers 🥲

Malleus with dino!reader

Malleus Draconia had always been drawn to the strange and the unique. So, when he met you,a creature both ancient and powerful in your own right,he was fascinated beyond words. You weren’t just any student at Night Raven College,you were something different, something primal. A dinosaur, a relic of an age long past, yet standing before him in the present, carrying the weight of history in your every step.

At first, others found it amusing. A dragon and a dinosaur,two beings bound by their reptilian nature walking side by side like creatures from a forgotten myth. But to Malleus, it was more than mere coincidence. It was fate.

He admired you from the start. Your strength, your resilience, the way you carried yourself with the quiet dignity of a species long gone yet never truly forgotten. He saw in you something familiar,an echo of his own isolation, his own longing for connection. While others feared his presence, you remained unfazed, as if understanding the weight of his existence in a way no one else could.

“You are a marvel,” he once told you, watching as the moonlight illuminated the rough texture of your skin. “A living remnant of an era lost to time. Do you ever wonder what it would be like, to walk among those who came before you?”

You blinked at him, your gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes. But I think I belong here, now. With you.”

Malleus smiled at that, a rare and genuine expression of happiness. From then on, your bond only deepened.

Malleus was ever the gentleman, treating you with the same regal care he gave to all things he cherished. When you walked together, he matched your stride, his presence a steady shadow beside you. He never balked at your claws or the sharp edges of your form; instead, he traced them with reverence, as though committing every ridge and scale to memory.

You weren’t soft, not in the way humans were. But Malleus never sought softness in you,he sought the warmth of your companionship, the quiet strength of your presence. He was the prince of a mighty lineage, a dragon feared and revered, yet with you, he could simply be Malleus.

When others gawked, he simply raised an unimpressed brow. When someone dared to mock, they found themselves at the mercy of his sharp gaze, their words dying in their throat before they could utter another insult. It wasn’t that Malleus needed to defend you,you were more than capable of that yourself but he did it anyway, because to him, you were precious.

There were moments of quiet intimacy, ones where words were unnecessary. Malleus would rest his hand against your own, feeling the pulse of life beneath your skin. He would brush his fingers over the curve of your nose his touch feather-light, as if honoring the history etched into your being.

And then there were the playful moments, the ones where he let himself indulge in the joy of simply being with you. He found great amusement in watching you react to new things,especially the modern quirks of the world you now lived in. The way your eyes lit up at glowing trinkets, the way you tilted your head in confusion at the oddities of technology,it delighted him more than he cared to admit.

One night,he reached for your hand, clasping it gently in his own. His grip was cool, steady, a reminder that though time may move ever forward, some things remained unchanging.

“You are with me,” he murmured. “And I am with you.”

And in that moment, with the night as your witness and the stars burning like ancient memories above you, you knew that no matter how much time passed, you would never truly be alone again.

English is not my first language !

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely!! I hope you’re having a superbly wonderful week so far! I’m absolutely obsessed with all your whimsical!reader works, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write another with tasm!Peter? I just love the dynamic of someone as scientifically minded as him with someone more celestial-oriented and he never makes her feel dumb or silly or anything and supports her ugh they’re precious <3 you’re precious too <3

Thank you for requesting angel! You're the most precious <3

tasm!Peter Parker x whimsical!reader ♡ 539 words

“This is your life line.” The touch of your fingertip is light enough to tickle. Peter shivers, but you’re too focused to notice. “It doesn’t have any breaks in it, which means you’re dependable and you have strong, healthy genes.” 

Peter hums. “Do you think it’s accounting for the spider genes, or just mine?” 

You nod. “I think you had good genes before that, but it may have gotten deeper over time.” 

“Yeah?” Peter doesn’t doubt that the lines on his palm have changed over time. He thinks it’s for different reasons than you do, but that’s okay. 

“Mhm.” 

“Show me another one.” 

You smile, and it feels like sunlight shining down on his palm. “I was going to. You’re in such a rush.” 

“Well, I’m learning about my fate and everything.” He bumps the top of your head with his nose. “It’s urgent stuff.” 

“This,” your index finger tickles across the top of his palm, “is your heart line.” 

Peter peers at it. “It’s short.” 

“That’s okay. It’s going towards your middle finger, which means you’re passionate. That seems right.” 

“Does it?” 

You hear the smile in Peter’s voice and look up to give him one of your own. “I think so,” you say in that soft, easy way of yours. “You’re very romantic. And see, it breaks into two at the end, which means you put others before yourself. That sounds a lot like you.” 

Peter admires your concentration. Your lashes screen your eyes as you inspect his palm, your features relaxed but lips still curved with the echo of a smile. 

“It’s mostly straight,” you muse, “which I think indicates that you’re content in your relationships.” 

“You don’t say,” Peter hums. “I wonder why that might be.” 

You laugh as he grabs you around the middle, pulling you close and planting a firm kiss on the top of your head. 

“I don’t need my hand to tell me I’m happy, you weirdo.” 

“I’m just telling you what it says,” you defend yourself. 

“Let me see yours.” He sits you between his thighs, leaning over your shoulder. 

“You won’t know what it means, though.” 

“You can tell me. C’mon, gimme. ‘Nless you have something to hide, huh?” 

You relinquish your hand to him, letting him smooth his thumbs over the canvas of your palm. You lean your head into his. 

“Oh,” says Peter. “Hmm. I see. This is very good.” 

“Peter.” Your voice is warm with fondness. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know it’s pretty. It’s a very, very nice line.” He brings it to his lips. “It probably says something about you being sweet, and romantic, and having an okay-looking boyfriend who loves you a lot.” 

You turn your face towards him, your nose to his cheek. “Those aren’t the sorts of things it tells you. And you’re more than okay-looking.” 

“Pretty sure I’m reading it loud and clear, sweetheart. You sure you’re the one who knows how to do this?” 

“I think so,” you say. Your lips part contentedly when Peter finds them with his own, soft and pliant to his touch. 

“Guess I just have natural instincts for it, then.” 

It’s his favorite feeling, your smile blooming against his. “Maybe so.” 

[ronintales]

So When I Die. | Gojo Satoru

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, mentions of not eating, and not proofread ;p

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.

Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.

You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?

You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?

When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.

Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.

You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.

For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.

Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).

Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.

You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.

In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.

You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.

You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.

You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.

Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—

Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.

Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.

Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.

You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.

You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.

You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.

You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.

“I’m still in love with you y’know…”

“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.

It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.

“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”

“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.

You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.

After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.

Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.

The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.

Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.

His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.

Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.

The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.

You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.

When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.

Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.

People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?

Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.

When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.

[theoriginalriffles]

klance fic recs pt.2 (as of June 2025)

to see my first rec list, go here. organized by word count <3

You can't even light blunts in space by hayleykiyoko // 5k // Canon

writer's synopsis:

After Lance is in a healing pod for record-breaking time, Keith is surprised to see him come out different.

my notes: basically, Lance loses his memory in the pod, and the paladins make Keith be the one to take care of him. this fic is genuinely so funny and cute, Lance is such a lovable shithead here. ps there's no actual weed usage here lol.

To All Seven Moons and Back by UndimmableSpark // 5k // Canon

writer's synopsis:

While exploring a rainy planet with an abundance of moon related culture, Keith does his best to puzzle out how Lance feels about him.

my notes: sooooo sweet and precious and silly. neurodivergent Keith you've got my heart 4ever!!

you're my pepsi-cola, I'm your coca-cola by laallomri // 9k // AU

writer's synopsis: “Are those Victoria’s Secret?” Keith freezes. He can’t tell if it’s judgmental, or curious, or—what—but he turns, slowly, and faces the boy. He looks normal. Not like he’s going to say something rude about the origin of Keith’s pajama pants. “Yeah,” he says cautiously. “My friend got them but they didn’t fit. They were on clearance so she couldn’t return them, so I use them instead.” (Keith really hopes confirming this isn’t a bad move—) “Aw, man,” the boy says, and Keith only has the barest second to panic before: “My sister likes their pajamas so I was hoping to get them for her for Christmas. But I guess if it was on clearance they might not be selling them anymore.” College AU/(Sort Of) Soulmate AU

my notes: we got trans keith, we got romellura, we got subverted soulmate au, we got awkward sweet pining. AKA it's a banger! this one was so tender and teenager-y i loved it.

i don't wanna let you love somebody else but me by ericawrites, killproof // 16k // AU

writers synopsis:

A stellar collision is the coming together of two stars caused by gravity, gravitational radiation, or other mechanisms not well understood. Any stars in the universe can collide. Keith and Lance do.

my notes: okay that synopsis doesn't set you up super well for what this fic actually is, but it's a celebrity au that has a mixed media format (transcripts, interviews, social media posts, as well as prose) that focuses on coming out, fan interaction, and our classic one-sided-rivals to friends to lovers. this was soooo 2018 but soooo sweet and funny.

Critical Hit by orphan_account // 21k // AU

writer's synopsis:

It’s the year 1986 and Lance just wants to do three things- 1. Hang out with his friends, 2. Maintain his high scores at the Dreamworks Arcade, and 3. Live life like a Hughes movie, not necessarily in that order. Everything’s going to plan until some asshole called ‘Firelord’ get’s the high score on Lance’s best game- Voltron: Legendary Defenders. And now? Well now, it’s on.

my notes: i loooove a good highschool fic + this has a great retro feel + stoner keith (my current obsession)!!! the rivalry dynamic was so good in this and I loved the pidge/hunk/lance friendship. too good!

hey, mom, i met a boy by mothpoem // 30k // Canon Divergence

writer's synopsis:

“Sweetheart,” says Lance, his hair longer, his shoulders broader, the slope of his nose uneven now where it didn’t used to be, “you don’t know the half of it.”

my notes: i have so many thoughts about this one but: if you've ever wanted to know what Keith saw on the space whale? yup. this is 30k of that. and almost all of it is Lance, ofc. beautiful prose and great humor just- yes.

A Rioting Blue by heavily_caffeinated // 30k // Canon

writer's synopsis:

As they broke into the ship, sliding quietly along a shockingly understaffed storage deck, no one thought to grab Lance. To touch base, maybe mention that the priority was the prisoners of higher standing with bigger pockets, which required a level of secrecy and nonchalance. And this requirement would need him to contain his emotions throughout the mission, even if his teammates were to fall or get injured. Even if he found Keith and wasn’t pleased with his treatment. He would need to remain calm. The monarchs were the priority. This lack of forethought led to what is considered one of the worst intergalactic shipwrecks of all time. After all, Keith Kogane was always Lance’s first priority. *** After Keith is abducted, Lance fights to get on a Blades mission to break into a Galran ship imprisoning hundreds. He keeps his own mission to himself. Step 1: follow orders until he can’t. Step 2: find Keith in the prison and break him out. Step 3: kill anything that slows him down. 

my notes: i realized that I hadn't really read much angst this month so i picked this one out of my marked for later folder and JESUS. wow. great choice. i need more of the paladins getting angry/vengeful/violent/lowkey crazy and this absolutely served that. the lance yearn was insanely well done. A+

and then... an honorary mention. not a klance fic, but so good I had to share.

Before The World Was Big by sh_ootingstarzz // 2k // Pre-Canon

writer's synopsis:

He’ll never be seven again; he’ll never be seven again, laughing in the backseat of his Dad’s pickup truck, and that terrifies him. Or growing up—in all the wrong ways.

my notes: literally so good. get ready to cry about Keith, like, hard. we got the mommy issues, daddy issues, religious issues, internalized homophobia, just slap, slap, slap, slap, ur dead and ur crying. ATE IT UP.

[snapmite1998]

Deciding he needed fresh air, Maul rose from his throne and made his way outside on one of the many balconies of the Mandalorian palace, the soft, silvery glow of the moon casting a serene light over the city of Sundari, illuminating the elegantly crafted structures and vibrant life below. The air was thick with the scent of lingering night blooms, and the distant sounds of the thriving city created a lullaby that contrasted with the ferocity of their shared past.

"My lord?"

He turned to Rook Kast, his Mandalorian commander, momentarily captivated by her presence. Clad in her striking maroon red and black armor, her figure exuded strength and grace. The way her violet hair caught the faint light, framing her fierce yet beautiful face, sent a thrill through him—a reminder of the bond they had forged through brutal trials and unyielding loyalty. Her icy blue eyes, usually so filled with determination, now reflected the soft glow of the moonlight, revealing a depth that few had the privilege to witness.

"Kast," he acknowledged. "What have you to report?"

Standing straighter, she gave her report. "Sundari is under our control for the time being. Our defenses have been fortified, and those who we lost in battle or were captured by the Republic at Vizsla Keep 09 are being replaced by those who wish to join our ranks," she then added with a grimace, "but their training has been slow going, and will take time."

"Time is now a precious gift, and one we do not possess in abundance," Maul stated as he looked back to the city below, "Sidious will dispatch his pawns to rid us of Mandalore. Its strategic position is far too valuable to abandon, if and when we are routed from this place."

Taking a step forward, Rook spoke with both uncertainty and hopelessness. "My lord, can we defend our planet against the forces of the Republic or Separatists? Should either one of them decide to invade us?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he answered truthfully. "Any resistance we can muster will inevitably be crushed by the numerical superiority of our enemies." Looking over his shoulder to look his commander in the eyes, Maul quickly reassured her. "But I refuse to yield. Ensure our forces are ready and dug in and our defenses are up to par, commander. We will never surrender."

"Yes, my lord."

Before Rook could leave, however, Maul stopped her, causing the Mandalorian to face her sworn lord with curiosity. As he reached out, his gloved hand gently cupping her cheek, a charged silence enveloped them. "Rook," he said, his voice low yet fervent, "I owe you my life. Your tenacity and resolve rescued me from the depths of The Spire, a prison that the Sith used to break me." His gaze bore into hers, the weight of gratitude palpable between them. "Together, we've battled tirelessly against the Separatists, the Republic, the Jedi, and even the Sith themselves; you have been my unwavering ally through it all."

Maul paused, allowing sincerity to fill the spaces around them. "Your loyalty, your courage—it has always reignited the fire within me. Even now, amidst this uncertain future, you stand by my side. It's more than I could have ever asked for." The warmth of his palm lingered on her cheek, a tender caress in a world of chaos.

Rook's breath hitched slightly, the recognition of his words igniting a flicker of something more profound in the depths of her icy gaze. "You honor me, Lord Maul," she smiled softly.

Maul stepped back slightly, allowing the electric tension of the moment to breathe, but his heart raced, knowing that within the moonlit expanse below and the battles ahead, their destinies were undeniably intertwined. As Maul gave a soft nod of thanks, the weight of their conversation hung in the air, a delicate thread woven between two warriors shaped by battle and loyalty. He turned, the shadows of the balcony stretching behind him as he prepared to retreat into the palace's depths, leaving the soft glow of moonlight spilling across the marble floors.

As Rook watched him go, her heart racing with the gravity of his words resonating in her mind. The moment of connection lingered, wrapping around her like the warm embrace of a long-lost dream. As the echoes of his footsteps faded, she remained rooted to the balcony, absorbing the tranquility of the night and the vibrant heart of Sundari below.

[bumlets-appreciation-blog]

Six Years of Newsies Observations

(Post Deletion Repost)

I’ve been a Newsies fan for almost six years now and I have this gigantic list of slightly deranged observations and opinions about the movie that I’ve been curating for that time. Since the list is 16 pages/348 points long, I won’t be posting everything but I will be posting the highlights. Please keep in mind that I started the list when I was 17 and I had a massive crush on most of the characters at the time. Hope y'all enjoy!

1. I did not fucking realize that a lot of those random ass black and white behind the scene pictures of the boys were also in the compilation of pictures during the intro. I feel like such an idiot!

5. Bumlets sleeps in the bunk next to the window on the other side of Mush and just flips to the other side of the bed to go back to sleep when Kloppman comes in to wake them up. It’s very relatable.

10. Jack is just casually flicking shaving cream at Mush for no reason whatsoever.

11. Blink really was about to punch Crutchy. “Equal rights, equal fights” indeed.

13. If I remember correctly, the real Mush Meyers got his name either because of his skin color or because he was really sweet on his girl.

19. I genuinely don’t understand what Kloppman is hoping to accomplish by counting the boys as they come dancing down the stairs.

21. Love that little redhead kid by the way. He’s so aggressive.

33. “How ‘bout a crooked politician?” “Hey stupid, that ain’t news no more!” Some things never change ¯\_(ツ)_/¯!

36. I love the older boys playing with the younger ones. They really are brothers.

42. I first saw this movie when I was seventeen and I still don’t understand the “shrimp” insult. It’s not that it doesn’t make sense, it’s just worded in the most ridiculous way.

45. I love the close-up of Les’s blank face. I genuinely do.

47. Bumlets swings his stick around a lot. How many people got hit while filming?

49. Maybe I’m biased because Weasel’s a dickhead, but I feel like if you’re a dickhead who works primarily with teenage boys and you have a ridiculous name, you should be prepared to be made fun of. They probably wouldn’t even make fun of you as much if you weren’t such a dickhead!!!

52. That poor two-headed baby in Brooklyn.

57. “This is my brother Davey. He’s older,” “Oh, no kiddin’”

59. Bumlets has a higher voice than I expected. It’s not ridiculously high or anything, but I just look at Dominic and expect something deeper. I do love how it sounds, though.

63. Excuse me, that poor three-headed baby in Brooklyn.

64. I feel like if you wanted a good headline, maybe write about the nude corpse instead of the three-week-long trolley strike.

72. “All this for one sip of beer?” Best line hands down.

74. Jack screams like he actually fell off the roof; the little drama queen.

78. Les should be an actor. Medda agrees.

79. Also, can Medda marry me? She’s gorgeous and I love her.

80. The first few times I watched this scene, I thought Medda called the boys her “kids” instead of her “guests.” Sometimes, I like to pretend, though.

85. Les is smoking a piece of licorice! He’s so precious!!!

89. Sarah should’ve had more screen time. She doesn’t have much, but we can see she has such good bones that it breaks my heart that we didn’t see more of her.

96. Dave clearly has no idea what “carrying the banner” actually means.

97. I was a mess at seventeen, but I can’t imagine being that broken and lonely. I will defend movie!Jack with my life.

99. I unironically love the Santa Fe dance break.

101. “Nobody told the horse.”

106. I hate that they turned the “sleeping on the streets” line into a joke in the Broadway show. It’s horrifying that this is something kids have to worry about.

112. David tells Les to shut up after he says strike.

116. I love that one kid with the bowler hat who’s super excited about beating up other kids. His energy is unparalleled.

118. Itey trying to encourage Dave is sweet.

120. Having Les be the only one standing other than Dave during the “and the young stand tall” line is such a great shot.

123. The same number of boys go to Queens and the East Side. Clearly, Jack knew that Pie-Eater, Snoddy, and Snipeshooter were not going to be as effective as Bumlets, Specs, and Skittery in spreading the word about the strike.

131. Yes, Dave is a Walking Mouth and we love him for it.

132. I love that Spot is a tiny fifteen-year-old boy, but he’s clearly the scariest person in the city. He’s running a newsboy mafia, for God’s sake.

134. David should’ve sung more. Like solos and everything.

135. Bumlets has bouncy hair and I love it.

141. I’m lowkey obsessed with the “Solomona and Hart Used Bookstore” behind Denton.

142. When he’s running up the ramp, Bumlets tosses his head to get the hair out of his eyes and it’s so good.

144. Skittery was trying so hard to jump on that kid’s back and it’s just not working out.

147. So many of the younger boys have sticks. Are they trying to copy Bumlets, Skittery, or both?

150. I bet the boys feel awful about Crutchy. I guarantee that Kloppman gave them the worst lecture of their lives when they got home without him.

153. I saw someone say that Movie!Crutchy not wanting to be carried was a sign that he had internalized ableism and I kind of want to scream just thinking about it. Maybe Crutchy just has boundaries.

155. “Seize the Day” (choral version) is so pretty. I’m sure all of these men and teenage boys would be thrilled to hear that I think they sound “pretty.”

157. I’ve got a still of Bumlets in that scene and if I ever make a Newsies blog, that’s what the icon is gonna be. I’m gonna try and find either a GIF or a picture of the newspaper photo for the banner. (AND I DID!!!)

161. Jack looking at David right before yelling, “Let’s soak ‘em for Crutchy!” was an apology because it was literally the exact opposite of what David just told them to do.

162. I just love how all of these grown-ass men are so eager to beat up children. It’s so charming, isn’t it? Fuck all of them.

164. “Never fear, Brooklyn is here!”

168. I think if I had been younger when I’d seen this movie for the first time, I would’ve imprinted on Spot Conlon like a baby duck. Instead, I was seventeen and now Bumlets is stuck with me.

169. Bumlets smiles into the camera and then changes to a surprised look. I think Dominic Lucero forgot he wasn’t supposed to be smiling until the last second.

170. Jack “No Pictures” Kelly smiling like an angel in a group full of beautiful disasters is my aesthetic.

177. I can wax poetic for hours about Bumlets’s hair, but when Snoddy runs his hands through his hair, it’s just as beautiful.

179. Giving Race’s “Sheepshead” line to a different newsie in the Broadway musical was so stupid. His name is literally Racetrack!

182. The exchange Race had with Itey was adorable.

185. I love Racetrack’s voice.

186. Bumlets’s hair goes flip.

189. Nothing’s better than watching a grown-ass man crawl on the floor to get to his place for the next shot.

190. FAN SPIN!!!!!!

192. Bumlets is the last to get the paper and I guarantee that he gave it to Kloppman as soon as they got back to the Lodging House.

196. “Our man Denton!”

197. “That’s Jack!” “You know this boy?” “No, never heard of him!” Jesus Christ Crutchy.

199. “That’s an unusual name for these parts” is on par with Crutchy’s conversation with Snyder in terms of ridiculousness. Bless you, Specs.

204. Sarah is so pretty like wtf.

208. “It’s the same sun as here.” I need more of Sarah gently calling out the boys on their stupidity. I bet she’d do numbers on Skittery and his misanthropy.

212. Robert Duvall really threw his whole-ass heart and soul into this movie.

215. I saw the theater exterior in pictures from Universal’s back lot. I tried picking out other locations, but since they’re more dressed up in the movie, it was hard to know for sure which locations were which.

218. “High Times, Hard Times” is such a fun song.

222. Blink, Race, and Medda dancing together is cute.

223. Bumlets, Swifty, and Snoddy are dancing behind them.

230. “Gotta kiss Medda goodbye even though I’m about to be arrested!” — Jack Kelly

233. Seeing Medda try to defend Race is heartbreaking.

234. “For God’s sake, he’s just a child, can’t you see that?” Fucking ouch.

241. “On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor.”

245. Les loves Jack so much.

249. It’s really sweet that Mr. Tibby tried to turn down payment from Denton and even sweeter that Denton paid anyway because Lord knows those boys eat a lot, and giving food away for free like Tibby was gonna (I’m assuming) would be a huge loss for him.

255. “Racetrack, watch him,” and no hesitation on Race’s part to grab Les.

257. Jack lowkey implying that Pulitzer fought for the Confederacy is hysterical.

260. Dave damn near killed a man with the horse trick he pulled.

262. The “Santa Fe” reprise is heartbreaking.

267. Spot was gonna rip Jack’s head off lol.

268. They had to drag him to the back of the group to keep the angry kitten from committing murder.

273. Les is too good for this world and all of the older boys trying to comfort him was heartwarming.

278. I think the little redhead boy is on strike, too! He’s not in the distribution center and it looks like Morris was doing his job.

281. Sweet face? Is that really the best he could come up with?

286. Jack running to David’s rescue in a shaft of sunlight is cinematic poetry.

291. Dave is a snarky little shit.

296. Mush looks so happy to see Jack.

299. Race asking the kids if they know how to read is very considerate and period accurate. Maybe he read the Banner to the kids who couldn’t read.

302. “Disgraceful Denty!”

306. Sweet little Les and his twenty older brothers.

310. I can find Bumlets in the little end shot of “The World Will Know” reprise with all of the other kids. I scared a friend doing that.

312. “It’s like the end of the world! Oh dear, I didn’t say that.”

315. Is Pulitzer aware that the kids probably can’t hear him? Is he aware that they hate him and wouldn’t listen even if they could?

318. Jack tells Les first!!

321. Skittery and Tumbler hugging and then doing the spit shake asdfghjkl!!!

324. “Make friends with the rats. Share what you’ve got in common.”

327. You can kind of see Race and Bumlets talking behind Denton. I think Bumlets is telling Race about Roosevelt.

331. Les is crying! That’s illegal!!

332. Blink’s Chin Tap™

336. Mush and Dave have an underrated friendship.

338. “I got family here.” My heart!

344. I don’t know if I’m jealous of Jack or Sarah. (I wrote this part when I was seventeen and still think it’s funny)

345. Bumlets, Blink, and Snoddy are hanging onto each other!!!

348. The final shot is Tumbler being an adorable bean <3!!

[banditomojado]

Wow, so how about Priyatel Skelet, y'all? So much is happening!!! Spoiler thoughts below!

Okay so we finally got Dr. Phosphorus's backstory. I gotta say, that was probably the most visceral imagery we've seen so far in this series. The utter horror of watching him completely break down while those thugs forced him to get his prints on the corpses of his wife and child was almost too much to stomach. Seriously, that was fucking traumatizing, I almost had to look away.

So needless to say, the montage of him breaking bad and going on that crime/murder spree was cathartic as fuck. Seeing him in his heyday was cool as hell and he's such a badass but holy shit how can anyone blame his turn to crime with such a horrifying backstory? Also, now we know he went toe-to-toe with Batman!!! So that was really cool.

I knew deep down he wasn't going to hurt that little girl. We do now know he has in fact killed children before, but I knew he wasn't going to hurt her. I almost burst into tears when the parents ran outside to find him playing with her making her fly. Skeleton friend... Children are so pure, god damnit ugh I want to be a father so bad 🥺

Nina and The Bride at the brothel was awesome. The Bride is so grumpy and mean and Nina is so sunshine ahhh I need them to kiss already they are so fucking cute together. Also, seeing Nina be the first to defend the sex worker who was being beaten by that asshole was amazing, I love how valiant she is, I can't wait to see what she can do in the water. And we got more of The Bride being formidable af, loved watching her rip the heart out of that fucking piece of shit.

What little we got of Weasel this episode was precious as hell, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. I wish he would have stayed with those wolves and lived out the rest of his life in the woods with them. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that he's going to die trying to protect the princess. So far, she hasn't done anything in the present day that would warrant her murder, and I know Circe's vision is probably gonna come to pass, but I can't help but to feel that it wouldn't have gone that way had it not been for whatever is going to happen in the last couple of episodes. I will RIOT if Weasel dies because of this, they can't kill both Weasel AND GI, I mean besides Nina they were the two purist out of the whole group!!

Not sure what they're gonna do with Rick Flag Sr. How the hell is he going to recover from that beating? I'm very curious to see what role he plays going forward.

Anxiety is THROUGH THE ROOF seeing that Frankenstein is back home, it's only a matter of time before he crosses paths with The Bride again. I hate him so much, but I'm also scared of him and what he'll do. If he hurts Nina.... Idk if I'd be able to continue watching the show.

So far this season has had no bad episodes, each one has been amazing, they really do have something special here. Excited and nervous about the future of the commandos!

[arthursfuckinghat]

so what is your opinion on mary then? you said previously that you didn't like her but you're happy to defend her?

Sure, Mary isn't my favourite person, but I don't hate her - honestly I don't <3

I'm always going to defend characters who are victims to mischaracterisation, especially the women. It's a frequent double standard, people fail to be as understanding of female characters compared to male characters.

Mary and Arthur both suffered to difficult home lives and dysfunctional families, just to different extents.

Mary hated that Arthur was an outlaw, she understandably didn't like that he kills people and steals, but she knew how good of a person Arthur could be. Arthur hated Mary's family and how they treated her, they were very judgemental and abusive, especially when Mary was with Arthur. He knew how much she cared about her family regardless of how they treated her, Arthur knew how good of a woman she was.

What pains me is how Mary failed to understand how living as an outlaw wasn't a choice for Arthur. He was raised in an environment that showed how harsh the world could be if he wasn't tough enough or willing to kill for his safety, Mary was raised in a similarly harsh environment that exposed her to how being a woman meant being treated as a lesser person in the society they lived in.

Given how Mary and Arthur initially parted ways, her needing Arthur's help in chapter two proved difficult for both of them - same in chapter four but it ended on a better note if you chose to.

Mary's main takeaway from meeting Arthur was seeing how he didn't, or couldn't change. Even though we don't see as much of her life compared to Arthur, it didn't seem like she changed either.

It always came across to me that they both wanted eachother to change (i.e Mary wanting Arthur leaving the outlaw life and Arthur wanting Mary to be more understanding of his circumstances) but because they both had family ties, they just couldn't.

Mary couldn't be understanding of Arthur's life because he still continued to live that way, proving that he couldn't change. Arthur couldn't leave his outlaw ways behind because he had the gang to provide for, proving that Mary wouldn't be understanding despite them both knowing that they couldn't abandon family.

To which we come full circle, they split initially because they weren't compatible and that still remained to be the case.

Mary was fully prepared to drop everything to run away with Arthur, but she expected him to do the same. Even after his explanation about the gang and needing money, she knows she's heard it all before and decided to just leave it. They both wanted to run away so badly and I can imagine that even if they did, their lives would catch up with them eventually.

Nothing gets forgotten.

Arthur knows that, he just ran out of time, and Mary didn't know at the time how precious those moments with Arthur really were.

[viridianevergarden]

So it seems that one of the main gripes that antis have about elriel is the way Azriel worded his big question to Rhys. That the way he said it screams entitlement to Elain? I’m going to break this down a little.

"The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another."

I really don’t think anything is wrong here.

Consider how Azriel is for a moment. He is of a more sophisticated character and he talks that way normally. The sentence is structured poetically, yes? Azriel is of a poetic sort, as we have seen on many occasions.

Azriel is referring entirely to the numerical imbalance that is present between the 3 to 3 ratio because that’s what it is. A numerical imbalance. Thats why Elain is referred to as “the third”. Weren’t Nesta and Feyre referred to as the “two”?

But it’s only wrong that he referred to Elain as the Third? Okay.

He wasn’t specifically referring to the sisters individually. He was referring to them alongside his brothers as a group. Of course she is the Third, because that is what she is. You’d think an English class would teach that.

This doesn’t mean that he sees her as an object.

Its quite the opposite that he sees her as such, given the fact that this man -across 4 books- has risked life and limb for her, spent time with her, gave her his dagger for her own safety that no one else has ever touched, actively sought her out on many occasions, and defended her against Nesta and *Lucien? Come on now. Let’s be real.

*Voicing that she doesn’t even want him in the BC is a defense in her stead.

No one does all that to slip under someone’s dress or get into their pants. Across 2 years mind.

The “given to another” line really isn’t serious just like the aforementioned.

She practically was given to another. She was thrown at Lucien, as per Lucien’s pov, since he’s oh so important. The cauldron shackled her to him as he is to her. It’s merely an observation. No entitlement.

The way Azriel spoke about Lucien regarding the blood duel, fighting him and beating him, etc. People think that Azriel is screaming entitlement by merely stating that he’d beat him? Oh lord. After Rhys and the narration confirmed that it was true? Spending precious page space to make that known?

Not entitlement. Merely stating the obvious, an observation just like the rest. A truth that SJM was trying to convey.

And don’t start with the “He’S a HiGhLoRd’S sOn, He’D bEaT AzRiEl.” Respectfully, silence. Highlord power is passed on by the death of the current highlord. Highlord esc dominance ≠ highlord power. SJM spent page space to make the fact that Az would win known, get over it.

Then they have the matter of “well why didn’t he fight Rhys back and confess his love for Elain then?”

There’s three answers I can give:

This is a BC, he won’t do that until it’s in a book that he actually stars in as a main character, which obviously is the next installment.

Azriel, as a person, feels he should not love her. That he does not deserve her. That he taints her very being. And that she is too good for him and Lucien. So that statement would be completely out of character for him to do so here. This man hates himself so much that he feels he doesn’t have the right or reason to fight for his love for Elain. So he won’t.

Rhysand himself.

The explanation on Rhysand:

Rhys shut him down as soon as he walked in

Taunted and antagonized him

Threw wild assumptions at him

Instigated

Threatened him

And then immediately proceeded to shut him out

He effectively gave no room for Azriel to open up. He didn’t even ask Azriel what was happening or what he felt. It was an immediate attack as soon as he walked into the office.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Being shut down instantly

“What of Mor?”

Antagonized and taunted

“you think you deserve to be her mate?”

Wild assumption

“So you’ll what? Seduce her away from him?”

Instigated + assumption

“Snarl all you want. But if I see you panting after her again, I’ll make you regret it.”

A threat

“Get out.”

And shutting him out

After throwing knives of assumptions at Azriel, trying to bait him with Mor, he threatened him and then kicked him out.

Rhysand is at fault for not creating a safe space for his brother to explain. Azriel merely gave him curt answers in response because that’s all he allowed him to do.

It’s only salt in the wound that we know that Rhys knows of Azriel’s self worth/esteem issues and still treated him this way. But given the time this BC took place, I’m cutting Rhys some slack.

Again, keep in mind that Azriel won’t fight for his love because he feels he has no right or reason to. Not right now.

Could his question about the sisters and the cauldron have been worded better? Sure. I think it was worded well enough though because it explicitly states the disparity that he sees in a logical fashion.

Azriel isn’t entitled, he doesn’t feel entitled.

The irony of it is that some people think he is all the while the man feels as though he doesn’t even deserve to be in any close proximity to Elain. To be around her and to see her light.

People fail to consider the emotional and mental state of Elriel, completely ignoring their words that made it so obvious of what they’re thinking and feeling and wanting all so they can determine what they want them to do instead.

Very ironic indeed.

[fallinginvictus]

do you have any wips at all for the time loop au? 🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday Andrew & Aaron Time Loop AU

I haven't had time to write lately so I only have a tiny little bit of the first part of chapter 3 and I'm not actually sure that's how it's going to stay when I actually post the whole chapter but I'll post anyways.

part one

part two

tw: character death, suicide, mention of drug abuse, Tilda, suicidal thoughts

“You're a parasite,” his mother had told him once when he was five, her head resting on the couch, her black eyes staring at the ceiling, her clouded mind lost in the high. “You suck everything out of me and then still expect me to give you more of my love.”

Aaron stood there for a second, his puffy little hands holding tightly onto the drawing he had been trying to show her, the mother he had drawn staring lovingly at him, the mother in real life taking a puff of her cigarette, her eyes never leaving the ceiling, never looking at her son.

“I just wanted to give you the gift that I made you,” he tried to defend himself with a pout on his lips, hoping his mother would want to look at it, look at him. Hoping she would smile and thank him for his thoughtfulness, for his kindness. Hoping she would acknowledge his existence.

“I just wanted,” his mother repeated mockingly, grey smoke slithering out of her lips. “That's all you do, Aaron. You want and you want and you want and you never once think about how much you take from people. As long as you get what you want you are willing to suck me dry.”

“I-I wasn't asking to take anything,” he said softly, tears pooling in his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a gift to make you happy.”

At those words his mother's gaze finally turned towards Aaron, her black eyes looking straight through him.

“To make me happy?” she scoffed before extending her long, pale fingers towards him. “Show me then.”

Aaron hesitated for a second, his hold on his precious drawing getting tighter, the paper wrinkling in his hands.

“Come on now,” his mother tilted her head, a grin painted on her thin lips, her coral-red lipstick a little smudged. “You wanted to show me my gift, so show me my gift.”

Aaron stepped forward, a spark of hope lighting inside of his chest, the drumming of his own heart echoing in his ears, a little smile forming on his lips as he carefully handed the drawing to his mum. He had worked on it for hours that morning while she was busy getting high, he had picked his best colours and tried his hardest to stay inside the lines. It was a drawing of his mum and Aaron holding hands, big and happy smiles drawn on their faces, colourful butterflies were dancing all around them and a big yellow sun was shining on the top-right corner of the page.

“This is me and you,” he said as he shily pointed towards the two stick figures on the paper and then he placed a kiss on her cheek, his soft lips meeting the hardness of her cheekbone, his warm hands gently holding onto her cold shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“You made this just for me,” she said, arching a perfectly trimmed brow.

“For my mummy,” he nodded while smiling at her. “A gift to make you happy.”

“Oh, to make me happy you say?” she chuckled. Her tone made Aaron take two steps back and he stumbled a little when his naked feet got tangled in the black carpet. His mother's eyes were cold, the black of her pupils drowning the light brown of her eyes, none of the softness that he sometimes saw in them was visible.

“Yes I-”

“So you didn't give it to me so that I could thank you and tell you how good you are?”

Aaron didn't reply. He hadn't made her the drawing to get compliments but a part of him had still hoped for them, had hoped to hear nice words and receive warm smiles. Had hoped for warmth and love, for attention.

“See Aaron?” she said, her eyes burning holes into his skin. “You pretend to be such a lovely boy who only wants to please others but you can't fool me, I'm your mother. I know you like nobody else does. I put up with it because I love you, but no one else other than me will ever be able to put up with your selfish behaviour, with your endless needs, with your wanting and taking. I can see right through you.”

☆☆

As he lays on his unmade bed, the darkness of his room engulfing his body and his mind, Aaron finally feels light and free, the weight of the sky no longer resting on his shoulders, the cloud of darkness that had for so long engulfed his lungs finally dissipating.

He stays there for a while, staring at the darkness, searching for a crack in his heart, an ounce of doubt in his blood, regret in his mind. He searches thoroughly and critically, every thought gets analysed and pulled apart, every emotion gets dissected and categorised, and only when he's sure that nothing at all has been overlooked he finally gets out of bed, ready to face the final day of his life.

He takes longer than usual in the shower, letting the hot streams of water untangle his muscles, warm his bones. He uses all of his shampoo and conditioner, until there is not one drop left inside the bottles. He lets the water wash over him until it starts to turn cold, until there is no hot water left at all. When he finally steps out of the shower, condensation has filled the air and all of the glass surfaces and mirrors are fogged over. Aaron prefers it that way, he doesn't want to look at his face, doesn't want the reminder of what he's leaving behind. Of who he's leaving behind.

When he looks at his phone it's thirty-two minutes past seven in the morning and Aaron's heart stops beating for a few seconds: Andrew had called him five times.

A few seconds later it rings again, the phone vibrating in his hand as the ringtone fills the air, covering the sound of his now racing heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry crawling under his skin and spreading throughout his body, rooting him to the ground. Andrew would never call him of his own free will, he would never contact him unless something had gone terribly wrong.

“Are you still clean?” is what Andrew says from the other side of the line, his voice sounding strange, strained.

“What?” Aaron's blood turns into ice, freezing his veins. His thoughts drift towards the hospital's supply room, towards what he knows will take place that afternoon. For a second, for a naive and stupid second, Aaron feels touched and warmth tries to melt his frozen veins: maybe Andrew still cares for him, he thinks, maybe he still wants for Aaron to be safe.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?” The question feels like a trick, a trap.

“No,” he says and smiles a little: he doesn't feel like using again but it doesn't mean he won't.

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone.

Once Andrew's voice is gone and only silence can be heard in his empty house, Aaron feels hollow again. He wants to call his brother back, to hear him talk about his day, his week, his life; he wants to tell him about his annoying neighbour and his stupid little dog that barks all day and night and won't let Aaron rest; he wants to go to a café and eat three different types of cakes and discuss with him which one is better; he wants Andrew to trust him and confide in him; he wants to confess his pain and tell Andrew that there is a tiredness in him that won't ever leave him, that drags him down. He wants Andrew to burst through his door and save him. He wants and wants and wants and he hates his mother for being right: he's a parasite that will never be satisfied. Aaron won't suck Andrew and Nicky dry like he did with his mother.

☆☆

When he was thirteen, Aaron discovered that he had a brother, a twin, and something that he thought had long been lost sparked in chest again after years of laying dormant between his ribs: hope.

The whole night he paced around his bedroom, up and down and down and up, his whole body buzzing with that long forgotten feeling, thoughts getting tangled in his brain as he tried to organise them, to make sense of them.

He had a twin brother.

He stood in front of the broken and dirty floor-length mirror at the side of his room and stared at himself for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes: in front of him stood his reflection, dark circles under his eyes, hollowed-out cheeks and sharp cheekbones, rosey lips and messy blond hair. Soon enough there wouldn't just be a mindless reflection standing in front of him, but a real-life human with feelings and thoughts, a brother that looked just like him, a twin that had once been part of him, with whom he had shared the first nine months of his life.

He walked towards his desk and ripped a page from his chemistry notebook. He stared at it for a while, thinking about what he should write. He knew he was an unlovable child, he knew his personality was unlikeable and his mere presence exhausting; he wasn't friendly and he wasn't funny, he was neither sweet nor cute and he had never once been good at making friends, but he was desperate, the need to make a good first impression was burnings in his veins.

He picked up a black-ink pen. He had stolen it from one of his classmates, it was new and expensive, the gel ink rich and deep.

Five different times he began to write his letter and five different times he ripped out the page, his hands shaking, his breaths getting erratic. Aaron had never been a writer, had never liked reading, had never cared about literature, often falling asleep during Mr. Jackson lessons and now he could do nothing but curse at himself for such oversight: he didn't want his brother to think of him as an illiterate idiot who couldn't string two sentences together.

Aaron had never felt more dumb than he did on that Thursday evening as he tried his best to present himself as someone that Andrew could love, someone that was worthy of love.

☆☆

“You look happy today Doctor Minyard,” is the first thing he hears when he walks in front of the nurses station. “Did something good happen?”

Aaron smiles at Nurse Mary, “Just a good day,” he shrugs. Maybe it is a lie or maybe it isn't, Aaron isn't sure anymore.

The day passes slowly and then all at once, a strange feeling buzzing under his skin, electricity licking up his veins. He wonders if it's anticipation or dread, joy or sadness. He wonders if maybe it's a mixture of every emotion that he has ever felt throughout his life. It had been so long since he had felt so much and so strongly; it had been so long since he had felt something other than emptiness and loneliness for a prolonged period of time. He can't decide whether he enjoys the feeling or if he despises it.

He feels guilty as he walks towards the supply room: all around him are those afflicted by unimaginable sicknesses and pains and every day and every night they fight as hard they can to keep their lives: they hold on tightly onto a thin rope that is on the brink of snapping, their knuckles white, their hands bloody, their muscles aching from the strain. And here Aaron is, forfeiting his life as if it means nothing.

The keypad beeps four times, short and loud, and then a third time as the door opens. Aaron takes a deep breath as he steps inside and closes the door behind himself, the dim light inside the small room casting shadows on his face, the stale air making him feel as if he's going to suffocate at any moment. There's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and a slight shake overtakes his hands as he tightly grips the glass vial. He stops for a second as the syringe sinks into the grey rubber stopper, his laboured breaths the only sound inside the quiet room.

There is a second after Aaron sinks the syringe in his body where flashes of Nicky's warm smile and Andrew's concerned face dance behind his eyelids, a moment where he could change his mind, put the syringe away and walk out of that room alive. But the faces disappear as quickly as they had appeared, smothered by the knowledge that he would only suck them dry, that his wants and needs would only ever hurt them. No matter how hard he tries to keep his wants sealed inside of his chest, beneath his ribs, Aaron knows that they would always find a way to escape. He's a parasite, his existence would only ever bring pain to those around him.

He pushes the morphine in his veins.

That morning he had told Andrew that he didn't feel like using again and while it had been true it hadn't been the full truth. Aaron had long since learnt that a drug addict could never stop being a drug addict. He could get clean and he could stay clean, but the addiction would never fully leave him, a part of him would always crave the drugs, the high, like a broken bone that had never healed quite right and would ache when it rained and when it snowed.

When the morphine finally makes its home in his veins, Aaron welcomes her like an old friend. He lets himself feel the euphoria as it rushes through his body and down his veins, as it reaches his every cell. His body goes limp and he slumps against the wall, the syringe slipping from his fingers. Aaron had forgotten what happiness felt like but as he lays on the snow-white hospital tiles, he thinks he has finally found it again. Maybe drugs, he ponders, had been his only real friends.

His brain goes numb after a while, a dense fog making its way inside of his mind, clouding his thoughts, blurring his vision. His body feels heavy and he lets it fall to the ground, the sound of his head forcefully hitting the ground echoing inside of the silent room. Aaron doesn't even notice. Nothing hurts anymore, the constant and unbearable ache that is his loneliness now hidden inside of the dense fog that is clouding his brain.

Why couldn't you make me just a little lovable, Aaron asks God as he falls into darkness. Why do I always have to be alone?

[vilavi-2]

Day 2: LoA Damian x Hero Raven

Damiraeweek 2023 @damirae-week

I'm working on a continuation of my Nanda Parbat story from Chap 23 of Feather Collection. I've still got a lot to get through, but here's a sneak peek! (sorry it's a lil rough)

-

It’s the middle of Raven’s second winter in Nanda Parbat, just as fiercely cold and cruel as the first. With the Himalayas locked in an icy grip, most stewards and soldiers have been reassigned to warmer, more productive posts. Only a token force of loyal elites remains at the compound to keep the elemental damage at bay and protect it from anyone foolish enough to brave the snowed-in passes, icy climbs, and whiteout stormy skies. And should all those defenses fail, it would only bring them face-to-face with Ra’s and Qalb al Ghul, ready to defend their seat of power.

It’s the best winter of his life, Damian decides, pale green eyes locked implacably on hers. Raven narrows her own back at him before dropping them to the fan of playing cards in her hands. She bites her lower lip thoughtfully, and he can feel the slight tap of her foot next to his thigh. She has so many tells, it’s hard to pick his favorite. Still, he doesn’t let his gaze wander to appreciate the bare legs on either side of him, or the flash of Raven’s chest and collar through the loosened pankou knots of her blouse. He instead sits cross legged in front of her with deliberate stillness until she plucks two cards from her hand and lays them face down on the mattress. 

“Two,” she says with casual confidence. Damian deals them to her obligingly, smirking at the victorious glint in her eyes when she studies her new hand. It’s not that Raven is a bad liar, or easy to read. It’s that it never even occurs to her to hide from him anymore. As it should be, beloved. Damian looks at his own cards, and exchanges three of them, face devoid of expression as he returns to scrutinizing her.

“Well?”

“I’m in,” Raven replies in that same confident tone. “Robe.”

His lips tick up slightly and Raven betrays a slight hesitation, instantly looking back at her cards as if to make sure she saw them right. 

“Call. Shirt.” He motions to her to show her hand and she bites her lip again before slowly turning them around. A flush of diamonds. Damian gives an approving nod. “That’s good,” he tells her. But judging from her light frown and the accusation in her violaceous eyes, she knows she’s beat. He shows her his hand, finally allowing himself a victorious smirk. Full House. “But not good enough.”

Raven’s glaring — pouting, really — but she still undoes the knots down her front and lets him push the garment off her shoulders. Only four rounds in and she’s down to her bra and underwear. Damian hasn’t even gotten his robe off yet.

"How did I let you talk me into this?" she grumbles, hugging her chest and rubbing her arms. A hearth and several well-fed braziers keep the worst of the cold out, but her skin is still breaking out in gooseflesh, disrobed as she is. Raven’s practically sitting in his lap already, so it’s easy to pull her the rest of the way, settling her against his chest and curling both arms hard around her. She burrows into him, as she always does. 

“I have no idea why you agreed,” Damian answers, smiling to himself. “You have no aptitude for games, ya amar.” She grumbles an incoherent, indignant sound. He drops a kiss on her bare shoulder. 

Nanda Parbat is on winter rations. Rice and millet, salted meat, pickled vegetables. None of her precious teas or anything resembling a delicacy has been able to get through in months. There’s a few cases of amber wine held in reserve to help prevent anyone up here from getting too bored or stir crazy. Not anyone’s idea of a good time.

Except that Raven's here, with him, and unlike last winter when they were still bound in secrecy Damian doesn't have to worry about a future where she might not be. Her crown hangs on one of their bedposts, glinting in affirmation of that fact.

Definitely the best winter of my life, he thinks.

[otterskin]

Does you actllty like odin because I thought everyone hated him.

...Why would people hate him? I struggle to understand that, even now. I have my theories, which I've spoken off in other places.

I think, and I don't like to say this, because there are certainly takes that aren't, but in general, that opinion is very juvenile. There's a desire to want to 'defend and protect' people from him, which betrays a lack of understanding of the dynamics in the films, and a tendency to side with children over adults, even grown children, and to see older people as symbolic of institutional power, as well as parental power, over them, and therefore a yoke that needs throwing off. There's a childish 'shut up, DAD!' to the criticism. More seriously, the desire to paint him as abusive reminds me of the problem of people confusing conflict for abuse, something that's a major issue in online spaces and real life. Outrage and extremism are rewarded and sought after, so everything is heightened. In that lens, a father who tried to do right by his children but who was in a unique circumstance because of his desire to challenge the status quo and fated enmity of two warrring peoples, a king who can't put the needs of his children over the suffering of his people and risk to his kingdom, now becomes a monster who delights in playing favourites and abusing them for kicks. It's disheartening.

There's precious little sympathy for characters like him, especially in this genre. Superhero fare is pretty black and white, and even characters like Loki rest pretty firmly in the 'good' side of that. But Odin is that rare character who not only doesn't play by that simple dichotomy, he doesn't get to live in a world so neatly divided. It's part of his isolation from the others. So usually, people see the gray and decide he must not be 'good', and if he's not 'good', he must be 'bad'.

The films have little time to explore him or his motivations or how he chooses to navigate his murky situation, and it's all the worse because he's a secretive person who actively disguises his motivations and goals. He's a minor character in screen time, but looms large over the plot and other characters' motivations, so most of what we see of him is what other people tell us he is. Most of which is, of course, untrue. That's the Odin that lives in their heads, and not the actual man, who is the rare character in the MCU you actually have to watch and pay attention to to understand. In universe, no-one bothers to do that - they are content with the version they've created to hate. So the audience thinks that version is also the real one, because it's easier to understand and categorize.

I love Odin, in mythology, and in the MCU. He's a much kinder person in the MCU for sure! But I'm glad that, even in a fairly straightforward world, they gave Odin no clear answers. He remains contradictory and deeply flawed, a thoroughly miserable person but with something compelling him to try and change the destined end of the world. How could I not love someone like that? How could people who say they like Loki not like a character who is so similar?

I get depressed when I encounter Odin haters. I feel like they've completely misunderstood and missed out on a fundamental part of the story, and I worry that if their sentiments infect the actual MCU, it will besmirch the efforts of those who came before and the humane story I fell in love with. Odin was not intended to be a bad parent or a bad person, and I don't think he is. He is intended to be someone that people IN UNIVERSE see as a full villain or as a full hero, but he is neither. He is a person who was faced with difficult choices, and he chose to do some radical things that many others of his kind would never do. He paved the way for a better future and better choices for others by defying the prejudices and traditions of his people, but because he was a trailblazer, he did not have the benefit of learning from others' examples, like Thor and Loki have because of him.

Comparing him to Thanos or other actually abusive parents is repellant. Never once have I seen anyone who claims to hate him actually engage with the character as depicted, nor how they would cut through the Gordian Knot of compromises the character had to contend with. They handwave away the moral questions as 'actually super easy to solve', which is something I abhor in fiction (it's also why I deeply dislike Spider-Man: NWH, which handwaves away the motivations and tragedies of villains from previous series). No, nothing was easy to solve about the choices presented to Odin, and I think the character had both logical and emotional rationale for his choices. He actually made pretty bold and forward-thinking plans, they just all tend to suffer from his fatal flaw - he thinks about them as logical, but they're really motivated by emotion that he keeps at arm's length, which leads to him showing vulnerability and being punished for it.

This is something that goes by so fast in the films, but I loved it because it is such a fundamentally male experience. Odin is someone being crushed under pretty much every expectation of masculinity, from man to warrior to father to husband to king, and whenever he tries to show regret, fallibility or vulnerability, the other characters find it disturbing and swiftly reject him, forcing him back into the performance and the misery that comes with it.

Odin may ponder what is the correct decision, but does not mistake that for what is the most moral decision. He is someone who is both logical and emotional but who hasn't integrated those two halves of himself together very well.

If you hate the character, I'd be happy to talk about it. It is okay to just not like characters! Including gray ones. But for me, I can really think about Odin, and I like that he can't be easily written up for a bland Fandom page that requires everything be spelled out or it 'doesn't count'. He exists in the between spaces of the story, and it is a very sad and lonely tale.

TL;DR : He's a complicated man in a simple story. In the Squid Game of Sugar Cookie, he got the Umbrella. I am sad that such a fundamental character to the foundation of the THOR franchise's quality and themes is so misunderstood and unappreciated by this fandom. I don't think you can love this franchise and not have some care for Odin.

[ilynpilled]

vows of knighthood:

“… do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”

“In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women…”

“How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?”

“So many vows… they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other.”

[…]

“They strangled Brandon while his father watched, and then killed Lord Rickard as well.” An ugly tale, and sixteen years old. Why was he asking about it now?

“Killed, yes, but how?” […] “No doubt Ned wished to spare you.” […] “There were trials. Of a sort. Lord Rickard demanded trial by combat, and the king granted the request. Stark armored himself as for battle, thinking to duel one of the Kingsguard. Me, perhaps. Instead they took him to the throne room and suspended him from the rafters while two of Aerys's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. The king told him that fire was the champion of House Targaryen. So all Lord Rickard needed to do to prove himself innocent of treason was ... well, not burn.” […] “When the fire was blazing, Brandon was brought in. His hands were chained behind his back, and around his neck was a wet leather cord attached to a device the king had brought from Tyrosh. His legs were left free, though, and his longsword was set down just beyond his reach.”

“Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, “You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.' That was the White Bull, loyal to the end and a better man than me, all agree.”

“Aerys was mad, the whole realm knew it, but if you would have me believe you slew him to avenge Brandon Stark …”

“I made no such claim.”

[…]

“I find nothing about you amusing, Kingslayer.”

“That name again.”

“A king hides no secrets from his Kingsguard. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. The day he burned his mace-and-dagger Hand, Jaime and Jon Darry had stood at guard outside her bedchamber whilst the king took his pleasure. “You're hurting me,” they had heard Rhaella cry through the oaken door. “You're hurting me.” In some queer way, that had been worse than Lord Chelsted's screaming. “We are sworn to protect her as well,” Jaime had finally been driven to say. “We are,” Darry allowed, “but not from him.”

Ser Barristan looked up sharply. […] “I am a knight,” he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. “I shall die a knight”

“I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit.”

“Selmy had never approved of Jaime's presence in his precious Kingsguard. Before the rebellion, the old knight thought him too young and untried; afterward, he had been known to say that the Kingslayer should exchange that white cloak for a black one.”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.” “As you command.” The white knight chose his words with care. “Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord's right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding.” His face reddened. “I have said too much, Your Grace.”

“When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.” “Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.”

“The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die.”

His sword helped taint the throne you sit on. Ned thought, but he did not permit the words to pass his lips. “He swore a vow to protect his king’s life with his own. Then he opened that king’s throat with a sword.”

“Seven hells, someone had to kill Aerys!” Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt beside an ancient barrow. “If Jaime hadn’t done it, it would have been left for you or me.”

“We are not Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard.”

“I did not intend to give offense, Brienne. Forgive me.”

“Your crimes are past forgiving, Kingslayer”

“That name again.” “Why do I enrage you so? I've never done you harm that I know of.”

“You've harmed others. Those you were sworn to protect. The weak, the innocent...”

“…the king?” […] “You are not old enough to have known Aerys Targaryen…” She would not hear it.

“Aerys was mad and cruel, no one has ever denied that. He was still king, crowned and anointed. And you had sworn to protect him.”

"I know what I swore."

"And what you did." She loomed above him, six feet of freckled, frowning, horse-toothed disapproval.

“That was an apology. I am tired of fighting with you. What say we make a truce?”

“Truces are built on trust. Would you have me trust—”

“The Kingslayer, yes. The oathbreaker who murdered poor sad Aerys Targaryen.” Jaime snorted. “It’s not Aerys I rue, it’s Robert. ‘I hear they’ve named you Kingslayer,’ he said to me at his coronation feast. ‘Just don’t think to make it a habit.’ And he laughed. Why is it that no one names Robert oathbreaker? He tore the realm apart, yet I am the one with shit for honor”

“Has my tale turned you speechless? Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar. Something.”

“If this is true, how is it no one knows?”

“The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king’s secrets. Would you have me break my oath?” Jaime laughed.

“He was going to burn the city,” Jaime said. “To leave Robert only ashes.”

“He was your king,” said Darry.

“You swore to keep him safe,” said Whent.

“And the children, them as well,” said Prince Lewyn.

Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. “I left my wife and children in your hands.”

“I never thought he'd hurt them.” Jaime's sword was burning less brightly now. “I was with the king.”

“Killing the king,” said Ser Arthur.

“Cutting his throat,"

“The king you had sworn to die for.”

everybody points out a bunch of reasons why jaime did not share why he did what he did (thinks the wildfire is better buried, it wouldn’t be in good hands and might not all be disposed of when revealed, we know he fears it happening to this day and he went out of his way to kill everyone who knew where it is, he admits to having recurring nightmares of the city in flames the moment he hears about tyrion using wildfire, he is not aware that it gets more volatile over time, jaime’s gordian knot perspective when it comes to problem solving) but I am gonna lay down the hot take that if I were him and I presented my argument that I had to save a whole city, also prioritizing another vow I swore and not just out of moral obligation, and they even believe me and take my motivation at face value, and there is even the slightest possibility that people respond with these inconsistent hypocritical and contradictory fallacies like they already do every single time I delineate that every single kingsguard had already broken vows they had sworn every single time they did not act against the king and stop what he was doing, and what they are judging me for regarding the ethics of “breaking a vow to kill my king [who apparently everybody knows is mad and horrible and did terrible things to innocent people. which is, again, another vow (defend the weak. protect those who cannot protect themselves. protect all women. be just. obey the laws etc.) that we all acknowledge that me and other kingsguard had sworn (and also rightfully condemn me for breaking later)] who is okay to be killed by anyone else because he deserves to die”, with the only argument now having to be that the kingsguard specifically can’t because they swore this vow, and breaking vows is not ethical/honorable, which actually doesn’t make much sense at all if you think about it for more than 4 seconds (unless the unspoken argument is that the kg vows have to be prioritized in all circumstances by the kg so my justification is pointless), I would actually become the joker and set myself on fire

[alchemyfire]

I am so bad with titles... but yes, it is my fiction story

Years ago I wrote two short fictions, greatly influenced by watching the film Danton (1983), which was the only French Revolution film available to me at the time. So it is about the events that are included in the film, conceived from the point of view of two participants. I have now translated the first one, which is written from the point of view of Camille Desmoulins, to share with you. Please excuse any factual errors if you encounter them. (The second fic, written from Maximilien's point of view, will follow as soon as I translate it.)

---

Can you hear me?! I was the one who started the revolution. I, Camille Desmoulins. Don't you remember? It was on the eve of the conquest of the Bastille, in the garden of the Palais-Royale. So many people and everyone was excited about my speech. I called the citizens to arms and they cheered and called me their leader. It was an exciting day. How could they forget that?

I don't get it, I can't understand. I don't deserve to die like this! I'm not a criminal, I'd never do anything bad. I have always defended only precious freedom. This is what we all wished for when we proclaimed the republic. But what kind of freedom is it if a citizen does not have the right to have his own opinion if it differs from the opinion of the government? Did we fight for the dictatorship that now reigns here? No, we did not. It was only against this despotism of the Committees that my articles were directed.

I tried to wake up Maximilien, my former friend, who unfortunately participates in this despotism, and to free him from the influence of that diabolical Saint-Just with the motionless mask instead of a face. All in vain. He had my last issue of the newspaper confiscated and the printer closed.

And what do you think? After everything he did, he still had the courage to come to me and try to convince me of my mistake!

„Camille, you have to understand. Your attacks on the government will not benefit the Republic, but its enemies. I know your intentions are good, but you are caught up in Danton's intrigue. His friendship with you is not sincere, he is just using you for his own ends. I want to help you, it's not too late.“

I didn't want to listen to him at all, but his speech really put me in a state where I began to doubt Georges and myself. Maximilien has such a special power, or rather his speech, that he can almost always convince you of his truth.

„What do you mean it's not too late? So what should I do?“

A slight smile of relief crossed his face and for a moment calmness returned to his eyes.

„All you have to do is publicly admit your mistake and revoke what you wrote against the government. I will stand by you if anyone wants to accuse you.“  

„Do you think I have no conscience? That I will sell my friends for freedom? I don't mind dying, but I won't live as a traitor. Danton didn't write those articles, I wrote them. These are my opinions and I'm not going to revoke them just to save my life. I stand behind them, remember that!“ I replied angrily.

„Camille, listen. Your life is in danger and if you don't understand where the truth is, I won't be able to help you anymore. Consider it some more, please. I'm your friend and I'll do everything I can, but you have to help me a little. Do you understand?“

Yes, I understood him very well. He will kill us all, but he will have a clear conscience. His conscience is always the most important thing for him.

“Maxime, stop treating me like a child! I don't need your help. I don't need any babysitter. It is not your duty, as you probably think, to lead me on the right path. I didn't get lost, you did. You must understand where the likes of Saint-Just have led you. He has no heart and yours is slowly turning to stone as well. You didn't used to be like that, can't you see? You gave up the position of judge so you wouldn't have to send a person to die, it bothered you so much. And now? You are quietly cooperating with the reign of bloody terror. How you've changed.” He was clearly hurt by my words, but he didn't give up.

„No Camille, you are wrong. I haven't changed, times have. We are in a state of war. At such a time there is no room for sympathy with the enemies, unless we want to destroy the republic and ourselves. Know that when the revolution is complete and the enemies defeated, I will be the first to call for the law to be purged of blood.“

„So let's end it! The revolution has already achieved its goal. We won freedom, we built a republic and we are winning the war. So isn't it time to end it all - stop killing people? After all, we can live in peace and enjoy the sweet fruits of our revolution, we can be happy.“

Maximilien suddenly became sad and his voice was quieter now.

„How I'd love to do that, Camille, but it's not all done yet. We can't stop now, we'd lose everything we've gained so far. All around us, traitors and intriguers are waiting for their opportunity to harm us. Only a firm revolutionary government can prevent them from doing so. And the fact that we are winning now is mainly thanks to that government. Your articles undermine people's trust in Committees and destroy the unity of the republic. I know Danton agrees with them and supports you. I understand you trust him. He did a lot for the revolution, that's for sure. People like him. But was he really doing it for the good of the cause or for himself? See how his wealth has grown over the past few years. He cares for the welfare of the revolution like he cares for a cow that gives him milk, as soon as someone offers him more for its meat, he cuts it without mercy.“

I felt the need to defend Danton, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

„Georges is my friend. How can you talk about him like that?“

 „We have prooves, Camille. He negotiated with the enemy, accepted money from England and from refugees and, together with other corrupt people, robbed the republic. Apparently realizing that he was exposed, he decided to use his popularity to discredit the government and end the terror. He would thus avoid punishment, he would be able, as you said a moment ago, to enjoy the fruits of the revolution, and at the same time he would have a great merit in the destruction of the republic, for which the enemies would certainly pay well.“

I didn't know what to think and what to do. There was a sudden confusion in my mind. I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it. Also, who would easily admit to being cheated on? I didn't show what was going on inside me and stubbornly insisted on my point.

„I will not listen to you slandering my friends anymore. If that's all you're here for, you've come in vain. So please go away and don't waste your precious time here. I'm sure they are waiting for you in the Committee and I still have a lot of work to do.“

Without a word he turned and left. There was pain and disappointment in his eyes. I felt like I had probably made the biggest mistake of my life, but I just couldn't help it.

They arrested us that night. I began to despair. So does this mean the end? I will never be able to hug my beloved Lucille again. She will be left alone with our son, who won't even know his father. But I only have myself to blame. Why did I believe Danton? What have I done to my family? I was angry with myself and with Georges.

When they brought him in, I wanted to pounce on him and scold him for his behavior. But I looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely devastated. As if it wasn't him at all, the energetic Georges Danton. He obviously didn't expect us to actually be arrested. He relied too much on his reputation and Maximilien's support. Looking at him, I concluded that there was no point in accusing Georges or myself of anything now. We are both in the same situation and we will both meet the same end. Instead of reproaching him, I silently hugged him.

„Camille! Don't look so defeated. They haven't condemned us yet, there will be a trial and there it will be shown who has the real power. The people stand behind us and not even the revolutionary tribunal dares to sacrifice us.“

„How can you be so sure? You know very well that public opinion is easily swayed.“ Lacroix, who was in the same room with the others, did not seem to share Danton's optimism.

„Friends, trust me. As long as I can speak, the people will stand behind me.“

Yes, we have no choice but to trust Danton. Nothing but his voice will save us. Still, someone pointed out, "What if they prevent you from speaking?" Danton, who had already regained his life force and expression of determination to fight, only guessed, "Then God protect us."

But God apparently had something else to do. Although in my case he made one more attempt. Maximilien Robespierre came to see me in prison. He tried to talk to me again. I think he was very worried about getting my blood on his hands. He was ready to clear me in front of everyone, even if his reputation might suffer. He behaved like a martyr who takes upon himself the guilt of sinners and saves them from destruction. After all, he's always done it, apparently he's obsessed with saving the world and doesn't care if anyone wants it.

I didn't want that. I did not want to accept life by grace, after all I have the right to live! So there is no need for anyone to give it to me again. Every person has the right to life, so why not me? I am not guilty of anything, although in politics innocence does not matter.

Whether it was Georges Danton's plot or not, I wrote nothing but the bare truth. It is sad that the republic, where freedom is supposed to reign, is being strengthened by its total suppression. If this is indeed true, then even my death will benefit the republic. And if justice is on our side, we will die defending freedom—what a beautiful end to life. So for me there is no other option…

The trial before the tribunal turned into a farce. Fouquier, you know that dreaded prosecutor, made it clear that the outcome was a foregone conclusion and that the hearing of our case was a mere formality. Danton's eloquence, which as always drew loud cheers from the courtroom crowd, was certainly not to his liking. In utter desperation, they devised another plot. I was really scared when I found out. Not of me, but of my dear Lucille—for she was accused of a conspiracy organized to save us.

At that moment it was clear what would follow. They have made it impossible for us to further participate in the court proceedings, so we will be condemned; and my little Loullou will soon meet the same end as us. And I—I will be the cause of her death! I couldn't stand it. I have lost all hope - to hell with all politics and revolution, to hell with that accursed republic of virtue that costs so many human lives and so much suffering. Anyway, it's just Maximilien's fantasy - pure utopia! Nonsense.

Now I have the last journey ahead of me. Do you believe in miracles? All day I was hoping for something in vain. Something has to happen. God help me... or will you? You're not going to let me die like that, are you? Do something, I've been fighting for you all my life!... No? You won't stick up for me, will you? You are all blinded and manipulated...So I wish that when you are in my place, there will be someone you will not be indifferent to. Goodbye! ... Why am I so afraid?... Loullou, forgive me!

[atrizdelua]

"Okay, but I need you to at least go to the flower shop for me… seriously, Piper? Ugh, okay, I'll go get those damn flowers."

The loud sound of the car's passenger door being closed startled the two humans inside the vehicle. She gave an apologetic smile, but quickly wiped it off her face when she seemed to remember who was next to her.

"I could make you pay a fine for property damage."

She rolled her eyes after speaking, putting on her seat belt as she put her cell phone in her backpack.

"You know it doesn't work like that. Besides, if you're going to blame someone, blame your sister." She made it clear. "And I could make you pay a fine for harassment."

"You're the one who's slamming my car door like it was a battery." He accused, slightly offended.

"And you're the one who won't shut up and is simply taking up my precious time."

He stuck his tongue out at her, a childish attitude that made her sigh in pity for him. Turning on the left turn signal, he carefully pulled out of the parking space and onto the busy street. The two fell into a somewhat thick silence; they had never gone so long without exchanging a word, whether through teasing or sarcastic comments.

The young woman watched the outside movement through the dirty window, wrinkling her nose when she noticed the dust stains that prevented her from having a better view of the cars passing by her. He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel, glancing at her sideways and, seeing her frowning face, prepared himself for her next move.

"How long has it been since you had this car washed?"

He almost smiled when her predictability was proven. Well, at least in relation to him, she was becoming predictable.

"For your information, it was washed last week."

"Then you should sue the company responsible," she said, running her finger along the glass and shuddering when she saw it slightly dusty. "This was the worst cleansing in human history. ."

"Why do you always want to sue someone?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice, and he also didn't let the slight exaggeration coming from her go by.

She shrugged, ignoring the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Why do you keep paying for mediocre work? Do you have some compulsion to lose money or something?"

"First of all, I don't throw my money away. People need jobs and I need services, it's the law of life." - he defended himself, holding back a laugh when he heard her snort.

"The wheels that move the world and all, I know, but that doesn't mean you have to put up with poorly done work just because someone is offering it."

"You talk as if I don't know how to judge."

"And you don't know it." She quickly declared, poking his cheek so he would turn his attention back to the road. "Your garage door is still stuck today just because you hired someone because she was "nice."

"But she was." He defended himself, laughing at the exaggerated air quotes she made.

"A pretty smile doesn't mean the person is trustworthy."

"Being grumpy doesn't mean it either." He muttered softly so she wouldn't hear. - "Ouch!" - Which didn't help, as proven by the pinch in his rib.

"I don't need to smile at everyone I meet. I've had enough of hearing that from idiots on the street, I don't need to hear it from you too."

She said seriously, she hated when people told her to smile, she felt she was being pressured to hide any feelings. "Get rid of that face, you must look beautiful when you smile," said a lady in a random store, "Give me a smile, cutie," said a strange idiot on the street, "People think you don't like them, smile a little more," her aunt said.

"Sorry," he asked quickly, noticing the expression on her face. "But I don't judge people badly, I just try… not to judge."

"And in the end you end up paying twice. The plumbing in your kitchen is proof of that."

"The guy said he'd been replacing pipes his whole life."

"Who knows which pipes he was talking about."

"What other pipes was he talking about?"

"And do I know? Humans are strange."

He laughed at her solemn expression, which brought a small smile to her face.

"So, we're here." He said, parking in front of a flower shop.

"I can't believe we're going to spend the afternoon preparing something that should have already been done."

Her grumble earned him a laugh, and he watched her get out of the car before unbuckled to follow him.

"There's no point in making that face." He opened the door for her. "I know you're happy to be in control of everything."

She wrinkled her nose at him as she got out of the car, ignoring the soft laughter that sounded behind her as she walked to the flower shop. The surprise baby shower, which was now their responsibility, had been dropped like a bomb on their laps after their best friend disappeared to go to a convention for antique watch lovers.

"You could buy me a bouquet, you know."

"For what reason?" She asked, stopping in front of the door to find him with an amused smile on her lips. - "For opening the car door for me?"

"Of course not." - he said laughing. - "Think of it as a reward for putting up with your great mood for years."

"You make me seem like a burden." - she wanted to sound sarcastic, but the discomfort she felt showed in her voice.

He sensed her discomfort, he could always read her in an almost frightening way.

"You will never be a burden to me." - he stated sincerely, bumping her shoulder with his. - "Look, they have roses, how about one to brighten up your day?"

She smiled at his dancing eyebrows.

"Don't be so cliché."

"What would become of us if the world wasn't a cliché?" - he opened the door, making a jingle of bells sound, stepping aside so she could pass in front. - "After you, Miss Page."

She stared at the open door, arching an eyebrow as she turned her attention to him. The teasing glint in Henry's eyes made her feel… anxious, in a good way. She decided to play along, if the subtle-not-so-subtle shift in energy between them was any indication, something new was about to begin.

"As you wish, Mr. Hart."

As she turned her back to him, she knew a smile was growing on his face. Henry watched Charlotte walk into the flower shop as always, confident and glowing with a new look; nodding slightly, he followed her, feeling hopeful for what the future held for them both.

[kestalsblog]

Normally I post fanfics only on Ao3, but I reeeeally wanted to get to write something Stanman for Mermay, so the below scene is Tumblr-exclusive. I haven't had much time, so this is just a quick one-shot scene featuring AU college Cartman and merman Stan. This is not a full fic I intend to develop as of right now, but just a drabble scene for fun 🧜‍♂️

Enjoy!

Part Two

TW: very slight language and mention of injuries and fear (nothing gruesome). Also this is an angsty scene

----------

When his friends told him about South Park’s latest attraction—a merman that had been captured in the Pacific and shipped to Colorado—Eric was only mildly interested. Weird, unbelievable shit happened in South Park practically every day, so a merman wasn’t exactly the thrilling spectacle everyone was making it out to be. He certainly wasn’t as entertained by the idea of visiting the dine-and-view restaurant where the merman was supposedly being kept on display as Kyle and Kenny were.

Ordering seafood in an aquarium was a revolting enough idea, but sushi with a merman a few feet away? Jesus Christ. Eric thought those steakhouses where you got to watch bulls run around while you devoured their kind was bad enough. Like, hey guess where you’ll end up if you’re not entertaining enough? That’s right! My dinner plate.

God, at least he was trying to be a better person than he used to be, and now his friends were pulling him right back into sadistic hobbies.

“I can’t believe you two are seriously interested in this,” he complained on the car ride over with Kenny and Kyle.

“Well, you have to admit, it’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” said Kyle from the passenger’s seat because of course Cartman had been relegated to the back.

“Hell, it’s a Friday night and we’re still in college. We have the rest of our lives to care about lame shit like this,” he whined. “Defend me here, Ken.”

“I gotta know if this is some kind of scam,” Kenny said, obviously more focused on the road than the conversation. “Butters went last week and said it made him feel sick.”

“It’s probably just a dude wearing a plastic tail,” said Eric.

“Or maybe his legs were cut off and it was surgically implanted onto his torso,” said Kyle with a melodramatic shudder that transformed somehow into a laugh. “Only in South Park, right?”

“Amen to that,” Kenny joined in, but Eric’s sour mood didn’t lift. Fridays were precious days, and instead of partying or doing something worthwhile, he’d be spending his evening at someone’s hoity-toity swindle. And even if it was true, and there was a real merman in South Park, what did it matter? He pressed his forehead against the chilled glass of the window and watched the streetlamps pass by his vision.

----------

The first thing Eric noticed in the restaurant was the overpowering aroma of expensive food (thank God Kyle was paying), and the second was how many children were gathered about a massive cylindrical tank in the center of the place. It wasn’t a restaurant he knew despite having lived in South Park his entire life because the establishment had been built for this purpose alone, apparently.

“I don’t see anything but water,” he said while a finely-dressed waiter led them to their table, which was an inconvenient distance from the tank.

“Me neither.” Kenny strained to the tips of his toes. “Should we go check it out closer?”

“Let’s order first,” insisted Kyle, but Eric found it difficult to focus on ordering with that large, ominous tank in his peripheral vision.

It was simply a tube constructed into the center of the restaurant that spanned from the floor to the ceiling, and though it looked massive at first glance, Eric wondered if a human-sized creature could thrive within the space. Maybe mermen were smaller? The water inside was impossibly blue, probably dyed to look more appealing. Small glittering lights were implanted throughout the inside of the tube to create a magical underwater atmosphere, but Cartman thought it felt more eerie and unnatural.

After their orders were placed, Kyle agreed they should go check out the main attraction. “There are definitely a lot of people here,” he observed as they abandoned their table to head toward the tank.

“Shit, there really is someone in there,” gasped Kenny once they were closer.

Eric’s attention went immediately toward the small children pressed against the tank. Several of them were knocking their fists hard into the glass while they chanted, “Hey, look at me! Over here, fishy! Over here!”

Fucking rude. “Where are their parents?” he muttered, but Kyle and Kenny were shoving their way past him.

“Oh my God,” he heard Kyle say through his teeth.

Unafraid to push a child out of the way, Cartman made room for himself and felt his breath halt almost painfully when he saw someone sitting slumped in the furthest corner of the tank. Because of the shape, there was nowhere the person, no, merman, could sit without someone right behind the glass, but he’d done his best to conceal himself into a small ball.

If he was just a person wearing a fake tail, he looked extraordinarily authentic. Even from where he was standing, Eric could distinguish the individual scales on the tail. The scales were all different shades of blue, with a pale, iridescent dominant hue that reminded Cartman of crystals. Under the lights, the tail twinkled like ice in sunlight. And if he looked close enough, he was certain he could see small veins pulsing in and out across the anxiously flickering tailfin.

“It can’t be real, right?” Kenny said with concern next to him, but Eric couldn’t find the voice to answer. His focus was locked on the merman who sat with his arms crossed around his abdomen and his shoulders hunched. He looked as if he was physically trying to become smaller, even though Eric was pretty sure that if he stretched out to his full height with his tail included, he’d be too large for the tight space.

He was too pretty to be real—and not just for the features that were nonhuman, but the ones that made him human as well. Black hair swirled around his ears and cheeks in soft coils like an oil spill haloing his head. Eric couldn’t catch many glimpses of his face aside from the few moments when he jolted after a particularly loud knock on the tank. Only then would he look up with wide, alarmed eyes that were a devastatingly gorgeous shade of blue that Eric had never seen on anyone else.

“This doesn’t seem right, what they’re doing to him,” piped up Kyle, and Eric recognized the heat behind his tone. For once, Eric had to agree with him. The merman was clearly terrified, his pupils shrinking and then expanding again with each flash of a camera against the glass. His chest expanded and contracted with the movement, and Cartman didn’t miss the widening of what appeared to be openings on his skin, surely gills, across his throat.

“Hey, guys, our food is probably coming soon,” Kenny said with dampened spirit. Eric hadn’t even realized how long they’d been standing and staring.

“I’m going to talk to the manager of this place after we eat,” snapped Kyle. “If I hadn’t already paid, I wouldn’t be giving my money to these freaks.”

“You’re the ones who wanted to see this,” Eric reminded them, but they didn’t seem to hear him as they went back to the table in their own storm cloud of negative thoughts.

But Eric couldn’t make himself go back to eat dinner, which was a surprise even to him, considering food was usually his go-to for fighting off the terrible gnawing feeling he was experiencing right now. All he could do was stay in place and watch the beautiful merman thump his tailfin uselessly against the bottom of the tank again and again. The sight reminded of him of some poor traumatized dog who’d been kept in the puppy mill for too long.

“Fishy! Look, look!” the kid next to Eric shouted, smacking so hard on the glass that the merman jerked and actually placed his hands over his ears. His eyes spasmed wide and then squeezed shut in an obvious pain response. The arm movement revealed delicate, blue webbing between fin-like structures on either side of his wrists. Eric was certain he’d never seen a prettier creature in his life.

He glared at the child. “Hey, knock it off. Can’t you see you’re bothering him?” he snapped, not caring if he upset some snot-nosed punk kid.

“You’re no fun,” pouted the kid before sulking off and giving Cartman better access to view the merman. When Eric moved closer, the merman slowly reopened his eyes and gave him a quick, panicked look before shrinking deeper onto the floor again. The sight of him twining his tail around himself with desperate fear sent shards through Eric’s heart, especially when he considered that holding someone like this hostage for money was exactly something he would have done when he was younger.

Now, though, when he looked closer and saw the bright pink lacerations across the merman’s tail, he felt more than sick to his stomach. The wounds were clearly fresh and extended all the way to his tailfin, where some of the fine partitions were shredded completely. Eric must have been initially too hypnotized by the merman’s beauty to notice the injuries, probably a byproduct of his capture.

“Cartman!” Kyle’s voice broke over the chitter chatter surrounding him. “Get back over here, dude. Management sucks and won’t listen to me.”

He knew he had to go back, but walking away from the merman was difficult. When those sea-colored eyes, framed with long, feathery lashes, finally shuddered back to meet his, Eric froze all over again.

The merman’s face was a little too narrow and pallid, he thought, despite the small shimmers of silvery blue smeared across random patches of his skin like makeup. His hair was so dark in contrast to his skin that it truly resembled black water mingling with that abnormal blue dye.

The merman looked so beautiful and sad, and it made Eric even sadder to think he probably wouldn’t feel this sorry for him if he weren’t so beautiful and didn’t look so human. A few hours ago, he hadn’t given two shits, but now that the merman was watching him with terrible resignation while dozens of camera flashes bounced off the tank’s glass, he cared. He cared a lot.

It took every ounce of willpower to turn from the merman’s pale, hopeless face, and go back to Kyle and Kenny then, and even then, he paused to look back. The merman was in the same position, but still looking at him too.

(South Park and its characters obviously do not belong to me. Creators are Trey Parker and Matt Stone. This is intended for fun use only, not monetary.)