#even if it's a puppet monarchy

[skay-ali]

The Magician and the princess

1

Days passed, and you carried on with your life, balancing your position at court, serving the emperor alongside other magi, and on the other hand, taking care of Philomel, escaping your duties to spend time playing with the little princess.

In your strange new life, spending time with Philomel kept you sane.

You escaped from your life defined by this reality. Even though you already had your own story and destiny, the daughter of a noble family with many illegitimate children, you were also an illegitimate child, born from an adventure, a promising child, possessing a great amount of mana, a puppet for your family, a child who always wanted to please those around her, searching for the love she could never have.

Those vague memories lingered in your head, throughout your childhood and much of your adolescence. Some of them were painful, but at the same time, they weren't. You weren't that little girl. You had your own memories, growing up in a world filled with technology, without magic or fantastic creatures. A world where technology and capitalism predominated, politics were between presidents and ministers, there was no monarchy. Royalty was just a useless role, an image for the people, a role that was almost extinct.

You went to school, graduated, studied at university, and had a family that loved you... you weren't a promising magical girl from a noble family.

So it was a surprise when your "family" wanted to intervene in your life. The same family you hadn't seen in a long time since you were put to work with the castle wizards, according to all your memories.

It was funny to you how they decided to appear now.

Did they want to use you? Do they want you as one of their new pieces on their board? Are they going to take advantage of your position and the fame you gained with your spells?

You saw an adult man and an elderly woman standing before you.

They were talking, their lips moving nonstop, their faces filled with seriousness, lacking kindness, a great darkness surrounded them, everything around them felt oppressive.

You felt their gazes full of reproach, things they judged about your new appearance and way of dressing.

A part of you felt fear, terror, and a lot of anxiety. They had power over you, the old you. On the other hand, the current you felt nothing but annoyance. They were like mosquitoes that decided to fly around you, bothering you, until you squashed them once and for all and ended their existence...

"We followed you to this point, we didn't do it for anything, nothing has changed."

They'd finally reached the part where they discredited you with their many spit-out words.

They expected you to follow them blindly, without objecting, returning a favor they believed you owed them.

"So?" You interrupted the couple before they continued their grand monologue. You crossed your arms, looked straight ahead, and maintained a firm stance, showing no weakness.

"..."

"What an insolent girl. Not only do you act arrogantly, but you also dare to interrupt me." You saw the woman scrunch her face into a grimace as she clenched her hands tightly.

"I really am, aren't I?" You downplayed your actions.

"I think you're forgetting your manners, ____" The neatly dressed man, in clothes that screamed expensive, maintained a more serious demeanor, seemingly intimidating.

You followed his example, also maintaining a serious demeanor, challenging the man to whatever game he was trying to include you in.

But you hesitated. For a moment, the man showed a small smile and triumphant eyes, as if he knew something important, something that brought back a feeling of past fear, along with a past memory of the same situation, a girl terrified by the same look.

"Everything you've achieved, you did so with our influence. Don't try to rebel."

"I refuse..." I interrupted the man before he could continue with his threats.

Yes, you felt fear. The part of you that belongs to this world, or rather, your memories, tells you to give in, follow orders, and everything will be fine. But you won't do that. You're a woman of a modern world, one who survived college and managed to graduate, who didn't fall into an early marriage or motherhood, no matter how attractive it may sound, but rather into the desire for lots of money.

"What did you say?"

"Are you deaf? I'm already old enough. I'm not going to follow their orders, much less an idea that goes against the sun of the empire."

It was time to cut ties with a family that only uses others as pawns, a family where the "pure blood" use others, believing themselves to be the best, where it's not difficult to discard a person like garbage.

Under other circumstances, you would have followed their orders, not for any special reason, just to avoid general inconvenience. It was like giving food to a dog to stop it from barking. Under other circumstances... not this one, not after they want to involve the princess in their games for the power of the empire, using you and the friendship you formed with Philomel, a pure and selfless friendship, the one you took so long to form.

"Now you're not only acting like a rebellious child, but you're also pretending to care about the princess."

"Do they really think I'm stupid? Your friendship with the princess, or any relationship you've created with the girl, I know very well that it was out of self-interest, to get something good out of it."

"I know you very well, always wandering in the shadows, moving slowly, manipulating with extreme care, planning again and again to achieve your whims."

"I admit it, my reputation precedes me," you easily accepted her accusations.

"But judge me... I was just... a child," you spoke again. You weren't going to give her the pleasure of being right, not without first speaking her truth to her face.

"A child who does the impossible to find love, who follows orders without a second thought, all out of an almost desperate need to find warmth and love in a ruthless family," you spat firmly, giving your false relatives a harsh look.

"Anyone in my situation would become a dog, crawling and following orders, for a pat on the head, or even a hug, even a little nickname full of affection."

"But I grew up, and I'm not that child anymore... I think it's time you look for another puppet, although it won't be necessary, at the rate you're going... there won't be any puppets within your reach."

"Their crimes will catch up with them."

You're done here, you've made things clear.

You left the room where they cornered you a few minutes ago. What a waste of time, they ruined your day.

Maybe it sounds narcissistic, but I think the princess is just like your old self from the story, in some ways.

All the more reason to feel the need to take care of her, protect her from bad people, much more so from her supposed father, the emperor.

The room fell silent.

The two figures left inside stared at each other for a moment, their rigid, serious faces showing that nothing had gone as they had hoped.

Golden eyes peering out of one of the windows continued to observe the unfolding scene for a few seconds before turning away.

There was no longer any reason to spy.

He believed he had obtained the necessary information.

"Phil," you ran happily toward the little girl. Seeing her always brought a smile to your face.

You opened your arms as you approached, and the little girl walked a little closer to you.

"You're late," you looked at her, pouting.

"Well... I had to deal with some bugs," you avoided calling the people from a moment ago family. "You saw me, no, finish them off."

"A scene that didn't go unnoticed while I was looking for you for being late."

"You see what I had to go through. How about you give me a hug to comfort me?" You continued to hold your arms open.

You saw the little girl hesitate, and you moved a little closer, but she avoided you. So you played along, chasing her with open arms while the little girl tried to avoid you. It was a fun moment where the two of you smiled with amusement, without worries or annoyances.

You caught the little girl, lowered yourself to her level, and gently hugged her. She smiled. After a few moments, she willingly accepted the hug and wrapped her arms around your body.

Still holding her, you stood up and walked from one place to another. You dragged her along like a stuffed animal. It was time to start her little party.

"Phil, who's your friend?"

You thought you'd spend a quiet day with little Phil, without worrying about the plot, your position as a magician, or even the consequences your family would face for your rebellion.

But it turns out the universe decided to screw you over and send a character straight from the story to your precious party.

The little... blond boy, oh dear, you forgot his noble title. What you clearly remembered was that the boy was Phil's current fiancé.

Your feelings for the boy were complicated. On the one hand, he tried to take advantage of Phil's childish attitude in the past, of course, on the orders of his strict father. On the other, he had his small redemption, as you recall. He began to form a slow but healthy friendship with Phil. That's all you remember.

It's a shame his title and name aren't.

"___, this is Nassar."

You nodded, showing all your attention to the little girl.

She looked adorable in her dress and her hair up, even with her signature loose lock.

"Nassar Avrydon, nice to meet you, miss..."

"Just ___, okay, and the pleasure's mine," you smiled. He was a boy, but you could tell how well-behaved he was.

You felt hands wrap around your arm. When you looked down, you noticed Philomel pressed against you. It was strange because just a few moments ago she'd been sitting next to you.

Well, that was until the girls stood up to welcome Philomel's fiancé.

Ah, you just noticed. Even a little girl is engaged, and you had nothing, not even friends... Your social life sucks, in this world too.

"It would be nice to join us, Young Avrydon." It was clear the boy was excited to see the princess.

But it was strange, because this time Phil wasn't much of a part of the interactions with the blond boy. In the story, she tries to maintain a friendship with Nassar, all so the boy wouldn't hate her and because he was never her fiancé.

Which is silly, because Philomel was the one who made the engagement possible. It's possible the real Princess Ellensa never proposed, perhaps in her adulthood or never, because I could meet another boy or young man in that moment.

"Of course, I'd love to, miss."

You could have stolen that filter she uses, delicate and formal words. Gestures and movements that screamed elegance and nobility.

Your world of informality has truly ruined you. You sat in one of the garden chairs, surrounding a round table with a large umbrella in the center.

It was a hot day, so you indulged yourself by creating frozen desserts you remembered from your world, even a strawberry-flavored slushie.

"Go ahead and enjoy."

You watched the children carefully eat sweets from the table.

Their faces showed great surprise as they tried a bit of what they had, then you watched them lose their surprise and happily devour your desserts.

Such cute children! They happily devoured your treats, carefree, and you felt proud... Wait a minute... two children, dessert, magic... you're supposed to be the witch! It was just like Hansel and Gretel, in some ways.

"These desserts are delicious. I've never tasted anything like this before." Nassar lost the composure he had a moment ago. Sweets are capable of achieving impossible things. You were glad to see him acting like a child; it became uncomfortable for you to see children, young people, and adults acting the same way.

"That's right," you smiled with happiness and tenderness at the sight of their cheeks filled with desserts.

You even noticed the small brain freezes the two children had as they ate so much ice cream so quickly. Their grimaces were amusing.

"And you, Phil, did you like what I made?"

"They're delicious, ___, as always, you're the best." His voice was soft, his lips curled into a small smile.

"Ahhh, how sweet they are, children." You had to cover your face out of embarrassment and emotion at the words the children had spoken to you.

The day was beautiful.

Just you and two small children relaxing in the garden.

No worries.

No threats.

No annoying relatives.

It was a peaceful day.

"Are you a castle wizard?" the boy approached you after exchanging an adorable conversation with Philomel.

You watched them from time to time; the two of you chatted about different things, like books you'd read, noble affairs, politics, although that was rare.

But you also saw them talking about their tastes, what a beautiful day it was, banal, meaningless things that somehow made the moment more enjoyable. You even saw them smile. You couldn't help but join in at times, with quick comments, until the children paid more attention to you.

"Yes, you could say so," you hesitated at his question. They called you a prodigy when you arrived, but then you faced competition that surpassed you. When you realized it, you became mediocre, you even stopped trying. You were left aside long ago, confined to doing work at your desk, surrounded by documents.

Not that you were complaining.

"...."

"Could you say so?" Phil spoke curiously; your words took her by surprise. You watched her rest comfortably on your lap.

Lately, she'd become more affectionate. You weren't quite used to it, but you weren't complaining either.

That's what girls and even boys were like: affectionate, dreamy, full of energy and happiness. Well, they change at some point, but not to become adults out of nowhere; that greatly affects their growth and development. A clear example is young people and adults, crazy for power, people fascinated by studying others, calculating, and unhappy. The manhwas already proved it.

The best thing is love and support, so as not to raise a psychopath or sociopath.

You gently stroked his hair, running your fingers through his soft brown locks, the sun making them shine a little.

"Well, lately I stopped doing fieldwork, and they left me the bureaucratic part of filling out paperwork," you said without interest.

"Is that so?" Nassar spoke again. "I've heard your name before; many have mentioned you as a promising young magician."

"Wow, those words... you make me seem like a great person," you mocked the boy innocently.

"You believe those words? Do you think I'm promising in magic?" You feigned seriousness when you saw the boy.

You watched him remain silent for a moment; he was very thoughtful. Didn't he want to upset you? That was considerate of him.

"Actually, I think she's a promising mage, but with her recent words, I don't know what to think anymore." You saw him play with his hands and a little blush on his cheeks, it seems that you made him nervous.

You should improve your attitude. In this world, you end up creating discomfort instead of security and sympathy.

"Hey, that's very nice of you."

You carefully extended your other free hand and brought it closer to the boy sitting near you. You also stroked his hair, just like you did with Phil.

To your surprise, the boy didn't feel uncomfortable or object; instead, he accepted your display of affection.

"You're a true gentleman."

"Let's keep this a secret." You gave the two boys a knowing look.

"Actually, I am a great magician," you admitted self-centeredly.

"But there are evil people who want to take advantage of my power, which is why I must keep a low profile."

You're a great liar. You saw the children easily believe you.

Well, you weren't lying if there were vile beings trying to use you, but in reality, you were too lazy to work.

Two children were worried when they heard you.

Phil easily understood what you meant; he'd met those people before, and he didn't like them at all.

Now that he's made sure you weren't a threat, he even notices the affection you have for her. She's started to accept you; you've become a part of her life. The possibility that you might move away or be in danger worries Philomel greatly.

Philomel realized over time that she had a huge problem knowing her future. She had a meticulous and calculated plan to avoid it and save herself. Amidst all the desperate reality of her life, having you was the best thing she could have; you became her safe place, even if it's a bit hard for her to accept.

That's why she couldn't afford to let you go.

Nassar was also worried. Ever since Philomel showed a change, he noticed many new things in her. She was calmer, and she confessed that she wanted him to live his life as he pleased.

I never expected to meet you, a castle mage.

I also didn't expect to know that you knew the princess and that she cared deeply for you. Philomel's attitude toward you was different from what he knew now. She was more lively with you, also affectionate, as she had been with him before.

But it only took him an afternoon to get to know you. And a couple of days of small get-togethers for him to warm up to you.

You were a good person, lively, who cared about others. You did so when he appeared out of nowhere uninvited. You had a welcoming attitude.

You accepted him into your small circle, if you could call it that. You invited him again afterward, and again, without stopping.

The few visits became constant. His father was happy when Nassar lied to him, saying he was just going to play with Philomel. He also went to play with you and Phil.

I truly appreciated being able to spend time with the two of you.

It felt good; something in his heart felt fuller, as if a void had been replaced.

When you stroked his head, he was very surprised, but he didn't push you away. It was one of the few moments where someone showed him affection, even with a small gesture. He was desperate to feel it again.

He's beginning to understand why Philomel spends so much time with you and why he speaks so highly of you.

He envied you at first for taking Phil's attention away from him; now that he's met you, he no longer considers you a threat.

You were the only thing he needed, along with Phil.

He couldn't think of anything bad happening to you; he couldn't lose the second person who showed him true love, affection without commitment, a love that controlled him. You never asked him for anything, not as his family.

It was ridiculous for him to entertain this idea... but, lately, he liked deluding himself with the idea that you were his true family.

But that was a secret.

The universe kept bothering you lately.

It wasn't just throwing your true story in your face anymore.

Now it insisted on throwing different characters at you.

You were lucky at first; you met Nassar, Phil's fiancé, a boy in a complicated situation with his family as you recall, and he also had his moment of redemption with the little princess, his first friend or something like that.

Then there was the lady-in-waiting, or butler, who looked after Phil. Although you also forgot her name.

But today... today was the worst.

You met the Emperor's right-hand man.

Not just the ashen-haired count, but also the Emperor himself.

The man who requested an audience with you.

It took a lot of strength to look at him without showing a frown or a look of hatred.

Much more to keep from hurling a thousand insults at him. And you barely entered the small audience.

You prayed to the gods of this universe and yours to take care of you, begged them to give you all the willpower not to kill this bastard.

I don't know if I'm succeeding in creating the little platonic yanderes. But they won't be the only ones. There will be yandere love interests. I'll include them somehow, even if it doesn't take long to introduce them or if it ends disastrously. I'll try it out!

[janumun]

Obsidian Retribution (IkePri Gilbert von Obsidian - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ 🌶️ Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian/Reader Words: ~4k

Tags: developing/denial of feelings, church desecration/sex, vaginal fingering, minor violence, spoilers for Gilbert’s route (chapter 9), re-telling of canon events, angst 

Summary: What happens when you throw yourself into harm’s way in a bid to protect Gilbert at one of Clavis’ covert anti-monarchy meetings? Unconsciously stirring out the whetted fangs of the Conqueror Beast. 

And you witness, once more, just how scathingly cruel his desire for monopoly over your body truly is.

A/N: I’m currently in the midst of Gilbert’s route but he’s been such a flowing inspiration and need that I had to write this indulgent piece for him, for myself and the five other Gil fans out there who would cry with me LOL.  

Characterization might not be accurate to end route Gil, as I’m at the beginning of his route still, so this is written with my understanding of an early Gilbert. ILOVETHISMANSOMUCH. 

The lethal sweep of the blade engulfs your vision entirely, the noble’s hand poised right above his shoulder — a strike you know you cannot avoid. Your life, as if you view it through the distant barrier of a panorama, right before it’s extinguished.  

The sole knowledge that you do not regret your actions one bit, your one solace, eyes drifting shut, that one moment of death stretching slow and long.  

A glacial whisper, of knelling death curls into your ears, “I do not recall allowing you permission to die by another’s hand,” His only pre-emptive warning, just before Gilbert grips a harsh hand about your neck and hurls you backwards— 

“Belle!” Into Luke’s body as he catches you against himself right before you careen straight into the ground. 

A whimpered groan breaks into the air right after; your whirling head, catching its bearings just enough to catch sight of Gilbert standing above the writhing figure of your would-be assailant, bunched at the ground. The sharp end of the perpetrator’s blade — now within Gilbert’s hand — he brings up in a vicious arc, surely in murderous intent. 

“Prince Gilbert, don’t!” Your voice breaks in terror into the air, before the knife is able to find home within its pitiful target.  

His hand, fortunately, halts just before it slits through the noble’s carotid, the latter long having fainted in mind-numbing fear, unable to bear the single-focused brutality of the conqueror beast.  

Gilbert raises his face as if operated via a puppeteer's strings, cut before it could fulfil its performance. Garnet gaze, sweeping slow, before it finds its next victim, within you. Your breath frosts within your lungs, incapable of function, the vicious weight of his terrifying visage subjecting you to his splintering displeasure, despite the cruel smile that remains even now, firm in place. “What is it, little rabbit? Are you begging me to kill you instead?”  

“Prince Gilbert!” You hear Luke entreat, as if from afar.  

A volatile shiver cascades down your spine at the look he’s giving you, thinly veiled revulsion and rage within that sole scarlet eye.  

Gilbert takes a step toward you; your breaths coming in short, staccato bursts and yet you’re unable to turn away from the hungering violence within that gaze. Scurrying thoughts unable to comprehend why exactly he seemed so incensed at you.  

“Come now, out with it. I know you wish to say something to me.” Gilbert offers you an encouraging smile, even as the murderous intent radiating from him with each step he takes forward, threatens to smother you entirely.  

You know what he wishes to hear in that moment, of no mind to hear your own thoughts on the matter. An apology, for your actions, reckless, they may have been, but you do not hold an ounce of regret for trying to protect the man that continues to disconcert your heart; sink his dark trellises deeper into your soul. 

“Prince Gilbert, I—”  

The stifling pressure in the room, cut through only upon Clavis’ interruption, just as he steps into the room to offer a jaunty congratulations to Gilbert for providing an entertaining show.  

The weight of his gaze flees entirely from you, your body — you did not realize you’d held steadfast by sheer force of will — collapses back against Luke’s comforting presence, just as he hauls you up and into his arms, to carry you back. 

“Aren’t you a lucky one?” Gilbert’s cheery voice drifts, discomfiting against your retreating back. 

“Prince Gilb—” 

 “Take care you don’t let me catch sight of you again, or I might just kill you.” Your heart thrums in confounding pain at his words, the clear line he carves in between the two of you in that moment.  

Your mouth unable to form sufficient words to try and catch his attention just as Gilbert turns away from you entirely, the soft flitter of his cape as he does, the last sight you capture of him, as Luke carries you away from the scene. 

 

The longcase clock at the end of hallway has long struck midnight. You continue to pace, restless, about the corridor. Eyes cemented upon the window, affording you a clear view of the castle gates as you stake your agitated wait for Gilbert’s return.  

Luke and you had returned a few hours back, to the castle in a private carriage. You’d run into Rio as soon as you’d alighted, almost immediately after, being carted in between the two men as they’d fussed you straight into the infirmary. The good part of the hour after, spent in making sure you were truly unhurt save for the minor scrap at your arms.  

It was only multiple reassurances later and holding Rio back from charging deep into the night after Gilbert, did you escape from the fretful affections of your friends and out, to await Gilbert’s return.  

His expression returns to your mind’s eye in vivid detail; the way that cold, scarlet gaze had zoned in on you, the shuttered intensity of violent rage underneath. It was as if you’d been looking upon a stranger.  

Now that you’d had a few quiet moments to compose yourself away from the fright of your earlier situation, bone-deep remorse was beginning to settle within, at having displeased Gilbert the way you did. A forced companionship he may have forged in between you two, but the startling glimpses of his kindness that lurked beneath the serrated edge of his cool blades, had your heart shred asunder between fear, rationale and genuine care. You couldn’t deny it, not after tonight. You had, perhaps, grown to care for Prince Gilbert, far more than was ever appropriate. 

The soft whinnying of horses disturbing the quiet of the night outside drags you out of your reverie just in time to catch sight of Gilbert’s figure descending the carriage.  

You begin your rush towards the main entrance, but instead of making his way into the castle, Gilbert’s steps veered off towards a path leading to what seemed to be, the back of the castle.  

You fly down the winding staircase and into the foyer, heart battering against your chest. Pulling open the great doors to the entrance before you dart after his retreating figure that is a mere speck in the distance, now.  

You do not want to lose sight of him. You must see Gilbert tonight and make him listen to what you have to say. Despite your fears, you do not wish to abandon Gilbert with the notion that you did not care. Even beneath the carving of a beast, he was just a human too. A man who’d come so close to bordering a rapidly diminishing line in between friend and foe.  

Up ahead, Gilbert ducks past belting cobblestone, headed in the direction of what seems to be the structure of an old church. You frown, thoughts wrought with questions you know you’d get no easy answers for.  

The tapering sweep of his cape disappears just past the great, carved wooden doors of the church, and you too follow, on tentative, urgent steps, slipping through the entrance and into the church.  

It sits empty, save for the dark figure of the man standing motionless, close to the pulpit.  

“I didn’t think you were foolish enough to come chasing after me even after I warned you not to.” Gilbert’s voice drifts eerie in its calm, down the long hallway, even as you trudge closer on careful steps. “Tell me, is it that pure kindness of yours which feels for every living being, or an empty head that has dragged you this far into the beast’s den?”  

Gilbert’s words are scathing, deliberately cruel, meant to burn. You have not heard him utilize that tone of voice with you in so long. 

“Well then,” he prods; voice, sweet poison. “Are you going to answer me or shall I make you answer me?” 

You drift further into the church on uneasy steps, the great doors behind sway shut behind you in a creak of finality, as if knelling of an ill-fated decision. Against all wise sense, however — your heart insists you do — you tread towards the man who stands waiting, at the end of the long, carpeted hallway.

A poised form; his head at an easy cant, a crinkled garnet eye fixated upon your foolish movements — you do not miss the incessant, muted tap of gloved digits across the flared bulb of his cane, an uncharacteristic agitation to his visage, you’re not used to witnessing on Gilbert. He stands, all obsidian, against the backdrop of watered twilight that filters in shafts past great, ornate windows on either sides of the quiet hallway — as though he is a devil awaiting the willing scurry of a sacrifice right into its willing maw.  

You grit your teeth against the frightening intimidation he’s settled deep into your bones, a festering cloak he’s had thrown over in between you, warning you to stop prying deeper into his affairs. “I want to speak to you, Prince Gilbert.”  

“Oh? What if I do not wish to listen, little rabbit?”  

“Then, I insist you hear me out.” The cutting streak of his blade is so swift, you only but feel the soft stir of your hair about your face before your breath frosts within your windpipe at the deadly edge of the sword he holds against the careful swallow of your throat.  

“You really do wish to die by my hand tonight. What an utterly insipid way to cut my fun short, Belle.” 

You force yourself to hold your ground, even as the first tremors of fear crumple across your limbs. “I don’t want you to kill me.” Compelling courage to rise in the face of his raw vitriolic anger, you wish to parse the reason for his distress. “I only want to know why you are so angry with me.”  

A serrated smile tugs across his mouth. “Do you ask because you really do not know?” 

“I don’t. And I don’t think I did anything to warrant your unjust ire either.” 

“Unjust...” he murmurs. “You would’ve realized it if you took but a single moment to think.” 

Your mind takes his words and works about them in a million different ways. “I realize my actions were reckless...” 

“That is a good start.” the sardonic amusement of his voice does not reach his eyes.  

“But I do not regret my actions, Prince Gilbert. I...” you swallow around words that are sudden lead within your throat. “I do not think I could bear to see you get hurt.”  

The admission uttered on soft, firm words; stews dense within the space in between you both. Gilbert's lone scarlet gaze, watches you, motionless as the terse silence stretches taut into several excruciating moments.  

Before he gathers his blade back into its secreted scabbard once more, beneath the cloak at his waist — your breath escaping you on a rush of relieved air, you did not even know how tensed you’d held your body, until its released from the grip of Gilbert’s dread, with the withdrawal of his blade. The Obsidianite prince turns on his heel, the flourish of his great, dark cape behind, as he moves to seat himself in the first pew. He does not look back at you as he instructs, “Come.”  

And you follow, without a word of complaint uttered; know that you tread in dangerous waters. A single, wrong move, and you’d miss your window of opportunity with Gilbert entirely. His emotions would be shuttered off to you, once and for all, were you to lose your nerve now and flee from him. Despite how part of your heart still tremored within his presence, how you still couldn’t help doubt each single edge of his kindness so deeply steeped within his malice; hope still sprouted within you regardless. Willing to gamble upon the Gilbert you often times caught glimpse of; one who’s consideration did not come attached with its poisonous strings.  

You shift on anxious steps once you’re in front of him, Gilbert’s gaze, mildly muted of its ire when he fixes it upon you. “Your impulsive actions could’ve cost you dearly tonight.” He begins.  

“Impulsive, yes... but even if I had stopped to think, Prince Gilbert, I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t afford to see me hurt, yes, I heard that silly part the first time you spoke it, little rabbit.” he reiterates.  

You clam up on yourself. 

“You could’ve died. Did you stop to think how much the mere thought of your demise irked me?” He angles the head of his cane, to tap against your hip, gesturing you closer.  

And just as you steal close within arm’s length, Gilbert’s gloved digits are curving about your arm in a vice, hauling you down to topple onto his lap. His murmur’s a warm caress against the shell of your ear. “I would’ve hated it if you’d died.”  

Your mind careens into a rash halt of all thoughts, blanking entirely at the quiet certitude of those words. 

“...What?”  

“Foolish, isn’t it?” His smile is wide, undisturbed across his face. Just as transient as the surface of a pond, subject to be disturbed by the slightest of ripples. “Even when I despise you so, Belle, I cannot let you go.” 

“Prince Gilbert...” 

Your mind cannot parse the meaning of his words. If this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d have understood him to mean he did not wish for his prey to be ‘impaired’ by another. Gilbert had told you so, on several occasions and in no less than explicit terms.  

However, now as you look upon Gilbert; emotions naked, unlike you’ve ever seen before. Jagged enough they could cut you through if you dared try wade in deeper. Into the insinuation barely concealed behind that sole garnet gaze.  

The arch of his cane steers a slow caress over the shirt at your chest, before it dents into a stop right above your heart. Gilbert presses in, insisting the polished head against the give of your left breast — your heart seeming to catch at the hook of it with how it seizes at the motion. “This right here could’ve stopped,” he mulls, almost clinically. The insouciant inflection of his voice disarming at the last careful barriers and inhibitions, thrown up in protection of your heart. “I am human too, you know, mere flesh and bone. I cannot be there to protect you each time that heart of yours decides it wishes to do good to all, regardless of their status as man or beast.”  

“Prince Gil—” Your voice fractures into a pained gasp, just as he seizes the fingers you reach out for him, sinking a sharp bite around a vulnerable digit. You clench back further signs of weakness with the slow, aching sweep of his tongue against your captured fingers; the teeth that worry at tender skin, pinching another warning at your approach. And reach out, again, with your other palm. Succeeding in curving your fingers about his cool cheek in a tentative touch up the line of it. Thumbing gentle right beneath the cusp of a surprised gaze, singular scarlet disarmed by the tender action. Before it crinkles in mild resignation, half rebuke, “You truly are a fool.”  

Gilbert tucks his face against your cradling palm, further allowing you slack, to temper at the beast that has — for the moment — lowered its great head to you. That is all the victory you need from him at the moment, for him to pay heed to you for the words you wish to communicate. “I’m sorry.”  

The apology rings piercing in the quiet space, Gilbert’s gaze unrelenting in the long stretch of time that seems to trudge slow in between you both, the longer he lets those two words stew.  

Pink tongue darting out a nervous path to slick moisture at long dry lips, “I’m sorry for not thinking my actions through and for not treasuring myself more in the moment. I realize that upset you greatly and I apologize for that, Prince Gilbert.”  

He remains silent throughout your confession uttered, red gaze, and a gloved hand, tracing a deliberate path across your chest, right above your heart. You know he can feel the moment it thrums faster, beneath his welcome touch — why, why do you not hate Gilbert touching you? — gliding its exploration across the space. “Will you promise not to do what you have today, again?”  

The thought of uttering a cosy lie, flitters through your mind for a split moment of relapsed judgement. Before fizzling in on itself; you know well how Gilbert despises untruths spoken, no matter how small. Would know, were you to try offer false placations. And so, you opt for the bitter truth — one you too, realize with a jolt of realization, “I... cannot promise you that.”  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the sharp edge to it, you swallow against, as if he has a phantom blade pressed to your throat once more. “For as much as I deeply regret the trouble I’ve caused you, I know I’d hate it even more were something to happen to you.” 

“Those are dangerous fantasies to harbour for a prince of your enemy nation.” A muted smile graces his features; a dark gloved thumb he brings to trace at your lower lip, delicately disengaging it from the worrying bite of your teeth. As if he, too, hadn’t confessed so, in less clearer words, not too long before. A dangerous game you two play; you don’t wish to disentangle the throttling wad of your emotions tonight.  

“Well, that’s too bad then, I guess, because those are my true feelings, Prince Gilbert.” You stare back, resolute.  

His smile quivers in mild amusement. “I know.”  

“And I’m willing to do anything to show my sincerity, if it gets you to accept my heartfelt apology.” 

That garnet gaze shutters, taking on a hard edge at your words; the burbling shadows of darkness that catch just beneath that smiling veneer before it vanishes entirely. “You’re playing a treacherous game here, little rabbit, one that will unfortunately end in futility, no matter how hard you try.” His smile grows wider, until you’re seeing the flash of teeth in it. “Nothing you do or say can ever change the positions you and I stand in. So, tell me once more.” A firm arm curls about your waist, heaving you flush against the cold, clothed expanse of Gilbert’s chest, a stifled gasp leaving you at the motion. “You’re not silly enough to not understand the true implications of your offer, are you?”  

Your next breath quivers out of you. “...I am not.” Your fingers snag awkwardly at the regal collar of his mantle, sinking into the soft fur lining the edges. “I wholeheartedly wish to make amends.” And you pitch your head forwards, the tentative kiss you touch against Gilbert’s cold lips has you shuddering in his embrace. “I can’t promise you what you want but I can convey my honest remor—”  

His hand slinks into the catch of your hair, hauling you back towards him in a kiss of cool desire, mouth moving against yours in a manner, it leaves you flushed and breathless by the time Gilbert parts from you on a wet, sultry sound. A hand he cups about your jaw, thumb denting at your chin in measured strokes. You tip your mouth, catching the edge of his glove in between your teeth to tug, slow. Deliberate. Curving your hands about his, in aid, before you wrest the glove off his hand entirely. Moving to discard it behind, at your feet.  

Gilbert’s bared hand moves to curve about the flare of your hip; a patient squeeze he applies to the flesh beneath. His other hand he extends in silent instruction for you to de-glove before you comply without question. You tremble above him in need, his simmering gaze more than making up for the cold you feel permeating through the thin cloth of your dress. “Go on,” he encourages. “You’re going to work for it, aren’t you?”  

Your breath heaves with the slow rise of your chest, hand stealing past the stiff collar of his cape to settle your fingers at the side of his neck, tracing hesitant pads down the line of it. “You’re so cold.”  

His lashes sweep shut over his eye at your touch, canting his head further into the warmth of your palm; a figure he paints so lovely, you know this empyrean visage is what you’d always envisioned within your mind’s eye when you used to read about kings and princes within your happy fairytales, long before in a time that seems so far into the past now. “You should warm me, then. Show me you’re capable of it.” 

Sinking a vexed bite into your lip — adamant on proving yourself right — you hoist your knee awkwardly onto the narrow seat. Gilbert’s hands immediately flit to curve their supports against your behind and lift, just as your other knee too, settles by his thigh, effectively straddling him. Your breaths stopper momentarily within your throat with the expectant lift of his gaze, palms squeezing softly against your pliant flesh. Your hands fly towards the flow of your dress before you slip the material up against your thighs, deliberately exposing your bare skin to his gaze.  

Gilbert's eye flashes; molten steel bleeding into the gaze, before one of his hands steal past the edge of your still rising dress and in between your legs to glance a searing touch in between your drenched folds, right above your underwear. You gasp at the euphoric sensation, hips lurching against his hand on instinct, trying to capture it deeper into you.  

He indulges you — perhaps he feels particularly merciful in that one moment of whimsy — the pad of his forefinger re-tracing its path in between your folds. Before his thumb tucks aside the edge of your underwear, to slide index and middle in a slow, torturous path across the bare flesh from hood to base. Teasing the cool tips of them just into your entrance. Your body flares in mortified need to feel your wetness gush onto his fingers at that mere testing touch.  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the smile that lingers at his lips, immensely pleased. “You’re very warm here.” Propelling his fingers, slow, up into your clenching walls. “It’s almost as if you’re running a fever, little rabbit.” You moan against him, with each deliberate thrust, the pads of his digits finding your weakest spot frighteningly quick, to scrape repetitive, at the soft flesh. “Do you think I’d be just as hot were I to settle deep into your place here?”  

Your hips judder against his fingers at those words, grazing the heel of his palm against the neglected bead at your apex, sending fire soaring through your body at that split moment of contact. Your soft, soughing sound of need breaks into the air, body gyrating down against that searing point of contact, in rhythm with the leisured thrust of his fingers into your spasming walls.  

Before Gilbert, cruelly, siphons the heat from you entirely at the cusp of release, fingers pried out of you to drift up against his mouth. He sweeps his tongue against his drenched digits, copious arousal dripping past his wrist to soak into the pristine cloth at his thigh. “Sweet thing,” he hums, just as you flush further underneath his piercing touch.  

And before you can manoeuvre your weak limbs for much else — mind so hazed in its lust addled state, you’re not sure what’s happening — Gilbert’s free hand is stealing about the curve of your spine. Pressing you down against the firm, hard strength of exposed flesh; the smooth head of him bumping about your nub to have you keening into the touch. Spine arching the rest of the way forwards without the coaxing of his hand, so he slips just past your entrance; fingers spasming into his shoulders at the stretch. You rock against that pleasurable almost burn for several, excruciating moments, in and out — surface thrusts — head falling back against your shoulders.  

Gilbert throws his hand about your body, fingers splaying just beneath the wings of your shoulder-blades, hauling your coasting body to hold firm, against his. “Don’t lose yourself now, little rabbit. You have yet to satisfactorily apologize.” Tempting your body down into his lap until he’s propelled, at last, into your drenched walls, a rapid sigh issued from Gilbert’s lips at the sensation.  

Your body quickly warming his into yours — the shape and stretch of him has you nearly faint with desire. “I’m sorry,” you croon on your first roll upon him. “I-I’m so sorry.” Grinding him up into your walls as deeply as you are able, the unyielding strength of him so numbing within your body. Even inside you, connected this intimately, Gilbert von Obsidian must have his own way with you.  

And you’ve let him do so, for so long; at his beck and call, thrown to his tender mercies. And yet, your mind had gone and coddled unfathomable emotions for him within its bosom. He'd gotten past your defences, just as he’d promised; crawling tendrils underneath your skin, into your frenzied beating heart, deep into your mind, until he occupied every thought along with each waking breath of yours. And your tiny victory lay in the knowledge that perhaps, you too had chipped a small chunk past that obsidian armour and carved a shallow wound at his skin, of your name.  

“I’m sorry for angering you, Gilbert.” You weep upon his length, hips driving fast towards a swift approaching release. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He breathes, hands catching at your waist to aid your movements upon him. “I’ll forgive you. And I’ll forgive you for neglecting to speak my proper title too, Belle, since I’m the one who has ruined you.” His smile is almost sweet, pleasant upon his face as he looks up at you — you drink that saccharine poison down almost fervidly. “You’re allowed to be remiss this once, because we are friends.”  

He’s driving, hard, into you — powerful enough the pew beneath you creaks with the propulsions — at an angle that has him brushing hot against your swollen nub in blinding strokes, just at the cusp of release, threatening to overflow. “So, call me Gil instead, when we are alone. I shall permit it, for you. Say it now.” 

Your body breaks, spasming into a release so violent, your entire body shudders above him. “Gil.” You sob out loud, your arms he coaxes about the strength of his shoulders. Fingers you sink into the soft fur of his mantle to ground yourself, just as Gilbert’s warmth follows soon after into your quivering walls. “I-I’m sorry, Gil.” 

A breathless, flushed grin, Gilbert von Obsidian buries against your mouth before he speaks. “Apology accepted, little rabbit.” 

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter.

[skippyv20]

I remember…..

I remember when I first came here, it was to expose MM. I saw who she was, I saw the damage she was sent to do to the UK and the monarchy. I spent years screaming it…..

I made many enemies, and the sugars were relentless. I lost three blogs and kept coming back. I am so happy I did keep at it. When I see what has come out about her and Harry….I am happy beyond words. I will admit it took sometime for me to recognize how deeply involved in the whole mess Harry was. I had so much faith he was just caught up in something he couldn’t get out of. I was wrong. Evil does grow.

I would always tell everyone…”don’t believe me, don’t believe anyone….research. Think logically.” That is still true to this day. I strongly urge that people research. We are in very hard times right now. The world is upside down. We have been lied to, we have been deceived. By who we have to decide for ourselves.

God is the one in charge, God has given us free choice. We are not to follow false prophets, they do exist. They are the ones that will ”save” us from the evils of the world. Yet, they are the evil ones. Hard to wrap our minds about that. I have heard and read about the “new world order”. One government, one leader. I can see it happening, I can feel it. We are there, right now. One leader who believes they are in charge and will rule the world. They will do this with blatant lies, with smiles and hugs. They will deny, deny, deny their lies…even when there is proof of the lies. They will try and convince all that there is only one way, and we better sit…shut up….and go along or it will be worse. A leader who thinks they are in charge of every country in the world, that they are the one to set the rules. Weird little charts with numbers that the smartest economists can’t figure out. There is a leader who demands that other countries don’t “buddy up”, or there will be repercussions . Excuse me? God has given us free choice. When a leader hides behind Christianity (as false prophets do), and then refuses to follow laws, as they don’t apply to them. There has to be law and order. We are taught to be respectful to others. A leader who bullies others, and humiliates others is not a leader. A bully is a bully. A leader is not arrogant. A leader doesn’t laugh at the suffering of others. A leader does take note of pain and suffering of others, and wants to make things better. I don’t know anything really about leaders of other countries, I just know what they should be. I don’t even know if there are any good leaders out there. I do know we have to be conscious of who we are putting in power. We can’t have any leader think they are the most powerful of all. Only God is the most powerful of all. I don’t believe God is guiding the leader who believes God has placed him in his position. This is not God’s work. If God did put this leader in power, we would see very different results than what we have seen. The world would be calm, there would be peace. We wouldn’t have the world stressing about what is going to happen tomorrow or the day after. We wouldn’t have people not knowing if they will have a job tomorrow, if they can afford to eat tomorrow. God gave us free will. God has given us tools to use for research. Read the good, read the bad. Read the right, read the left. Figure out what is “truth”. Don’t let someone else tell you. Figure it out for yourself. If you stay locked in one side…that is not “truth”. That is just easy. Balance everything, and figure it out. We are not puppets. Our countries are only as strong as we are. Strength in numbers, that is what makes changes. Strength is going against the road most taken. God gave us free will. WE choose how we want the world to be. It is not one leader who makes that choice for us. That leader thinks the world is full of his puppets. He is wrong. We have voices, we need to use them.

[stromuprisahat]

the reason i cannot excuse the darkling’s crimes is because he has no loyalty to his people. sure, everything he did was to create a better, safer world for grisha, and he did a lot of good things for them, but how many grisha did he kill because they didn’t agree with his methods? how many innocent children did he sacrifice because they were pawns in his plan? how many otkazat’sya that also wanted a better world for grisha did he kill or try to kill because, at the end of the day, his goals were not to make the world safer for grisha, it was to make a world where grisha were the rulers of society and everyone else was left to suffer

This could truly use some quotes, because where's the proof he acted to make Grisha rulers? Outside of him taking the Throne so he doesn't have to ask for every tiny concession?

There's none.

We never see him enacting some law to ensure Grisha dominance or spreading a declaration of that, the only time we glimpse his rule is when he's receiving supplicants, therefore he's at least on some level listening to his subjects even though he could lock himself up in the palace and have anyone bothering him executed.

Hell, if I wanted to be a nitpicker, I'd point out the regime visibly run by a group of Grisha is the illegitimate usurper Nikolai's, since he's constantly parading around all over the country with allegedly Alina-appointed (Mind you, there are no witnesses!) "Grisha triumvirate".

The Darkling has no loyalty to his people? The man, who learns a way to supply inhuman soldiers and immediately replaces flesh and blood with those even though it costs him immensely?! The very same man, who earned loyalty of the majority of Second Army and didn't have to travel around the world, flushing out Grisha in hiding to force them to join him? Don't you think they would've chosen "the better" or at least the new option?! Yet Alina gathered "maybe fifty" Grisha from "hundreds".

Do we ever see him kill Grisha for disagreeing with him?

No.

He kills Sergei- double traitor-, his nichevo'ya kill Alina's joke of an army during a siege- not Grisha as you call it, but supporters of his enemy- and that's it. What do you think a military leader does during a fight? Politely asks to put down the weapons and talk everything through?!

THEY MADE PLANS TO KILL ~HIM~ AND SLAUGHTER ANYONE, WHO'D GET INTO THE CROSSFIRE!

Besides- they were traitors to his cause, supporting the Tsar's sun-summoning puppet. They'd get executed anyway. He just avoided the theatrics that could've been interpreted as Grisha being free game.

Forceful change of regime almost always swims in blood. The Darkling's casualties were minimal. He even managed to get rid of plenty of nobles without endangering peasants.

You want to talk about pawns and unacceptable losses? That's politics and war. You either stand by, or you get your hands dirty. Ever heard of trolley problem? You can't keep everyone safe, and a true leader is the person, who doesn't shy away from nasty decisions, else someone might decide for them.

Which children are we sacrificing here? Is this about Genya again? Because under his leadership children were fed, educated and allowed to grow up before eventually dying on fronts etc. That's more than Ravkan monarchy could say about their general population. Or the new regime about their Grisha.

Where are those otkazat'sya that "also wanted a better world for Grisha"? Because I don't remember any being introduced. Or did I miss some vast socio-political party? The otkazat'sya we see are either indifferent or hostile. There are oprichniki and Little Palace staff, of course, but we don't get to see those aside from one young anti-Darkling mouthpiece, whose mother probably had personal beef with the guy, because how else am I to believe he'd be killing maids and other servants he's gonna need. Unless I'm also to buy he intends to wash his socks himself, while running a whole collapsing country...

If he wanted normies to suffer, then tell me- why would he waste precious Grisha lives to renew Fold crossings, while the Prince Perfect kept bombing supply lines and starving his own country?!

[electric-hydrangea]

Sandrone's Design: An Analysis

(This analysis believes in the Sandrone Guillotin theory. Join the Sandrone discord server if you’re curious about that! … Or DM me if you’re shy)

(This is an informal essay, I promise I write professionally)

(Also posted on r/Sandronemains, twitter, and hoyolab)

The Puppet’s Design Analysis

If we start from the top, we have Sandrone’s bonnet. It’s possible that this could be inspired by a fontange or a french hood. 

The fontange was french and popular in the 17th century, which is where I would say most of her design sources from. Originally, it would be a small cap on the back of your head that was stacked with lace and ribbons. Ladies would stack them higher and higher to make themselves look prettier, but it’s worth noting that men complained about it. 

The french hood was popular in the 16th century, introduced by Mary Tudor, Queen of France. Typically, french hoods had a black veil in the back but exposed the front of your hair. Eventually, the front of the hood would become decorated. For some reason, the king didn’t like the french hood and banned ladies from wearing it under certain circumstances.

Through strict appearance alone, you’d assume her bonnet was more similar to the french hood than the fontange, but Sandrone the puppet has more to her design than just that.

When it comes to her hair, it’s not similar to 17th century French styles at all. It’s a French bob with possibly a bun in the back. 

In the 17th century, women wore their hair up, with curled “mustaches” (strands of hair) trailing down their face. Big hats and big hair was super popular back then, but again men hated it and wanted them to wear their hair in English fashion instead.

Her collar could possibly be a “falling band”, popular in 17th century France, although mainly worn by men. They were also generally bigger. 

Sandrone has puff sleeves, which were popular in Europe from the 14th-17th century. There are different kinds of puff sleeves, and she may have specifically Juliet sleeves depending on how you see them. Originally, they were worn by people in England to show the power of the monarchy. It’s possible that her sleeve isn’t a puff sleeve, like it could be a lantern sleeve instead, but I’m getting conflicting information on what is what.

You can either see Sandrone’s black sleeves as being short sleeved, or her having long sleeves (white gloves). If we go with the opinion that she wears short sleeves with long white gloves, it’s worth mentioning that short sleeves were trendy back in 17th century France! They’d wear puffed sleeves with lace, notably not covering “half the arm”. 

Sandrone wears an underbust corset with a hip panel. In the 17th century (In England), corsets/bodies/stays were worn by men and women, and were considered necessary for the beauty of women. Other than that, every piece of info I’m getting is conflicting, so any corset lovers are free to continue this section!

Underneath Sandrone’s hands is something that I can only describe to be a bib. It looks similar to an 18th century apron, which was decorated to show high status. (example)

What holds up Sandrone’s cute skirt could be a crinoline or a form of a pannier. Crinolines weren’t popular until the 19th century, but panniers were undergarments that were super popular in the 17th century. They look a little weird though, but the crinoline took influence from it in its early stages.

Men also did not like pannier undergarments at all. (one) (two)

Sandrone’s cute red skirt could possibly be an overskirt, or the version of an overskirt which became more popular, a “mantua”. Just like a mantua, it splits in the middle to show off the dress. The color of her skirt is important, as red was considered a very rich color in 17th century France. The texture of her dress also reminds me of popular textiles used in the same time as well.

Her white gloves indicate French nobility, but it’s also possible that they could be evening gloves, which have been worn since the 17th century. They were most popular later on though, and at some points were considered necessary if you wanted to look nice/pretty. 

Her skirt, sleeves, and underskirt(?) are all black, and black wasn’t really worn back then due to how hard it was to pull off or look good. It was also expensive. In that era, vibrant colors were more preferred. Except, you guessed it, men hated it.

Sandrone’s dainty blue shoes are another popular item of 17th century fashion in France. It was popular to wear blue slippers, and eventually those shoes became high-heeled. 

Her black underskirt looks like “watteau pleats” or a “sack back gown”, with the extreme pleating, although typically on the back of the dress. They were popular in the 18th century and were considered extremely formal. It could also be a petticoat, but black petticoats weren’t really a thing back then.

The flowers on her dress look kind of similar to an anemone flower, although I’m not convinced. Anemones were hugely popular in the 17th century, and were viewed as the flower of the dead. However, the design on her dress is also a double triquetra, and also has ribbons flowing from the bottom. It was a huge trend in the 17th century to decorate your dress with all sorts of things, including floral designs. 

The Robot’s Design Analysis

(I’m going to call him Bob for brevity’s sake… we all call him Bob)

Bob has a cog around his head meant to look like an unstarched frill worn by cavaliers. The white ruffle in between the frill is a jabot, which became popular in the 17th century all throughout Europe. In France, specifically, they were worn solely by men. However, the accessory on his frill (the gear) is something solely worn by women. Above the jabot is a pendant that looks strikingly similar to the “Meshing Gear” dropped by Fontaine Meka.

Every element in Bob’s design takes inspiration from the French cavaliers of the 17th century. Both the Marechaussee Hunters and male Fontaine Research Institute NPCs wear a greatcoat, a military cavalier jacket popularized by Napoleon. Bob also wears an almost identical belt as that of a male research institute npc.

The robot appears to wear a combination of a greatcoat and a doublet, the latter of which was worn from the medieval ages to the 17th century - often seen on cavaliers.

In the fashion of military wear, he also dons jackboots (cavalier wear). His legs are shaped like breeches, which again, were worn by 17th century cavaliers.

He wears a very modest cavalier hat, with the pen-looking-thing being the large feather of the hat.

Bob’s design has a lot of fancy white ruffles and what looks to be gold all around him. For a cavalier, this would mean he is incredibly rich, noble, and obedient to the royals. He also wears red, which at the time his design is inspired by, was very associated with Napoleon, who would be the only man in the cavalry to wear red. It’s likely that both Sandrone and Bob’s outfits are made from velvet.

What Are We Supposed To Get From This?

Notably, the 17th century was known for its innovation and the scientific revolution, which ties into Alain and Mary Ann’s technological advancements as well as Sandrone’s whole being a robot thing. 

I made a point to express how often men hated women’s fashion trends for a reason. Among those, men hated how elaborate and high women’s hair was styled, how colorful their dresses were, how colorful their makeup was, and the way their dresses looked. 

Notably, Sandrone doesn’t reflect anything they complained about. I believe this was intentional, other than for obvious gacha game design reasons. Sandrone’s design, paired up with the Guillotin theory, shows you that she was created. 

With the added fact that Louis XIV, the King in the era she’s based on, refused to let the women in his court dress themselves, I believe we’re supposed to see Alain or her robot servant as her controller of some sort. 

Sandrone resembles French nobility - she looks rich. While we don’t have any canon information about her wealth status, she is still a doll, and I feel that she will not be nearly as rich as she dresses. As a cavalier, Bob resembles nobility in a very masculine way. Outside of battle, cavaliers were pompous with outfits often even larger than the women they mocked. This loud style of clothes was associated with those loyal to the royals at the time, meaning Bob’s design signifies a rich, monarchist, Catholic. It’s possible this could relate to Sandrone’s loyalty to the Tsaritsa.

Ironically, in Commedia dell'Arte, Sandrone is always a peasant.

(Warning I have not played Bloodborne, sorry) 

Additionally, Sandrone’s design and backstory is very reminiscent of The Doll from Bloodborne. The Doll is used as a way for your character to level up (like Katheryne) and was created by a man named Gehrman in order to keep him company. 

The Doll was made in the image of Lady Maria, a woman who Gehrman “held affections” for. When she disappeared, he became “obsessive”, and replicated her, even making their voices the same.

She’s very kind and sees the main character with respect, but wonders about her own creation and if her feelings are real. 

From my knowledge about Bloodborne, it’s a game about women, blood, and misogyny. I am not going to write an analysis because I never played it so my source is trust me bro. 

While nothing is confirmed, I still believe that Sandrone is inspired by Bloodborne (Lady Maria was in Arlecchino’s character ref, after all) and that the themes in Bloodborne also apply to her design, in the sense of how she has a loss of control of herself. The Bloodborne: The Old Hunters DLC (where The Doll is introduced) has very similar elements to the story of the Narzissenkreuz children, where they are hunters trapped in a dream created by their own past.

I’m also interested in knowing if she has the capability to walk on her own - we’ve only ever seen her in the palm of her servant’s hand.

[mihyasliebendermann]

𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗!

Your life was, in a word, horrible.

Born to the impoverished, raised among the weary, you learned the weight of survival before you learned the warmth of comfort. Your days bled into one another, hours of toil stretching like an endless road beneath an uncaring sky. Ten hours of labor if luck was on your side, more if it wasn’t. Hunger was an old friend, a presence so familiar it no longer gnawed at your stomach but instead settled into your bones, making a home within the hollows of your ribs. Two meals a day, at most—when your father was fortunate, when fate was kind.

So when the letter arrived, scrawled in ink darker than midnight, summoning you to serve as a maid in the palace of the infamous Duke, namely, Michael Kaiser, your family had no choice but to send you away. It was not an opportunity; it was a demand masked in civility. You bid a bittersweet farewell, the relief in your parents’ eyes hidden beneath the forced smiles they wore. They saw this as a chance. A cruel one, perhaps, but a chance nonetheless.

The castle loomed over the land like a forgotten deity, imposing and lifeless. It had no warmth, no laughter, no sense of humanity within its towering walls. Light was an exile here; darkness reigned supreme, seeping into every corner, filling every breath. Yet, despite its abyssal nature, you could tell it was built of gold, not silver. Always gold. Never silver.

Rumors, whispered between wary lips, had painted a picture of dread. The air itself seemed to shiver within these walls, and the ever-present sensation of unseen eyes upon you became a shadow of your own. A cold sweat had become your constant companion, slithering down your spine like a snake coiled in anticipation.

And then there was the Duke himself.

His movements were unnatural—too controlled, too precise, as if he were a puppet whose strings were pulled by unseen hands. His mouth rarely parted, his lips stretched into a rigid smile, unyielding. You had never seen his teeth. You began to wonder if he even had them.

He was seldom present, always engaged in “errands” despite his wealth surpassing even the king’s coffers—a secret well-guarded to maintain the monarchy’s pride. But even when he was supposed to be away, there was no telling whether he had truly left. He moved like mist, appearing without a sound, vanishing without a trace. No footfalls, no echoes. Just presence and absence, shifting as though reality itself bent to his will.

You were assigned to the library, a cavernous chamber where shadows ruled supreme. Even when you lit the lamps, the darkness did not wane. It was alive, swallowing light, bending it to its whims.

It was here that curiosity betrayed you.

The shelves were lined with the expected—histories of the palace, the chronicles of the Duke’s bloodline, and records of power and prestige. Yet, nestled amongst them was an anomaly, a book that did not belong.

Bound in crimson leather, its spine worn with age, the tome of fairytales and fantasies stood defiant amidst its somber brethren. It called to you, whispering in a language beyond words. You reached for it, your fingers hesitating only briefly before you pried it from its resting place.

As you opened it, the pages fell naturally to one that had been turned too many times, as though its secrets had been read and reread through the ages. Even when you tried to flip past it, your hands betrayed you, always returning to the same words.

Vampires.

An old legend, a foolish tale meant to frighten children. And yet, the deeper you read, the faster your heartbeat became, pounding in a rhythm that was no longer your own.

Pale skin—unblemished, unaging. You thought of the Duke’s flawless complexion, more porcelain than flesh.

They dwell in the darkness, for the sun is their greatest adversary. And silver—their bane.

The absence of light, the gold that draped every inch of the palace, suddenly became glaringly apparent.

They make no sound, move with unnatural grace, vanish like wraiths into the night.

Your breath hitched. Your fingers trembled. A suffocating dread wrapped itself around your throat.

The last known vampire, it read, was born in 1662—the heir of a wealthy businessman and an actress.

Your eyes trailed over the name, trying to decipher the aged ink. The letters blurred, but two remained clear as daylight.

M.

K.

The air thickened, pressing against you with invisible weight. Your body screamed at you to stop, to look away, but human nature is a cruel mistress, feeding on forbidden knowledge like a moth drawn to flame.

To see a portrait, turn to page 130.

Your breath hitched. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls closer, the darkness sentient. Your vision wavered, spots dancing before your eyes as a dreadful realization wrapped its claws around your mind.

Your knees buckled.

The world around you twisted, your consciousness slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

...

You awoke in a bed that was not your own.

The sheets beneath you were softer than anything you had ever touched, the pillows drowning you in comfort you had never known. Opulence surrounded you—golden embellishments, gems scattered like stars upon fabric, an overwhelming scent of blue roses.

Yet none of it soothed the terror clutching at your chest.

Something was watching you. You could feel it in your marrow.

“I am quite certain,” a voice murmured, smooth as silk yet sharp as steel, “that maids do not wander about my library without permission.”

You barely had time to react before a cold hand—so unnaturally cold—wrapped around your throat. It was not a grip of anger nor of cruelty. It was worse.

Fingers trailed along your pulse, pressing gently, feeling the life thrumming beneath your skin. You were fragile, a creature of fleeting mortality in the grasp of something eternal. For some maddening reason, faced with death, the only thing your brain was processing was the ethereal beauty of the Duke, his skin whiter than pure, his hair golden and silkier than silk itself. His eyes reflected- if not transcended- the beauty of the ocean and the vast, infinite sky above it, holding a facade of innocence, but the same could not be said for his soul.

“You are quite lucky,” Kaiser whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“I have taken a liking to you.”

https://www.tumblr.com/mihyasliebendermann/779590408405647360/%F0%9D%96%92%F0%9D%96%94%F0%9D%96%93%F0%9D%96%98%F0%9D%96%99%F0%9D%96%8A%F0%9D%96%97-%F0%9D%96%95%F0%9D%96%99-2 <- part two:3

[liv-andletdie]

Silver

Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Category: M/F Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda

@zelinktines

Summary: She could still remember the day, walking through the town with her cousin, the chill breeze blowing off the lake settling in her bones even as her face and heart were warmed. The little bracelet had caught her eye, resting on a bed of red velvet the blue and amber singing together in perfect harmony. "I saw it through the window and I couldn't resist."

---

Ao3 Link [X]

---

Balls, Soirees, Parties, and Dinners. Each one a tedious never-ending affair filled with people all trying desperately to impress each other. Shallow words and fake smiles, pleasant "How do you do?"'s that meant nothing. Paper people all pretending to care about anyone else. Puppets, pawns, players, each with their own rehearsed scripts. Opportunistic. Parasitic. Boring.

Zelda hated it.

She had for a while. Could vividly recall nights as a child, spent hiding behind the curtains, watching everyone lie and gossip and flirt their ways to alliances and treaties. She could remember sitting in the corner, observing and analysing everything before her. Balls, like this one, were the first time she ever saw anyone lie and get away with it.

They were awful, but they were a necessary evil when it came to her court.

Auru had explained, years ago, that the Hylian Monarchy was fulled, not by any great desire to do good, but by gossip. Gossip and a hunger for power. She had rejected this at first, simply writing it off as her old tutor growing pessimistic. But now she was older. Now she could see it clearly. Gossip was the weapon of choice for most courtiers, and the ballroom was their battleground. If one wanted to survive then one had to learn to play along. Here was were the real decisions about the country were made, not the council chamber. It was all about who you could get On side.

A necessary evil.

Zelda was thinking on this as she stood, an island in the middle of a hurricane, lost so deeply to her thoughts that she almost forgot to appear interested in the Minister before her. His droning voice becoming monotone, a discordant backing to the orchestra in the corner.

"And so, in short, that is why I feel that I would be a perfect candidate for the roll," He said, his words nasal and sharp like nails down a chalkboard. "I do hope that you'll consider me for the position, Your Majesty. It would truly be an honour to stand beside you as Chair of the Rebuilding Committee."

Ah yes, She thought, The Rebuilding Committee. How could I forget?

It had been almost two years since the Twilight Invasion had swept through the country. almost two years since the Demon King had fallen, and almost two years since she had last seen her dear friend. In that time the Resistance had stepped up, organising aid for those who had been hit the hardest, conducting censuses, allocating funds for local food stores and rebuilding efforts. At the head of this all had been Auru, working day and night alongside Link to help their people, but now he was stepping down. Taking time to rest after years of work, as was deserved. Though, his absence now left an empty seat at the table that certain people were all too eager to fill.

Oh Goody.

The man in front of her, Minister Lyre if memory served, was not the first person to come begging (she had, in fact, already had this same conversation at least five times in the past few hours alone!) Each supplicant had showered her in praise and poetry. She was so smart, and so beautiful, and so kind and benevolent. Perfection. Hylia made flesh. Utter tosh. All of it empty. All of it fake. Nothing more than an attempt to get her "On Side."

Minister Lyre was proving to be a tad more difficult to deal with than the others. The rest of her petitioners had stood a respectable distance away, they had bowed and curtsied when appropriate, and they had promptly left when dismissed. She'd told them each the same thing. She would think about it and let them know once she had come to a decision. They had thankfully taken her words at face value and scuttled off to find someone else to harass for the evening.

Lyre was staying put.

She had no idea why. He had already said his piece on why he would be a perfect fit for the committee, multiple times. He'd complimented her hair, her dress, her perfume. He'd positioned himself between her and anyone else who may wish to talk to her; deliberately monopolising her time as some sort of tactic or scheme to prevent another power hungry hopeful getting their claws into her. And to top it all off he was entirely too close.

At first she has brushed it off as some kind of mistake. The ballroom was crowded after all, the floor crammed with hundreds of dancing bodies, heavy perfumes clouding the air and making it hard to breathe. But then he had stepped closer. And as she made to take a step back, to put some distance between them, he followed. Step by step. All the while droning on about how brilliant he was and how beautiful she was. It was suffocating.

"Minister," she tried, shifting back with as much subtlety as she could manage. "I do thank you for your time, however I am still in the early stages of finding a new Chair for the committee. But I will endeavour to take on board all you have said tonight regarding your… talents."

"I do hope you will, Your Majesty." He puffed out his chest with pride. "I promise you, you will not find a greater match than I."

Somehow I find that hard to believe, She thought, keeping her face contorted into a polite and regal smile. Who does this man think he is?

"Well, I will be sure to take that under advisement, Minister." She all but forced, her smile beginning to tear at the edges. "Now if you'll excuse me I -"

Something solid hit her spine as she felt her world tip forwards.

Someone had bumped into her. The room was crowded and thanks to Minister Lyre's shepherding and surrounding she'd ended up backing into the rush of dancers headed to the floor. She only had a moment to realise this before she collided with him, her hands landing squarely on his chest. Lyre let out and embarrassing squawk, his arms pinwheeling as he attempted to balance them.

"Your Majesty?!" He gasped, face turning a rather alarming shade of red.

"I am so sorry Minister," She pulled back, feeling the embarrassment zip down her spine. "It was an accident. I do hope you'll forgive me." She took a deep step back, attempting her escape, when she felt the tug on her wrist.

Her bracelet.

It was stuck. The clasp tangled in the threads of ornate embroidery at his throat. She tried to tug again but found that she was well and truly stuck.

"Majesty?" Lyre looked at her, seeming to notice that her hand was still pressed against him. She watched as the already alarming red became deeply frightening.

"Apologies," she tried to pull again. "It's my bracelet, it appears to be caught on your jacket."

"Oh! Well, let me Your Majesty-"

"No. No it's alright." She grit her teeth. This wasn't going to end well but at least it would end. "I've got this, let me just …" With her free hand, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist, pressing the silver against the silk of her glove before giving it one last almighty yank. The clasp snapped, her bracelet came loose, and the force sent her flying.

Step by step, heel over heel, she stumbled. Her slippers barely offering any friction on the polished marble flooring, her legs betraying her as she began to tip backwards. It felt like forever, her humiliation curdling in the pit of her stomach, just waiting for the fall.

The fall that didn't come.

Two warm hands found her waist, quickly righting her position, propping her up on her feet. She felt dazed and confused. She'd been falling. What was happening?

"You alright, Your Majesty?"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no. No no no. Not him! Anyone but him! She'd be able to survive this whole humiliating ordeal, be able to brush this night off and go lick her wounds in peace if he wasn't standing behind her.

Nervously, Zelda turned her head to look and, yes. Shit. It was Him. The Hero of Twilight, Wielder of the Sacred Blade, Saviour of Hyrule. Link.

He stood behind her, eyebrows pitched upwards in worry, stunning sky blue eyes shining with concern. He looked like he wanted to say something more, mouth opening and shutting as he struggled to form the words he needed. His fingers pressing tighter into her skin.

Oh Sweet Nayru! He still had his hands on her waist!

"I-I'm alright," she choked out, feeling the tips of her ears beginning to burn. "I'm just… Excuse me."

Ducking her head, Zelda pulled herself from his hold. She needed to get out of here. She needed air. She needed quiet and space to think. She couldn't stand there, trapped between Lyre and Link, drowning in the crush of bodies, the deafening sounds of the orchestra singing. She had to run.

She almost wasn't conscious of it, the way her feet carried her across the floor, the look of worry and confusion on Link's face as she passed him. All she could focus on was her escape. The doors to the terraced gardens were just ahead of her, and with them the promise of fresh air and silence. They opened easily under her hands, swinging forward to allow her departure.

And then she was alone. Outside, in the quiet, the stars above shining and twinkling like diamonds scattered across back velvet.

She felt stupid. She was stupid. Letting herself get panicked over seeing him. Link was her friend! Any judgement she feared wouldn't come from him. He was too good for that. She needed to get herself under control, it wouldn't do her any good if she allowed herself to get flustered by this.

"You alright?" Link's voice called out, soft and sweet echoing through the silent air. She hadn't noticed him following her, hadn't heard the door open behind her, or the sound of his footsteps moving to stand next to her. She turned to look at him, the moonlight turning his hair silver, the chill painting his cheeks pink. It took her a second to remember that he'd said something.

"I'm fine Link, Just… overwhelmed." It wasn't a lie, the atmosphere in the ballroom had been slowly suffocating her. She watched him nod, his eyes turning to steel.

"I saw what happened with Lyre," he said, his voice going cold. He looked angry. "Did he…?" The rest of his question hung in the air unsaid. Did he touch you? Did he say something? Did he hurt you?

"No. Oh goodness, no." Zelda waved away the notion, her hand still wrapped around her wrist keeping the bracelet in place. "He was being pushy and annoying, but he didn't do anything." She watched his gaze soften slightly, his eyes dropping to her wrist then back to her face, eyebrow arched in a question.

He could say a lot without words.

"I got shoved," she sighed. "It was an accident but the force sent me forward and then…" she trailed off, the embarrassment threatening to take over again. Before her, Link's expression softened into one of gentle amusement, his lips quirked in a small smile as he seemed to ask, Then what?

"It sounds so stupid."

Link let out a huff of laughter, "I spend all day with the new recruits." He shrugged. "It can't be worse than anything I've already heard from them."

Pushing down the question of What did new military recruits talk about?, Zelda squared her shoulders, ready to give her answer even if it did feel a little stupid.

" It's my Bracelet." She lowered her hand from her wrist, holding the broken jewellery in her palm. "It got caught on his stupid jacket and I had to break it to escape," She heaved a sigh, looking at the mangled clasp. "It's a shame, I really liked this bracelet."

Beside her, she could feel Link shift his weight, a nervous energy in his movement. As if he was building up the courage before he spoke. "Well," he sounded shy, "I can't promise anything, but I'd be happy to take a look if you want."

"Really? I don't want to impose."

He let out another silent laugh. "Hardly imposing if I offer, is it?" Link held his hand out, the soft leather of his glove absent. the bare skin of his palm seeming to glow in the light of the stars.

"No, I suppose it isn't." She dropped the bracelet into his waiting hand, trying not to touch his naked fingers. "Thank you, Link." She watched as he pulled it closer to himself, inspecting the metal and jewels.

"Blue and Orange?" He tilted his head at her, the action reminiscent of a confused puppy. "Not your usual style."

He was right. Normally her jewellery constituted of heavy restrictive golds, rich rubies, and deep amethysts. If she did wear any blue stones then they were usually dark sapphires and lapis lazuli. Not the bright, electric blue of the abalone that hung next to its amber cousins, resting in their beds of shining silver.

"I saw it in Laketown," she started, her gaze fixed on his fingers as he fiddled with the metal. She could still remember the day, walking through the town with her cousin, the chill breeze blowing off the lake settling in her bones even as her face and heart were warmed. The little bracelet had caught her eye, resting on a bed of red velvet the blue and amber singing together in perfect harmony. "I saw it through the window and I couldn't resist. It just…" she paused.

"Reminded you of someone?"

There was no hiding it. It had been almost two years since Zelda had last seen her friend, since she had turned away under the bright desert sun, since she shattered her only means of return.

Midna.

Zelda sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. It felt a little silly, being so sentimental. But it had been so long and she missed her so much, and the colours of those stones had matched The Twilight Princess's hair almost exactly. "You're not going to laugh at me are you?"

"I'd be a hypocrite if I did," Link was looking at her now, his eyes so bright and so blue and so unbearably soft. He fiddled with something around his neck, fingers hooking around a dull pewter chain. She hadn't noticed it before, the faint shine of the metal had probably been hidden by the high collar of his shirt. "It's nice to have something that makes her feel a little closer," he tugged the chain further, pulling it free from his tunic to show her. A little mirror, highly polished silver, dangling in the space between them. "Like she's here in some way, y'know?"

"I know," She took a step closer, capturing the mirror between her fingers. She wanted to have a closer look, wanted to see what Link saw when he looked at it. Flipping it around she noticed an engraving, a wolf's head carved into the polished metal. Faint tool marks around the edge showed that this had been crafted by hand, made with care. "This is beautiful, Link."

"Thank you," He ducked his head, the beginnings of a blush forming at the tips of his ears. "I asked Rusl to make it for me. So y'see, I can't judge 'cus I'm just as sappy as you."

"I wouldn't say sappy."

"Oh I would," He chuckled, eyes fixed once more on her bracelet. "We're a couple of big old softies deep down, no matter how hard you try to hide it." Link lifted his hand to hers, the one still holding his necklace. She felt his fingers trail over her wrist, the faint touch scorching her through the thin fabric. "There," something clicked between his fingers as he tilted his head to look at her, a proud smile on his lips. "I think that should hold for the rest of the night."

Dropping her gaze from his lips to her wrist, she saw it. Her bracelet, whole again, sparkling, the bright colours bouncing off of the wolf mirror.

"You fixed it!" She gasped.

"I said I'd try," He shrugged slightly, a sheepish flush dusting over his cheekbones. "Though I'd still take it to a jeweller when you've got time. Just in case."

"Oh Link," She cried, a rush of emotion overtaking her. She felt so relieved, so happy, so joyous! She didn't know what came over her as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her in a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you so much! I was so worried that I'd ruined it forever!" She felt like crying a little, the feeling that she's almost lost the last little piece she had of Midna hitting her sharply. She held Link a little closer, her arms tangled around his shoulders.

"It's no problem," his voice was soft, his breath warm against her cheek. He slid his hands around her waist, holding her to him, returning the hug. She could almost feel his heart beat where it was pressed against her. "I'm just glad I could help."

"You've done more than help!" She pulled back slightly to look at him, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the back of his neck. His pulse was racing. "You've… you've…" She trailed off, the words dying on her lips as she looked at him.

They were so close like this. Pressed together from sternum to shin. His hands cupping her waist, the small of her back, pressing her so gently. Almost caressing her. His eyes shone bright and blue and breathtaking as he looked at her, his gaze drifting over her face before landing on her lips. She could feel the blood rush to her head, making her dizzy. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and she watched him swallow.

She could kiss him, if she wanted. It would be so easy. From this angle, this distance, all she had to do was lean in. Just lean in and press her waiting lips to his.

By Holy Din, she had the biggest crush on him.

He seemed to drag himself back to reality, clearing his throat with a short sharp cough. "You were saying something?" His blush was mesmerising.

"Was I?" She felt tipsy, the woodsy scent of his cologne was intoxicating. "I've completely forgotten. Silly me. Must be one too many glasses of champagne." She hadn't touched a drop all night, she rarely did at events like these.

"Yeah… me too," he was lost again, his eyes fixed on the spot where her pulse jumped under her skin. Pulling himself back he choked "The ch-champagne I mean."

A loud cheer rang out from the ballroom, the drunken courtiers yelling in delight. They must have started the Volta, Zelda thought absently, watching the silhouettes of the dancers twirl behind the curtain. Their loud cries seemed to finally jostle Link from his thoughts, hurling him forcefully into the present. She tried to swallow the pang of hurt as he let her go, hands falling from their home at her waist as he took a step back.

He did this sometimes. Pulled away when she'd much rather he moved closer. As if he didn't trust that he was allowed these moments, that she wanted his closeness, his time, his presence in her life. He wasn't subtle, she knew how he felt, and even though it was agony to wait, she respected him. She'd move at his pace.

Link turned from her towards the railing that overlooked the gardens. His bare hands pressed against the worn old stone. She watched as he took a deep breath, then another, as if to centre himself. The air turning white around him.

"You know," she called, moving to stand next to him, her gaze raking over the shadows, topiaries and flower beds hidden in the half dark. "I never did thank you for breaking my fall in front of Lyre."

She felt his laugh more than she heard it, his shoulder brushing against hers. "Ah shucks," he breathed. "It was nothing."

"It was hardly nothing," she wanted to scoff. "You saved me from causing quite the scene. I imagine that it would have reached every tea house in Castle Town by tomorrow. Can you imagine it?" she held her arm out in front of her, as gesturing to a sign or a marquee. "The Ice Queen of Hyrule, tripped over her own feet."

His laugh was audible now, ringing warmly in the cold night air. "Those vultures," he chuckled, leaning forward onto his elbows. "I'm more glad that I could stop you from hitting your head. A fall like that would have ached like a bitch come morning. Trust me."

Zelda folded down onto her elbows, her head turning towards his. "You have a lot of experience getting hit in the head?"

"I used to work with goats Your Majesty," he tilted his head to face her, his eyes and smile warm. "I know they don't look it, but can get awful violent when they're moody."

"I see," she couldn't help the smile on her face as they talked. It felt like so long since she'd had a real conversation like this, no posturing or begging or excessive flattery just to get something. A simple conversation without expectation. Talking simply for the joy of spending time with each other. "Well, then you truly are my Hero."

Link rubbed the back of his neck, his flush back on his face as a large toothy grin curled over his lips. "You flatter me."

"I mean it. First you save me from Lyre, and then you fix my favourite bracelet." She turned, letting her back rest against the stone railing, her hands propped up by her sides. "However shall I reward such courageous behaviour? With riches? Titles? Land?" She laughed at her own dramatics, watching as he moved to stand in front of her. The light from the ballroom causing a halo to glow around him.

"How 'bout a dance?"

His words caught her off guard. Link never danced at these things, always claiming he had two left feet, but here he was. Standing before her with a look of open and honest hope in his eyes.

"A dance?" She needed to be sure, that she had heard him correctly; that the Hero of Twilight, Wielder of the Blade of Evil's Bane, her best friend, Link, wanted to dance with her!

She was no stranger to being asked to dance, in fact it was how many of her courtiers attempted to cajole or convince her to support them in some passion project or political play. They asked because they wanted her to do something for them, they expected her too.

Link just wanted to dance.

"Just the one," he bargained, the light in his eyes dimming the longer she stayed quiet. "I-if that's alright?"

"Oh, Link." She felt giddy, light-hearted, and tipsy. She wanted to tell him that it was more than alright, that she would give him all of her dances. Every waltz and foxtrot and Volta and jig. Anything he asked for she would give. "I would be honoured to dance with you."

Joy lit up his face like a candle in a pitch dark room, his eyes burning bright as his smile stretched wide and lovely. His cheeks had turned pink again, but this time Zelda was sure that it had nothing to do with the chill. She held her hand out to him like an offering and he gazed at her as if she was something holy.

"Lead the way, Link."

"As you wish, Zelda."

He took her hand in his, his thumb barely ghosting over her knuckles, as he lead her back into the ballroom. That awful place with it's bright lights and suffocating air, with it's drunken chatter and endless petitioners, didn't seem so daunting any more. The lights were not blinding, the air felt fresh. With Link by her side, falling into step with her as the first strings of the waltz began to play, Zelda couldn't help but feel that maybe Balls weren't too bad after all

Fin

[ladywatereton]

loving the bombello × concetta video! Best that could have been... sigh...

Thank you very much, my dear. This couple has entered my "hall of tragic romances" along with Edith and Thomas from "Crimson Peak" (I really have a soft spot for this kind of plot).

What makes me most indignant is how Concetta, who was offered the proposal by her own COUSIN, Tancredi, to be his LOVER and she is still in love with him! He even had the nerve to ask "how were they?" as soon as Bombello set foot outside... MY SON, YOU ARE MARRIED! LET CONCHETTA BE HAPPY AND MARRY THE ONE WHO REALLY LOVES HER. And Bombello was not just a man who loved her, no... he was the MAN who LOVED her regardless of the Corbera's financial situation not being so good, even though the Corbera family did not approve of their union and wanted him out of there. He waited 2 years to marry her, swallowed his pride and lost her to a man who didn't "want her enough and wouldn't let anyone else want her".

Even though I had read the book and knew that this story would go nowhere, I was disappointed. In the end, Concetta is the Leopard and "reigns" through her brother Francesco, a Puppet Prince, and parades through the family's plantations at sunset as if they still had some power, lost due to the decline of the monarchy and a false speech of freedom and that she had finally built something "hers".

It would have been better if she had become a Nun, that way she would contribute more since she wanted to have a role in society.

Anyway, in my head, Concetta and Bombello meet again years later, get married and have lots of babies🥹💖

[hyperbali]

I've been tooling around on My Version of the DA canon in regards to Veilguard and here are a few fun things you should know about it

Varric, obviously, survives

He also has Titan stone powers now, which in his opinion is a shit-poor replacement for the fact that the lyrium dagger damaged his pectoralis tendon so badly that he couldn’t pick up a crossbow again even if it were to get fixed (RETIRE, BITCH)

He and Pina were together for a few years, but between how burnt out she was post-Trespasser and Varric’s absolute insistence on finding Solas with full intent to change his mind instead of kill him like she wanted, they went their separate ways

Proserpina Lavellan had since retired to Halamshiral, where she basically kicked the Imperial Court out of the Winter Palace, dared them to stop her (no one has tried), and made it her own

She turned much of the property's land into an ungulate farm (sheep, goats, harts, and halla) and surrounded it with Fen'Harel statues that very specifically have their eyes gouged out

Iron Bull joined her in this retirement; they have their own set of twins! Occasionally the Chargers (now led by Krem) have stopped by to hang out for a few weeks at a time and help take care of the farm

So she's REALLY REALLY REALLY PISSED OFF that she's being forced out of retirement to help deal with TWO MORE of her own damn gods!! Solas when I fucking catch you!!!

Prospero relocated to Minrathous with Dorian, where he basically flaunts his position as a trophy husband and has become a massive pain in the ass for most of the magisters in general while also absolutely charming the general public

In that vein, he's become a fairly lucrative merchant who regularly does business with Xenon the Antiquarian and The Viper

He sent the magic mirror to his twin sister and they talk on the regular

BUT SPEAKING OF ORLAIS

In the aftermath of the incredibly damaging civil war, the loss of pretty much every single upper hierarchy in the Chantry, the rumors of a puppet government (Pina forced a public truce), the installation of such a radical Divine (Leliana), and the mounting cruelty of the chevaliers in an effort to regain control, Orlais is a powder keg

These flames are both fanned and stifled in equal measure by the Bards, who have now become a sort of entity all their own rather than being informal mercenary spies

Rumours abound that at this point, Orlais is the only country in Thedas that wants to be entirely rid of their monarchy - it hasn't escalated into all-out war yet, but it feels inevitable

Given the history of the founding of Orlais, a population desperate for a sense of identity and trust turned to their most vaunted and uniquely Orlesian tradition - that of the Bards

Bards, who have always been largely comprised of commoners hoping to make a decent living, elves wanting to leave the alienages, non-inheriting nobility, the bastardborn, and mages hoping to avoid detection anyway, certainly did not turn up their noses at the idea of becoming a symbol of rebellion

It has now become sort of a point of pride for the Bards to effectively target and slaughter the nobility and chevaliers as creatively as possible - whether that be in the literal or social sense (the Great Game is still held in high regard)

A Bard then has the opportunity to take a trophy from their claimed victory - this trophy is usually whatever fanciful finery that noble owned

As a result, Bards have become increasingly easy to spot because they patchwork pieces of items from their defeated quarry into their ensembles. The more variety and asymmetry to a given outfit, the more targets that Bard has taken

(It’s deeply frowned upon to wear more than one piece from a given victory, or to wear something taken from the estate of someone that particular Bard was not responsible for dealing with)

Basically making a mockery of how important style and flamboyance have always been to the Orlesian nobility by stealing their shit and turning the dial to 11

Some Bards have taken this to mean entirely different materials, textures, and colours - the most 'decorated' of them can look like Alexander McQueen meets Bisa Butler

The really dangerous ones manage that patchwork design, but also look cohesive - meaning they've taken down enough nobles and chevaliers to be able to start matching pieces

Anything not taken as a trophy by a Bard is then free game to be raided and distributed among the people, so tensions are HIGH and security is VERY EXPENSIVE

Divine Victoria publicly denounces all of this but secretly provides information to the Bards when she can

(Yes I am giving you all this setup because the Orlesian Bards are a Faction for a planned companion)

As for Dejana

Yes I'm going to be proceeding with Emmrich as her romance

No I have not decided if she's getting Bone Daddy or Bone Son

Maybe this will end up being a threesome with Varric

Yes she is going to have a lot to explain to the parents she forgot existed for several years in any case

Kieran will also be an installation of the party thanks to Morrigan telling him to watch over his sister but he's pretty much going to usually be in the form of a black sphynx cat (he likes creepy cute)

[infiniteetcetera]

Listen, I’m not a Mor fan for a lot of reasons, but I do think it’s weird so many people think she will be the traitor next book because I simply…don’t see it? Don’t get me wrong, Mor is obviously a liar who’s keeping things from the IC but I can’t see her outright betraying them because part of her more annoying characteristics is her weird incestuous obsession with the boys. Her flaws aside, she does love the IC and the NC and demonstrates little to no ambition beyond them.

AMREN on the other hand? Given the fact she’s served us with NOTHING except pretend dying for ten seconds, I feel there’s no point to her character anymore except the possibility of being evil. All the facts certainly seem to line up for it too, for example:

• Small thing but, she’s the only IC member with no prospects for a book/POV set up. SJM could have thrown in a pov based on her/Varían in ACOFAS but didn’t and has made no reference to her getting one when every other IC member has

•Azriel has said he doesn’t trust her SINCE ACOMAF. He spies on her even though Rhys has told him not to (even though he refuses to spy on more theoretically risky/threatening people like Lucien) and has had hundreds of years to let this bad feeling fade away but hasn’t. Seems particularly relevant considering an Azriel POV book is soon to come, not to mention the fact this Azriel not trusting Amren conversation happens in the midst of a grander “Azriel doesn’t always listen to Rhys” conversation (foreshadowing for his book 👀)

•Amren is so connected to the prison which will likely be a big deal after what happened in HOFAS

•Amren bringing up this High King thing???? Even Rhys seems to realize he is NOT high king material. This storyline seems so weird and random, especially when in her other most recent series SJM just dismantled a monarchy. I definitely see no value in any attempted high king plot bc not a single high lord seems capable of ruling their own court (let alone more) BUT Amren trying to push a Feysand High King/Queen agenda to make them her puppets? Makes sense.

•Amrens weird relationship with Nesta??? Like their friendship in ACOWAR was actually pleasant and logical, but the fact that it all fell apart and Amren aided in tearing Nesta down makes me wonder if she planned to use her and then realized Nesta is not so easily controlled (Tamlin couldn’t even glamor this girl as a human). IDK I cringe everytime I remember Nesta apologized to Amren like NO

[hws-asiapacific]

Colonial Shadows Theory

(~Here's a little theory I came up with not too long agoo. Credits to Hima)

It was officially stated in canon on how Hong Kong's eyebrows are thick is because England cursed him when he was under his rule. And put further emphasis almost all of England's past colonies are portrayed in Hetalia to have the same eyebrows (except for America, Canada, and Seychelles. The reason behind this is it's because of France's influence in which France stated himself in a comic strip). That could directly mean that colonies may adapt something, or change something physically due to a colonial rule, being the reason behind to more "unusual features" than what you see in a common light. Similarly, of all the Asian characters from the show, Hong Kong's not the only one with features that stand out from the frequent character design (dark hair, amber eyes in this case) but a few more. Namely: Malaysia, Singapore, and Philippines. But unlike Hong Kong, we're not given any official material to serve as a proper back up, that's why I came up with this particular theory. (Disclaimer: If I got some historical references wrong, like dates, time periods, whatsoever, kindly let me know.)

Malaysia:

Dark Mauve hair is not common for Asians in the Hetalia to have, or even in real-world settings. While some may think this is only a mere character design, I believe it has hidden history under its uniqueness.

Mauve is described to be a paler variant of purple, in which the color itself is often linked to monarchy: wealth, power, and royalty. The reason behind this is because the purple dye was hard to accumulate, and that only the elite are able to afford it. This was carried on in many monarchies, including the British Empire that used this color to illustrate its prestige and majesty especially during its peak. The British Empire colonized numerous territories in the Pacific, Malaysia included. Their rule was strategic and hierarchal, using "Divide and Rule" as a standard. With that it caused exploitation of ethnic divisions to prevent unity, afraid it might overthrow their power (it could also reflect the somewhat fractured identity because of foreign policies). That's why I headcanon that Malaysia's mauve hair is a reference to the vast influence of the British Empire that stood as their colonizer (The British formally took control of Malaysia in 1824 under the Anglo-Dutch Treaty. However, they first landed in Penang during 1786). It could symbolize how he was under an imposed imperial structure that he never chose but was forced to receive. Rather than direct presence like the French and the Spanish, the British ruled over its colonies indirectly. This means that while native leaders were still present, they were only mere puppets with the crown behind them.

Today, Malaysia is a free country, but the British footprints are still deeply imbedded in major aspects of the country. Like how Malaysia's legal framework is based on the English common law, as the British imposed formal civil service structures which still shaped how government institutions operate. Same goes to the court attire, like the robes, is a reference to the English tradition. Most likely, just like Hong Kong's case Malaysia's mauve hair may be a result of heavy influence and/or a "curse" from their former colonizer.

Philippines:

Just like Malaysia, Philippines' hair color stands out from the standard dark brown hair of the Asian characters from Hetalia. Whereas light brown hair is usually associated to more Western characters (like let's say Hungary and even Belgium in some works). If we also take a look at Philippines' design, particularly the way his hair is styled, one character comes to mind, America.

America's hair is swept to the right, and has a interesting cowlick that sticks out of his hair. Whereas Philippines' hair is swept to the opposite side, also having a smaller yet notable cowlick (the cowlick difference could also reflect how Philippines "idolizes" America and can be seen as forced imitation due to the curse of colonial mentality). That's why I believe that the similarities of their designs are not by accident, as their appearances almost has a mirror effect on each other. This could reflect on how the Philippines is heavily influenced by America, especially during its almost half a century colonial rule over the archipelago.

For some context, after the 333-year Spanish rule over the Philippines, the US took over, driven by the notion "Manifest Destiny"—a belief that it was America's duty to civilize the Philippines. This mindset is encapsulated by Rudyard Kipling's "The White Man's Burden", (which was a poem from the Philippine-American War) that painted colonization as a moral obligation, and not exploitation. Even after the US set the Philippines free in the year 1946, it was still tied to the American Independence Day, July 4th. Even then, it was as if The Philippines was branded to carry the American influence throughout its history. Filipinos also made Western/Mestiza beauty standards as the basis of beauty (like in beauty pageants and celebrities), because of both the Spanish and American colonization. And even today, American military bases are scattered amongst the country, maintaining strong ties with each other. Additionally during the American period, Filipinos were obligated to learn English in schools (which made an impact on the education system of the country today), unlike the Spanish period wherein only the privileged got to learn the Spanish language (the Spanish colonization is characterized as an era of a hierarchal society, looking down upon natives/Indios, only giving the opportunity to learn Spanish to the privileged).

That's why I really feel like Hima had an intention to adapt America's design in Philippines. Philippines' hair used to be naturally dark, that's why in my headcanon it was lightened due to the American influence throughout the years, leaning to a lighter shade of brown. Which seems like almost foreign to his ethnicity. I can also connect this thought to the sudden color scheme change on his character. Sure, he wasn't literally cursed to have a lighter shade of hair. But it could be a result of such a heavy influence.

Singapore:

While the reason behind his unusual eye-color is somewhat confirmed in his character profile (he has violet eyes to represent his national flower), his white streak remains a mystery.

Singapore's design is probably one of the most surprising out of all the characters here. He has dark hair, which is quite the norm, but unexpectedly has a white (and sometimes light blonde in other fan works) streak. I interpret this as a "bleaching curse" to conform to certain standards.

Before the British occupation, Singapore was a modest fishing port. It was quiet, unamusing, and far from the world-class economy it is today. It was known as "Temasek", a small settlement at the more Southern tip of the Malay Peninsula. However, in the year 1819, Sir Stamford Raffles arrived and established Singapore as a British trading port. This is because of Singapore's strategic location, residing near major maritime trading routes (like the Maritime Silk Road, Malacca Strait, and more), which made it a crucial part of imports and exports. With that, the British made it into a port city. This transformation can be seen as a way of "bleaching" to conform into Western standards. From a humble and peaceful fishing port, it was transformed into a major trading port for the British Empire. A part of his hair is bleached in a way to mark the influences of imperialism.

Even in this modern era, Singapore attains the British colonial influence, still embedded in many aspects. Examples are the vast English speakers, government policies (the Common Law Legal System in Singapore follows the British common law tradition, same goes to some case law interpretations that are inspired by the British law. Singapore's parliamentary system may also be an influence from the British, this is because of features like the head of state, head of government/prime minister, among others), and even beauty standards lean towards a more Western approach.

I also headcanon that the reason why Singapore's hair still maintained its dark brown shade, and only a part of it is bleached. This is to symbolize that despite conforming to the ideals, he still built his own ground and redefined the meaning of "success."

That's all for now~

Hope you liked these headcanons!! Kindly let me know if I made errors, especially since colonization itself is a very sensitive topic

You can always request in my inbox if you want specific headcanons hehe:)

~Author🩵

[novaursa]

In your honest opinion, what do you think would've happened if it had been Robert that died at the trident instead of Rhaegar

More shit happens, but the outcome becomes effective. I've played with the idea of Stannis taking the Iron Throne instead, because I don't see a way Targaryens holding onto power even after Robert's death.

This is just my opinion on this and would appreciate it if feral children of the fandom stay back with their attacks.

Robert’s death is a seismic blow. He was the charismatic heart of the rebellion. But Rhaegar still dies later in the war—let’s say to Eddard or another rebel leader—the rebellion doesn’t fall apart. It’s just stripped of its figurehead. Leadership shifts to Stannis, who lacks Robert’s magnetism but not his resolve.

Lyanna's fate is the same.

Stannis is legitimized as war leader, especially with Jon Arryn backing him and Ned honoring their cause. He’s not beloved, but he’s recognized—especially because he’s Robert’s heir and a Baratheon.

King’s Landing still burns. Tywin Lannister still sacks the city, brings the bodies of Elia and her children to whoever sits the throne. If Eddard reaches the city and sees the dead children, he still condemns the act. Tension with Tywin builds early.

Stannis claims the Iron Throne, as the elder surviving brother of Robert and the only Baratheon left capable of ruling. He does not trust Renly with any real power. He treats the monarchy like a duty—not a reward.

He likely marries for duty, not affection. Maybe a politically advantageous match, possibly still Selyse Florent due to the Florents being eager to gain favor. But he would also seek to purge corruption and bring hard justice to the realm, which earns him enemies fast.

Ned becomes Hand of the King. Stannis trusts Ned more than anyone else. Jon Arryn is older and more politically minded, so he might serve on the small council, possibly as Master of Laws or Lord Protector in case of emergencies.

Ned keeps Stannis from going full authoritarian early on, urging mercy where Stannis would normally default to severity. But the strain is constant.

The North remains loyal, but distant. Ned returns to Winterfell after a few years unless forced to remain in King’s Landing to counterbalance court politics.

Tywin doesn’t get Cersei on the throne. Stannis would never marry a Lannister, and he doesn't trust them. He might exile or sideline Tywin entirely, or let him retain Casterly Rock but exclude him from real power.

Jaime is forced out of the Kingsguard. Stannis despises what Jaime did—even if Aerys was mad, a kingslayer is an oathbreaker. Jaime may be sent to the Wall or stripped of his titles and lands.

Cersei is not married off to a king, and likely grows bitter and increasingly poisonous. She either stays at court as a dangerous schemer or is forced into a marriage with some lesser lord as punishment. Either way, the Lannisters become a simmering threat rather than royal powerbrokers.

Viserys and Daenerys still flee into exile. Stannis would not kill children, but he'd drive them out to prevent future claims. They might end up in Essos under the protection of Illyrio or another loyalist, becoming symbols for Targaryen loyalists in the shadows.

Their claim festers over the years, and Daenerys may one day return—not to Westeros ruled by a Lannister puppet, but a Baratheon hardliner.

Justice is swift, cold, and brutal. Stannis reforms the realm through sheer force of will. The nobility fear him more than they respect him. He raises new lords from lower-born but loyal men, similar to how he treated Davos later in canon.

Religion takes a backseat—at first. The Faith of the Seven is tolerated but not promoted. The Red Priests remain fringe until much later.

The smallfolk do better under Stannis than under Robert. He cuts excess, enforces fairer taxes, and doesn't allow the capital to become a den of debauchery. But he’s not loved. He’s feared. There are no tourneys, no feasts, no singing.

The nobles begin to rebel quietly, forming factions, plotting behind closed doors. The Reach despises him. The Lannisters smolder. Dorne remains resentful over Elia’s death and Viserys's exile.

There is peace—temporary, brittle peace. Stannis Baratheon would be a king no one wanted, but maybe the one they deserved after decades of madness and indulgence.

The people eat. The laws are enforced. Justice is blind. But the realm lives in the shadow of the Iron Throne. There's no joy, no glory, no gallant king to cheer. Just duty.

Now, regarding long-term threats, I had these ones in mind:

Targaryen Restoration: A grown Daenerys with dragons (if she still gets them in exile) returning to claim her birthright would be the single greatest threat to a Stannis monarchy. She wouldn’t face a drunken Robert—she’d face a cold, iron-willed warlord who would burn Essos if it meant defending Westeros.

Renly’s Ambitions: Depending on how old he is and how fast he grows into his political nature, Renly could begin scheming with the Tyrells or others. He might style himself as a “lighter” Baratheon alternative to his brother's grim rule.

The North’s Independence: If Ned dies early (especially in conflict with Tywin or another southern plot), the North might secede. Robb Stark or even Benjen could lead a movement to restore Northern sovereignty.

Tywin’s Rebellion: If insulted and excluded long enough, the Lannisters might rebel outright. Stannis may not fear them—but that kind of war could tear the realm apart again.

In conclusion, peace never lasts in Westeros. Not when dragons still exist. Not when the dead still rise in the North. And not when half the realm would still rather die than kneel to a man like Stannis Baratheon.

[unsoundedcomic]

When building a world or region of the world with the intent to write in, how deeply do you need to go in understanding it? Like, when writing Sharteshane for RP, how did you know what you needed to flesh out? When making Alderode for will and Duane's backstories, how did you find what the country needed to, i guess, support that backstory?

A setting for RP and a setting for a novel or comic certainly have different needs. Actually Sharteshane is a great example to talk about.

In RP, Sharteshane needed all kinds of enticing, mysterious environments that would draw players to them for the doing of adventures and shenanigans. It had a whole sprawling underground occupied by an undead civilisation ruled over by a family of liches. That underground had its own bizarre ecosystem, wildlife, and a cadre of mini-boss like lesser lords. There was a ton to do and explore. The surface city had a pirate's cove just to the north where criminals could hang out, famously haunted boardwalks where people just seemed to disappear (spoiler: murkoph was pulling them through loose boards and eating them), it had a posh part of town where an elabourately described bath house could host sexy times or political skulduggery, it had a pub inside a beached whaling ship along with an eccentric bartender and a friendly one-armed barkeep. It even had beach famously infested with man-eating mermaids.

Sharteshane in Unsounded- well, what do you know about it? Not too much. It's painted in pretty broad strokes as an almost comically corrupt monarchy with a puppet king and a lot of local thieves running the cities. That's about it. It's all Unsounded needs.

But see the difference? Write for what you need. It's not necessary to spend months fleshing out a setting or even side characters if you're just not going to need all that stuff. Of course it can be fun to do anyway! But a lot of people get stuck on the backstory and never progress the actual story. Writing out character sheets is easy. We all spent way too long in the character creator in BG3.

Alderode, of course, needed a lot more fleshing out than Sharteshane, as did Cresce. They serve as the actual settings for a lot of the story. Even so, there are things you could ask me about them that I wouldn't automatically know. I know their vibes though, and I could probably deduce the answers as needed.

It's probably most important to understand those vibes, when world-building. The fundamentals. What motivates a country and its people, what values they hold, what they are afraid of and what they aspire towards. If you know all that, then any details you need as you write will be easy enough to work out as you go. You'll write the world as you write the story as you write the characters. It should all gel.

[bardic-tales]

Day 23 | Day 25

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 24: Role in the Fight Against Sephiroth

Bianca Moore’s role in the fight against Sephiroth is not that of an adversary, but of an accomplice in divine cataclysm. She does not stand in his way. She stands beside him. In a world that sees Sephiroth as the ultimate threat, Bianca is the dark miracle that affirms his dominion.

She is not redemption, nor resistance. Born of corrupted divinity and forged in prophecy, Bianca embraces Sephiroth’s vision not out of subjugation but one that she has chose. Together, they embody the end of the old world and the architects of the new. While they are bound by love or loyalty, they are also an inevitability. Her presence in this war is not a challenge to Sephiroth’s reign. It is to set the crown upon his head.

possible trigger warnings: abuse, body horror, death, existential dread, manipulation, mind control, psychological trauma, religious themes, self-identity crisis, violence

Bianca Moore’s role in the fight against Sephiroth defies traditional alignments of hero or villain. She is not a warrior on the front lines fighting against him, but rather a complex anomaly She is a force drawn to him, shaped by prophecy and bound by a cosmic bond deeper than mortal comprehension. Her presence is not that of a resistance fighter, but that of a harbinger, a sovereign whose destiny is tangled with Sephiroth’s own.

When others flee from Sephiroth’s chaos, Bianca walks into it, driven by a haunting conviction that their union is fated: divinely orchestrated, even if it leads to destruction. She is not there to stop him. She is there to stand beside him, to complete him, and to destroy everything should they have of it.

Strategically, Bianca plays a deeply psychological and metaphysical role in the conflict. Her existence alone acts as a catalyst. Their soul-link amplifies Sephiroth’s instability and ambition. Her influence is not measured in battlefield victories but in the shifting currents of Sephiroth’s intent. She serves as both mirror and muse, a being who evokes memories and provokes new obsessions. Through her, Sephiroth glimpses both ruin and rebirth. In the dreamscape, her presence is weaponized. Her mind infiltrated and rewritten by Sephiroth’s will, but her subconscious influence remains intact. She tempers his rage just as often as she deepens his madness, making her the unspoken pivot point of the entire cosmic struggle.

Bianca’s contribution to the cause is wrought in blood and sorrow. She undermines Shinra’s experiments from the inside, a walking paradox whose celestial and infernal lineage throws Hojo and Ravencroft’s scientific calculations into chaos.

As the celestials were birth to contain threats like Jenova, her very biology disrupts Jenova’s influence by mutating it, making her an anomaly Hojo cannot control. Her blood stabilizes SOLDIER degradation for a time, but then, it makes the subject deteriorate at a faster rate. Her escape from the lab is not just a rebellion. It is a prophecy in motion. Each step she takes outside the Manor is a rejection of mortal systems and a return to divine intent. She doesn’t fight for the Planet. She fights for the truth of who she is: the other half of a sundered soul, the light made flesh who chose the shadow willingly.

When the final confrontation looms, Bianca stands at Sephiroth’s side, not as a subordinate or puppet (although she still is under his influence as she was broken in the dreamscape). She has ceased to resist the darkness and instead reshapes it in her image, becoming something beyond villain or martyr. She rules her own kingdom of silence and flame, her power rivaling Sephiroth’s, not as his rival but as his consort.

Together, they are the union the Creator tried to sever. A prophecy realized. The fight against Sephiroth becomes not a matter of defeating a man, but of surviving the birth of something new: a divine monarchy forged in loss, pain, and cosmic design that extends far beyond the confines of the Planet into Creation itself.

Ultimately, Bianca is not a hero nor is she a mere villain. She is the storm that comes after the fire or the silence after the scream. In the battle against Sephiroth, she is not the enemy to defeat or the ally to rely upon. She is the question that has no answer.

As the Harbinger of Death and Rebirth, her role is to ensure the cycle ends and begins again, standing at the apex of ruin and creation with a crown forged from celestial light, infernal shadow, alien horror, and the memory of a love that chose annihilation over mistreatment and abuse.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy

[lucyav13]

Super Dimentio

(A/N: Credits of the art to: @snuffydoo her art is amazing!)

Super Dimentio, is a gargantuan clown-like puppet monster that serves as the final boss of Super Paper Mario. It was created through a fusion of Mr. L (after Luigi was brainwashed again), Dimentio, and the Chaos Heart. 

He also possesses an ability similar to the Pal Pill item, in that, should he be provoked by guarding techniques, Super Dimentio will create several grunts in the form of 8-bit Luigis. They run and jump in the direction the player was when they were summoned, although they are incredibly weak enemies that die if they hit anything, including the walls surrounding the arena.

(A/N: In all the times I've played, I have never had that attack, Can someone tell me how it is activated or something like that?)

Despite Super Dimentio being the final boss, Shadoo (with the heroes' dark clones' HP added altogether) is stronger than Super Dimentio; additionally, Brobot has higher health and has the same defense as Super Dimentio on the body. The Dark Muth also has higher HP and attack power, although Super Dimentio has significantly higher defense on the body and was even invincible at the start of the battle. Once he can be damaged, there are ways to avoid an arduous battle, such as using Slim to hide from attacks, or simply jumping onto Super Dimentio's shoulders when he extends his neck and remain there, safe from most attacks and persistently jumping with good timing until he is defeated.

 (A/N: Checking out this fact, it's true! Brobot's health is 255 HP, and Super Dimentio's is 200! What the...)

Additional information:

Catch Card: 196

Max HP: 200

Attack: 6                                

Defense: 0 (head), 4 (body)

Score: 9990

Card description: This monstrous clown was created by Dimentio. He used Luigi and the Chaos Heart to create it. In the end, it was no match for the power of love.

Tattle: That’s Super Dimentio, a freakish blend of Dimentio, the Chaos Heart, and Luigi... That monstrous body has immense power... Max HP is 200. Attack is 6. Concentrate attacks to the head. You’ll have to climb those platforms to reach the head to attack. This is truly the final battle... Winning is the only option...

Fun facts: 

Super Dimentio's stance resembles Mario or Luigi's idle stance from Super Mario Bros. and Super Mario Bros.: The Lost Levels.

Super Dimentio is the only final boss in the Paper Mario series who is not associated with monarchy. (A/N: What do kings and queens have against him?)

According to the InterNed, the battle theme of Super Dimentio is called "The Ultimate Show," and is composed of Dimentio, Mr. L and the Chaos Heart's themes remixed together, though a majority of the theme's motifs are from Dimentio's theme.

In the 'Super Paper Mario Player's Guide', Super Dimentio is referred as Mr. L/Dimentio.

(A/N: Finally, one last announcement: the next part of Super Paper Mario Researches is going to be the last one. More details in the next part.)

[samairuart]

jdjhdhdhdh I have a LOT of questions!! first regarding your ocs, I would love to see their backstory, even if a little bit, cuz they're interesting as hell. I'm rotating your ocs in my brain unfortunately. whats the exact relation between like juhi and the dead bro cuz, you wrote there that she was a spare, but she's now ascended ?? is this something sort of outer family inner family stuff ??? ALSO if it it'll be soooo good to see them have a slight tension because of it!! ik theyre just ocs but I can't help but think of them in a story, so I'm looking for more crumbs about them to finally make sense about how everything works!!

Aw gosh thank you for being interested?!?! Gosh I’m so happy you like them 🥹 I can certainly add some backstory!

Setting: The Lotus Kingdom 🪷

A quaint undersea kingdom somewhere out in the Indian Ocean. Its main population are a peace loving merfolk. Minor populations of subspecies live here as well, all cohesively building a unique interconnected culture in the Lotus Kingdom. Despite this, there are some that work in the shadows to topple the kingdom in any way possible to create a new monarchy.

Princess Juhi

A spare by every sense of the word. The Lotus Kingdom prides itself on its sons, and the previous king was no different. What luck would smile on him for his firstborn to be a son, although it was soon discovered that like his mother, the prince had a weak constitution. In the hopes of having another healthy son, the king unfortunately was only able to sire a daughter before his wife died. Refusing to remarry, the king decided to focus all his efforts on healing and raising his son to become a perfect monarch of the Lotus Kingdom while Juhi was left forgotten to the seclusions of the outer palace.

In their youth, the weak prince would often explore and find himself in the outer palace where he’d discover his younger sister. In these precious moments of youth, it was Juhi’s only true connection to another and so she cherished every play date despite it lasting only a few encounters.

The prince quickly grew stronger and visits grew shorter as he had to take on more responsibility, thus leaving Juhi back all alone in the outer palace for the years that carried on.

With the death of the prince, and Juhi’s ascension to inherit, it thrusts all sorts of court politics into the mix. There are many against the princess’s right to rule, there are some who wish to puppet her, then there are some who are overjoyed at the prospect of change. The key element is that almost everyone underestimates her potential, including herself 😔 but my oh my this young princess has much to offer the world.