#((Why must he torment her so? LOL

[cloudpools]

🍨Trying unique ice cream flavors at a local parlor. [get adventurous, nara- wylan will accept no less (main verse)]

Emoji RP Prompts ||  ⚜Accepting⚜

🍨Trying unique ice cream flavors at a local parlor.

"You.... bought me an ice cream parlor?"

"Yes I did!" Well. He'd borrowed it. It was November and they were on the off season. But it's fine. She didn't need to know the details.

"And.... you made all of the flavors yourself...?"

He nods enthusiastically.

Dear god.

Nara stands befuddled in the lobby of the establishment lovingly rebranded Nylon Niceties (He'd tried to explain to her the concept of ship names before and apparently 'Nylon' was theirs??? But it didn't really click with her...). It was her birthday, and Wylan had promised a "big surprise".... which- could really mean anything. He was anything, but predictable, despite Nara's best efforts. She'd come to expect the unexpected, but this was a little too unexpected.

Of course, to Wylan, this was obviously the best gift EVER. Their hobbies and the things they liked didn't always overlap. Yes, their personalities were compatible, and yes they accepted each other for who they both were, flaws and all, but Nara liked ice cream. Scratch that. Nara LOVED ice cream. And so did he. But who doesn't like ice cream? And who didn't love homemade gifts? (Even if this wasn't home.)

The elephant in the room here was that Wylan wasn't exactly a chef.... Nara had taken over that role very quickly in their relationship, his apartment now carefully stocked with all the implements and instruments she needed to craft some semblance of a meal. She preferred cooking at home, her kitchen, for one, being much larger and much more well stocked, but it was a small price to pay to see him and ensure he was taking care of himself.

But again. He made all of the flavors himself???????? She's skeptical.... Yet she couldn't help but admit he did look very cute in the stripped apron, bowtie and little paper hat.

"Let me know if you'd like to try anything!" He's playing the part of shopkeeper well, but Wylan was always good at that sort of thing. He's grinning ear to ear like the idiot he was, and that can only mean two things. One, her reaction was exactly what he'd hopped for, or, two, he still had more tricks up his sleeve... Which was a definite because he always had something more. Nara decides to humor him, walking up to the case of frozen delights(?), bending down to read the hand written cards that were haphazardly tapped over the originals.

'Buffalo Chicken'

'Pickles and Cheez Wiz'?

Was that one just called 'TV Dinner'?

It was no secret that Wylan's palate was.... questionable, but in all the years they'd been together, all of the fine dining restaurants they'd visited and home cooked meals she'd prepared for him, she'd thought that at least SOME of it would have rubbed off on him. Where had she gone wrong?

Nara stands up, attempting to flee before she's guilted into trying any of these bachelor pad monstrosities, but Wylan is there in a flash. She opens her mouth to protest and! Oops! In pops a testing spoon!

"This one's `Mustard and Pretzels`! It's kind of like sea salt caramel." Nara freezes, mind racing. She- she couldn't say she didn't like it right? He'd gone through all this trouble and it really was sweet if not dangerous. Would he be offended if she spit it out?! This was Wylan, so probably not... But-

Wait.

In the moments it took her mind to have one thousand thoughts, she'd had time to really taste it and... Actually??? It wasn't that bad. Definitely not something she would have tried under normal circumstances and she most certainly wouldn't be caught dead pairing the original ingredients together, but all in all? It was edible and didn't make her immediately want to vomit.

"Soooo? What do you think?"

"I can't say it's something I'd ever like to have again, but it's.... actually, okay?"

"There's one more secret flavor."

"Oh?" Nara braces herself. Prepared for his worst, yet in classic Wylan fashion, he hops the counter (couldn't he just go around like a normal person?!) startling her. Again, she's about to flee, but he grabs her pressing a kiss to her lips. She melts, eyes lidding, and after a few moments, he pulls away slightly.

"Happy birthday, Doe."

She's flushed, heart racing. The fact that he still got this kind of rise out of her after all this time was telling of how much she loved him.

"Th- thank you. I... I'd like to try the rest. If you don't mind?"

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic 6 & 16 march - scent & arrange - 2329 words

have some 1800ish-something a/b/o jegulus curtsey of me rewatching bridgerton over the last few days lol  (the soundtrack goes so unnecessarily hard)

Regulus is in need of a drink, and Regulus is in need of it fast.

His useless Alpha excuse of a brother is nowhere to be found, has left him alone amongst the bloodthirsty throng of eligible Alpha bachelors of the ton and Regulus is but a piece of medium rare steak marinating in his own juices. No pun intended.

Regulus is supposed to have his first dance of the evening with his newly engaged fiance which he, not to mention, has yet to even meet and none of his family or friends are in a reachable vicinity to aid their support.

He is going to throw a fit.

The padded mesh cloth around his throat is so tight he feels unable to breathe, there are a dozen different scents wafting at him from all sides at any given moment and Regulus feels stupid with it. And not in a positive sense, just– horribly overwhelmed. Dizzy from the sensory overload.

He desperately needs something to take off the edge.

Cue, the drinks buffet.

He’s almost at his destined location when he collides with a warm chest.

“Oh, careful there,” a deep voice responds, grip tight on Regulus’ shoulder but not untoward.

But Regulus is already in a foul mood, insults read at the tip of his tongue, bitter and stinging. 

“Are you not in possession of a working pair of ey—” the last syllable dissolves uselessly on his palate before it can do more damage when Regulus is, with a sudden burst of clarity, pulled from his distressed state in an instant.

Cloaked in a realm of fresh outside air, meadow and wood, like someone had opened a window directly beside Regulus to rescue him from his torment. He breathes in again, greedily, taking in the patchouli and vetiver notes. Something rich and friendly that immediately lulls Regulus into a much more acceptable mood, shoulders untensing, heartbeat slowing. His body’s reaction quite similar to whenever Sirius is scenting him.

That’s before he looks up at the man though.

He’s all bronze skin and unruly dark hair in the most endearing sloppy way that it infiltrates Regulus with the urge to reach out his twitching fingertips and righten the mess, kind brown eyes behind perfectly round, wire-framed glasses and the most dazzling smile Regulus has laid his eyes upon this evening or ever, maybe.

Which currently twitches wider at the corners, at Regulus’ loss for words, presumably, making him blink violently and stoop into a hastened curtsey.

“My apologies, Lord–” Regulus cuts himself off, realising he doesn’t even know the man’s title nor name. He could be a foreign duke, a prince even, for all that Regulus knows. Or, rather, doesn’t know.

“Just James,” the Alpha responds. With his given name, of all things, much to Regulus’ confusion.

He’s smiling warmly down at Regulus, if a little amused, holding a respectable amount of distance that he has stepped back into.

The grin makes Regulus feel all kinds of woozy and cotton-mouthed and out of sorts despite the lack of just one drop of alcohol having landed on his tongue. A spectacle he must appear as, gnawing at his bottom lip and gawking at the unnecessarily handsome stranger like a simpleton without getting a single word out.

The Alpha cocks his head, grin widening and Regulus finally finds it in himself to rip his stare away when there’s a waiter gliding past them with even more champagne on a tray. Reminding him as to why he’s made his way over here in the first place. Regulus snatches up a glass and downs half of it in one go, going against every single thing his family have ever taught him but he can honestly be less bothered right this moment given they have all abandoned him anyways. Stupid Papa with his stupid business arrangements. Stupid Maman with her ever so unsatisfied need of new gossip. Stupid Sirius and his stupid staff mistress.

“And you might be…?” the same warm voice says, a little closer now.

“You’re still here?” Regulus throws over his shoulder, aiming for annoyed, though the question coming out strained and to his surprise, yet again, he gets a laugh in response.

He turns, allows himself to properly look this time and there’s mischief dancing in James’ eyes as he raises dark brows, “Is there something troubling you?”

“Is there ever not?” Regulus sighs, taking another sip against his better judgement. Anything to drown out the reminder of his predicament.

“Well, as your self-proclaimed rescuer in this clearly distressing time of need, I am all ears,” the stranger offers with a cheeky smile.

Regulus narrows his eyes, his unused arm wrapping protectively around his front. 

The Alpha narrows his eyes in imitation, lips straining with a dimpled grin, apparently finding ridiculous amounts of joy in Regulus’ miserable state, though he doesn’t look the type to be of malicious intent. A jokester, perhaps, someone silly and rather unregarding of any rules, maybe—much like Sirius, actually, and Regulus, despite their differences and how horribly annoying he can be at times, would be the last one to label his big brother as a bad person.

And, well, desperate times and all.

Regulus sucks in a big, steadying breath, “I am to dance with my fiance in mere minutes.”

A pause. “Then I understand congratulations must be in order,” James bows his head, teeth digging into his lower lip as his grin widens impossibly.

“Certainly not,” Regulus hisses, outraged, “What about me at the very moment says happily engaged Omega, I must inquire?!”

“Mm, the distressed frown and wide squirrel-about-to-be-shot-eyes, of course.”

Regulus ignores him, on a roll now, feeling the rush of complaining tug on him like a wild current, “I do not even know the man, have yet to even meet him. For all I know he could be a troll! An ogre of a man, or worse; an Alpha ready to bore me to death!”

“Or he might be the most handsome, charming, talented, ingenious, chivalrous, witty Alpha for miles—perhaps the whole continent?” James counters, ducking closer.

His scent increases for a second and Regulus has to take a moment as he feels it settle on the back of his tongue to remind himself of his manners. Face flushed, he turns to look back into the room, desperate for distraction. Settled on the musicians, watching them play their violins and the pianoforte, Regulus sniffs primly, “Or a troll.���

A snort, smile evident in his voice when the Alpha speaks next, “Well, I suppose there is only one way to find out.”

“Or,” Regulus says pointedly, taking another big gulp of the sparkling alcohol, “I pretend to faint and you will be witness for my family to convince them to take me back home where I shall crawl under the covers and feign illness until the very end of the courting season.”

“And what if I told you that you can’t hide forever?” James ducks his head to catch his gaze and Regulus rolls his eyes into his champagne glass, “You might have already been found out before you even know.”

“Then I would tell you that you underestimate me,” he replies, turning back to him and leaving the sight of musicians as the ballroom fills up.

“Hmm,” the Alpha makes sceptically.

“Hmm,” Regulus mocks, wobbling his head.

James narrows his eyes, mouth twitching, “Are you mocking me?”

“I would never dream of it, my Lord,” Regulus answers.

James makes a noise resembling an indulgent Sure and takes the almost empty glass out of Regulus’ grip and replaces it with another. The new glass is more curved, with a glittering golden rim and the liquid inside equally sparkling but with a delightful added hue of soft pink.

It looks enticing but Regulus knows better than to trust just any obscure Alpha, “Are you trying to get me drunk, my Lord?”

This time it’s James’ turn to roll his eyes, “Take a sip.”

He doesn’t use the voice yet Regulus finds himself almost eager to obey nonetheless, so he lifts the glass to his lips.

It’s lemonade.

When Regulus looks back up, licking his lips off the residue, James cocks his head expectantly with a smirk. 

Regulus can’t stand his arrogance.

It’d do him some good to be knocked down at least several pegs. Regulus certainly wouldn’t pass the opportunity to volunteer for the task. Wipe that self-assured grin right off his face and for some reason there is heat crawling up into Regulus’ cheeks suddenly—the champagne must be getting to him.

He sniffs quickly, eyes darting away to occupy his gaze with something else and falling to swirl along the intricate pattern on James’ coat. His broad chest is well on display with the way his hands are folded at the small of his back.

Regulus blinks again, studying James and the way he’s been standing next to Regulus at the drinks buffet for minutes without ever attempting to take one for himself.

“You’re not drinking?” he asks curiously, brushing an errant curl back behind his ear.

James does something weird then. A flutter of his lashes, nostrils flaring, and his jaw drops open slightly. A breath punches out of him that tapers into a chuckle as he slips into a grin, averting his eyes for a moment.

He winces slightly, still smiling, and then takes another half step closer. Regulus narrows his eyes in warning but James just keeps the short distance, grinning shamelessly. “Well, actually, I came to the buffet because I could have sworn I smelled lemon tart—see, they’re my favourite.”

Regulus frowns, head swivelling to glance behind James’ big form, along the length of the table, occupied solely by glasses of champagne and lemonade. He turns back to James, a derisive scoff tumbling from the centre of his chest that would have earned Regulus a sharp warning glance from his mother, “Perhaps you should consider a visit to the Doctor, my Lord. Your sense of smell must be awfully off.”

Or maybe he’s just particularly dull. Well, Regulus thinks, it is only fair this way. If you’re already this handsome and well-built you don’t deserve to be a genius as well. Balance of nature and all.

The Alpha’s grin does not wane though and Regulus feels a shiver run up the curve of his spine when the tall Alpha hums in a deep timber. “My nose works just fine, actually,” James tilts his head to the side, eyes wandering down Regulus’ face towards his neck, “As opposed to your scarf.”

It takes a moment and then Regulus’ mouth drops open. Oh, the sheer audacity. A sound of disbelief jumps from his dry throat, “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, no need, I am perfectly capable of controlling myself even with such a delicious treat dangled right in front of my nose,” James grins. It’s infuriating.

Regulus can feel the vein in his forehead popping with his anger, “Have you no manners?!”

“I certainly do,” he volleys back, “I just take my liberties with whenever to apply them.”

“Well, then I advise you to take a tighter reign of them when in the company of strangers,” Regulus spits, cheeks warm. 

It’s just that James is still so close, smelling divine and knee-weakening and now that he’s been made aware he can’t help but notice their scents mixing in the air surrounding them. Their space neither of them seems quite taken to leaving, creating a wonderful concoction of syrupy sweet-sour citrus and heavy spicy-woodsy musk.

“There will be no need around you then, Regulus,” James counters and Regulus gasps, head reeling, feeling like he’s just fallen from his horse, “Given you are my fiance, love.”

Oh, there is no way. 

No.

This must be a joke. 

Regulus feels like his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets as he eyes the length of the Alpha again. The tousled black hair, the handsome features, the pleasant build, the clearly expensive clothing. Reminded of the fact that his aristocratic, powerful family would never arrange an engagement with anyone less than fully deserving for their only Omega. “You–”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he grins, stooping into a curtsey, “James Potter, Duke of Godric’s Hollow.”

“Oh, goodness in the heavens.”

“Now I believe I was promised a First Dance?” James looks in no way angry with Regulus’ disrespect, if anything, just as amused and cheerful as the whole time. The whole time in which he evidently knew who he was talking to, making a right fool of Regulus, just for the fun of it.

Regulus barely has the time to pout when the Alpha already continues, “I think that is the least you can do after calling me an ugly tr—”

“Yes,” Regulus cuts him off, clearing his throat, “I will dance with you.”

Something softer shimmers in James’ warm, chocolate eyes and then Regulus gasps silently when a warm hand touches the gloved curve of his palm, “I am nothing short of delighted to hear that, love.”

They step onto the dance floor together, hands entwined and basking in each other’s presences. Regulus feels fizzy and warm on the inside. 

James is witty and interesting, effortlessly able to keep Regulus on his toes—both metaphorically and literally—and excellent dancer and an even more stunning conversationalist. Not to mention, quite easy on the eye. And Regulus doesn’t even want to get started on James’ scent again.

One dance turns into many, turns into walking around the room side by side bickering and gossiping and laughing, turns into a lively game of chess, turns into wandering through the halls and appraising art, turns into Regulus passing out on James’ shoulder on a settee before Sirius eventually finds them and takes him home.

The next day, James is there in the drawing room for tea, as he promised he would. Regulus has told the kitchen staff to prepare lemon tart.

And the rest is history.

[cynthiav06]

Listen, I read your post about Percy's strategic genius and I thought something.

Percy, Sally, and the entire Jackson family are descendants of Odysseus.

Sally is also damn smart, just look at how she competently got rid of Gabe and remained in full advantage.

And that is why how Athena treats Percy in this way.

He is a descendant of her beloved mortal, so similar to him in his mind and the son of her sworn rival, who tormented this very mortal and prevented him from returning home.

You seriously have no idea how GENIUS that headcanon is like holy hell the sheer depth it adds to everything is insane.

1. Athena begrudgingly guiding Percy in Titan's Curse, getting extreme deja vu (God's probably get that a lot) from the situation and how conflicting she gets over the mortal that is Perseus Jackson for his uncanny resemblance to Odysseus when it comes to his wit and his personality minus strangely the hubris.

Despite her disdain for him out of some strange loyalty, she tells him of his fatal flaw and how it would endanger him.

She let's her loathing for Poseidon get the best of her in Titan's Curse and votes to kill Percy and Thalia but Percy like Odysseus has both the wit and achievements she can't overlook despite her desperate intentions to and hence in the Last Olympian she acknowledges in her own subtle way that Percy is the greatest demigod of this age. That he's saved both the world and his friends.

2. Annabeth proud and confident as ever would be flabbergasted that Percy who she despite her supposed love for him undermines him almost always when it comes to his intelligence finds out that her mother has acknowledged Percy for his strategic mind and that he is the descendant of her mother's most favored mortal ever. (Maybe just maybe it will tone her hubris down a notch and then some, and if we are really lucky, a reality check)

3. Percy would laugh, probably shrug at the revelation. After all, stuff like that makes no difference to him.

4. But I can imagine if Sally knew beforehand about it, then how much hell must she have given Poseidon over it and probably still finds it to be a hilarious coincidence .

5. To Poseidon himself, it must have struck as an agonizing coincidence, but for the better, because for all of Poseidon's flaws, he loves his own intensely. His godly children, his monstrous children, his demigod children, and Percy, he loves most out of them all by his own words and he loves him so in some strange manner for the same humanity he scorned Odysseus for having.

Sally must have made him see the error of his ways, and even Poseidon for his quick temper would be loathe to not change his opinions on mercy then. (If the Queen among mortals tells you, you listen)

All in all, everything that happened in the Odyssey with Poseidon Odysseus and Athena would have come to a good closure with this.

That a millenia later by strange set of circumstances Athena and Poseidon begrudgingly acknowledged the folly in their perspectives from the times of Odyssey all because Poseidon met Sally Jackson and sired a demigod child who by a twist only the fates could make up turned out to be the descendant of Odysseus himself. (I reckon the fates must be cackling in glee at the whole thing)

PS: Hermes is having a blast with this news of Percy's ancestry.

No, but seriously, you have given me more pjo brainrot. (Now I hope this keeps you awake like it does me)

And on that note, Percy would totally canonly be the biggest fan of Epic the Musical, lol.

I have a feeling I am not going to stop talking about this now.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

If you’re taking headcanon requests, I have a very specific idea for Frollo that’s been living rent free in my head for awhileeeeeee.

Imagine Frollo being summoned as a ghost into the modern world by a nonbinary spirit medium or witch. Just, let this man loose his entire mind as a FAR too lovely witch is running around chatting with ghosts, and trying to calm him tf down in the process XD

Probably doesn’t help that “nonbinary witch” would probably sound like evil itself to Frollo lol

The horror of the new day

Frollo x nb!reader

warning : just some funny things and a very confused Frollo

Info : Thanks for this request @add-a-bit-of-neurospice it was an interesting idea/concept but was like I said really,really fun to write. Frollo just in our time and dies again of the ,,sins" he sees everywhere :) I hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell had been his home since he had fallen into the flames in front of Notre Dame, the stone had crushed his body and the flames had not left him as ashes, he had been in hell.

His faith was right after his soul had left his body he found himself in. The infinite inferno was burning again, an eternal flame that tormented him until he threatened to lose his mind.

Time was irrelevant and he no longer had any feeling for it except the pain of seeing the souls of his victims and enemies pass by, but he hardly paid any attention to them.

Until one day in infinite time he felt his body rise from the flames and was freed. It had to be God he was convinced as the flames around him. Around him became less and less.

The darkness enveloped him before he heard a distant voice calling out to him, saying his name. Looking around for the person, his soul coalesced into the image, his body easily visible around the ring that had suddenly appeared.

He was heavier than the flames, heavier than the pain and it held him. It held him until the darkness around him receded, his voice became clearer and when he lifted his gaze he was standing in a room. ,,What is this?" he asked, confused as to why his jellyfish had ended because when he ascended he was supposed to be in the clouds, singing and becoming an angel.

,,Oh my Lillith, it worked!" he heard the voice more clearly and saw the right person. The first thing he noticed was the pointed hat and the necklace with the pentagram. A witch someone he would have burned immediately if he still had the time.

But when he looked further at the she-devil, he saw pants instead of a dress and her hair was short. A demon. ,,Demon, why did you call me?" he asked, a hint of fear in his voice, it must be a powerful being if it could summon him with a ring. ,,Demon? Oh no, I'm a witch, a medium do you understand Frollo?" the person asked him and continued to walk around the room excitedly, collecting ingredients, clothes and books and muttering to themselves.

It was a sight that confused and unsettled him. It couldn't be his time, in his time there was no glowing sun on the ceiling, no clocks that seemed so small and thin.

And this glowing book on which his summoner was typing only confused him even more. Suddenly he felt the ring that had summoned him glow and he understood even less what was going on. ,,Okay, Frollo, listen. You are in the year 2023 and I have to ask you a few questions for a assignment," he listened to the demon and gradually realized that hundreds of years must have passed.

Hundreds of years in which he suffered that felt like the eternal time of an hourglass. The world and especially the church seemed to have changed.

The more he saw of this wonderful space, the more he realized that there was neither a cross nor a holy image of Jesus and Mary. ,,Two thousand and twenty-three... and you demon summoned me?" he asked hesitantly and stopped in front of a glass box with a sun in it and saw a snake inside.

The demon's soul animal. He turned back to the strange creature in disgust. ,,Yes, I did, to be more precise, my first summoning. How do you feel, or rather, what was it like to fall to your death like that?" The person asked again and the spirit looked down at the ring.

The world was strange to him things had changed and yet the hellfire had stopped. Talking was not a sin and if it meant staying away from the fire why not...nothing could be worse than hellfire. ,,I fell dear summoner creature, the flames had surrounded me but not caught me. It was the stone that broke my body before the fire could take me," he began to tell, walking around the room and seeing the interested look on his necromancer's face.

He saw how the summoner continued to make notes while he told his life story.

It felt good to talk again and not just think about pain. And the longer he talked, the more interested his counterpart became. Maybe he even told untruths, lies, but in order to be heard, to be right and not get caught in the fire, he would tell this witch, this demon everything.

Even after death, his justification and his guilt had not changed. But why should it? He had a listener who believed it and that was all that mattered in the here and now.

Even though he had to admit that the longer he looked around this strange room, told his story and listened to the witch, he was still interested in these new things around him. Maybe he would have to make a contract to take on this kind of witchcraft.

He even had to smile once when he managed to scare the stranger. When he showed him the picture when he died. However, this only led to the stranger turning on music or something similar on the glowing book and starting to pray wildly and say prayers.

It was very confusing and these words like cell phone, light bulb and non-binary were things he called divine and devil. But all this time he started to like the company when he sat down in the chair that was touched by the witch, giving him access.

Even if his gaze went to the suns around him, his gaze was always on his savior while Frollo strove over the ring…for a moment he was completely grateful to have been saved…maybe there was still hope…for his soul in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed it @add-a-bit-of-neurospice

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 3;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them tbh, it's Harshest Winters we're talking about;

Word Count: 10k+

Author's Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!! I'm honestly overwhelmed by the love this fic got in the span of so little time 😭 I hope you guys enjoy this part as well! Thank you so much for being so patient with me <3

Also, this chapter is FILTHY. I'm talking actual smut for the first time in my life, which makes me both nervous and embarrassed to be posting this lol

I know that the people who read this particular series are already used to the graphic content ahead, but consider this your fair warning :"))

PART 4 IS OUT NOW <3

As night swallows the world of Westeros, four beating hearts must get through the challenges that arise in the absence of sunlight.

Desire is the death of duty - fear pushes against the voice of reason.

Dreams really are the window to the soul sometimes.

One… Two… Three… Four.

Aemond’s breathing came and went in slow and labored pants. Whatever the man was dreaming about must have had quite the effect on him, and the lady scoffed to herself, while pushing down a disdainful huff.

Slowly, yet surely, her head rolled to the side. She could still see him in her periphery - the deep creases that adorned his forehead, a permanent reminder of his relentless character; the way his chest heaved each exhale, as if constantly pained by an unknown affliction.

Good, she thought to herself, At least his dreams should torment him, if his psyche won't allow it.

In… And out. In… Out.

Three weeks had passed since her brazen attempt to escape with Cain. Three weeks, since she left the wounded knight in the cave: to rot or to crawl back by himself.

Back.

Back to where?

Back home? That much was impossible.

Back to the Saltpans? And from there on… what?

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed to account for her life back in Harrenhal. Three weeks of sleeping in the same bed as him, three weeks in which her only waking thought was to grab a pillow and smother him with it as he slept soundly by her side.

Goosebumps crawled over her skin, leaving the lady restless and aggravated. She’d twist and turn more times than she could count - she’d curse herself and her current situation: her weakness, her inability to kill Aemond then and there.

She had to live. She had promised Jace that much, and she would honor her word.

There would be a time for Aemond to meet his end. And it would be by her hand.

Jace.

If he were here, he’d know what to do.

Her thoughts turned sporadic. For a few moments, the girl clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white - squeezing harder as her anger built up. Each of her fingernails bit into the softness of her palm, and she could feel herself draw harsher breaths, in and out: all in a desperate attempt to calm herself down.

Her heart beat loudly, and her body trembled in unquenched rage.

She could still kill him now; Gods, how she wished nothing more adherently than that. And why not kill him - for his death would avenge Jacaerys, Luke… Cain.

Indeed, here she was, laying down next to the Kinslayer, one step away from wrapping her small fingers against his throat and pushing down with an unrivaled force and fury.

Before she could fully process her own actions, (Y/N) slowly rose from her resting place. The wide bed made a deep creaking sound, which echoed throughout the room for a couple of moments.

One, two, three seconds she allowed herself to wait.

The girl remained unmoving, as she took in a sharp breath, and held it in the back of her throat.

Her weary eyes skimmed over Aemond’s sleeping form, and her whole body stiffened in anticipation. When she noticed his lack of a reaction, a soft sigh parted from her rosy lips, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

Reason fought with ire and, eventually, the former succeeded in its quiet assertion.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and the lady of Riverrun shut them tightly; it was Jacaerys’ voice that then rang in her ears.

‘You know what your only fault is?’ He let out a roaring laugh while engulfing her back with his stronger arms. She turned around to face him, abruptly so, and her hands came to rest over his broad and shaking chest. 'I remember a boy who once said I had no faults.' The lady laughed with him, whilst rubbing small circles in the cuff of his sparring vest.

He kissed the top of her head with a wistful smile, and glanced at her with a boyish glimmer in his hawk-like eyes. 'Please accept my humblest apologies, my darling love. I merely meant: do you know what the only thing that’s too good about you is?’

(Y/N) let out a soft giggle, mirroring Jace’s look of full, unadulterated love. She furrowed her brows comically, before tracing his jaw with her free hand. ‘Enlighten me, then, My Prince…’

Upon hearing his title cascade from her plump lips, the Prince of Dragonstone dived in to press his forehead onto hers. He took in a shaky breath, and gently cupped her cheek to kiss her. ‘You are far too loyal for your own good. You care too much for the people you let in. It makes you angry and brash - it makes you take too many risks.’

The threat of a sob was forming on her wobbly lip. (Y/N) bit it harshly, and sucked in another breath. Her tight hold replaced the tender meat of her inner palm, with the silky sheets of their shared bedding. A lone tear parted from her shut eye, rolling over her face, and staining her cotton nightdress.

‘It makes me quite jealous - your fearlessness and devotion.’ Jacaerys muttered against her ear, whilst pampering her with chaste, soft kisses. ‘When I make you my Queen, I might just make it so that you can only see and take care of me.’ He jested lightly, eliciting a chuckle from the laying girl.

Her hand reached for his soft, curly locks, and she twirled each strand against her slim fingers. ‘Should you make me your wife, Jace, I don’t think I’d ever part from you again.’

His eyes held a fire in them; the Velaryon prince reached for her tangled hand, and took it in his own, pressing it against his waiting mouth. ‘You will be my wife. My Princess.’ His voice was laced with naught but determination and love. ‘One day, we’ll both be crowned before the masses: and you will be the most beloved Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’

‘When we marry, you will be mine, as I already am yours.’ He pledged with a final, delicate caress.

With each palpable reminder of him, her jaw clenched tighter and tighter. The suffering that erupted from deep within her chest both fueled and exhausted the lady and, soon enough, the girl found herself laying down again, wetting her pillow with endless rivers of tears.

The chastising fires of sleep licked at her conscious mind, and, although strained by her lover’s swift reminder, the woman fell into a deep sleep.

Oh, and how beautiful the dream was.

Although it wasn’t an exact replica of the way they first met, it more than made up for it with its stilling beauty.

***

He held his hand out to her, a polite smile plastered across his face. Her older brothers gave her a knowing look - there would be no higher honor for a Tully than to be singled out during the banquet of the Crown Prince's sixteenth name day.

Together, they danced not one, not two, not three… but seven dances during that blessed evening.

Her feet were aching and, with the redness of his cheeks and the lightness on his handsome face, the girl guessed she had at least had the same effect on the Prince, as he had on her.

They talked all throughout the night, sharing fond stares and quiet giggles that echoed and bounced off the hard stone walls.

“Why haven’t we met before, My Lady?” Jacaerys questioned with an upward quirk of his brow and a charming smile upon his lips.

“I’m afraid such questions will have to be taken up with my Grandfather, Your Grace.” As she mirrored his contagious grin, the young girl carried on, “I’ve… been at court while I was younger, and remained in the Red Keep for a couple of years, but the quiet of the Riverlands always suited me better.”

“We’re very similar, you and I, Lady Tully.” Jace let out in a long huff, straightening his back against the cold patio of the Royal Gardens. “I… I know that it is my duty, to confer with the other Lords and Ladies and make idle talk, but… I must admit that it can be quite…”

“Straining?” (Y/N) suggested with a quizzical quirk of her brow.

Jacaerys’ face broke into a beaming smile, and the Heir to the Iron Throne nodded affirmatively. “Exactly that, My Lady. I’m afraid, sometimes, that it shows on my face.” He joked half heartedly as he scrunched up his nose - though his posture remained upright and fair.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the girl shook her head definitively. “I assure you, Your Grace, it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Jace.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Friends and family just call me Jace.”

A knowing look was shared between them, and (Y/N) allowed her eyes to trail downwards, resting on the velvet flowers that adorned the well-kept garden. Her cheeks felt as though they caught on fire, and the lady was sure that her face held a comical rouge to it, thanks to Jacaerys’ insistent staring.

She knew well what came after that - she remembered how she hurried to allow Jace the same courtesy, of calling her by her given name, and how they both laughed at the other’s awkwardness.

And yet…

The Velaryon’s laughter turned into a painful cry. As if possessed, he started shaking his head. Then his limbs. Then his body.

“But dead men do not need names, do they, (Y/N)?”

Her head shot up - blood began pumping in her ears, and her heartbeat hammered against her chest.

“W-What?”

“I am dead, I am dead, I am dead,” He wailed continuously, “Can’t you see it, my love? Can you not see?”

Strong arms came to hold her from behind - wrapped up in algae, with flesh half eaten by the haunting sea.

The air in her lungs filled with a putrid smell.

“Do you see me? Do you? Do you see me, (Y/N)? My face, my eyes, how do they look? Oh, (Y/N), I cannot see down here! It’s so dark!”

Wet and cold rivers of liquid ran down her spine, coming from his parted mouth - water or blood, she couldn’t distinguish. And she was far too scared to turn her head to look.

“I cannot breathe - help me! Why did you let me die?”

A violent shriek escaped her lips. The girl tried to spin and turn - escape his hold, and take him in her arms all the same.

Jacaerys was faster in his attempts; he took her face with his pruney fingers, and twisted her head around.

But instead of brown eyes, she was met with greying hues.

“Why did you let me die?” Cain’s voice echoed Jace’s sentence. “Why did you let me die, My Lady? How could you let me die?”

Blood was raining down on them: it filled her lungs, and painted her blue dress in a sickly purple. It stuck on her eyes and closed shut. It made her limbs impossible to move.

"No… no, no… this is not how it's supposed to go…!"

“(Y/N)! It's all your fault, all your fault…!”

***

A blood-curdling scream regurgitated from her dry throat.

Neither her drenched nightgown, nor the clogged air of the wide chambers managed to calm her down. While still in the limbo between dream and reality, (Y/N) brought a hand to her souring throat, and clawed at her collar for more stability.

Almost immediately after her first shaky sob, Aemond’s body bolted upright, and the One-Eyed Prince brushed off any remaining fragments of his torturous sleep.

With his right arm, he reached for her in an outstretched caress, eyes wide with wonder over her violent reaction - whilst his left instantly grabbed the dagger on the drawer closest to him.

One look about the room confirmed his pending suspicion: she had gone through a nightmare, and a very unpleasant one at that.

Not all our dreams get to turn into nightmares - The dead of night can provide solace for some, as well as great agony for others.

Scattered desires, idle wants, and needs: all met under the velvety silence and gratifying darkness that eats one whole, and mends his subconscious to the most profane of fantasies.

In his dream, Aemond was engaging in a much kinder resolve than the lady next to him.

***

The echo of swift, hurried footsteps allowed a comforting sigh to wash over his parted lips.

The tedious company of his brother and father was long forgotten, the moment her familiar silhouette caught his eye, urging him to turn his head around.

There she stood, ever the vile temptress, wearing an emerald green dress that draped lowly over her shoulders, trailing over her tender bosom, and barely covering the perky mounds of flesh.

She was smiling at him, despite being attached to Jace's arm, and a soft bite over her lower lip was all it took for the young Prince to feel that familiar tightness form in his leather braies.

He couldn't tell who strutted towards who, or how they got to that point. But a tentative hand rose to his face, taking off his eye patch.

A hitch of pleasure escaped from her crimson lips. She took both his hands in hers and, before the masses, placed them right above her clothed, throbbing clit.

"Please…" She pleaded with him, writhing into his reluctant touch, "Kostilus. Kostilus, Aemond."

His hesitation and lack of movement caused a loud whimper to contort from deep within her throat. She gave him a sly smirk, and brought her own hands under her skirts, to lift them and show him her glistening cunt. The evidence of his arousal was obvious, what with his cock brushing against her thigh as they kissed. He took her by the neck with one hand, while resting the other on her cheek.

He let out a low groan, and pushed her hand away to cup her dripping sex. His calloused thumb flicked over her reddened pearl, and a long, slim finger went inside her tight hole.

Aemond clenched his jaw - almost painfully so - and his hips rutted into the air so desperately, that the man was sure her wanton gasps held some amused glimmer in them.

His lilac orb watched her face contort in pleasure. They were all alone now, hidden in the shadows of the Great Hall, belonging to the Red Keep.

… And there he was, seated on the Iron Throne, moving his hips lazily as his intended was bouncing up and down his clothed shaft, rubbing their bodies together with a renowned fever.

His name fell from her lips in a sickeningly sweet way - Aemond could feel his hardness twitch into the hot material, and the Targaryen Prince bit back a guttural moan.

"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, that's it. Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos." He hissed through gritted teeth.

She was finally his.

His to love, his to cherish, his to fuck and to make love to.

The thought of possessing her fully, unapologetically, wildly, sent a deep shiver down to his unyielding loins.

Aemond was close. Oh so close to reaching his high. But he wanted to make her feel good.

Wordlessly, the One-Eyed Prince stopped her desperate bucking with one hand over her hip and the other, holding down onto the nape of her neck.

The girl was sobbing and shaking. Her voice came out as a meek whisper, and her glassy eyes met with his dilated pupil.

"No, no… please… kostilus, Aemond, don't stop…" She writhed inside his arms, bringing her hand out to caress his scarred cheek.

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his bemused lips. Aemond hummed at her admission, and tenderly licked her lips.

"Shh," He soothed her gently, "Be still, byka hontes. Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon."

While speaking, the Targaryen Prince pushed her dress to the side, sliding off her small clothes with an able hand and placing her flush onto the Iron Throne.

He bit the inside of her thigh, and rubbed small circles on the back of her hands.

Like the perfect lover, he entwined her palms with his, entangling their fingers together as he hushed her sweetly.

"Spread your legs for me, issa jorrāelagon. Let me see how wet you are."

The echo of a "Please" got caught in his throat. It was taking everything inside of him not to kneel before his lady and beg her to let him touch her.

Her wild blush and plush, swollen lips made Aemond let out a low curse. He gripped her fingers tighter, and took them in his mouth, to coat them with adorning kisses, one by one.

"You can do it for me, my sweet, pretty girl." He encouraged her through a shallow pant. "Don't you want me to make you feel good?"

A shy 'yes' bounced off the cold walls of the secluded Keep. Aemond hummed in approval, and lowered his head over her sensitive mound, sucking lightly.

With each new whimper, his strokes became more and more sporadic. The Prince aligned his nose over her throbbing clit, and eased his tongue into her sacred depths.

His eye shut tightly at the feeling of her sweet nectar - one of his hands came free from her tight grasp, and he parted her thighs even further apart.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl…" He chanted while latched onto her scorching heat, and, with one final push of his tongue inside her, he took the girl over the edge.

Her cries of bliss shook the very building to the core. Her wild pants brought Aemond close to orgasm, and the male had to bring down a hand to his aching bulge, and clench it tightly, in order to stop himself from spilling in his pants.

It wouldn't take long for his love to wiggle her hips again.

His mouth and chin gleamed with the evidence of her spilled arousal. Aemond let out a rumbled laugh and licked himself clean with the help of two nimble fingers.

"I won't waste a single drop. Not one, single drop of you."

His words made her eyes roll back, and her throat inch with a loud moan. His Lady kneeled before him, and rubbed her cheek over his clothed cock, kissing at its outlines faintly.

Insatiable little mynx.

His eye fluttered shut, groaning in agony at her sensual touch. Aemond swallowed thickly, and he let out a hurting whimper, as the kneeling woman dipped her hand in the tightness of his pants.

Slowly, teasingly, she tested the waters.

The woman brought her hand up to her lover, and parted his swollen lips with the slow stroke of her thumb. Silently, she urged him to coat her skin with the wet of his saliva. Aemond smirked, and licked one long stripe over her spreading palm.

Humming in approval, and never once breaking eye contact, she eased her way down his leather trousers, and freed his cock from the tightness of its cage.

Several beads of sweat streamed down his pleasured face. Droplets of precum rolled down his reddened tip, and Aemond hissed at the contact they made with the base of his shaft.

His lady looked at him with soft, doe-like eyes;

"Syz taoba." She praised him with a mischievous smile. Before he could register the whole of her movements, the woman's tongue darted out, and she licked a slow strip over his twitching manhood.

She laughed at his dazed expression, and began touching him with her silky palm.

"Yes…" He moaned into her hold, bucking his hips to meet her hand halfway. "Tighter. Grip it tighter…" He instructed her through labored breaths, and a harsh groan etched its way from his bitten lips. "Ah, ābrazyrys!"

With each palpable thrust, Aemond moaned louder and louder, until the licks of relief washed over him in a sudden wave of pleasure.

At once, his hips stilled their violent bucking, and he felt the first streaks of cum shoot over his heaving abdomen.

Aemond gasped at her unwavering touch, and a single tear of pure delight rolled down his pale cheek.

She smiled at him. A pure, innocent smile, as if what she'd just done did naught to shake her untouched innocence.

(Y/N) moaned at the sight of him, so ravished and spent by her hand - she licked her lips tentatively, and trailed her fingers over his lower stomach, coating each digit with his warm release.

The cum pooled on the base of her tongue, and she showed him the fullness in her mouth, before swallowing him whole.

Thinking him fully drained, the girl made haste to get up on her feet and press her forehead against his. She giggled excitedly, and kissed over his jaw and neck.

A primal glint swirled deep within him, and Aemond's eye darkened.

He wasn't done with her just yet.

His arms flipped her over, and the pair found themselves in the peace and quiet of his old Quarters. Her body was pushed against the silk bedding, laid in below Aemond's insistent licks and kisses.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, until the only thing you can think of is me."

His voice was shaking with lust and need, and the curve of her waist and breasts did nothing to help his aggravated heart.

His love let out a stimulated groan. Her lips churned into a small pout, and she brought his hand out to her scorching heat, pressing down on it insistently.

His mouth lulled open - he could feel the heat emanating from her maidenhood, and the very scent that made his head swirl with need.

He gritted his teeth and lowered his body to press against hers. He could feel himself grow harder and harder by the second, twitching against her exposed thigh.

The girl let out a burst of snorting laughter, and her legs came to grip him over the bulk of his waist.

Effortlessly, she pushed him into the wide goose pillows, towering over him as she snapped her hips into his.

"I always wanted to mount a dragon. Tonight, I'm going to ride you as you ride Vhagar."

***

The intensity of her scream made the man bolt up in an instant. His thoughts surged with a singular instinct: to protect her.

A hand reached for his dagger. The other, for her shaking form.

"What happened?" His throaty groan echoed through the silent room.

At the sound of his smothering voice, the girl let out a startled scream. She would have fallen from the unmade bed, were it not for Aemond's hands, which caught her beforehand. … His face contorted in pain at her recoiling, at her lack of trust in him. His very presence was unnerving her.

Her numerous shrieks alerted the new guards, who, warned in advance of their master's disposition to anger, hastily opened the door to his chambers - swords unsheathed and shoulders tense.

But, upon glancing at the erratic woman, and the way her hands were pushing Aemond's chest away from her flush form, they assumed this was just another way of coupling, and the oldest of the two bowed his head in embarrassment, before grabbing his brethren by the cape and exiting the room.

Fucking assholes…! The Lady thought to herself. Upkeeping the realm and instigating order only when they see fit.

The pang of embarrassment took a hold of her jaded face. It didn't matter what they thought. But all the same, Cain's words echoed into her ears, slithering into her heart.

' - the walls talk in Harrenhal, my Lady. And they... well, forgive me for being so blunt - speak stories about how the Kinslayer loses sleep by visiting you in your chambers at night.'

Disgust painted its way over her distressed expression. A deep frown creased her forehead, and she clicked her tongue in irritation at Aemond's attempt to soothe her.

"N-Nothing happened." She strained herself to answer. "It doesn't matter. Now let me go."

But his hold didn't falter. His iron grip reigned over her, and (Y/N) could feel how her wrist started to ache from numbness.

Her eyes shot up in pure horror.

"Please, Prince Aemond." She tried once more, though this time sweeter. Her eyes trailed from his face to his clenched fists, and she tried to relax in his hold - at least slightly. Dread settled into the pits of her stomach, as she awaited his answer.

The One-Eyed Prince felt his heart hammer against his chest. A stinging pain ruled over any other voice of reason, and he felt lethal, succumbed to the endless lust and frenzy that he felt for the shaking girl.

And, although he didn’t let go of her bruising arm, he sat down the dagger in his left hand, in favor of touching her lax cheek with his rough fingertips.

Gods, he was still so painfully hard.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, as his grip over her body relaxed with each passing minute. The taste of abhorance was getting harder and harder to ignore - as did his raging hard-on, so adamantly pressed against her covered leg.

The woman darted her tongue out to wet her chapped lips; an action that wasn’t easily ignored by Aemond. His brows furrowed in lust and anger, and the coil in his lower stomach grew tighter by the second.

His hand ghosted over her twisted features, and he held his hand against her, with a fear akin to getting burnt. She scrunched her nose up as he scooted closer: her eye trailed downwards to his huge erection. Fear mixed with the knowledge of her situation, and her free hand came to grip the edge of the mirkwood bed.

“Hey,” She began to say, but took a pause to clench and unclench her jaw. “I think we should go back to sleep.”

Her eyes closed, if only for a second. Aemond’s deep breaths echoed through the quiet room, over her face, and the girl chastised herself for being so idiotic.

Some reply she gave him.

… But there is still a way to get a hold of that damned dagger.

Thoughts laced with uncertainty whirled inside her head. This wasn’t the first time Aemond had stared with hunger at her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was simply the way their 'relationship' worked. Simply the way he did.

Before she could muster up to add anything else, the Kinslayer broke the silence. His voice was soft and hitched; His broad arms snaked around her again, and his single eye loomed over her, adorning an emotion that menged perfectly with caution and lust.

“Why do you have this effect on me?” He questioned no one but himself. “You have ruined me.” He uttered, as if her presence and innocence were the strongest of poisons.

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…”

The last of his words came out strained and angry, the desire to possess her coming out in the roughness of his sentence in High Valyrian.

(Y/N) squinted at him, unsure of what to do and say, except to stay awfully quiet. His cock twitched in his pants at her confused expression, and the woman sat her eyes on the dagger before her.

May his Gods so help him if he tries to do anything to me, she dryly thought to herself.

“I never tried to hurt you in any way.” She spoke decidedly, trying her best to keep a level of strength in her hoarse voice. Her body tensed under his aggravating touch, and the Lady quietly cursed herself for her inability to move further away from him.

Aemond’s face broke into a tight smile, and the Targaryen Prince huffed out in a low breath.

“Quit playing your game with me. You know exactly what you did. Women like you have quite the breeding for it.”

At that moment, anger blinded her. Swift as an arrow, she rose her head up high, and attempted to slap him - hard. But the older man caught her hand within his skilled fingers, and lowered it to his aching heart, keeping it there.

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Hmm? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?”

He could see the tears in her eyes. He could feel the flesh of her skin burn with the roughness of his touch. He could feel her anger and building disdain, and all of it pushed him over the edge all the same.

Aemond grabbed her face with his free hand, and clasped her jaw tightly. He breathed in her warmth, and he cursed himself for it - for the weakness that she caused him, for how easy it was for her to calm him down. “Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” He hissed desperately, lowering himself closer and closer to her face. “I treat you with kindness, and this is how you think to repay me? Vile, spoiled cunt. Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene.”

To his mind, he was but an animal, caught helplessly in a siren’s grasp - she had lured him in with her beauty, her heart, and he was drowning in her, in her essence, in her being.

All of the things he felt towards her welled up inside of him: the love, the longing, the obsession, the lust, the need, the want. It was all too much.

He breathed heavily into her ear, while stroking at her bottom lip, “Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki."

His raining assault in High Valyrian aggravated her to no end. Although Jacaerys' knowledge on the language wasn't perfect, either, he had taught the girl enough to get by.

And enough it was, at the very least, to make out the hissed out "beautiful"s, "love"s, and "heart"s that Aemond spewed at her.

The Tully girl spat in his face, biting on the index finger, that was trying to pry open her mouth. “You promised me,” She asserted as she pried herself free of his sickly embrace, “You promised me you wouldn’t touch me until I expressively asked you to.”

Her (y/e/c) eyes clashed with his lone, lilac orb. The woman swallowed thickly, and a droplet of sweat fell over her pounding temple. “So back. Off.”

Half a second goes by - half a heartbeat and half a breath -, until Aemond finally lets go of her, and settles back down onto the cold side of his bed.

For a while, (Y/N) is stuck. She sees how the man she loathes turns his back around, how his shoulders fall back as he’s trying to relax. She focuses on his breathing, and how his erratic breaths quiet down.

“Go to sleep.” He commands her bitterly, “Before I give you a reason to be tired out.”

The ferocity of a thousand curses almost falls from her tightened lips. The woman takes in a deep breath, and lowers herself back onto the drenched sheets.

He had donned the dagger to his fucking waist.

For almost two weeks, Cain had been falling in and out of consciousness.

His clash with Aemond left him weak and crippled - most of all, it left him ashamed.

Ashamed of his lack of diligence. Ashamed for having been unable to protect his Lady.

Finally, ashamed of his weakness and lack of thought, of reason.

If he were awake right now, he'd curse the Old Gods and the New for making him so - for giving him the wound that would incapacitate him forever. He'd have to fight the shivers that came with the rotting of his flesh, he'd have to clench his remaining fist in agony at the notion of the pools of blood he lost: the notion of his wound still going through the process healing, and all that came with it.

His once handsome face was still stained with his blood - dirt and sweat clung to it, like flies on dead meat.

His golden locks looked almost black, covered by the mold and mud that he'd crawled through once he reached outside the cave.

***

"You need to be swifter on your foot, lass!" Ser Allyn Swann instructed him, hitting the boy over the legs once, in taciturn aggression. "You're to be our Lady's sworn protector, are you not? You'll need to do better than that."

"I already am her sworn protector!" Cain yelled after the knight, rubbing a hand over his sweaty forehead. He took in a sharp breath, exhaustion seeping in his bones. Without waiting for an answer, he retook his wide stance and bowed down to his professor. "Again." He urged Ser Swann with a determined look.

The rains of spring had softened the ground, and both the knight and aspiring shield had to be mindful of their footsteps, so as to not land on their tired backs.

Allyn smiled, and shook his head. "Are you now, boy?" He obliged with a reply, "I think you're a seventeen-year-old blighter, who's bitten off more than he can chew."

His able taunting seemed to have worked.

No longer was Cain swinging his sword in circles, measuring his adversary with an aware look. Exactly like a dire wolf would after getting a whiff of fresh prey, the Waters bastard jumped into the leveling field, slashing his wooden blade directly at his opponent's head.

Allyn hummed in disapproval, and back-tracked to the right, faking a swing to his left side, before wiping Cain's feet off the ground with a wonky, but effective swipe.

"Again, Waters?" The knight asked with a click of his tongue. "This is the fifth time you fell for this exact same move. You may be as simple-minded as the Gods allow - but even a fool would learn from his mistakes once he swallowed mud once or twice."

As the boy lowered his gaze in undoubted guilt, his teacher offered him his hand, hoisting him off the field with a low grunt.

"Your mind is elsewhere, Cain. What is it that's bothering you?"

Eyes of the colour of steel clashed with Allyn's brilliant blues. A hoarse sigh left his parted lips, and Cain looked to the sky above them.

"I… I'm not ready." He admitted through gritted teeth. "Lady (Y/N) believes in me, but I'm not ready."

His simple sentence, his raw honesty, moved the greying knight.

He smiled tightly at the boy, resting a hand atop his heaving shoulder, and squeezed strongly.

"You are ready. You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it."

"Aye, I can fall straight on my ass. Maybe that'll distract my real opponents!"

"Cain." His professor interrupted him, "Long has it been since I last faced that eight-year-old boy who wanted nothing more than to prove himself."

Ser Swann's words brought a twisted smile to his lips, and (Y/N)'s protector mirrored his tired expression, as he huffed out a breath in disdain.

"I'm afraid I'll fail her." He muttered under his breath, looking in the general direction of his Lady's Quarters. "She believes in me, yes. But what if she's wrong?" A deep frown splits his forehead in three, wide creases. "Sometimes it feels like she must be."

"Only a real knight would ever admit to his weaknesses and less than stellar moments." Allyn encouraged him shortly. His eyes never once left Cain's, and the old Lord nodded his head briskly. "Lady Tully is not the only one who believes in you. Before her, Lord Hunter Redwyne believed in you."

A small chuckle broke Cain's reserved silence.

"If I remember correctly, he made you his steward exactly because he believed in you. After him, of course, went his sons and daughters. When the siege over Arbourtown took place, who was it that fought 100 men all by himself?"

"Hardly 100. It was 66 at best."

"Honesty. Another rare quality to find in a knight."

Cain's frustration welled in his eyes. "It's not honesty - it's a well-known truth!"

"Let me tell you something, Cain. It could have been a hundred men. Or it could have been thirty, or it could have been just one. The unrivaled truth remains: when everyone abandoned their post, you were the only one left standing in the West Wing of that castle."

A hefty silence settled off between the two.

"Plenty of people believed in you: plenty still do. And all of them were right to do so."

Cain's aching fists turned lax once Ser Allyn put an end to his trail of thought. "I…" He bit his cheek in an attempt to talk.

'Thank you.'

"I still have a lot to learn."

"That you do, boy. That you do." Allyn confirmed with a convinced jerk of his head. His eyes glimmered with pride, however, and, as he picked his sword back up, the man smiled at his driven apprentice.

"But I believe in you, and in the fact that you will make her proud."

"... It's nice to talk again like this."

Allyn's expression saddened for a moment, before it regained its familiar vigor.

"As I told you, lass. No matter how far you are, I'll always be somewhere with you. I'll be right here, at the tip of your sword, in your armor."

Ser Cain felt a tear run down his cheek, and the knight rose a hand to wipe it away from his face.

"I don't think I'll ever hold a sword again." He hummed painfully, but the older knight only shook his head.

"You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it." He repeated his words again. "Trust me, son. You will hold Faithkeeper again. … But now it's time for you to wake up."

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

***

"-- Are you waking up?!" The worried voice of a woman rang through the open field.

Cain felt his head jolting with pain - his limbs of a calming numbness, and his lips dried up.

He swallowed thickly, before opening his mouth to say, "Water… I need… water."

"Right on it, soldier." She amusedly said, bringing down her own flask to his waiting mouth.

He drank to his heart’s content, and only when the last droplets of the blessed liquid touched his throat, did Cain Waters stop to breathe.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing he said, as the unknown woman checked her poach for any remains of the water. “I didn’t think about the practicality of leaving some for later. … Or about you needing a sip.”

The last of his words greatly perplexed the brown-haired woman - she let out a mirthled laugh, and gently shook her head to the side. “At ease, Commander. We have more where that came from. Drink as much as you need to.”

Her amber eyes trailed over his bandaged hand, and, as he followed her stare with his own, Cain sighed in wallowing dread. His gaze turned curious, however, as he glanced at his shoulder, and wasn’t immediately greeted with the ghastly sight of a chopped-off arm.

A shocked look adorned his features, and the knight brought his left hand to feel the borders of his forming scar.

A painful sting stopped him in his tracks.

“I’d be careful with touching that arm so soon,” She tutted over his brash enthusiasm, “Your stitches are far from being healed. … And it’s not all that good and grand.”

Her sharp eyes softened slightly, and she let out a hardened breath.

“I’m very sorry. But we still had to cut off some of the infected fingers. With time, though, I’m sure you’ll hold your sword again.”

‘You will hold Faithkeeper again.’

Cain hummed in a lowly tone, as his eyes traveled back to the strange woman before him. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, until he finally settled on the least invasive sentence.

“I’m very grateful for your help,” He began carefully, while nibbling at his lower lip. “But who are you? And why would you save me?”

The girl’s eyebrows raised in beguilement, and she jokingly brought her hand to her chest, bowing deeply.

“My name is Mira Florent, of Brightwater Keep. I was a ward not long ago, under the esteemed tutelage of Lady Caswell. For eleven years, I served in Bitterbridge.” Taking in his every reaction with a curious look, Mira quirked her head to the side, and offered the knight a half-earnest smile. “And who might you be?”

“You didn’t answer my other question.” Cain tensed visibly, and the woman raised her hands out in false surrender.

“Indeed, I have not. I’d like to know who it is I’m talking to, as well, before I should waste all my breath away.”

The knight’s deep gaze settled on her downturned nose and inviting smile. He took in a deep breath, and propped his body on his healthy elbow. “I asked my questions first, my Lady.”

“And I demanded for answers, second.” Her voice rang out with a beaming laugh, and the older woman showed him her portrait-perfect grin. “No one here is in any position to make demands. … But please. I am not a Lady. There’s no need for you to address me as such”

Her easy-going attitude and fun behavior were almost enough reason for Cain to return her gracious smiles - still, the royal knight remained impassive, while nodding his head in quiet agreement.

“My name is Cain Waters, m’lady.” A short pause ensued, during which both healer and patient exchanged a diverted look, “Until recently, I served in Riverrun; I answer to the Tullies, the lords of the Riverlands.”

“I knew it!” Mira’s gleeful exclamation set Ser Cain back on his back. “It was fairly obvious by the crest in your armor. The trout lost its head, but the house colors are still as clear as day.”

“Is that why you decided to save me?” The man asked her tentatively.

“Well, that’s why we kept carrying you with us after patching you up, I suppose. But we would have tried to heal you either way.”

“We?” The Waters bastard questioned once again. “There’s more than just you around?”

“You don’t think I carried you all the way here by myself, right?” Her sarcastic question jabbed at his intellect, but her placid smile told the knight to relax, and put an end to his sporadic trail of thought. “It’s just me and my travel partner - he’s the one that wanted us to leave you at a crossroads end, by the way.”

A bemused smirk tugged at the corners of Cain’s chapped lips. “Then you have my full gratitude, m’lady - I have to say, I appreciate you not letting me die. Pray tell, does your companion have a name?”

An arch of her bushy eyebrows was the only telltale sign of Mira’s pending curiosity over Cain's meddlesome nature. She jerked her head to point at a silhouette near the fireplace, and she leaned over on a tree’s bark end.

“He does.” The woman said simply, and her expression turned somber for just a moment. “You take your profiling seriously, Cain Waters - his name is Albar. Albar of nothing, who serves under no one. Albar Stone.”

Cain’s face brightened slowly, as if he’d just been reminded of an old joke.

‘Us bastards always find a way to help one another.’

A rumbling laughter shook him in his laying spot, and the man gingerly shook his head after a passing while. “Another brother. I’ve a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

Mira’s only reply was to shrug her shoulders, keeping quiet for the first time since they’d met. Her auburn eyes went over Cain’s shoulder, and she took in a deep breath. “You fought the Kinslayer, haven’t you?” She asked whilst playing with a silver pendant.

“You’re wearing the Tully crest - a house that openly pledged for the Blacks. Despite your heavy armor, your wound was of a clean cut. Too clean for a normal blade.” The Florent Lady awaited no confirmation from the laying man, as she went on, “I’ve been well acquainted with the deadly swords forged from Valyrian Steel. And there are only two people who wield such feats of war. Of course, only one of them who terrorizes our home.”

“Aye, that is true.” Cain let out after a low curse. “I regret not being swifter on my foot that day. It would’ve saved us a lot of trouble to slay him then and there.”

“Opportunities arise. And I’ve a feeling there will be another time for you to face him again.”

Cain’s forehead puckered at the last of her words, and his able hand pointed at the empty flask that now rested on her lower hip. “Oh, I would drink to that.” He bitterly laughed in earnest.

Mira’s posture ambled away, and she edged closer to the man’s plodded body. Silently, she got a hold of the bridles of the nearest horse, and offered Cain a lackluster smile. “I’ll hoist you up this saddle and we’ll keep walking towards the Vale.”

The muscles in Cain’s face tightened. His immediate thought went to (Y/N), his Lady, no doubt still stuck with Aemond in Harrenhal - that Gods' forsaken place.

His fist brandished in a tight hold, his head aligned to Mira’s working hands, and the knight tried to stop her musings with a firm palm over her waist.

“Wait -” He tried to reason, “I cannot go there. My Lady is still waiting for me, I cannot just abandon her.”

"Abandon your Lady?" Mira's eyes widened once more. She jumped up from the ground, and straightened her back in disbelief. "You're Lady Tully's personal knight? Is that why you fought the Kinslayer? You're telling me she's still alive?!"

Through an exhale, the male nodded. He cleared his throat with a loud cough, and scrunched his nose up in frustration.

"Indeed, m'lady. So you must understand me - I cannot forsake her. Not when she's still in the jaws of that one-eyed fucker."

Mira wiped the dust off her cotton pants, and grunted in agreement. She let out a tired breath, and clicked her tongue at his persistence.

"Well… you could have returned to Harrenhall, limping on your feet and all, if only you awoken a week ago. But we're less than an hour away from the Eyrie, Ser Cain." His crushed expression and gritted teeth softened the lady's resolve. "I warmly recommend you stick with us. Our road leads to the Arryns: we can drop you off to your Lord and you can take a while to recover."

"You slept for a very long time, Ser Cain. Everything you knew has changed in these last couple of weeks. Getting acquainted to your new situation will do you well."

Alys never dreamt. At least, she never once recalled what her dreams were about.

Such was the way of things for her, and she didn’t mind it - that was, until tonight.

Stilling images of her in his arms, of his soft lips upon the Tully's face made her shake with anger and betrayal well into the first callings of dawn.

Morning came and went, and the afternoon spent itself with her clasping her hands together, in the comfort of her room, thinking on what to do.

Her rattling worry wasn’t as much about her love for him, as it was for the frightening thought that if the Crown Prince didn’t want her anymore, she'd find her death by the sharp end of his sword.

The Rivers witch gulped thickly, and brought her hands over her neck and bump.

Aemond was capable of many things. But he wouldn't risk killing his child. Right?

The Tully girl had to go. The conclusion was a natural reach, and an expected one, at that: it was the only solution to her ticking problem.

A slight arch of her brow sent her thoughts adrift. How would she take care of it all? She gave the haughty Lady the chance to escape, and she failed - miserably. Now, she had no more allies left in Harrenhal, and no access to any amount of privacy.

The memory of Aemond's rage sent a cold shiver down her spine. Not once during her long life, did she witness a sight more fearful to behold, than the one of the One-Eyed Prince when angered. Hundreds died the day of her escape, and thousands more would keep on suffering, if ever she should break free again.

The Tully girl had to go. And then Aemond would be hers again.

Her prayers were answered when, sometime along the laid-in dusk, his footsteps echoed through the long hallway of her keep.

She waited for him in her small framed bed, eagerly aligning her hips to the side, to strike a more seductive pose.

… But when Aemond reached her doorstep, his eye carried a solemn, and resigned expression.

"The maids tell me she won't eat." He told her worriedly, opting for that instead of his usual greeting. He reached her bedside with two wide steps, and wordlessly took a seat while rubbing his temples. "She's punishing me."

Alys staggered a frustrated breath, and tried to calm herself back down. Her left leg moved to tease Aemond's crotch, and she chuckled appealingly.

"Must we worry about her all the time…? She'll eat when she gets really hungry." Alys dismissed his inquiry with a small caress, "In the meantime, I'm sure I could take your mind off things…"

Within a second, Aemond's hand was wrapped softly on her neck. "Stop that." He chastised her cruelly, "I'm not in the mood."

"You never are, as of late." She muttered dryly, but regretted her words instantly, when she felt his long fingers squeeze over her larynx tentatively. "I-I only meant to say that I missed you." She quickly intervened, while entangling her hand with his in a forlorn attempt to redeem herself.

Aemond hummed tiredly, and, as if he finally registered what he was doing, the man let go of her dainty neck.

Quietness washed over them, and Alys' eyes welled with the threat of tears, until Aemond spoke up.

"I want you to keep an eye on her. Become her friend, if you must."

The detachment with which he spoke wounded Alys' pride, but, as she massaged her neck, the woman only sighed. "Befriend her, Aemond?"

"Do whatever you think is right." He uttered once again. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be her maid - you'll make sure she eats when I'm not here; you'll make sure she doesn't think of a way to escape."

Her ears reddened from the deep wound laid upon her enlarged ego. Alys huffed in disbelief, and promptly shook her head. "What…?" She asked her lover. "So you want me to feed her and empty her chamber pot?"

"Don't act as if this work would be beneath you, love." Aemond tutted as he raised up from his taken seat. "I've already made up my mind: you will take care of her while I'm not around. And you will make her like it here."

The urgency in his words muffled out any other attempted protest. Alys' fists were clenched at her sides, and the older woman was biting down on her lower lip. "As you wish, Your Grace." She hissed past her tightened lips, while looking at him desperately.

As she noticed him turn around to leave, the Rivers witch shot up straight. "You won't stay?" She asked Aemond in a strangled tone.

"I have some business to attend to."

Aemond prayed before his dinners. As if that would make them any better.

As if that would help him swallow his guilt, or scatter it over the ghosts that he himself created.

As if that would deter the Gods to forgive him for his sins.

The pair stood quietly at the polished oak table, surrounded by naught but fermented wine and copious amounts of meat. For a while, all seemed well.

The cutlery broke a sound every once in a while, and Aemond's deep breaths turned the room's atmosphere heavy.

Eventually, it all built up to be too much.

"Is the food not to your liking?" His velvety smooth voice asked the girl before his eye.

With her hands still in her lap, now gripping her fingers painfully, Lady Tully replied, "... It's nothing of the sort. I'm just not hungry right now."

Aemond stared blankly into her eyes, until his scorching orb settled on her lips instead. Lustful thoughts of what he dreamt the night before plagued his mind, but the Prince merely shook his head, whilst taking a sip of the wine.

"You haven't eaten anything today." He muttered through a raised eyebrow, and a ghost of a forced smile. "Surely you must be famished."

The muscles on (Y/N)'s face twitched in annoyance. She jerked her foot from under the table, and turned her eyes back to her untouched plate.

"... As I said, I'm not feeling very hungry." She leaned further away, and the firelight of the wide, lit room, danced across her face with glorious shades of red and amber.

"Very well." Aemond asserted quietly, after letting out a hoarse curse in High Valyrian. Soon, the Prince turned his attention back to the illuminated room, without sparing the girl another glance.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and coughed in the back of his hand a couple of times.

Each time she heard his attempts to clear his throat, the girl clenched her jaw tighter and tighter.

Neither spoke anymore, until Aemond sighed deeply.

"Does…" He began, but closed his mouth once again. His face turned into a sour scowl, his pale cheeks reddened, and the man forced himself to keep going, despite the hardness with which such a question came to him. "Does your wrist hurt you at all?"

A quick reminder to the other night.

The lady's eyes snapped forward, unsure of whether or not she'd heard him correctly. Were she not in this unpleasant situation herself, the woman would have laughed at the Prince's awkwardness; no less his stupid question.

Instead of laughing, she took in a shaky breath, which she exhaled almost immediately, before replying curtly. "It doesn't hurt." Her eyes closed and her brows furrowed in concentration.

Distaste for him, for what she was about to say, filled her weary heart and mouth.

"... Thank you for the inquiry, My Prince, that was very kind of you."

She wanted to scream and shout the moment his daft fingers gripped her own, and the Kinslayer tried to caress her, despite his hand's deep callouses. Still, she remained poised.

She was all alone now, and she had to play it smart.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders tensed visibly from under her green dress. Slowly, yet surely, she wiggled her hand free from under his palm, and placed it above her thigh once more.

If her movement displeased Aemond, then the Prince didn’t show it. His hand twitched atop the table, and he clenched it momentarily. But just as soon as his action was executed, it was covered by the Targaryen's mellow voice.

"Try to eat something tonight. And whatever it is that you'd like on the morrow, you can tell your maid to bring you."

Maid…?

Confusion made its way across her face. And, not even waiting for her to ask that eager question, Aemond dipped his head lowly and replied.

"The days are hard and long - prisoner or not, My Lady. While in Harrenhal, you are still a royal, and will be treated as such."

(Y/N) felt as if she could do nothing else but laugh. She envisioned her life in Harrenhal drift in a lot of different ways - though no thought of hers deterred her to believe she'd be taken care of by Aemond's older lover.

Of course, she jested lightly to herself. In the end, I am but a prisoner. And Aemond only has one eye.

Her hands were tied. And so were Alys Rivers', who looked none the happier to be rooted at her bedside table, judging by her tight expression.

"We don't have to play his game, you know." The girl hushed in her direction, as she kneeled down to help her change the ruined bed sheets.

Green eyes washed over her smaller form, holding an icy glimmer in them. But, despite her obvious discontent at her words, Alys remained quiet.

"You've known Aemond for longer than I," She kept going in the afternoon. "But we can both agree he has a dangerous character." Her lack of cooperation irked the lady to no end.

She dreaded the silence she was greeted with.

Hopelessly, she watched Alys wipe the last corner of the room - the girl observed how she turned on her heel, bowing at her without sparing her a second glance, and made her way toward the doors of her chambers.

"What do you think will happen once I tell Aemond that you helped Cain plan my escape?" She asked in a neutral tone.

For the first time that day, the Rivers bastard whipped her head around, and kneeled to the floor to gather up the dropped cloth. Despite her neutral smile, her voice was shaking. "You're trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm trying to help myself. ... And help you."

The woman let out a roaring laugh. "I am carrying the child of the dragon, girl. He wouldn't dare hurt me."

"Are you that sure?" The hardened look on (Y/N)'s face let no emotion stand out. Still, her eyes remained honest, truthful in her questions, and the wood witch let out an ample sigh.

"I know you don't want me here." The Lady raised her head in bold admission, "Believe me, I am the last person to be happy with this arrangement. This is your home. This is supposed to be your room and your rightful bed. On that, you'll hear no argument from me."

As her speech came to an abrupt end, Alys furrowed her brows in unexpected shock. She was quick to collect herself, and shield her shaking body by crossing her arms.

"We're more similar than we'd allow ourselves to think, Alys. We both want me gone and far, far away from here."

With a tentative look in her eyes, the Lady of Riverrun approached Alys' heaving body. She took her hands in hers and squeezed them reassuringly.

A strained chuckle parted from the elder's lips. She jerked her hands away and shot her an unfeeling look. "What would you have me do?" She interfered with a cutting voice. "You forget yourself - and I. I'm just a woman in this Keep, the same as you. If you think I hold any power over anyone here, you'd be sorely mistaken."

(Y/N) shook her head, and allowed a crooked smile to grace her tired features. She quirked her eyebrow at the woman's words, and only hummed disprovingly.

"I may not know you, Alys Rivers. But I know you are a smart and conniving woman. You lived all your life in Harrenhal, or so I heard."

Her harsh tone cut through the deadly silence of the room.

"I'm sure you kept at least a secret passage to yourself, and away from Aemond. It's not like us to keep all our eggs in the same basket... So, I want you to teach me all you know about this castle.”

A jocund expression seeped into Alys' pores. She clicked her tongue at (Y/N)'s words, and huffed out a wired breath. “Foolish girl. If anything should go wrong, Aemond will kill us both.”

A small pause, followed by a muttered curse ensued after Alys’ warning. Once her eyes locked on the Lady again, she frowned as she nodded her head.

"You have yourself a deal."

Taglist:

@bellameshipper @ohitsthemaster @kravitzwhore @virginslut08 @hiatuswhore @somemydayy

Translations:

"Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos" = That's my good little girl;

"Byka hontes" = Little dove;

"Issa jorrāelagon" = My love;

“Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon” = My sweet, little love;

"Ābrazyrys" = Wife;

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…” = I was a man of duty and honor before I set eyes on you. And you… You… You make me feel as if I am no longer…;

“Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” = You are a common woman who enslaved a prince of the blood;

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?” = You tempted me. Your voice, your eyes, your lips, your soul - your very presence is seducing me. Are you happy? Are you happy with what you did to me?

"Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki." = Do you see just how powerful you are, my love? Aemond One-Eye, the Rider of Vhagar and the Prince Protector of the Realm… yours. In heart, body, and soul.

"Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene" = Beautiful witchling, my sweet little slut;

[onewholivesinloops]

battler's conversation with eva in ep1 after the first twilight is very loaded bc eva and hideyoshi are the ones who get bought off this episode, and eva goes out of her way to tell battler that kinzo must've had shannon or someone else dress up as beatrice to trick maria and hand her the letter about the epitaph, that one of the servants must be the perpetrator bc the garden shed's shutter is always locked and they were able to find its sole key in the servant room among all the others keys even though it has no name tag meaning the culprit must've known the layout of the mansion pretty well, that all of servants must be in on it bc it'd be difficult for one person to assault this many people and move the bodies then paint a magic circle in such a short amount of time alone, and that there must be a mastermind bc the word 'servant' literally means to serve someone, so it's eva literally spelling out the entire solution of umineko to him (which reads heavily as eva rebelling against sayo presumably bc she doesn't trust the deal they made or something btw)

battler is dismissive of this line of thought though bc he thinks it's 'too easy' and he keeps tormenting himself by running in circles by 'spinning the chessboard around' (which is a way of thinking that is always predicated on the assumption that everyone is acting in ways to achieve the greatest strategic advantage in every possible situation except only kyrie does this and sayo is doing the complete opposite lol), wondering why the culprit would make decisions that aren't optimal when sayo's intent was always to create a fair mystery that follows knox and leave clues behind bc she wants battler to solve it and understand her, and battler also refuses to engage with a real crime as a mystery and even quotes higurashi about how without a beginning the mystery would never start, so he assumes that the bodies being found must mean the servants aren't the ones behind it bc it casts the suspicion on them (which is something sayo is aware of, and even though she presents him as the detective and her opponent in this game which is reminiscent of when they discussed mysteries together as kids, she knows he can't treat this like a game which makes this an uphill battle for him)

battler isn't stupid however and he immediately realizes that eva must be involved bc she's the only one who didn't lose anyone, and yet it takes battler so long to realize the truth of everything bc he wants to believe in others and love them even when they're messy bc he refuses to give up on the idea that it's not his family and denies that the people he knows could do this while still refusing the fantasy solution, so he can't allow the murderer to be a person and it needs to be someone else that this inherently witch is disguised as, which is why to learn the truth battler needed to see the humanity behind the witch first

in many ways battler is similar to keiichi and even echoes the same thoughts but he's also the opposite? keiichi is tormented by his conflict over whether should trust his friends or not, but he ultimately succumbs to the belief that they're monsters or possessed by something supernatural until he learns to trust them in the answer arcs, as opposed to battler who's also conflicted over whether he should trust his family or not, but is in denial about the prospect of his family ever being involved in something like this while also refusing to entertain the idea of something supernatural, which is how you arrive at battler making ridiculous arguments about devil's proof and inventing an extra person to suspect that is neither one of the 18 nor a witch, which is rightfully memed, but it's deeply human and heartbreaking bc battler is someone with a desperate need to love and believe in others, and that's also something that puts him in the best position to understand beatrice in episode 5...

[faintingheroine]

I mainly think that Heathcliff isn’t being truthful about Isabella being free to leave if she wants to because of this:

First we have a “he said, she said” situation:

“If she desired to go, she might: the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be derived from tormenting her!’

‘Mr. Heathcliff,’ said I, ‘this is the talk of a madman; your wife, most likely, is convinced you are mad; and, for that reason, she has borne with you hitherto: but now that you say she may go, she’ll doubtless avail herself of the permission. You are not so bewitched, ma’am, are you, as to remain with him of your own accord?’

‘Take care, Ellen!’ answered Isabella, her eyes sparkling irefully; there was no misdoubting by their expression the full success of her partner’s endeavours to make himself detested. ‘Don’t put faith in a single word he speaks. He’s a lying fiend! a monster, and not a human being! I’ve been told I might leave him before; and I’ve made the attempt, but I dare not repeat it!”

From this alone we can’t determine who is saying the truth - admittedly our 21st century progressive/feminist sensibilities are inclined to side with the abused wife, but it is indeterminate as of yet.

But then there is this a couple of paragraphs later:

“‘There—that will do for the present!’ said Heathcliff. ‘If you are called upon in a court of law, you’ll remember her language, Nelly! And take a good look at that countenance: she’s near the point which would suit me. No; you’re not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now; and I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however distasteful the obligation may be. Go upstairs; I have something to say to Ellen Dean in private. That’s not the way: upstairs, I tell you! Why, this is the road upstairs, child!’”

I think from the italicized words we can easily gather that Isabella wouldn’t be able to leave even if she wanted to. It seems like she is trying to leave, but he is directing her upstairs. Also lol at the “child”, he is only two years older than her, but he likes to twirl his mustache, what can I say.

[themonotonysyndrome]

I'm OBSESSED with how you write celica in that new fic. Petty and spiteful. Tasty.

Can we know castin's reaction and thought process when he watch her 'teach' annalise on how to grovel? It's a side of her that he never knew before right? He must have felt so uncomfortable.

Ok, listen, Castin was already sweating when Annalise showed up and talked to his wife while she was networking at that party. Her being all clingy makes him more scared of Celica's reaction. So, like I mentioned in the previous ask, he's more than ready to cut Annalise off and invite Celica to a private room so he can explain himself.

But when Celica told him to dance with her - in front of everyone, mind you - he doesn't suspect, no, he KNOWS that his wife is pissed off.

But the thing is right, Castin misunderstood something. See, Castin thought that the Baroness was pissed off at HIM. When in reality, she's mad at his EX.

So, while Celica sets her plan in motion (when we were reading Annalise's family POV), Castin goes all out in mollifying Celica - her assures the Baroness that he only loves her and that his strings of exes mean absolutely nothing to him (and that if any of them ever bothers her again, he'll immediately set them straight), take her out on dates, let her eat more meat dishes than veggies and just pampering and cuddling with her all the damn time.

Celica just soaks it up, lol. However, she also assured him that she trusted Castin. In a relationship, love isn't enough, after all. Seeing how quick Celica is to 'forgive' him, Castin thought all was well in his world!

When his darling's wife, lady-in-waiting, interrupted their cuddling session by bringing in Annalise, Castin is rightly wary. He thought that she'd given up! He thought that they were over this! Right, it's time for him to scold her and bring this up to her Dad. Don't worry babe, Big Daddy Caddy got this!

...Uh, why is his ex groveling on the floor? Why is his wife suddenly looking like a stranger? What the fuck is this? What the fuck is going on!?

Castin is ashamed to say that he watched Celica verbally degrade Annalise and humiliate her more and more until he grows uncomfortable to the point that he snaps himself out of it and intervenes.

"Celica. Celica! Goddess, damn it, enough! What the hell are you doing!?"

"Hm? I'm using Miss Farlow as an example."

"What!? Why, though?"

"Because she doesn't know her place in the world."

"Goddess, Celica... this is... this too much."

In the end, Celica sadly has to cut the party short and kick a humiliated Annalise out of their home. After Castin makes her promise to stop tormenting the Havelock-Farlow after today.

From that day onwards, Castin is earnestly digging into her past. He needs to know just how deep the scars ran within the Baroness.

[kindness-ricochets]

I was tagged by @sparrowmoth to share the first lines of my ten most recent fanfics... thank you! (lol Wesper time continues) (I've decided "first lines" is "first paragraph" for simplicity) A Softer Place to Land

"You're late."

Hold on (Stay Close) Wylan could only sigh when even the piano failed to soothe his discordant nerves. He ran a fingertip over the keys, cautious and gentle. Why must everything persist in… changing? Just when he had the shape of the world, it shifted again. Storms Over Ketterdam The rooms on the third floor of the Van Eck mansion have double-thick windows. The family’s rooms stay warm—Jesper and Wylan; Marya; Inej for a night or two; Colm when he visits and Jesper puts himself on best behavior; Plumje on sleepovers when her brothers paint her toenails and let her stay up and eat as many cookies as she likes. Van Ecks protect what matters in their ways: with stacks of kruge and double-thick windows against winter storms. Encounter A man walks down an alley. He tries to walk right, with his head up and his shoulders square. He tries to walk like a man—a confident man. He tries to walk like the lantern doesn’t feel so, so heavy in his hand. He tries to walk like he isn’t afraid to get his pennies picked from his pocket. Voiceless “Kaz!”

Jesper’s voice is ragged, desperation shredding through him, but Wylan feels strangely… serene. Of course he feels Jesper’s hands against his neck and wants to soothe his panic and tell him, it’s okay. Because it is. It’s okay. Wylan knows it’s okay, he can just feel… how okay… Decoration “Can I try this on?” Wylan asked, poking his head and torso out from the closet, a jacket held in front of him. The sage and bright blue plaid couldn’t be called his usual preference. No, their closet was clearly split between Wylan’s few white shirts and dark jackets and trousers, and Jesper’s explosion of every pattern and color known to man, and a few conceived of by some wicked god. Pennies for Your Thoughts Wylan Van Eck was a good and sensible boy who could be trusted with a few pennies. One day, he would be trusted with millions of kruge, after all—but he understood the honor bestowed when his father gave him those coins. "Wylan" Torment. “Wylan,” spits Jan Van Eck like a piece of turned meat from his mouth into a fine linen napkin. He can fire a cook. He cannot fire a son. Yet the fire and the son mingle in bright, burning places. Today, father and son are staying at the lake house. Today, Jan uses a switch. Today, Wylan curls to make himself small and tries to put his back to the wall to protect the organs he sees in his anatomy books, and the pain lights across his arms and legs and knees. Blood flows like a slow flame. Stains linger. Cold Mornings and Sparks Mornings were not a Jesper time of day. Better skipped entirely—noon arrived, whether a man left his bed before or after! Yet mornings persisted. He greeted them sleepily, when he greeted them at all. Kerch is a Morally Bankrupt Country "Wy?" "Hm?" "So…"

I think just about anyone I'd have to tag was tagged by Sparrow, but if you see this and want to jump in, consider this an honorary tag!

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Welcome back!!! It’s nice to see a post from you again :)

Something I’m very curious about: in your latest theory, you said “While I don’t think regret is necessary for forgiveness (I’m the “Local Amane Momose Apologist” for a reason), it is important for forgiveness that I can believe they won’t continue to do the same bad thing in the future, which is not the case with Kotoko.”

Do you believe that Amane wouldn’t kill someone again if released? If so, why?

Hey there! Nice to see you as well, I missed you all :D

Okay so the question:

CW Child abuse, cults and indoctrination, murder, psychological torment (Guilty verdict)

So, first, I want to say that the way I worded that was… not the greatest. I made it sound like there’s some sort of hard rules I go by to judge whether someone is forgivable or not, which is… obviously impossible. Forgiveness is a very subjective, inherently biased, complex thing, and trying to set any kind of guidelines for how it works is never going to go well.

With that stated, I would like to rephrase my original wording a bit to try to avoid further confusion. The new phrasing is:

“One of the more important things I take into consideration when deciding whether I can forgive someone for a bad deed or not, is whether or not I can reasonably believe they would not perform the same bad deed again without significant external pressure. Or at the very least, that they will attempt to not do it again”

(I added “without significant external pressure” because everyone is capable of doing really bad stuff out of desperation, so if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to forgive anyone ever lol.

You’ll notice, though, “significant external pressure” is extremely vague and subjective, which is by design. What counts as “significant external pressure” in my eyes varies greatly depending on the severity of the action, the person who committed it, among other things)

Now it makes a bit more sense to apply it to Amane, who was clearly under significant external pressure both when she killed her mother, as she was being downright tortured, and when she tried to kill Es in her second VD, as she was suffering from the psychological torment of a Guilty verdict.

But that’s not really what you asked, it’s just something I wanted to clarify. You asked if I believe that Amane wouldn’t kill again if released, and quite frankly, I think it’s unlikely (though not outright impossible). Barring extremes, of course. You could argue she would kill her father if he starts doing the same things her mother did, which, fair, but I’m sorta expecting Amane to get sent off somewhere else (and hopefully way better) if she returns from Milgram. She did murder her mother, I would imagine she’s not going to be allowed to live with her father after that (maybe? idk).

The main reason why is that Amane is only shown as openly hostile when she’s under pretty extreme psychological stress. She’s usually pretty patient, even with the people who annoy her:

[Timelines 13/6/20]

Shidou: If everything about MILGRAM is true… why did a child like you have to become a murderer? Just imagining what sort of circumstances must have led to that, it makes me so sad…

Amane: *sigh*. Is that right. I don’t think I’m going to get along with you, Shidou-san. […] Please give me back my test. It seems you don’t have the concentration levels required to be my teacher. I’m going to get Kotoko-san to teach me instead.

Not to mention her first VD, where Es constantly annoys her in one way or another and Amane doesn’t react negatively until the end, where Es forcefully grabs her. Basically, Amane is pretty good at keeping a level head when things aren’t going her way, especially for her age.

And even after the Guilty verdict, she’s only hostile towards those who’ve slighted her personally. Amane wouldn’t kill someone just for breaking doctrine.

Let me use Fuuta as an example. He’s someone who very explicitly went again Amane’s doctrine, having received medical attention and thus having “ran away from God’s trials.” He also enjoys frivolous things like social media, which Amane’s cult might consider “vulgar,” breaking Gozake’s ordainment. Not to mention he’s a murderer (though it’s unclear how much Amane knows about his situation), which obviously goes against Riyone’s ordainment.

And yet, despite him breaking doctrine so blatantly, Amane still wants to help him.

(T2) Q12: What do you think of Kajiyama Fuuta?

Amane: He is lost and in pain. I should help him.

Of course she does, she wants everyone to be happy. That’s one of her main motivations as a character, it’s why she covered Positive Parade (I made a post about that)

[Magic]

I hope, I hope everyone can be happy and smile

Yes, her methods are misguided and harmful, they can cause a lot of damage if left unchecked. But ultimately, pretty much everything she does, she does it because she thinks it will make people happy, either in this life or the next.

However, generally speaking, murdering someone is seen as somewhat counterproductive to their happiness. Which means Amane isn’t very keen on it, usually. Things have to go really wrong for her to really consider it, and even then she’d only consider it if someone offends her personally.

A Guilty verdict counts as “things going really wrong,” of course, and both Shidou and Es have offended her in different situations. But even when she’s subjected to constant psychological torture, she still has some patience. Not much patience, mind you, but it’s there.

[Timelines 24/10/22]

Amane: Kirisaki Shidou. How long do you plan on continuing this foolish behaviour?

Shidou: I wonder what you might be referring to there. I’m just doing what I need to do. If anything, I’d be happy if you would lend me a hand.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand?

She warns Shidou instead of attacking him outright, which isn’t great… but it’s not murder! Yet.

A similar thing happens with Es. In Of Blessedness and Punishment, Amane begins relatively calm, and doesn’t get violent until Es denies the concept that they’re talking to anyone but Amane, which she (they?) see as an insult.

[Of Blessedness and Punishment]

Amane: But we are generous. For now, let us make some time for a conversation with you. After all, our history is one that is built on dialogue.

Keep in mind, this is with the T1 Guilty.

So let me put it this way. Everyone has a certain limit of “shit they can take” before they decide to murder someone. Everyone, no exceptions. We’ve seen Amane reach that limit in her home life (perfectly understandable imo) and in Milgram. The question is: were she to be released, would Amane face anything bad enough for her to reach her limit again?

Call me an optimist, but seeing how patient she usually is, I like to believe there’s a solid chance she doesn’t. I’m not sure what Amane’s future outside of Milgram holds (provided she’s not already dead or anything like that), but as long as it’s better than the Hell Prison Guilty Verdict, I’d say there’s a solid chance she doesn’t kill anyone again. Especially since she’s still very young and could potentially become better at regulating her more murderous tendencies with age. Better than she already is anyways.

(I don’t have any way of knowing whether or not that would happen, I just see it as a reasonable assumption)

Again, I do think it’s possible she would murder again if things get pretty bad, but there’s really no way to know how bad things have to get before that happens. After all, again, anyone would murder if things get bad enough.

That’s why ultimately (and quite ironically), a lot of it comes down to how much faith you have in Amane, how much faith you have that she will get through life without murdering again. We simply have no way of knowing for sure whether or not she will. But I like to assume the best in people, especially children for obvious reasons (yes I’m pulling the child card again you can’t stop me), so for now I’m assuming she won’t kill again.

I don’t know if that was perfectly coherent, but I hope that answers the question regardless! Take care!

[gayfanservice]

Request: Something about Billy surviving the mind Flayer and apologizing to Max for being an ass lol

Was requested on my other blog, I do not remember if this was requested to be platonic or romantic so whoops :P

CW; Heavily described blood/gore, Billy lives, sad boy hours, probs ooc

*********

He remembers the pain of the tentacles ripping into his skin; tearing his insides every which way, images burning into his brain as the massive mound of human-rat meat screamed at him.

He remembers seeing images of him being ripped apart and images of the girl with powers he previously tried to kill screaming as she was ripped apart.

He remembers tears falling down his cheeks as disoriented images of his friends forced their way into his brain, mocking him, telling him how he failed as a son, as a brother, and as a friend.

He remembers seeing images of his best, and only, friend torn apart or crushed over and over again. How (Y/N) had tried to save him before being crushed into the wall. It played in his mind, unaware that his best friend was right behind him, crying for Billy.

Max’s images burned into his retinas as they replayed the in worst fashion; it gruesomely detached her limbs, or decapitated her. More and more images of his step-sister played into his mind as the fleshy tentacles burned and tore his insides. Billy couldn’t take it, screaming that Max didn’t deserve anything happening to her. She deserved better than what this thing was showing him, reminding him how he failed as an older brother, tormenting her every day. She deserved a normal life with a normal older brother, but Billy didn’t let her.

He remembers how memories of his life popped up; how he enjoyed time with his mother, when she was still alive. How his relationship with his father became more strained after she died, how he tormented Billy everyday. When Neil met Susan and eloped, and Billy started to torment Max.

He remembers how Max would look at him with that angry look whenever he was around her. How she avoided him. Max didn’t deserve anything Billy did.

He remembers meeting his best friend for the first time at a skate park, (Y/N) had almost crashed into him and they got into an argument. They met again at a convenient store, buying the same drinks and snacks. (Y/N) made a joke about how they must be estranged twins. He doesn’t know why, but they just became friends.

All Billy could think about was how he failed Max, (Y/N), and everyone else

——————

Billy felt weird. It was warm but he shivered. The pain was replaced by an intense numbness, murking up his brain and turning everything fuzzy. He couldn’t understand what was happening; was he dead? In hell? Was Max alive? Is she okay? Is (Y/N) alive and okay? He couldn’t tell. Maybe the endless void and disoriented noises were punishment for Billy. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t even know if he had eyes in this mysterious place.

A faint beep caught his attention. Did he turn? He couldn’t tell, but the beeping got louder, and louder. Was Satan finally arriving to take him to hell? The noises around him became louder; a faint buzzing, weird sounds he couldn’t make out, and… talking? He couldn’t tell, but it was becoming clearer.

A dull uncomfortableness raised in his throat, stoping at his chest. Something heavy was on sitting atop his face, covering his nose and mouth. His skin felt tight in places, most prominently on his torso, as if bandages were wrapped around him. He could feel himself breathing, the hairs on his arms sticking up, his brow muscle twitching as the darkness lit up. Billy was so tired, but he was so curious as to where he was.

His eyes finally opened, the white ceiling was the first thing he saw. Billy’s brain felt foggy; he was confused on where he was, no longer could he remember what he was whining about just moments ago.

“… Billy?” Billy slowly turned towards the voice, his eyes gliding across the room and stopping on (Y/N). He would smile if whatever was shoved down his throat wasn’t so fucking uncomfortable. (Y/N) slowly got up from his chair with the help of crutches, “Hey, pal, long time no see.” He joked, standing by Billy’s side as he pressed the CALL button. Billy’s looked around the room, his eyes landing on what little he could see from his position. He settled on (Y/N), taking in his appearance. He looked so… different. His eyes, though the same color and shape as always, held a different look. He had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in months, years even.

Billy watched as (Y/N)’s eyes watered, a few tears falling down his face as he pulled a chair up with his foot, slowly sitting down again. “It’s been a couple months, Billy. Glade to see you pull through.” He couldn’t believe it. He had been asleep for months? (Y/N) wiped away his tears, sniffling, obviously embarrassed to be crying, “I’m so sorry, Billy…” He whispered, head leaning on his crutches. Why was he sorry?

The door to the room opened, two nurses and a doctor came in. The breathing tube-thing was removed from his throat, leaving a tingling, more uncomfortable feeling in his throat. Why was (Y/N) sorry? Where was his dad? Where was Max?

“… Max..?” His throat was scratchy and stiff, the nurse offering a cup of water before they left. “She’s okay, Billy, she’s safe.” Questions raced in his head, but he felt at ease knowing that Max was safe. But why? What was she saved from? What happened? Why am I here?

The Mind Flayer popped into his head, like a shitty jump scare from a horror movie. Memories of that night lodged their way into his brain as he remembered everything, from trying to kill Max to almost being ripped to shreds. Billy suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotions. He was sad, happy, a little hungry, but mostly angry. Angry at himself for everything, for what he did and didn’t do for Max. She wasn’t even here to greet him for being alive. His dad wasn’t either but he didn’t care about that. Billy was such a shit person to her, why would she care if he was alive?

Billy cried, not caring that (Y/N) would see him. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Billy, no, you’re fine,” (Y/N) didn’t know why he was comforting him or why he was even apologizing. He grabbed Billy’s hand in a firm grip, “You’re fine, Max is fine, we’re all fine.” His voice cracked. Billy’s unoccupied hand landed on his face, covering his eyes as he trembled. He just wanted to see Max, to apologize to her and promise to be a better older brother. To protect her from bullies and be the best damn brother she would want. But he can’t, she’s god knows where and he’s here, stuck rotting in a hospital bed with his best friend, but that’s the most he could ask for. It’s the most he deserves.

Max stood in the doorway, feeling too awkward to say anything to the two crybabies. She wondered if it was too late to walk away, forget this ever happened and go on her merry way. But, Billy did save her, or try to, and he deserved something for that. She cleared her throat. The two looked towards her like deer in headlights, “Uh, hi,” this was too awkward for her.

“Max…” Billy took a shaky breath, trying not to full on sob in-front of two people. Max stood closer to the bed, feeling tears of her own fill her eyes. Even though he put her through hell, she couldn’t help it. “Max, I’m so, so sorry,” he started, his grip tightening around (Y/N)’s hand. Max felt her face become wet, snot starting to clog up her sinuses, “I was such an asshole to you, an unfair asshole.. a-and I know that you hate me but please, please I am so, so sorry,” Billy cried, no longer caring how pathetic he may look, “I promise, promise to be better,” Max sniffled as she listened to Billy. Her face contorted as she cried, coming to Billy’s empty bed side and holding his other hand. “Okay, Okay, Billy.”

*********

Um yeah if its good please tell me 👍

[skaruresonic]

Regarding illusions of Rouge and Omega I think it's exactly how you said: having Shadow being tormented by someone not named Maria isn't "important" enough. Here you not only get the feels points (because Maria was so important to Shadow that the fandom must make his whole existence revolve around her) but also approval from the more elitist anti-sega side of the fandom (because you unlike the big bad sega actually remember the continuity and giving respects to the "best" parts of the franchise).

Unfortunately in the current fandom climate "continuity" means you must reference literally everything from past entries every 5 minutes or else you're "being inconsistent". See: the people asking "why does Knuckles not talk about the Master Emerald? Does he just not care about guarding it anymore??" or the small-scale "drama" around Dream Team cause omg big bad sega is ruining the timeline again cause the game doesn't mention Sage anywhere.

but also approval from the more elitist anti-sega side of the fandom (because you unlike the big bad sega actually remember the continuity and giving respects to the "best" parts of the franchise).

If they really wanted to give respect to the "best" parts of the franchise, they'd all go play Battle

Shadow's trauma will never not inform a part of his character. It's the foundation on which most of it currently rests. It's rather insecure to keep insisting that every form of suffering he experiences from here on out must tie back to his original trauma in some way. That's... not how life works.

For all of this hullabaloo about Rouge and Omega being Shadow's besties, when showed a canonical example that possibly supports what they're talking about (if you tilt your head and squint), they don't want it to take it.

Which is it? Are they his ride or die until he drops them like hot potatoes for Maria's memory, or what?

---

Unfortunately in the current fandom climate "continuity" means you must reference literally everything from past entries every 5 minutes or else you're "being inconsistent". I hate the use of the word "inconsistent" because nobody can provide a solid definition. They always say something that inevitably devolves into being a roundabout way of saying "the games' quality fluctuates" and/or "the games suck." Or else they just mean the art direction's changed again. Changes in art direction alone do not true inconsistency make. Sonic and co.'s characterizations have largely remained consistent across the games. It's fanon that's changed. It's really ironic too because the series references previous games all the time.

--- See: the people asking "why does Knuckles not talk about the Master Emerald? Does he just not care about guarding it anymore??" or the small-scale "drama" around Dream Team cause omg big bad sega is ruining the timeline again cause the game doesn't mention Sage anywhere.

At some point it hilariously reads like a serious lack of object permanence. "ST didn't show Cream in Forces, they forgot her!" Or maybe they're just not using her atm and she still diegetically exists in the world, just like how Shadow didn't magically poof out of existence in Unleashed.

Sage isn't in Dream Team? Guess she must have been erased like Doodlebob lol.

[the-path-to-redemption]

Salem! - mylittlerwde

ask meme

Long Post Ahead

SALEM

What are my top four favorite non-romantic relationship dynamics for them? - She and Tyrian got me in a grip, bro. They are so Bloodborne-coded, you have no idea. I also like the one she has with Watts, as little as we have, because he doesn't actually worship her, she's just a matron for his goals and she likes the developments he brings, a good evil partnership (even though she's still very much in charge). I also like the antagonistic relationship she has with Ruby, and how she taunts the poor thing about Summer. It was good, despite all of the flaws. Finally, I fuck with her and the Hound tremendously. God, what a fucking nightmare it was lmao, with how she just treats it better than her lackeys, almost motherly, until you realized that there is a person in there, there is a Silver Eyed Warrior that she captured, tormented, and disfigured in that Grimm. Man, when the horror hits like this, I almost forgot I hate the way CRWBY writes lol.

What season were they at their best and why? - O O F. I seriously cannot pick one, because wow the good moments she has just fucking comes and go without any consistency huh. Well, if I have to choose based on overall enjoyment? Probably 7 or 8, because they actually let her go full-on horror monster, and boy do we need that.

What season were they at their worst and why? - Uhhhhh, I would say...6? Because the way they wrote her backstory and how it went was wack. I love the evil bitches from the start, I do, and I was one of the people who never saw Salem as a good person even before she turned Grimm. But the narrative of Lost Fables was lame, and her complexity was nonexistent because "noooo my man died wahhh :((((" and I...I wish that by itself extended into more? Like, she was sad that what she thought was hers was taken from her, and that spiraled into a need to control the world instead of just like, destroy it for a man that she still murdered when he rightfully gtfo, I guess. Her character trope and the way it all went down are ideas that have been executed better, look no further than the character Father from Fullmetal Alchemist.

How would I rank their outfits from worst to best? - Well, seeing as how both of her outfits just reeks of Orientalism and sexism, both of them belong in the fucking trash. But if I have to rank them, the OG comes first, then her "war" outfit because....what was even there, bestie?

I'm not doing anything H*rry P*tter related, so this ain't gonna be a thing at all.

What do I think this character would be like if they were on the opposite side (good characters are bad, bad characters are good - Huh...Now that's an interesting thought. I thought she would be like Ozpin at first, but then I was leaning more towards her being a hermit trainer who watches over the world in the shadows instead of being a Headmaster, while the Headmasters themselves are either her close friends or studied under her before going into their Huntsman career. I can also see her having her own Huntsman training sect where her students have a unique style of Grimm hunting and Dust utilization due to her being a magician, but upon descending into the world they must never find her again (Baoshan Sanren from Mo Dao Zu Shi is a good example of this trope). A really low-key person.

If I suddenly had control of RWBY, what would I want to do with this character after the events of V8? - First of all, erase Vol 9-. In all seriousness? I would have her kickstart that world domination already, and keep up that level of high stake for the characters to actually deal with. Salem has become a high-level threat, and that would've made the tension not just between the main cast, but them against the world because of their actions, be more interesting. And obviously, have her just fucking blow Cinder apart already. That bitches literally did shit for you but steal the work other lackeys did for you, Salem, just kill her.

[moontheoretist]

About how care can become abuse.

When I think about Razaren I did not immediately assume the “point of view of the slaver” even though I should, because he was raised in a society that sees slavery as something normal, hell, rising above other slaves to become a servant to a Magister, is seen as something admirable, glorious, magnificent to the point that Varania even hates Fenris in DA2, because she thinks he had a better life as bodyguard to a Magister than her and her mother that he freed had upon losing their slave status. Which means that rising above other slaves while staying a slave is seen as better than buying yourself out of slavery, at least for Varania. Unfortunately, I don’t know any other DA character that could provide the comparison here in regard to this topic.

Still I was willing to entertain the idea that maybe Razaren was telling the truth and that he was a prisoner too. He was not a slave, but he was a prisoner of expectations, bloodline, parent who was shown to be abusive and hold racist and dehumanizing views about slaves.

When he said that he and Miriam were both prisoners, I inadvertently thought about the case of Gamora and Nebula from MCU. Keep in mind that the comparison is not 1:1, as both Gamora and Nebula were kidnapped as kids and raised as assassins by their abusive “father”, but similar enough that it sprouted into my head almost immediately. If Razaren wasn’t of the Ammosine bloodline, but was instead some adopted kid raised as Ammosine, the comparison would be nearly 1:1, because what the comparison is about is that he had privilege that “his siblings” did not, and he failed to not only see, but accept it.

If he accepted it, he would be 50% more decent guy than he was.

Instead, he was so obsessed with the idea that they were family, that he disregarded his own privilege simply on the note that they shared the same abusive parent who possibly tormented them all.

In Razaren’s head he was abused by his mother in different ways, and it made him equal to “his siblings” (as long as imagining them as his bodyguards when he raises to be the next Divine can be considered “equal” lol, he really did not know what equal means, like at all), but in Miriam’s head his abuse was and never will be comparable to hers and her brother’s, because he had a privilege of being Ammosine, and they were just their slaves. What I found interesting is that even though the show never shows us how Razaren’s mother treated him when they were alone beyond her very toxic “no Ammosine failed a Harrowing in 300 years” scream, it showed us that Razaren didn’t even care about his mother’s death. He crawled to Neb, and he cared only about Neb’s death. Miriam accused him of killing her brother, even though in this scene it was apparent that Razaren was not the one who did that, but it was his mother instead. I don’t want to say that he was innocent or not a bad person, because he clearly was, considering that he saw them both as his to the point that he could not take their refusal of being his family and called them ungrateful.

Because as far as he is concerned, they are HIS family / slaves. He owns them as much as father thinks he owns his wife and children. He is possessive of them, he thinks that he is entitled to having them as his family, and that only he can give them what they need.

I must say that in that mindscape scene when he reacted with anger and frustration to hearing “no” he reminded me a lot of a “nice guy”, who sees himself as good, but the moment he doesn’t get what he wants he drops the pretense of caring and takes what he wants by force. That’s why Razaren is an abuser. That’s why Razaren is a slaver.

Even if he was not responsible for Neb’s death, even if he cared about his family, his own obsessive and selfish desire to have a family was more important to him than the feelings of the people that were to be his family. Which basically puts him in the same boat as any abusive family member I ever saw or met. People say that “true family would listen to each other, care about each other's feelings, respect each other's decisions” and so on. I like to think that it’s true. That maybe that’s what the true family would do, but my experience with family is abuse, and that is the only frame I can see family through. That family will disregard your decisions, diminish you and mock you, manipulate you, make you feel as less until you accept that their selfish desires, ideas and opinions are more right than yours and make you submit.

This is a type of family that you reject and run from, even if they care about you. I can’t tell you how many times I heard someone abused me out of caring for me, while in truth it was just to change me to fit their narrow-minded ideas about what I should be for them. Razaren is exactly the same. Even if his care is genuine, his behavior is toxic and abusive, and his intentions will never overwrite his actions. His good intentions that are only good in his own head will never make it right for him to just ignore the wishes and desires of Miriam and Neb.

Hell is paved with good intentions, and Razaren went straight there.

[blaiddraws]

shaking crying screaming gunsmoke!Emmet thinking he did something wrong after his brother (accidentally but he's obv not aware of that) blew his legs off has been emotionally tormenting me all day. just Emmet in the direct aftermath of the July incident bedridden and repeating those last moments with his brother on loop, trying to pinpoint what went wrong and coming to the conclusion that is must have been his fault somehow that pushed Ingo to disappear, change his name, and try to kill him. and then getting Dawn to keep an eye on his brother anyway because he's worried and there's a 60 billion double dollar bounty on his head, and even tho Nobori (seemingly) wants him dead, Emmet doesn't. head in hands. on that note, actually, does Dawn dislike Nobori initially? she's a smart girl, i'm sure she figured there was something between him and Emmet when asked to keep an eye on him, even if she wasn't aware of what it was, and it seems like she'd favor Emmet a bit more initially seeing as his group took her in

hi anon my friend anon. i love this. yeah. yeah. emmet kinda goes into overthinking mode and goes for the worst case scenario to him. that being that his brother hated his guts. you might consider it Incredibly Upsetting to him.

and yeah! he's! emmet is definitely kinda bitter about All That! but he still loves his brother regardless and cares about him. he doesn't want him dead.

as for Dawn! she's. not really sure what to think about Nobori before meeting him. from what little emmet told her about him, there was equal parts bitterness and fondness. the last time ingo and Emmet met was a disaster, but also talks about his positive qualities as well. it's pretty. all over the place.

and then Actually meeting him. it does not take long to warm up to him, yeah, lol. sure there's obviously some beef between the twins from what she'd gathered from emmet. (especially the fact he doesn't wanna hear anything about him unless it's life threatening. which! btw! is why she doesn't tell him about the amnesia when she figures it out lol)

but nobori is so incredibly earnest and genuine. he literally couldn't hurt a fly. (oddly enough, every time she tries to ever so slightly hint at emmet to him, to try and dig for more information, he seems completely oblivious, or even a little confused. far different from what you'd expect from someone with a grudge...)