#Mad respect to the people for whom that's all it takes but I need to know what their values and weaknesses are

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

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You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone. 

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 4]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 4)

ie. So the saying goes, 'nothing gold can stay.' Or, the Prefect is facing yet another Overblot and it drags some unpleasant dilemmas to the surface.

A/N: I have been fighting this for a solid hour now, and Tumblr is just being an absolute nightmare and not letting me add any more tags without crashing/refusing to save the post, so if you got kicked off the list, my sincerest apologies

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

There was a curt knock on Mozus Trein’s door.

The aging professor fought the inelegant urge to drop his head into his hands. After taking a moment to silently curse every other damned member of faculty at this college, he schooled his expression into a vague attempt at neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Enter.”

Divus Crewel and his ridiculous ensemble strutted into Trein’s office, and the historian barely bit back a sneer. He and the other professor had never gotten on at the best of times. Perhaps they would tolerate one another for the occasional game of chess, but the other man’s opinions on more or less everything (especially dogs. Ugh.) rankled something unpleasant in Trein’s chest. Call him old fashioned, but intentionally sharpening oneself into something miserable, and cold, and alone all in the name of maintaining an appearance of sophistication was something he would never respect.

Lucius growled from his place by the windowsill, and Crewel very noticeably fought to keep himself from raising his hackles in return. The black-and-white monstrosity leant forward and placed a bottle of red whine on Trein’s desk with a clack.

“What is it now?” Mozus frowned.

Divus didn’t bother to sit in the chair opposite him. He never did. He paced along one of the bookcases for a moment, trailing his crimson gloves along the leather spines.

“More of the same, I suspect,” he finally huffed.

Trein sighed and rifled around in his desk drawers to unearth his chest set. Not the good one—the one with hand-carved, stone, pieces that his daughters had given him for his birthday two years ago. This set wasn’t terribly ugly, and it did the job well enough. Plus, the worn colors lining the board always made something in Crewel’s jaw tick.

“Well,” he grumbled, setting the pieces into place and reaching for the wine. Divus Crewel was entirely unpleasant, but at the end of the day, Mozus had never been one to deny a willing student. And oh if there wasn’t so much that this egomaniacal alchemist still needed to learn. “Get on with it then.”

.

.

A part of you was sort of expecting to see one of those ‘WELCOME HOME, CHEATER’ banners nailed to the Rogersons’ front porch.

Which, firstly, come on. It’s not like you maybe vaguely starting to not loathe your time spent with Crewel with every fiber of your being was a crime. And you were still miserable and mad. Stupid, no good, stuck up, no-dad-being, emotionally unavailable—ahem. Excuse you. But you had eaten a few of those fancy cookies. And you were certain that Poe and Perdy would smell Jasper and Badun’s cuddles a mile away. And as much as you rationalized it forwards and backwards that you weren’t wrong, a part of you still felt… traitorous.

Secondly, the Rogersons were genuinely nice people. And you should have known at this point that they of all the adults in your life would hardly judge your for accepting any scraps of kindness being offered to you. (Unlike a certain Old Crow with whom you were well acquainted.)

All that being said, you were still a bit hesitant when you knocked on their front door that evening. Nevertheless, you were met you with a wave of enthusiastic greetings (plus a knitted set of gloves and a hat), as they ushered you back out the door with the promise of new and interesting things.

“We thought it’d be a nice change of pace,” Mister Rogerson explained. He and Annie were holding hands as you all walked down their quaint street, tucked up neatly in one of the roomy pockets of his overcoat. “And you didn’t get to come with us over the Holidays either.”

“There isn’t much else to do on Sage Island for most of year,” Annie said. “But the Winter Festival is always really lovely.”

The Winter Festival was like something out of a story book—all toned in watercolors and lit with a golden warmth that didn’t really seem feasible when the weather was otherwise so frigid. Magic, probably. Everything wonderous here was always magic. The air smelled honey-sweet, and you could feel the rising heat from dozens of outdoor ovens warming your cheeks.

“It’s busiest over the holiday period,” Annie explained merrily, reaching out to adjust the new hat on your head. “But most of the stalls stay open a few weeks later.”

“You missed all the rides unfortunately,” Mister Rogerson continued, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “But if you’re still around next year, we’ll make sure to bring you when everything’s in full swing.”

There was a decent sized crowd filtering sluggishly through the faire, happy to meander about with their Styrofoam mugs of cocoa and browse the displays. There were more people your age milling about than you would have expected (as nice as this all was, it definitely seemed more like an ideal outing for a retirement home than anyone young enough to still have their original hip bones). Mostly you recognized the clean, crisp, white jackets of the RSA uniform, but occasionally there was a splotch of a more familiar black ensemble darting about amongst them.

“Have you ever had a fritter before?” Mister Rogerson called from his place by a stall that smelled like Heaven compressed into a cubic-meter.

“Not since I’ve been here,” you practically drooled, feeling very much like one of those cartoon characters who could merrily float through the air after the tantalizing scent of baked sweets.

“Do you want the sugar sprinkled? The caramel drizzle?” A laugh then, quick and bright, as he caught sight of the lovestruck (and ravenous) look on your face. “Both?” he offered indulgently.  

There was another laugh then—raucous and loud. And a familiar face darted by with a mouth stuffed full of way too many festively frosted donuts.

“Hey! You get back here!” someone shouted, enraged and shaking their fist. “Free samples’ doesn’t mean a free for all! Did you hear me?! I said get back here!”

But Ruggie Bucchi just kept on running, his fluffy ears perked atop his head and his steel-grey eyes thinned with obvious amusement. He rushed past, and you met gazes just quickly enough to catch a smirk and a wink before he was off and around a corner—surely vanished into areas unknown to enjoy his haul.

You laughed into your gloves and turned back to your escorts for the evening with a beam, ready to suggest maybe just buying out the rest of the stall. Ruggie would love it. He’d probably even help you manage Leona’s tantrums without grumbling for at least, like, a week.

But they weren’t smiling.

The grin on your own lips slowly slipped back down into a flat line, and you fought the urge to fidget. Like somehow you’d done something wrong. Annie just sighed and shook her head. Mister Rogerson pinched at the bridge of his nose with a huff—the picture of a properly disappointed teacher.

“Well, can’t say anyone would expect Night Raven students to not be a handful.”

Something curdled a little in your tummy, and you tamped down the urge to immediately and aggressively rise to Ruggie’s defense. They were only free samples! And he loved donuts! And he never really had much money for anything of his own anyways! And they were free! And!—And…

“Ruggie doesn’t have anybody to buy him donuts,” you said at last, when the vendor handed you your own little paper bag overflowing with fritters.

Annie and Mister Rogerson looked at you curiously, clearly a bit lost, and you huffed.

“Ruggie,” you repeated. “The guy from earlier. With—with the samples.”

You could feel your shoulders hunch, defensive. And you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like—they weren’t going to be mad at you or anything. And Ruggie was your friend. It didn’t seem right to let them just assume the worst of him.

“Oh,” Annie hummed, face softening. “Of course, sweetheart. But maybe he could ask first next time, okay? We’d be happy to treat any of your friends.”

You nodded and nibbled at your fritter. It was warm and crispy, perfectly fried and with a sugar crust that melted on your tongue like the sweetest kiss. It was delicious, really it was. But still somehow not quite as good as you’d thought it’d be.

.

.

When you arrived back to Ramshackle that evening, there was wallpaper on the walls.

You squinted at it suspiciously and tapped one of the glued-down edges with your finger. It didn’t vanish or eat you, so maybe it wasn’t an illusion. But why on Earth would anyone bother to try and give this place a facelift—

The front door burst open and Crowley blew in like a hurricane.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” he boomed. “There’s no one else I trust at this school quite like I trust you, oh wonderful and best of all Prefects! So I’m making you the lead producer for our VDC performance!”

You gaped, too familiarized with this nonsense to be as horrified as you probably ought to be.

“What’s a VDC?” you asked.

“That’s a great question!” Crowley beamed. “But first, let me introduce you to your new roommates!”

When the House Warden of Pomefiore and his entourage walked through your rickety front door, you felt something familiar, and awful, and inky swoop in your stomach.

“This building should be condemned,” Vil Schoenheit sniffed with all the grace of someone who definitely probably had a lot of underlying issues that were about to become your very real problem.

Crowley scuttled forward cheerfully to pin a tag labeled ‘MANAGER’ to your uniform jacket.

“Look how far you’ve come!” he sniffled, wiping dramatically at his gaping, soulless, eyes. “I’M SO PROUD!”

“…You can just put your bags over there,” you mumbled, so far past functioning on autopilot you may as well just ask Idia to turn your brain into an AI and get it over with it.

Epel dropped his suitcase near the living room’s rug and immediately the ancient floorboards opened up like the maw of some ravenous beast to swallow them whole. The group of you watched with varying degrees of distaste as his luggage plummeted to the basement, or… whatever existed below the crumbling wood. You’d never checked.

“I have the upmost faith in you!” Crowley chirped before jetting back out the door as quickly as he’d come.

.

“You did what?!” Crewel snapped.

“What!” Crowley whined. “Isn’t giving your child more responsibilities a sign of trust?! An act of faith between parent and spawn?! DOES THIS NOT SHOW HOW MUCH I VALUE THEIR COMPETENCE?!”

“No,” Trein groaned, burying his head in his hands.

.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Vil said, with all the cheer of someone undergoing a root canal. “I have nothing but well-wishes for Neige Leblanche and his many, worthy, successes.”

Buzz buzz went Ace’s phone as another of Neige’s advertisements lit the screen.

Drip drip went the heavy, black, magic curling around Vil Schoenheit’s soul.  

You fought the urge to put your head through the wall.

.

.

The next evening came, as did another bottle of too-expensive wine.

Trein swirled the crimson liquid miserably in his glass.

“Do you know that I chastised the Prefect once? For calling Crowley incompetent?”

Divus sounded worn in a way that he most likely had no right to be, but progress was progress Trein supposed. The alchemist snorted sardonically into his own glass. Normally the wine was a bribe for the elder professor alone, but tonight it was a truce to be shared in bleak solidarity.

“Time makes fools of us all,” Trein hummed.

“What is he even thinking?” Crewel seethed. “As if the Prefect isn’t under enough stress as it is. What exactly does he think these stunts will accomplish?”

“I don’t think he’s thinking very much at all, to be perfectly honest with you,” Trein grumbled. “But then again, making impulsive decisions in the name of parental affection is far from a novel concept.”

Divus scoffed. “Ah, yes. Because that’s what the runt needs. A mockup of fatherhood bearing down their neck at every turn. It’s like he’s not even bothering to actually try.”

“Someone ought to be,” Mozus said, pointed. (And it certainly wasn’t going to be him. He had two, lovely, wonderful daughters to fill his heart. There wasn’t much room left for anything else.)

Crewel glowered at him miserably and sighed in a drawn-out sort of way that was not dissimilar to someone taking a too-long drag from a cigarette.

“It’s not something that fits with…” he hesitated, as if trying to chew over the words into something palatable. “I have no desire to give up everything that I’ve ever wanted to see in myself, to give up everything I’ve worked for, just to mold myself into some—some glorified babysitter.”  Something stuck unpleasantly in his throat and he had to clear it twice before continuing. “Especially for someone who may very well be leaving this world forever in a few months as it is.”

The clock on the wall ticked obnoxiously through the silence. Each little second fell in a heavy clunk. clunk. clunk. that echoed around the room with all the gentility of a gong. After a long moment, Trein sighed into his glass.

“Being a parent is not about sacrificing your own sense of self in order to cater to your child,” he huffed. “It is about being there to nurture the development of their own.”

Crewel pointedly averted his gaze to one of the ugly, cat-centric, paintings on the wall.

“And perhaps for you a handful of months may not be sufficient,” the older man continued, swirling his wine. “But I’m sure for the Prefect, it would make all the difference in the world.”

.

.

Detention continued, despite your stacking ‘managerial responsibilities.’

Thankfully, it had mostly turned into you sitting in Crewel’s office while you sorted through whatever paperwork you were expected to file and complete. Sometimes a good chunk of the pages would disappear from your ‘in progress’ pile and reappear—perfectly completely and in order—at the end of the evening. You were dead set on never addressing it ever, because if you did he might stop. And he was probably the only reason you were managing to get any of it done on time at all.

Even with Professor Crewel’s help, you were still slow today. And as the night crawled to a close, you found yourself staring at a stack of blank pages without a thought to go with them. The only thing swimming in your head was murky tar and the cloying taste of black magic that came with it.  

“Is there something you want to discuss?” Crewel called from his desk across the room. “You seem distracted.”

“I can’t,” you grumbled, something wobbling in your jaw. “Not to the people I want to talk about it with at least.”

Something shuttered slipped across his expression, and he nodded and went back to his own work. You stared at him for another moment, debating.

“What do you if—” you froze and hurriedly looked back down to the pen in your hands.

“If…?” Crewel pressed.

You sighed. “You know, sometimes you care about people, yeah? And maybe they’re not always perfect, but you still care. But then…” You chewed at your lip. “I don’t know. Can people still be good if they do bad things sometimes? Like, if you’d disagree with them completely, but they see it as right anyways?”

‘They’d be taken away?’

‘I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?’

You thought of Riddle, and Leona, and Azul, and Jamil. And now Vil. You grit your teeth so hard they started to ache.

Professor Crewel looked a bit startled, and you couldn’t really blame him. It was the most you’d spoken to him in weeks.

“I suppose that would depend on you,” he said after a moment. “And if that ‘disagreement’ was big enough to change how you viewed them entirely.”

“I don’t know…” you frowned. It certainly felt like something big. But...

“Well, what have you done about it?”

You blinked. “What?”

He waved his hand at you, and that pointer of his snapped across his palm. “Have you told this person that what they’ve said bothered you?”

“…well, no,” you mumbled.

“Then that’s what you need to do first,” he said, firm. “You won’t have an answer to anything you’re fretting about until you can face that at least.”

“And then what?”

Professor Crewel hesitated then, his mouth working as if he couldn’t really decide what he wanted to say. Or maybe like he was thinking over his words very, very, carefully.

“Do they know that they’ve done wrong by you?” he asked at last, not quite as sharp as before. “And—more importantly—if they know they’ve upset you, are they trying to make it right?”

You had a sudden feeling that he wasn’t really talking about your question anymore. The words settled heavily in your gut, but not in a way that was entirely unpleasant. More like the comfort after eating a full meal rather than the all-encompassing dread that so often took residence there instead. You thought of fancy cookies, and dogs, and cozy coats that were warmer and softer than the best blankets you’d ever used.

“Right,” you said after a moment, and glanced away with a secretive sort of smile. “I guess that would be the most important bit.”

.

.

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[soubi122]

Funeral

This is a oneshot that was collecting dust in my drafts and I finally managed to finish it - ft kakucho.

Warnings: Domestic violence, smut, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of death, slight dark content, alcohol, language, slight angst and fluff.

MDNR - MINORS, respectfully, GO AWAY.

You never thought about being this happy at a funeral. Past funerals attended were full of grief and sorrow. The person who left the earth would be someone whom you'd dearly loved or were close with, someone who you felt was taken too soon. But this was different, the funeral taking place today was for none other than your husband. What you thought would be the best thing in your life turned out to be a nightmare. 

At the funeral many people flooded the marble floors, paying their respects to the dearly departed. His large portrait was on a stand surrounded by white and yellow chrysanthemums. The sight of these flowers was too pure for the vile being that was being honored today. Strangers were coming up to you and bowing - giving their condolences for your loss. They placed small envelopes in a box, a red and gold box that you wanted to burn. He deserved none of the generosity offered today. 

The black veil that covered your face felt like a mask, obscuring your features to avoid people gauging your reactions or grief, it also hid the ugly bruises and swollen eyes. For hours you've been sitting in that cushion and in pain. Your ribs were aching, the throbbing in your head wouldn't stop, the taste of metal on your tongue was driving you mad. As the funeral was winding down, the director approached you with a warm smile, years of practice and empathy made this process easy for them. “Mrs. (L/N)? We're at the last 10 minutes - we will begin escorting the guests out.” You nodded and were about to get up and leave but a tall figure approached you. Oh god, please… no more 'sorry for loss', 'your husband was a great man' lines. You think to yourself as you look up and notice the male's features. Raven hair, a scar that ran across the right side of his face to the left eye - despite his threatening appearance, the look in his eyes was sincere. 

Remembering him as a recent acquaintance of your husband, you knew they were coming to ask about his will. Business is business after all, it will keep going even when you are laying on a metal slab or are 6ft underground. “(Y/N), I'm very sorry for your loss.”  His stern but gentle tone caught you off guard. As you were beginning to bow, he spoke again - “We will need to speak regarding your husband's affairs and assets.” Here we go…the ever looming threat of his wealth was barreling towards you already and his ashes have yet to be scattered into the wind. The vultures were ready. “His attorney will be reading the will tomorrow - I'm sure he outlined what is to be done with his assets.” The raven haired man said nothing more and bowed, taking his leave. Finally, this act was over. 

You made your way to the penthouse that you were forced to call home but now that he was gone, you welcomed the emptiness that awaited you. Kicking off your heels, you exhaled a sigh of relief and slid down to the floor - barely noticing the figure that emerged from the dark corner of your kitchen. Only when you heard the sound of a click did you notice the shadow. You began to put your hands up and stare into the dark corner, waiting for the figure to emerge. “Sorry to do this during your time of grief, but this is urgent.” The same scarred man approached you, he had a gun in hand, loaded and pointed in your direction. 

Soon more figures emerged from the dark corners of your home. How the hell did they get past security? A knot began to form in your throat as the man tilted his head, pointing towards the kitchen island and telling you to take a seat without words. You got on your feet and made your way towards the island, silently taking a seat with your hands still up. The final figure that emerged was that of a shorter male with silver hair and eyes that looked like they haven't had a good night's rest in months. The dark circles became even more prominent by the dimmed overhead lights in your kitchen. “You can put your hands down, dollface.” One of the many men spoke, his tone was that of a psychopath - to avoid invoking anyone's wrath, you put your hands down on the counter. “Your husband's assets belong to us - at tomorrow's reading, you will relinquish them without any opposition.” A third voice said and his figure stepped into the dim light. He too had silver hair but his was long and he had eyes like a feral cat. A light chuckle escapes your lips as you reach for your coat pocket. In an instant your head was pinned against the counter, making you grunt and a gun was pressed against the back of your skull. “Don't even try, gorgeous…” Long slender fingers reached for the hand that held the metal object, prying it from your hold. “It's a cigarette box…” You say quietly without moving or resisting. 

With a nod, the shorter man gave permission for them to remove the gun, allowing you to lift your head from the counter. “We will have someone accompany you to tomorrow's reading…as a safety precaution - wouldn't want you to make a break for it.” Your silence spoke volumes to them. “We can also just make you hand everything over without the attorney present.” Another voice said from behind you, his tone was much softer than the one who pinned you down. Just what the hell did your husband get into? How did they know where you lived? The only thing you could do is nod. “Kakucho, you and these three will stay with her until tomorrow's reading. Takeomi and Mochizuki will bring you some spare clothing in the morning.” The man who you assumed was Kakucho nodded. Were they really planning to spend the night here? Or did they have other plans in mind? Did they want to break you more than your husband already did? You looked at the man with the short silver hair, his eyes were empty, bare and cold. Though the veil covered your face and hid your expression, he saw right through it - the submission and fear. “They won't touch you unless you give them a reason to…” His words of reassurance did just the opposite. 

Once the rest of the men left your penthouse, the others that remained began to make themselves at home and turned on the lights. Turning to face them, you noticed that they were all dressed in suits, had wildly colored hair and two of them had neck tattoos. The more ‘normal’ looking one was the raven haired man, with the exception of his facial scar. “So, dollface…you're probably wondering what your dear ol' husband did in order for us to be here…” The male with the psychopathic tone spoke, the two diamond shaped scars on the corners of his mouth curved as he smiled wickedly at you. Never have you seen such beautiful crystal eyes on such a sinister looking man. “You're scaring her Sanzu, she'll be sleeping with an eye open now thanks to you.” The coy and playful tone of the tallest male made you look in his direction. He had clean cut short purple tresses, the neck tattoo robbed your attention from his lavender eyes and handsome smirk. If you were to stand in front of him, you were sure to get top shelf vertigo. “Mikey said not to touch her.” The third male spoke, he had almost a matching hair color to the taller man but in mullet form, he too bore a neck tattoo - wait…that hanafuda design…it can't be! Alarm bells started going off in your head, you've seen the news, heard the rumors and seen first hand at what Bonten is capable of. That life of peace that you thought you were going to have? Well it just went up in smoke. These men were probably going to torture you, rape you or throw you in a brothel to pay off whatever your husband owed them. 

It felt like your chest was about to burst, the anxiety was ravaging your nerves and mind. The shortness of breath and trembling started, when the raven haired man noticed, you were on the verge of passing out. He caught you right before the back of your head met the floor. “Hey! What's wrong?” He asked as you began to have a panic attack. A sharp pain in your chest was making it difficult to breathe or even speak. “Get her some water!” He ordered one of the others as he sat across from you on the floor. The others began bickering, yelling at each other over who scared you. There was too much noise. “I'm going to slowly remove your veil, ok? I'm not gonna hurt you.” His hands gently reached out to you and you screwed your eyes shut. Don't look at me, please…! The voice inside your head screamed, your body was too in shock to move away from him. When he removed the veil, they all went silent. “…fuck, we didn't know.” You could hear one of them say. 

All four men flinched for a split second, recalling when they slammed your head against the counter. The purple and faded yellow bruises on your face and busted lip were staring at them dead in the face. The veil wasn't so that people wouldn't see your puffy crying eyes, it was to hide the pain and evidence of domestic violence.

The silence was overwhelming, making you panic even more - your breathing struggled again, snapping them out of their daze. You felt a pair of hands intertwining themselves with yours. Despite being inside, your hands felt like ice - the warmth of his hands made you feel alive. “I need you to try and take a deep breath. Focus on my voice, squeeze my hand if you understand.” Kakucho's soft and honeyed tone traveled through your ear canal and went straight to your chest. There was a soothing bass in his voice that made you follow his directions. 

Slow and steady you began to take deep breaths, one light squeeze signaled your understanding. A second voice was now in your ear, gently he titled your head in his direction. “Slowly open your eyes and focus on me…what color are my eyes?”  When you opened your eyes, you were met with a pair of lavender orbs and a tender gaze. “T-They're…beautiful.”  You managed to stutter out, his eyes matched the taller male - were they siblings? Your comment made him smirk softly, usually when people stare into his eyes they see death. “Rindou, I think she likes you…” The taller male whispered as he noticed the slight blush on your face. Finally, you were beginning to relax and breathe normally. Who would have known that the world's most dangerous men could soothe your soul? “Here, take small sips at a time.” The man with the diamond shaped scars said to you and handed you a small glass of water. Little by little, you were able to think straight without panic or anxiety. “So you can call us by our names and trust us - my name is Ran, this is my brother Rindou.” The tall male said. “The knucklehead you see over there with the pink hair is Sanzu and finally, in front of you, you have Kakucho.” Their introduction was not needed but worthy of making you feel a little at ease. 

Kakucho released your hand and helped you get on your feet. “Please, get some rest - we need to be on time for tomorrow’s reading.” That's right, these men stated that everything your husband owned was theirs. The question slipped your tongue when you opened your mouth, “Will I be set free or sold tomorrow?” Ran stepped closer and cupped your bruised cheek, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “That's not for us to decide.” Depending on what Bonten's king says, he will ultimately determine your fate - even after his death, your husband is still finding ways to break you. 

With your head hung low you made your way to your room. “Keep the door open, dollface.” Sanzu said as he sat on the Burrow couches and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. It made your eye twitch, your husband would have made you sit on the floor if that were you. Despite being at home, you had to be perfect, primed and ready for anything. To have such freedom and fearless nature, you envied it. 

It was useless to try and protest keeping the door open. Walking into your bedroom, you began to lay out clean clothing - the day was long, you needed the comfort of warm water to relieve the ache in your ribs, the aches on your legs and arms. Once you had everything ready, you picked up your bathrobe and went to the bathroom - quietly closing the bathroom door. You took a long hard look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the bruises on your face, the marks across your neck and the redness in your eyes, it was over. Your life was over before it even began. That freedom you were hoping to have was now dependent on someone else. 

After filling the tub you began to slowly shed the clothing that clung to your figure. You had hairline fractures that were making it impossible to stay still during the funeral. The bruises extended down to your hips and thighs. Something no else would see. After showering you settle in the bathtub, gently laid back and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you should even continue to walk this earth…

Several minutes of staring into space, the door to your bathroom opens and in walks Kakucho. His calm demeanor was rather comforting - you were used to seeing your husband walk through that door with a scowl on his face or worse, a liquor bottle in his hands. “I’m not trying to drown myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” You say while slowly sitting up. You were surprised that they gave you this much privacy knowing that you could have called the cops or signal for help. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust the cops. That dearly beloved husband that departed this earth always had his way anytime you or someone else would call the cops. They would ask questions but your husband would pull them to the side and slip a small stack of bills in their pockets to keep them quiet. As soon as they would leave, he’d continue where he’d left off. Days would go by where you couldn’t even walk or let alone stand due to the pain. 

“Please be ready by 8:00 tomorrow, the reading is at 10:00...” He says and hands you a towel. Guessing by how they are looming over you like this, they wanted to make sure you’d be able to attend tomorrow’s reading. He was about to walk away but you pulled his sleeve and stopped him. “I need help.” You spoke meekly and avoided his eyes, as much as you didn't want to ask - you needed his help. “Oh…I won't look.” He said, closing his eyes and turned the other way as he extended his arms for you to reach out and grab. Sucking in a deep breath you braced yourself for the next painful seconds of your life. Kakucho could hear you struggle and grunt as you were struggling to get up. It was exciting to him, but he refused to indulge. With his eyes still closed, he spoke - “Your face isn't the only thing bruised, is it?” Usually they don't pry into other people's affairs but this was different. Gathering information was his specialty, but your docile nature drew him in. 

Kakucho felt compelled to at least leave you with something to take care of yourself with. Despite Bonten's reputation and crude nature there was still some sort of kindness in their subconscious. “My late husband would beat me almost everyday if something wasn't up to his standard.”  You said while wrapping yourself in a bathrobe. Maybe, just maybe they'd have a little mercy on you if you tell them the truth. “Yet he wanted me to conceive a child…and he fucked me nonstop until I couldn't walk… “ Kakucho felt his hand twitch for a second, raising your hand at a woman - it made his blood boil. Even though Bonten was involved with prostitution, their merchandise would still be protected. 

Your mother-in-law's declining health led to her asking you to bear her only son's child. It was a request made out of love. She loved you and adored you like her own daughter, yet she was completely blind to her son's true nature. Manipulative, cunning, aggressive and silver tongued - that's what he was. He tried to knock you up but had no luck. With a visit to the doctor, you'd come to find out about your infertility. This caused a maelstrom of emotions, you were glad yet heartbroken. Cursed to suffer alongside him and unable to conceive. After his mother's death the beatings worsened, the cheating began and so did the drinking.

“Did you miscarry?” Kakucho's question made you chuckle, making him open his eyes to face you. The sight in front of him was that of beauty and horror. The thin bathrobe left little to the imagination, the outline of your perky breasts made him blush. Your figure was gorgeous, your frame was perfect and your eyes almost had an ethereal glow to them. Yet the bruises on your body made him sick. How could someone do that to you? Was your love and devotion not enough for that sadistic son of a bitch? “Apparently I'm hollow…” Your hands caressed your belly as you spoke. Confusion was written all over his face. “I can't have children.” For someone who knows very little about you, he was ready to kill your husband but alas he was already dead. Someone beat him to it. 

There was little to no emotion in your voice. You accepted your infertility and begged to be divorced but he refused to let you go. He refused to see you happy, let alone happy with another man. “I know it doesn't mean much now but I'm very sorry.” Kakucho says and breaks you out of the misery spiral. For the first time in your life since your mother-in-law's death - someone actually said something sincere to you. “Thank you. Who knew strangers could provide such comfort?” You say and head to your bedroom to get dressed. Something about you made him curious. What else were you forced to endure? 

From the doorway you could see the other three males laying on the couches and nodding off to sleep. Looking back at Kakucho, you noticed his eyes never left you. There was warmth building up inside you, but the reality of it all loomed over you like a rain cloud. Yet, the urge to feel that warmth overpowered you. “Mind if I close the door?” There was a tinge of playfulness in your tone. You knew he would keep his eyes on you. He nodded and gently closed the door himself, he didn’t want to catch the attention of the others. 

Shedding the bathrobe and letting it drop to the floor, you kept eye contact with him. You could hear him swallow thickly as his eyes began to wander around your naked figure. Kakucho just about groaned as your body was on full display. The bruises, scars and cuts drew him in like a moth to a flame. He began to walk towards you and closed the distance. Seeing how you could barely lift your arms or bend over, he helped you get dressed. There was tension but as much as he wanted to act on it, he couldn’t. You were too fragile to even touch. 

Finally after helping you to bed, he stepped out of the room and left the door ajar. “I know that look…” The sound of Ran’s voice broke through the silence. Turning around, Kakucho saw that Rindou and Sanzu were asleep on the couch. Ran was sitting by the island and smirking at him. “We might need a little help tomorrow.” Kakucho says and makes a phone call. The remainder of the night was quiet, you slept peacefully for the first time in 3 years. 

*the next morning*

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, it was gently tugging at you and waking you up. Mumbling, you turned to face Kakucho. He was standing next to your bed. “It’s time.” He says softly. Slowly sitting up you notice he was the only one with you. The others had left already, maybe they were making their way to the lawyers office…wait, what time was it? Grabbing your phone, you see that it’s 8:30 a.m.- you were late. Sensing your panic, Kakucho explained that they let you sleep in as the reading wasn’t until 10:00 a.m. 

During the car ride, you stared out the window and wondered if you would live to see the next sunrise. “Did you tell your boss about that?” You asked him and broke the silence. Apparently there was more than just a simple helping hand last night. You laid your soul bare and told him some additional information that Bonten needed to be aware of. “It’s been taken care of.” He says and keeps his eyes on the road. 

When you arrived, you made your way to the office and upon entering you saw it. Well to be exact, her. Your husband’s mistress and the wicked smirk she had on her face. She was clad in a skin tight black dress that accentuated her bust and belly, a large ‘fur’ coat, stilettos and was wearing bright red lipstick. It was a stark contrast compared to you. You were appropriately dressed like a widow, wearing black dress pants and a black blazer - it was to cover your bruises and also be comfortable during this shitty reading. You had neutral makeup on, just enough to hide the bruises and dark circles. “Well well…you showed up knowing that you ain’t getting shit. How bold of you (Y/N).” The mistress said while eyeing you up and down. Kakucho glared at her, after what you told him last night - he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her face.

In walked the lawyer about 2 minutes later, he was a very short man with gray hair and thick glasses. He carried a serious look on his face and by the creases in his face, you can tell his scowl was permanent. Clearing his throat, the lawyer sat down and confirmed that the required party was present to begin. Before he could begin with the reading, the mistress interrupted him by saying something that made you ball up your fists. “Sorry, I need to run to the ladies room. Being pregnant and all, you just can’t hold your bladder.” Her faux apologetic tone was a jab at you and your infertility. Of course she knew, your husband made it known to every prostitute he slept with. How she managed to stick him, you weren’t sure but you no longer cared enough to harbor any jealousy towards their affair. The only thing that managed to hurt you or cause you anger was the fact that she always threw your infertility in your face. It was worse when she found out she was pregnant with his child. Constant bullying and teasing by them both ensued. She was currently 4 months pregnant.

When she returned, you kept your eyes focused on the lawyer and asked him to proceed. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as her. “Very well…we are gathered here today to read the final will and testament of (Husband’s Name). ‘To my wife, (Y/N), I leave to you only one thing, my mother’s wedding ring.’ To- ” The lawyer was interrupted by the loud cackle of the other woman, she was laughing and holding her sides. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to rip her tongue out. Kakucho placed a hand on your shoulder and snapped you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry, oh that was too funny! Please go on.” She says and wipes tears from her eyes and calms herself.

The lawyer subtly rolls his eyes and proceeds. “As I was saying, ‘To (Mistress’s name), I leave to you all my assets and fortune as you carry our child and my bloodline.’...” Of course she was elated and smiling from ear to ear. Kakucho could see that she was only looking forward to the money and didn’t care that the man in quest had passed away. She was giggling and making a whole scene about how lucky she was and how the god’s blessed her. The lawyer kept reading the will and then the room went silent when the lawyer read the last line of your husband’s will. “In order for (Mistress) to claim any assets and fortunes, a paternity test will be required to prove that the child is the biological child of (husband’s name) no later than 1 month of the child’s birth. In the event that the child is not his, all assets and fortunes will go to his spouse, (Y/N).” As she is a floozy, you knew there was a 3% chance that it wasn’t his child. All eyes turned to look at her and her face was red. She was pissed. “How dare he question his own child?! I will prove it as soon as I am able to get the paternity test!” She yelled and huffed. To be honest, you just wanted to go home, you didn’t care who ended up with anything - Bonten was going to take it anyway.

Just then Kakucho’s cell phone rings, he lightly taps your shoulder and gives you a warm smile before he steps out of the room. The mistress caught it all. Her fires simmered when she noticed the look of what she assumed was worry on your face. “Moving on so soon (Y/N)?” She says and it looked as if she was baring her fangs at you. Maybe she could try and take Kakucho from you too. You ignored her question and asked the lawyer what needed to be done in the meanwhile as the mistress was in her 2nd trimester. He explained that you will manage all assets and issue a monthly allowance until the child is born. 

After 10 minutes, Kakucho walked back into the room and asked you not to contest the will. You figured that Bonten instructed him on how you needed to proceed. They will obtain the assets through the mistress, knowing them - it will be easier than dealing with you. You knew the ins and outs of the legal world so you may be able to contest in some sort of way. It was a little upsetting that you were being tossed aside but at the same time you were grateful that you didn’t have to continue suffering for your husbands fuck ups. 

The lawyer presents you and the mistress a document, it was to confirm that you were present at the hearing and will not contest the will. You read over the information to make sure it was all accurate, once confirmed - you signed it and returned the documents to the lawyer. The mistress was so giddy and had a shit eating smirk on her face that it made the lawyer roll his eyes again. The poor man was not having it. Once everything was signed, his assistant came to collect the documents and was personally dropping off the documents to the courthouse for filing. Everything was to be expedited and they did not want to waste any time. “(Y/N), I guess I will come by before the end of the month and drop off my things. Since I will be moving into the house and all.” She says smugly and leaves the office. You wanted to punch her in the face but had to resist the urge to upset her as she is pregnant. It’s not the baby’s fault that their mother is a fucking bitch.

Standing up, you thanked the lawyer and headed out, leaving Kakucho behind. You were so overwhelmed with emotions that you forgot about him and just wanted to go home to pack up your things. You didn’t want to leave anything personal behind for that woman to enjoy. Once you were out of sight, Kakucho placed a document on the lawyer’s desk. He didn’t say a word and let the lawyer read it to himself first. The lawyer gasped and chuckled. “I expect you will arrange a meeting within the next 2 weeks, yes?” Kakucho said and the lawyer nodded. He exited the office and headed back to headquarters. 

The next few days were a blur, you were trying to figure out what to do with your personal belongings and searching for a new place to live. Even if your husband would have left you the penthouse - you didn’t want it. There were too many bitter memories in this hellhole. Lucky for you that you set aside money for yourself and weren’t fully dependent on your husband, you were able to afford living comfortably by yourself. With some of your injuries healed or at least not as bothersome, you were able to move around a little better. It allowed you to pack and put things in storage. Luckily, Kakucho came by everyday to help you. He was extremely kind and believe it or not a great cook. In the midst of all the chaos in your life, he was slowly becoming your rock. 

There were innocent gestures that made your heart skip a beat. As much as you tried not to get attached to another man, it was hard when the man in question was treating you like an actual human and not a punching bag. 

By the end of week 2, you received a call from your husband’s lawyer - he stated that you and the mistress needed to come back down to his office for a final reading and to confirm that the paperwork was accurately filed. You asked if this was something that could be confirmed over the phone but he said no. “It is in your best interest to attend, you also need to sign an additional statement.” Great… You didn't want to see the mistress and her smug face. It was rather short notice, you had to attend tomorrow evening. Ending the call you prepared to let Kakucho know. Either way Bonten was bound to know about this right? Regardless, it was no longer your concern as the mistress would be taking hold of all your husband’s assets. 

A hard knock on your front door spooked you and you thought it was going to be none other than her as she promised to stop by. Huffing in annoyance you walk over and open the door but were caught off guard by the gentleman that stood in there. “(Y/N).” Kakucho was standing in the doorway and made a chill run down your spine. The timing was too perfect. Were they wire tapping your home? You wouldn’t be surprised. “You’re still packing?” His calm demeanor was rather soothing and welcome. Opening the door wider you let him in. “I have to.” You smile softly. 

He noticed that you were packing other things that were rather questionable and gave you an odd look. You chuckle. Kakucho was taken aback at how sweet your laugh was. He realized how much you changed, it was like night and day. On day one, you were broken and quiet - almost frail and had given up on life. Today, you are warm and vibrant. Was this the same woman? 

Throughout the day you were drinking wine and offered him some, at first he refused as he was technically on the job but you somehow got him to accept. Now you were down to the third wine bottle. Getting to know your executioner was rather endearing. Aside from Bonten being what it is, their members weren’t as bad as they seemed - well for now anyways. With the previous visit leaving a bit of tension behind, the wine was giving you the edge you needed to get closer. Who knows, this might be the last time you could sleep with someone of your choosing. Bonten might end up selling you or leaving you penniless. 

“So, why do you do this?” You ask and lean your head back on the couch. You both were sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. There were multiple boxes, papers, momentos and wine bottles scattered about. Kakucho picked up a photo and looked at it, exhaling as he pointed at your husband in the photograph- “To keep people like him in check.” There were various things that came to light after you asked Kakucho to elaborate. Backroom deals, gambling, fraud, prostitution and of course murder - they were all dealt with by Boten. Your husband ended up joining them as a partner after trying to move into their territory. Some things were a little familiar to you but there were other unsavory things that hit you like a truck. It made you sick. Your husband owed them money amongst other things.

All this wealth was obtained by walking on other people’s corpses. Your husband not only destroyed you but he also destroyed others. It was naive of you to think that you were the only one who was taking in his wrath. Sensing your disquiet, Kakucho opted to change the subject. “You will be set free, (Y/N).” He says softly. Turning to look at him, you noticed his eyes were glossed over - oh that innocent look on his face… It made you want to devour him. “You know you shouldn’t promise things like that.” You say coyly. You were just teasing but at the same time you meant what you said.

Taking a chance and letting the liquid courage take over, you leaned over and pressed your forehead against his. The unsteady breathing and sweet scent of alcohol only drew you in. “What are we doing?” He whispers and almost pouts when you bite your lip. “I want you to make me feel like a woman again.” You almost whimper your reply and place your hand on his chest. Oh you just made Bonten’s number 3 head spin. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours - hungrily devouring every breath and whimper. For once, you were enjoying getting kissed, you were enjoying the taste of alcohol on someone else’s lips and you were sinking into bliss.

You felt your heart racing, it was racing out of excitement rather than fear. His hands began to travel along your body and touched places that you never thought would make your heart skip a beat. The more heated the kiss got, the more you wanted him to lay you down already - you were desperate. 

Feeling bolder, you moved your hands south and felt the bulge that was throbbing. You breath almost caught in your throat - he felt bigger than anything you’ve ever had before, larger than your now dead husband. Wasting no time, you made haste and unbuckled his belt, you were leading. Throbbing in your hands was Kakucho’s member, oh the gods gifted him with more than just a menacing look. Leaning back away from him you took in the sight in front of you. Heavy panting, chest heaving, glossy eyes and parted lips - he was beyond handsome. You paused a little too long before you were snapped out of your daydream. 

“You’re not gonna leave me like this are you?” He pants and moves your hand in a stroking motion, sending a jolt of electricity down his shaft. Oh how he was making your brain turn into mush. Continuing your motions, you felt your core aching and in desperate need of attention. Running your thumb over his leaking slit, you felt his hips jerk and he let out the sweetest moan. “Kakucho…” You say coyly and put a little more pressure around his length. He moans a response and gazes at you. His mind was also melting and on the verge of turning into mush. “Can I…taste you?” You ask while leaning in and give his tip a kitten lick that makes his eyes roll back. He chuckles and gives you permission to devour him.

Taking him in your mouth, you taste his sweet essence and bob your head slowly up and down. Focusing on his tip, your tongue swirls around the head and he feels his vision getting hazy. He was a lot to take in, with the tip hitting the back of your throat, you had a feeling he was going to tear you apart later. To him it felt like sweet torture, you were giving him affection - something that he hasn’t felt in a long time and yet you were going so slow with your movements that he wanted nothing more than to thrust his hips up to make you gag. Hearing those husky moans and his breath hitch made your folds begin to stick to the fabric of your panties. Pleasing him like this only made butterflies run rampant in your stomach. 

Releasing his member from your mouth, you took a long lick from the base of his cock up to his flushed tip. You continued to take his length further into your mouth but not too deep, you wanted to keep him on edge and make him whine a little longer. Your jaw was getting sore but you wanted to keep going. 

Kakucho placed his hand on the back of your head and pushed you down further. It made you gag a little but you welcomed his actions. They were gentle, unlike your husband - he would force your head down until you couldn’t breathe properly or until you threw up. He would leave your throat and jaw sore for days and wouldn’t care if you could barely eat the next day. Moving your hand to his length, you start to pump his cock while sucking and it sends him into overdrive. “Ngh…(Y/N), wait! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum…” He moans and tries to pull you off but fails. You were determined to swallow his seed. 

The vibrations of your moans travel down his cock and into his core. Kakucho was getting lost in heaven. The very woman who Bonten was going to take everything from was on her knees and pleasing him. Your pace began to quicken as you felt his length twitch and the vein along his shaft pulsed. His coil was so tightly wound that the moment he felt it snap, his eyes rolled back into his skull and that numbing sensation made his toes curl. Hearing him come undone was bliss, to know that you could make a man like him melt and make him whimper - it did wonders to your ego. Your husband would always say that you were good for nothing, that you would never be able to satisfy a man and yet here you are with one of the country’s most dangerous men. You were giving him the blowjob of a lifetime.

Swallowing his thick seed, you made sure to not waste a single drop and continued to suck his sensitive tip even after he emptied himself inside your mouth. “Stop…oh fuck!” Kakucho whines and pulls your hair. Releasing his member with a pop, you smile and slowly stroke him - making his hips twitch and his whimpers louder. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. You felt validated and worthy of satisfying another man, you felt like a woman for the first time in years. Your husband only ever made you feel like a toy, almost as if your sole purpose in life was for him to break you. He would treat you less like a woman and even less as a human being. 

Catching his breath, Kakucho remained seated on the floor - dazed and determined on what to do to you. “Get up…” He pants and pulls you up. That tone of voice was quite authoritative. You obey and get on your feet. He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom. “Strip…” His low tone made a chill run down your spine and you removed your clothing. He too started to remove all his clothing. When he saw that you left your undergarments on, he paused. “Everything, (Y/N).” He demanded and layed down on your bed. Feeling the cool air hit your skin, you shivered and he noticed. “Come here.” He says warmly, he was trying to reassure you. 

Seeing him in all his glory…oh how your cunt clenched instinctively. His defined muscles, the veins on his arms - it made you almost drool. Even the scar on his chest that appeared to be a bullet hole had your slick dripping. Climbing on the bed, you take place next to him and run your hands along his body. The slow and gentle touches made his member twitch. Even in its flaccid state, it still twitched and looked big. He rolled you on top of him and slid his arms underneath your thighs. The confused look on your face made him chuckle. He lifts you by your thighs and slides you up towards his face. The movement was so sudden that it made you squeak in surprise. Looking down at him, his pupils were blown as he had your pretty cunt in his face. 

“Wait…I-ngh!” You moaned out loud as he pushed your hips down and buried his face in your honeypot. He was sucking on your bundle of nerves and wasted no time in making you scream his name. Your hands quickly found solace by holding on to the headboard and your forehead was leaning against the wall. Whoever was lucky enough to be on the other side of that wall could hear you moan like a whore in heat. Kakucho snaked his hand between your thighs and slid two thick digits inside your tight walls. Pumping them in and out while sucking on your clit had your eyes rolling back and your hips grinding into his face. Hearing him slightly struggle underneath you only made your coil tighten. 

Such lewd and wet sounds echoed in the room along with your wanton moans. “Ahn…Ahn…Kakucho! It feels s’good!” You mewl and run your hands along your chest, pinching and teasing your nipples. The electricity coursing through your veins had you in a daze. Not even your husband ever bothered to eat you out before - Kakucho’s gift to you was more than anything your husband could have offered you. He curled his fingers to find your trigger, when he found it your legs were beginning to shake and your hips were stuttering. Your pitch got higher and higher as you neared total bliss. 

That unmistakable tingle that ran down your spine made you throw your head back and total ecstasy as your orgasm was ripped out of you. Kakucho didn’t stop, he kept going - he wasn’t satisfied with just one. “Ngh, s’too much!” You whine and try lifting your hips away from his face. However, the iron grip that he had on your waist made it impossible for you to escape. “Mhn…one more, just one more…” He pants from between your legs. The sound of your sweet voice kept him spellbound. He wanted to keep hearing you cry out for him. 

Your overly sensitive bundle of nerves was throbbing from the continuous stimulation. He moved lower and shoved his tongue inside your tight cavern. Kakucho wanted to taste everything, his warm and wet muscle felt like heaven. With your walls fluttering you thought you were going to lose it again. “Stop! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You whine pathetically, begging him to stop knowing full well that you didn’t want him to. The final push was him tracing circles on your clit with enough pressure to make your vision go white. 

Kakucho made you gush and he took it all. The obscene sounds of him slurping up your honey echoed in the room. Your whole body was shaking from the intense orgasm that you felt almost light headed. Slowly, he slid your body down and made you collapse into his chest. The energy was drained from you, barely being able to move or respond when he asked if you were ok. Only a small hum could be heard from you. Wrapping his arms around you, he placed a kiss on your head and whispered. “We’re not done yet. You wanted to feel like a woman? I’ll keep showing you…” His low tone made you smile softly and bury your face into his chest. 

The rest of the night became a blur. By the time morning came you were left disheveled, sore and satisfied. Kakucho meant what he said. All night he made you moan, scream, cum and cry out in pure bliss. He stuffed you full of his cum to the point where the sheets were beyond saving. His aftercare was even better, got you water and some light snacks for you to nibble on - even medicine for your throat. To think that this was one of the most feared men in all of Japan, last night he was more than that to you. Rolling over, you see Kakucho sleeping next to you. He looked so peaceful and innocent despite the prominent scar on his face. Seeing his chest rise and fall softly, you take a better look at the tattoo on his chest - it looks like all the higher ups have this. You recalled the man with the feline like eyes and the placement of his tattoo on his temple. The two Haitani brothers and their neck tattoos. Also, their leader - the man with the empty eyes and white hair, he had his on the nape. It would be a tattoo that you’d need to familiarize yourself with. 

Kakucho stirred in his sleep and woke up with you kissing his cheek. “Good morning…” You say softly and ask him if he’s hungry. You both opted to get up and shower…together, it ended up in another round of sex that led to skipping breakfast and diving straight into lunch. Offering him a change of clothes, he accepted - besides, the clothes were brand new and never worn. No need to worry about the mistress recognizing it and accusing you of theft of ‘her things’. 

Arriving at the lawyers office, you see that the mistress was already there. She was smiling smugly from ear to ear. When she noticed you with Kakucho, her smile faded ever so slightly - jealous that he was still with you. “So quick to move on…what a shame (Y/N). Looks like you truly don’t deserve any of (H/N)’s fortune.” You paid her no mind, you just had the best night and morning of your life. “I feel bad for you when you give birth, that baby’s gonna have a big ass head just like the mother and father…you might just tear (M/N). You might never be able to please a man again.” You say without thinking. The sudden fire in you made Kakucho almost burst out laughing. Quite the insult to a pregnant woman, she of course gasped and huffed defending her unborn baby’s head size. The poised woman was gone, you no longer had to keep appearances nor bite your tongue. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat made the room fall silent. He took a seat at this desk and went over the original will one last time before making you and the mistress review the already signed and filed documents. Both parties agreed that everything was in place. The mistress couldn’t help but keep chuckling to herself as she repeated words loud enough for you to hear. “...to my wife, I leave nothing.” It was annoying but you didn’t let her get to you - you wanted to come back home and have dinner with Kakucho. 

“Now that both parties confirmed, please note that there is a new document that was received after the filing that affects this arrangement and cannot be disputed.” He says and narrows his eyes. For a moment you felt your stomach flip - what the hell was he talking about? Did the wench take an early paternity test? It’s not like it mattered, you knew you were going to vacate the home and keep your mother-in-law’s ring. That much was certain. Acknowledging the lawyer's words, you asked him to elaborate and explain what the real reason was for you both to be here. He nodded and began to read out loud the document in his hands:

“From the University of Tokyo Hospital, below is the information requested by (Husband’s full name) on (11 Nov YYYY) and (12 Dec YYYY). The original tests and new tests administered resulted in the following:

Spermatozoa count - below 2 million per mil.

Sperm motility - below 20%

Sperm viscosity - high

Sperm morphology - abnormal

Unfortunately, both labs have confirmed that the patient is infertile. With the severe lack of sperm motility and spermatozoa count - treatment is not possible.”

Everything in the room went dead silent. You felt faint and nauseous, was this actually true? The sudden screech of the mistress startled you and she came charging at the lawyer’s desk to snatch the paper out of his hands. She was beet red and almost foaming at the mouth. Reading the document in hand she crushed the edges that she was holding and her hands were shaking. “This…this can’t be! It has to be fake!” She screams and looks at Kakucho who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “You probably faked this document to get in on your whore’s money!” She spits and rips the paper to shreds. The lawyer simply sighs and asks you to sign the document confirming that you were present at this hearing. Apparently your late husband amended his will one month prior to his death. When he received the first results in November he contacted his lawyer to insert a new clause. Originally he wasn’t going to leave you anything, however, due to him sleeping around not getting anyone pregnant - he grew suspicious.

With the mistress screaming like a banshee and almost attacking the lawyer, security was called to have her escorted out. The lawyer was quick to have you and Kakucho sign as a witness to all this. “Ms. (L/N), congratulations - you have all your husband’s assets and fortune. Please rest assured that the mistress will not be able to contest.” He said softly and smiled. His smile was warm, it’s as if he knew this was going to happen. How long was this information in his hands? Wait, is this why Kakucho said for you not to contest the will?

The lawyer excused himself and left the office for you to have a moment to yourself. The room was spinning and thought you were going to die. It wasn’t just the shock from the hospital results but the fact that your husband abused you and beat you non stop for being infertile when in reality he was the one shooting blanks the entire time. You began to laugh to yourself, slowly building up to a cry that made you drop to your knees. It was painful. Recalling all the times he called you hollow or less of a woman when your pregnancy tests would come out negative - it broke your heart. You were both the problem, the blame shouldn’t have been just placed on you. 

“(Y/N), there is something else I need to tell you. We did some digging and whoever was in charge of getting your fertility results a few years back royally fucked up which rendered your tests inconclusive and marked as infertile by mistake. You can have children.” Kakucho says softly and helps you stand back up. A second wave of emotions hit you and panic soon followed. You were fucking him raw yesterday and this morning like a rabbit in heat. “Kakucho…how long have you known for?!” You ask him and shove him. There was a slight pained expression on his face, he should have told you sooner. “That medicine I gave you this morning was a morning after pill. (Y/N), I’m sorry, I let myself get carried away.” At least he was honest. Last night he snuck out of your apartment to purchase the pill and would pass it off as ibuprofen or something since you were saying your throat was sore. Though he wasn’t expecting to sleep with you again in the morning he explained that he would take responsibility if the contraceptive fails. Whatever your decision would be, he will respect it and will do what he can. He made sure to explain this to you and managed to pull you in. Crying in his arms, he embraced you and did his best to calm you down.

“You didn’t sleep with me just for my husband’s assets, did you?” You ask a little broken hearted. The night you spent with him meant more to you than just sex. It was you liberating yourself once and for all from your husband. You didn’t expect to feel something more for Kakucho. Maybe it was the fact that he made you feel validated and praised you like a goddess, but it felt real. “The assets have nothing to do with what we did last night or this morning.” He assured you. 

*4 months later*

You signed off on all documents that allowed you to transfer or ‘donate’ your husband’s assets to Bonten. The head of the organization, Sano Manjiro, handed over a legal sized envelope with your name on it to you. He said nothing and walked away. “W-wait, what is this?” You ask him and he waves you off without responding. Opening the envelope you read over the information and gasp. Though you handed over everything to Bonten, they gave you something in return. Manjiro was kind enough to leave you something that the three of you could enjoy. Kakucho leaned over and placed a peck on your head. “You know, he is kind of excited to be an uncle...” 

END.

TAGS: @anxious-chick

[evaglass]

I like how real the characters of BES feel

I feel like this for many of the characters, especially Taigen.

I know many people highly disliked Taigen at the beginning, including myself, but he grew on me. I really enjoy how Taigen's growth is being handled, and I look forward to see more of the growth he goes through in the future.

I know now opinions on him are mixed, especially in regards to Mizu. I've seen people hoping they both get together, and I've also seen other people still hate him. In my opinion, I would like for them to be together, but not just yet as they still have some growth they need go through as people.

Flaws aren't only just small imperfections, nor do they easily go away at the flick of a lightswitch; flaws can really hold a person and their mindset back. Many of the characters are very flawed, some more than others, but some of them were able to start to grow from them.

Taigen is heavily flawed, especially at the start of the series. In the beginning, he is prestended as arrogant, stubborn, a bit selfish, closed-minded, cocky, etc, but he also he also had some redeeming qualities. Taigen holds honour very highly, and although the bushido code is flawed and in the show, many of the people who subscribe to that code are shown to be hypocritical, but Taigen leans more towards to honour aspect of it.

Taigen is also starting to show remorse on how he used to treat Mizu, and the way it's depicted feels realistic. He doesn't get on his knees and apologizes, but he starts treating Mizu with more respect and like a close acquaintance.

Now, I want to talk about the way Taigen reacted after Mizu told him about finding out about Fowler's plan to overthrow the Shogun and not telling him immediately when she could have; I want to talk about that whole scene in general. Usually, people take sides in that situation, but I can understand why Taigen was upset, but I can tell Mizu didn't withhold that information on purpose. Mizu was healing from her injuries. She was distracted trying to make new steel for a sword because hers broke, and she was overwhelmed. Like I said before, I can understand why Taigen was mad because they needed to move as quickly as possible, and even though Mizu was planning to go after Fowler once she had made a new sword time was of the essence around that moment, and in Taigen's mind he started to think that Mizu was possibly the traditional definition of 'honourable', and when that wasn't the case he lashes out.

What Taigen said to Mizu before he left to defend the Shogun was harsh stating "you really are a demon," and promising to kill her, saying it in tone like he's defeating a terrible beast, he wasn't right at all for saying that but it feels realistic; that scene was supposed to highlight both of their flaws. When people are really mad, they sometimes say harsh things to people around them, especially in the heat of the moment, and eventually, once they start to calm down, they soon start to regret what they said.

Taigen also soon sees how hypocritical many of the people he respected and said to subscribe to the bushido were, which must have been kind of difficult to digest. To Taigen, being a great samurai meant very much to him as it separated him from his broken background. Taigen came from a lower working-class upbringing with an abusive alcoholic father; it's pretty clear he wasn't gonna be a stable kid or much of an emotionally stable adult. It makes sense at the end of the season he wanted to be happy rather than just achieve greatness; the greatness he thought he wanted stems from people whom he used to respect, people who were shown to be corrupted and hypocritical. Taigen thought greatness would be the thing that would make him whole, but he realized it wouldn't make him happy.

Taigen grew a lot throughout the first season, but growth isn't exactly linear, and he has a lot more growth to go through, but that's what's so great about his character because it makes you want to see where he goes next.

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel Incorrect Quotes Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Warning: Cursing

The Smiling Critters Space Riders Au and the character "Z" belongs to @onyxonline

If you haven't checked out the Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) series, you can check out the Masterlist here. The reader will be referred to as both (Y/n) and Archangel. Enjoy!

----------

*Archangel trying on a new outfit*

Crafty: Do you or do you not feel bonita?

Archangel:

Archangel: I feel bonita.

Crafty: Wonderful! Because you look bonita!

----------

Bobby: The reason why you hate physical contact even though you're extremely touch deprived is because it's been so long since you felt loving physical contact from another living being that your brain misperceives it as a threat.

Archangel:

Bobby:

Bobby: So Picky brought home this raspberry lemonade-

----------

*One of the many, MANY fights before the events of Fallen Angel*

Archangel: You'd be stupid to lay a hand on me.

Hoppy: Oh, you'd be surprised how much stupid shit I do.

----------

Archangel: If bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why can't my dad love me?

Hoppy: I thought I was going to have to yell at you, but now I think I should hug you.

----------

Bobby: A party is a celebration of life, bringing people together to let the guest of honor know how much they're loved. (Y/n) has done so much for us. This is our chance to do something for them.

Bubba: By forcing them to have fun at a party that they don't want to be at?

Bobby: I knew you'd understand.

----------

Archangel: Still not over how yesterday when we landed, Hoppy said we arrived 50 minutes early because she took some "shortcuts."

Archangel: Excuse me, we were in space, what do you mean???

----------

Archangel: I desire moisture.

Picky: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

----------

Hoppy: (Y/n) is mad at me, and I'm not sure why.

Bubba: Okay, did you talk before they got upset?

Hoppy: ...yes?

Bubba: That's probably it.

----------

Some fan: I wanna be an archangel!

Archangel: What the fuck do you want this shit for? I kill people, all right? Their blood is on my hands! Every night, when I go to sleep, I see their FUCKING faces staring at me! Their families weep, and I FEEL NOTHING! I'M DEAD INSIDE!

That same fan: Man, I want some of that in my life!

----------

Bubba: Don't weep for the stupid. You'll be crying all day.

----------

Archangel: There is no future. There is no past. Don't you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that people insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every fact.

Picky: ... All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake first.

----------

Archangel: What is love?

Dogday: An emotional minefield.

Bubba: A neurochemical reaciton.

Kickin: Baby don't hurt me.

----------

Bubba: I have the sharpest memory here - name one time I forgot something!

Hoppy: You left me, (Y/n), and Catnap in a Walmart parking lot at 2 AM a day ago.

Bubba: I did that on purpose, try again.

----------

Archangel: I'm not funny, I'm just really mean and people think I'm joking.

----------

Z: You're alive.

Archangel: No need to sound so disappointed.

----------

Dogday: I'm going to ask you to be respectful.

Archangel: I will politely decline.

----------

Archangel: And I'd love to be sorry for that, but we all know I've done much, much worse.

----------

Picky: Don't worry, I've got a few knives up my sleeve.

Archangel: I think you mean cards.

Crafty: She did not.

Picky, pulling out knives: I did not.

----------

Archangel: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.

The Space Riders: Awwww.

Archangel: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."

The Space Riders: Oh.

----------

Archangel: Who the fuck-

Dogday: Language!

Archangel: Whom the fuck-

Dogday: No.

++++++++++

Author's Note: Now that I made a lot of progress with my thesis paper, I'm going to focus on finishing Chapter 3. I don't have an exact date, but it is coming soon. Thank you for your understanding.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XVII): Anti-Hero.

Imagine Aemond is the King of Westers when you, a Greyjoy, rebel against his rule on behalf of a pretender to the throne.

Warnings: lots of drama, angst; smut, fluff ending like always.

***

•I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser. Midnights become my afternoons when my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.

Just as Aemond lands, rain begins to fall. Storms usually bring bad omens, but he takes his time in going back inside. He knows he’s expected and yet the prince has no need to rush inside.

His hair is soaked as well as his leather robes. Nevertheless, he acts as if he’s been barely touched by the foul weather. Iron doors are pushed so Aemond walks inside. The moment he does Ser Criston Cole greets him.

“I salute you, lord. It appears you bring me bad news.”

“Has my grave look delivered it?”

Aemond doesn’t show him any emotion.

“The king lays in his deathbed and has requested your presence.”

Tragedy has marked the few years since his older brother won his crown upon the longer period of time spent fighting Rhaenyra and her children. Madness followed when sweet Helaena went on her free will to the grave once the twins were bitterly deprived of their lives.

Because Lucerys had to be avenged for what Aemond caused. Their mother, some would whisper, did not last longer either. Victory came when most of the greens were buried and the blacks were dead and gone.

Now all that has remained is Aemond, recently a widower after his lady wife, the unpopular Alys Rivers, died in childbirth, preventing the greens to continue their lineage since their unborn child never breathed their first breath.

He tries not to dwell in the dark waters of the past if he does not wish to be drowned in the worst depression that could make any sane man sink into it.

But a path of blood has led him to this moment. One that he always desired. At what cost, though?

“I shall see him. No need to show me the way.”

Ser Criston doesn’t seem pleased with the cold remark of the prince who has been like a son to him, but the knight knows his place and lets him be.

Aemond soon takes the stairs and in this state, he walks to his oldest brother’s privy chambers. Once he gets in, unannounced, the silver haired prince is surprised by the bad smell that comes in.

It’s the smell of death.

“Brother”, the ghostly, pained voice reaches his ear in a most unpleasant way.

Aegon II is prostrated unhealthily in bed, the opposite of what his young self used to be. The weight of the crown costed much, but no price was high enough to restaure his sanity, health or, worse perhaps, his glorious past. In his eyes, there is nothing but the disgrace of another kinslayer, consumed by remorse.

A terrible sight to behold.

“My king”, he bows his head.

“Even in my darkest hour you are tied to formalities”, Aegon snarls in disdain. “It should have been you here, not me.”

“Time has always been a great thief, on that we agree, but do not think the shadow of death will not be casted upon me”, responds Aemond in a whisper.

“I should have been wiser”, says Aegon with eyes blurred by tears. “The older I grew, poorer were the decisions made.”

Aemond doesn’t know what to respond, opting for silence. In truth, he’s always been more of a soldier than a general. Always one to follow orders than give them. Or perhaps the civil war has led him to shape this perspective of himself.

“What good is there to think of what should or could have been done? The past is there for a reason.”

“How can you be so cold?!”

“I am being reasonable, logical even. Where is the need of being sentimental when pointing facts?”

“The woman whom you fought so hard has died! And here you are!”

Out of respect for the dying king, Aemond doesn’t pick this battle to fight. Not again. Not now.

“The crown is yours to use. But there is one thing you must be told before I’m gone…”

Aemond steps closer now, accustomed with the bad smell. The heat of the fireplace seems unwelcoming now that he’s friends with the cold.

“Yes?”

“Not every kin has perished in the war”, he murmurs.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, this is the first time in a while that Aemond has shown some emotion.

Aegon smirks at his brother, pleased to get him some reaction.

“Two of Rhaenyra’s sons are living”, but for some reason the dying king thinks it’s not his problem to give Aemond their whereabouts. Or perhaps this is remorse for all that he’s done.

Who knows? Who could tell what’s in his mind?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“I am not”, and as if he is suddenly tired of living, Aegon coughs.

Aemond spots blood in his brother’s mouth, but by now his heart and mind are divided in between genuine concern over Aegon, his last remaining family, and the whereabouts of possible pretenders to his throne.

“Aegon…”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, brother.”

That being said, Aegon’s life has been turned into nothingness. The old king is dead. Long live the new king.

***

• I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices. I end up in crisis (tale as old as time). I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)…

You stand in black leather robes by your father’s side the moment a messenger enters the great salon. Outside waves hit the shore violently, announcing a tempest that has been forming in the past twenty and four hours. Clouds have been obscuring the skies, but only by this twilight they’ve been producing electric sounds.

A lightening is heard.

“Well, lord. Under hospitality laws you are welcomed in this household”, says the chieftain of the House Greyjoy. “What news do you bring us?”

The messenger inspires some sympathy in you. He’s younger than your youngest brother and appears to have been made of summer. He knows naught of the perils that coming to Pyke might indulge him. But to his fortune Lord H/N Greyjoy is the head of the House at the moment, which means that he knows the aforementioned laws and would never harm a messenger.

“We have a new king”, by his accent you know he comes from a mid noble house of King’s Landing. “Aegon, second of his name, has died and transmitted the crown to his successor. His brother, lord Aemond Targaryen, is now the new king.”

“Ah”, says Lord H/N, playing with the knife. “A usurper following another usurper. Why does he care about us, often ignored by most Targaryens? Is he familiar that our laws somewhat differ even though we have been paying tribute and homage to them for a while?”

The poor messenger is sweating cold. You think wise to interfere when Lord H/N smiles benevolently.

“Young man, as bad reputed as my house is, we are honorable. At least I like to think my kin and I are. The laws of hospitality mean a great deal to us. But I appreciate the message you delivered us. I presume this means Lord Aemond is expecting that we submit to him as our overlord and king.”

The boy swallows again in relief. You see he’s considering correcting your father for the misuse of titles, but opts not to ruin his fortune.

“Aye, lord. The time to pay homage is soon.”

“Indeed it is”, your father strokes his chin. “These are the days I miss King Viserys. Many took him for a fool, but peacekeeping is the product of hard work. This is what made him a good king. And His Grace respected us, the houses that made his reign proper to rule.”

Then he stands, indicating the time to talk has come to an end.

“Tell lord Aemond that we recognize no king but the one who attends the name of Aegon III, son of the formidable Lord Daemon Targaryen and the queen who should have been, Rhaenyra.”

The warning is done. When the messenger leaves, you pity the poor lad’s fate. As you see the wind whirling against the sea, you say:

“The bad omen is sent by the God.”

It’s your elder brother, your father’s heir, who says:

“What do you understand of such things?”

You shoot him a gaze as if you are speaking with someone whose comprehension equals that of an ant.

“Great tempests like the one that’s been forming is hardly favorable. It is known.”

“A bad omen for the self pretentious new king”, you hear your father correct you. “This is our God preparing us for war.”

“War”, your brother repeats. “Was it necessary, father? We do not know whether the offspring of Queen Rhaenyra are alive.”

“They are”, lord H/N says in a tone that makes clear he knows many more things than he’s letting show. And here is how the schemes begin. “However, we must test the new king’s forces.”

Looking at you, his favored daughter, the head of Pyke says:

“Take with you a great number of men. You do well in tempests like this. The new king will assemble his army, but he’s not foreseeing our attack against his shores, assuming we are going to Lannisport again.”

You nod, unquestioning. Another brother, however, meddles:

“Is it prudent to underestimate the usurper, sire? He collects epithets that make quite a powerful sobriquet.”

“Words as those are meant to break fools by creating unreasonable fear of a man who is just that: a man.” And giving you a look, he says: “You may go.”

You hide away your fears, taking his orders. Unlike your brothers, you don’t question your father and you have no taste for blood. Though sensitive you may be—grieving the loss of your sister springs ago when she was forced to marry a green partisan only to die in childbirth and that of your mother by melancholy made you deal with your rage through violent seas—, you hide away your true self off the eyes of others.

Despite the beauty that brings admirers to your side, iron is set above it so though you never caused any death directly, you had enough power to bring it—which only means how fearful to some you can be, not to mention the protection and favor you have of the family.

Now here you are with the men under heavy rain. It’s time to scheme. Despite the bad feeling you bear with you—the fights you won previously during the civil war for the blacks usually occurred in calm sea, not amidst violent waves—, what else is there to do but to obey your father and overlord?

You turn at the ship and instruct your loyal men to follow you. But you do not enter in it before praising the God you serve and yelling after taking a long sip of wine:

“What is dead may never die!”

***

• It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Aemond’s coronation may have happened with no issues, but brought vices of temper that were not sufficiently tamed during his days of prince. One of which was the obsessive search for the lost sons of Rhaenyra.

Amidst this inconclusive search, the wolves of Winterfell are threatening to revolt at the same time the Krakens of Pyke delivered the message of subtle warning of war.

In spite of the circumstances, he is more than acutely aware of the fragile state of his kingship. This is the time to show his subjects he is not like Aegon.

Nay. He is better.

All the whilst the whereabouts of his nephews remain inconclusive and unknown, Aemond concentrates in issues that expect pragmatism of his part.

The North can still be dealt with the use of diplomacy and he sends his Hightower cousin to Winterfell with gold and an arrangement that works for his cause—presumably a match between a daughter of Lord Cregan and his envoy himself since Aemond has no desires in remarrying.

However, the Greyjoy assault assumes preoccupying colors. What could possibly lead an old house to open rebel against his rule?

“This is easy to resolve”, he shares his thoughts with Ser Criston Cole. “Their fleet will burn with fire and blood.”

Aemond does not fantom how the glory of his moment, albeit with a bloody path that brought him there, can be eclipsed by the refusal of a general acceptance of his rule.

Leaving personal vanities aside, cleaning his judgement of probable vices, the new king understands that the civil war of years ago has not yet been put to an end.

As he watches from the Red Keep the storm outdoors, calmly and steadfastly, a part of him comprehends that he may not be the best loved king time has witnessed and the pen of the maesters registered, but duty is what will always impel him to do what’s best.

If those will not see it through his good, may they see through his worse.

*

You cling onto optimism under the advantage that this is a surprise attack well coordinated, not a spontaneous sack in search for gold, nor an occasion fighting with random pirates.

This is not, however, a mere thirst for adventure being satisfied. The purpose, although ignored by you in great measure, is bigger than what your reason can conceive.

Perhaps you lack ambition to fight your wars, to be manipulated by your father like your brothers accuse him of doing—but what other choice do you have? He’s never treated you unkindly nor forced you upon an unwanted marriage, giving you liberty to do as it pleased you as long as you’d not forget your duties to your house.

You had your mother and your sister to tame your worse tendencies—whether to be slaved by the passions of the flesh or under the sins of pride—, some of which you’ve learned to repress. Now, however, you are where you belong. In the midst of chaos.

You do not like to fight it or to shed blood. To waste lives is a purpose you take no pride of. But leading others to it… or letting them choose to do what circumstances impel them to do so… this is what you are born to do. This is what makes most men fear you, comparing you to your father.

But they don’t see that, underneath this iron, there lies something pure and good. Sensitive. Aiming to be seen, aiming to be truly free of the duty that ties you to your family.

For however loved or useful you may be to your father, you are still under his command. Even here, even now.

However, it would have been prudent to question it, to have followed your instincts. For you have forgotten, or perhaps not have been told, that a storm never stopped King Aemond of flying his great legendary beast.

Waves clash against the ships, threatening to drown the men in them, or perhaps, as you hopefully attempt to see, leading you all to your destination.

But you miss a great shadow following above clouded skies. The night looks longer and deadlier, specially when it’s heard a roar right when a lightening bolt hits the ocean.

It doesn’t take long before you and your men pale as a shadow of the largest creature you’ve ever put your eyes on is casted upon the ship. You yell orders to separate the ships, with each carrying a beast to put it down.

The rain is too strong now and thus muffles your commands. To worse all, fire comes from above. Two of your ships are gone. You try not to succumb to your fear, soon leading the ship yourself. The desperation of your men is heard, but you try not to let the sound shake your core to join them in frustration.

Some of them opt to jump into the arms of the Drowned God and you cannot blame. But as you try to flee out of the dragon’s grasp, to your dismay you spot an outstanding number of fleet coming to your direction.

You flush violently.

“Fuck, we are ruined! This mission has been…”, your voice dies out. What is there to say? Has your father sent you to a trap?

“What should we do, lady Y/N?”, the second in command asks you.

“Never surrender”, your pride takes the iron shield back to surface. “If we must die, so be it.”

Aemond, however, has other plans. Despite burning and leading his own men to suffocate your rebellion before it reaches land, he wants to imprison the leader of it, which means you.

Soon, your ship is bombarded—and you watch as the king’s men slay all of yours, but you.

“Why are you sparing me?”

To no avail you seek death or protest. As if you are nothing, Lannister men hold you tight, removing you from the wrecked ship. By then you do not know whether you are weeping or the rain is washing your face. What difference is there?

You understand death is coming to you soon or later. Realizing that gives you strength, but paradoxically descend into melancholy.

***

• Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I'm a monster on the hill too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city, pierced through the heart, but never killed…Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

Aemond’s victory upon the two threats against his rising reign leaves him comfortable to deal with upcoming events. Whilst there is no indication that only the names of his nephews are alive in the memory of his enemies, with no bodies found he focus in the real threats and these have been placated.

But curious in meeting the leader of what he judges to be a piracy house, he expects to see you soon. Barely he knows, as well as you, what will result of this.

In the meantime, as comfortable as you are in new robes and in fancy quarters of the Red Keep, protected from the storm that is still daunting outdoors, you have your nightmares to deal with.

The sounds of the men screaming as they either embraced death willingly or were deprived of their lives with inutile resistance bend you to your tears. Never before you felt so weak for loving the sea, the wilderness in it.

What hurts more is the realization you were not born to be a soldier. A part of you always expected to be equal your brothers, but your failure shows precisely that you are not like them.

Lost in your contemplations, you are trying to think of a solution about leaving the place when you are surprised by the presence of no one but the king himself.

Aemond has no time to waste in delegating useless tasks that he can do it himself. Thus it is this anxious warlord comes to the chambers he located you.

Whilst he stands there, you and him share a silent stare. The silver haired prince is significantly taller than you, possessing, as you first notice, a long sword in his right side and a dagger in his left. The idea that he came protected to meet you almost makes you smile.

“What reason is there to your lips twirl in a smirk? You have no reason to commemorate”, his husky voice assaults your troubled mind, forcing you to focus on him.

“You came alone to meet me, lord king. Armed. Do I pose you enough danger for that?”

Aemond takes a seat before you. His good, lilac eye studies you intently. Despite feeling crimson paint your cheeks, you do not look away.

“You think too high of yourself, lady Y/N Greyjoy. I suggest you to know your place.”

You fold your arm, mockery rising to your eyes.

“Please, lord. Enlighten me what place is this when you have no morals to speak in such terms.”

Aemond is patient. And unlike many of the men that crossed your path, not tempted to easily demonstrate or slip into his temperament.

“I wear the crown and impose a defeat on your feeble attempt to overthrow me, lady Y/N. It is unwise to dictate the rules of this game.” And then he adds. “A game that you perhaps have not been prepared to play. Has your good father not instructed you on it properly? By the sounds of your defeat, I guess not.”

You clench your jaw. Despite the broken pride and the heat in your throat that might vert in unwelcoming tears, you hold back the instinct of throwing your hands around this king’s neck and break it.

But you’ve never been one back to violence, have you?

“Has the cat eaten your tongue?”

You stand at last.

“Why coming to insult me so freely? Kill me if you must, lord king. One less enemy to humiliate!”

Aemond too stands, hands contrived in his back.

“Nay”, he speaks in almost a whisper. “The rules are not yours to dictate. Besides, with your supporters dead, I have a guess that your father will not come for you.”

With a side smirk, he leaves you. Victoriously so. And as he closes the door, there locking you in, the prince hears your screams.

*

But he wonders what to do with you. This is not a typical rebel, nor a natural leader who easily inspires dissent. A soldier. The word brings him back to his memories when, as the right hand of King Aegon, his brother, he did what you are doing now. Obeying orders.

Intrigued by this comparison, he goes back to your quarters after he finishes dinner. Unannounced, he surprises you combing your long y/c hair, wearing a white night gown. As you readily stand before the noise of opening door, he sees not only fear behind your eyes… but comes to notice the strong firm breasts the silk poorly disguises.

However, to his own sake he best not to look too much in you.

“What are you here for, lord king?”, you ask away, throwing robes over your shoulders. “I-It’s too late for a visit and I shall not be your whore.”

Your words, much to your dismay, make him chuckle. Aemond pulls a chair and there sits, holding your uncomfortable gaze still.

“Despite the inappropriate hour, I had to speak with my lady”, says he.

“What for?”, you retort, still at a corner like a frightened animal.

“I will do no harm to you, Y/N Greyjoy. I am not my brother”, he clenches his jaw, waving his hand dismissively. “All I want is talk. You have my word.”

You hesitate and Aemond sees distrust in your eyes. He doesn’t blame you for this behavior. Now wondering what he’d do if his sister’s forces had captured him many moons ago, he comes to think he’d behave similarly. If not more rudely.

Eventually you cede and take a distant seat of him.

“Well?”, you say, anxious. “Speak your terms.”

“I did not come to bargain”, Aemond smirks. “Why, as a victor, would I do so?”

“I am not your trophy, lord king”, you frown your eyebrows in clearly displeasure. “Either send me home or execute me. Other possibilities are out of consideration.”

Aemond is entertained by how your pride takes the reins of the situation. Ignoring what you just said, he proceeds rather cautiously.

“You are a soldier.”

On that you don’t see it coming. You tilt your head and had not it been for a few scars over your eyebrows and on your neck, besides the calloused hands, he’d take you as a princess.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Patiently, the king explains.

“You were following orders to bring your men here. When we captured you, I’ve already had some informations about you. You are the only daughter of Lord H/N of Pyke, but hardly as skillful as your brothers… at least where bloodshed is concerned. You have a tender heart and even when you sack or pile you tend to have mercy on your enemies.”

You look at him in between astonishment and embarrassment.

“You planted a spy at my father’s household.”

Aemond’s lips twitch in a smile.

“You are clever, my lady.”

You feel a strange urge to weep, but you blink a few times, refusing to cede to it.

“I will not ask why. You’ve been counting on that, haven’t you? But seeing I am useless to my father, why keeping me here at your mercy?”

“I do not think you are useless to him. On the contrary”, Aemond rests his hand over his knee. “I know how cherished you are for him.”

“You are using me to bring out my family and defeat it publicly. My House will stand, lord.”

“There are many ways a House can perish, lady. But this is not about it. Disregarding what you may have heard about me, I was a soldier like you. Obeying orders blindly without questioning. However, I was born to hold a sword. You, perhaps, to command.”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond sees the value you have for your family, but what surprises him is that you don’t share the perspective.

They see the beauty in you, not the iron that lies underneath.

A thought he doesn’t find convenient to share. He stands, having collected enough for his judgement.

You watch as he stops by the door. He knows you have the urge to beg him to spare your family. It is an instinct that many would have in your position. But because you know that he studied you well, you say nothing.

You turn your back on him, disappointing your captor for sparing him of temperamental exhibition.

***

As days turn in weeks, you have been forced to deal with eminent loss of the main purpose that has led you there. Serving your family has not only brought you disgraces or exposed your fragilities to your enemies, but comes to nothing when no news of your father or brothers searching to avenge you reach you.

“A soldier is replaceable, whether by blood or not”, says Aemond.

This evening you two are dining together at his privy royal chambers. You realize the king is a lonely man with unseen scars. Like you.

“You have offended my honor and disgraced my pride”, you speak softly as you take wine to your lips. It’s sweet and part of you wishes it to be poisonous. “Until when do you intend to break my spirit?”

When Aemond raises his eyes to meet yours, your soul is perturbed. You wish you could look away, but not even vengeance is a scheme tolerable by your mind now.

“Despite the circumstances, I wish you had not seen me as such”, he speaks behind the glass he takes to his lips. “I believe there’s much to gain in here.”

“What’s there to gain?”

“Liberty.”

“By what means?”

No answer comes. As you now start to study him, you come to see him as not the villain many folks had moulded him to, but not the hero either. Somewhere in between.

Aemond doesn’t say. Silence again hangs in between you, but this time it has not the same shades of awkwardness.

By the end of the dinner, he is leading you back to your quarters. He sees that you still shake when he takes your hand.

“Lady Y/N…”

You look at him, deprived of your pride.

“Y-Yes?”

“This would all be different had you not openly rebelled against me on behalf of phantoms. I sought about the whereabouts of the princes myself and didn’t find them. Why letting yourself be the pawn of others game?”

You lower your eyes so he doesn’t see the depth of melancholy that has hammered these questions long ago, but the king lifts your chin, there gently holding it.

“What other choice did I have? You, of all, should understand what is like to be tied to the family. Have you never sacrificed anything for them?”

Aemond contemplates you in silence, words that echo that fatidic night where his mother claimed Lucerys’s eye for the loss he suffered.

“I have”, he admits. “More than you will ever know.”

A ghostly smile is seen forming shyly on your lips.

“Then we are not different. Soldiers, like you said.”

And then you stop by the door. Looking back at him, you find the king staring at you. Why, this time, does his intent stare shake you? Why do the parallels between you two bring something more?

Worse is, why does your prison doesn’t feel like one anymore?

***

Aemond leaves the council, certain that no more rebellions will spread. There had been no more words from Pyke, though he’s more than aware that the remaining of your brothers might attempt something in not a near future for he’s been informed that they plan another sack at Lannisport.

In that order, he instructs his spy to pay enough gold to have the Greyjoys protecting the bays of Westeros if they occasionally let go of supporting names that are nothing but a memory of days long put to rest.

However, a question remains: what to do with you?

***

You are allowed to walk freely through the castle. At first this intrigues you. As you love the unknown, you occasionally lose your fear as you start to explore this new environment.

But when going to the gardens and there spotting the sea, your heart aches. As you contemplate those calm waters, you wonder why your father had sent you in such a suicidal mission. He knew you had won previously in placid seas. It was never prudent to combat in ugly storms.

Such are your thoughts that you do not see him coming. Aemond has realized that for a long while he hasn’t come to enjoy a feminine companion, gotten now used to you.

Like a hawk in guard, he sets his good eye to scrutiny over you. This time, your beauty captivates his sight. Your y/c hair, falling down to the mid of your back, is only partially tied according to the local fashion; he notices it’s cleaner and better brushed too. As the sun lights on it, it makes it shine in almost a different shade of y/c.

The gown you dress is silk made and it slips delicately in your body, shaping your curves. Aemond’s good eye notices your hips, how firm they are. He thinks you look good in red and black, the colors of his house. This perception makes him smirk unconsciously.

Feeling you have been under observation, you promptly turn in defense mood, admonishing yourself for letting your guards down, until you see it’s the king, your captor, who’s been the observer.

“Staring is rude”, you do not know how else to greet him and curtsying is not an option; this means that you are subduing to his authority, and as much as you are thankful for his clemency to you, you still have your pride.

Aemond notices it, which amuses. Nothing different that what would have he done, had he been in your shoes.

“Not greeting your king properly is as well”, he remarks. “I thought that even the Greyjoys had some manners.”

You scoff at him in defiance.

“Who do you take us for? Barbarians?”

“No”, Aemond wrings his hands behind his back in his usual composed posture. “Only a folk who is often on combat with their own kin when not assaulting other shores.”

“Please”, you snarl in response. “Says the one who came to power after murdering a few of his own kin.”

Any sign of humor dissipates of the king’s eyes. Darkness casts its shadow upon his face and your smirk is instantly wiped off yours. You instantly regret saying it so, even though you cannot understand why.

“Do not speak of matters that you don’t understand”, the king addresses you in a cold tone.

“Then you should not judge a life that you never lived.”

No one admits defeat. Pride takes victory, thus separating one from the other. For the moment.

***

But your remorse begins to hammer against your conscience. You know if you wanted to make your way, you would. Perhaps seducing the king to buy your ticket to liberty.

As days turn into months and these begin to slowly turn into another year, no signs of the Greyjoys in avenging you shows that there is no point in going back home.

Have you been tamed? You fear to find the answer. It’s when you come for him.

“I need to find His Grace”, you ask Ser Criston, his closest advisor.

The knight looks down upon you and you detest to feel small by this man’s gaze. I’m still a Kraken’s daughter. But you keep the thought to yourself.

“He’s occupied at the moment.”

Sounds come from the king’s bedchambers and you narrow your eyes at what you hear. Why are you flinching upon hearing these scandalous noises?

You do not answer the knight. Lifting your chin, you storm out, perhaps prompted to do something very impulsive.

Which is, for now, getting yourself drunk. Now familiarized with the kitchen and collecting a few friends amongst the servants, you get yourself some good bottles to yourself.

“I do not think wise that you should drink alone, my lady”, a maid responsible to look after you named Gisla tells you concerned.

“Who cares if wine takes my breath away, dear? I am forsaken by all, a prisoner whose life turned into dust.”

As you lock yourself in your bedchambers, you get to wonder why the possibility that the king has found lovers to warm his bed should affect you.

Trying to dissipate these uninviting thoughts, you begin to unlace the gown he gifted you, ready to toss it in fire. Pouring wine in the glass, you try to release your caged spirit in the best way you can.

Now wearing nothing more than undergarments, you open the window in search of fresh air. Moon rises high at sky and when looking at the reflection it casts down the sea, melancholy strikes again.

Having calmed your temper, you start to reason with yourself. Who are you now? A memory that remains, a survivor long forsaken? As you taste the sweet flavor of red wine—Dornish, you are sure—you don’t see the king getting to your chambers.

Aemond is dressed in his usual robes, but looking somehow less than a royal. He throws his cape at the seat, his good eye scrutinizing over your melancholy. Almost twelve months have passed and somehow one remains unreachable for the other.

Under moonlight, he spots a free spirit caged. A woman born to rule, his other half in another life if defeat was meant to him. He did to her what others would do to him. And he realizes how unjust he was.

To secure his throne, he did what he must. But growing used to you, he refuses to let you go. The mere thought of you abandoning him is… unacceptable.

Nevertheless, the king wishes to compensate you. Desire arises, sparked by perhaps his utmost selfishness in keeping you with him.

Or perhaps you are only a gift by the Gods to put an end to this misery. His head is heavy with the crown he wears, a burden that tests his limits and feeds his ambitions.

Yet, all is set aside when he looks at you. Slowly he comes behind you. Sensing an enigmatic presence behind you, you abruptly turn only to find him this close to you.

“Lord king! Your Grace!”, you exclaim out of short breath.

“I see we are welcomed properly now, my lady”, he never noticed until now how deep your y/c eyes are, as if sea is calling him. “I have missed you.”

You scoff, trying to find a way out of his arms, but Aemond doesn’t let you to.

“Will you please let me go?”

“Nay. I was prepared to do so, but I am a selfish man, Y/N. I care about you.”

You clench your jaw, frustrated. So many men have been pushed away, despised and looked down by you, but this king… When you look up, you are trapped.

“You care not!”, your voice betrays your spiritual state. “You have been whoring!”

Aemond’s eye twinkles with amusement. He is now holding your wrists as he pushes you against the wall, his knee gently parting your legs. You feel a strange ache burning your womanhood, rising to your chest.

“What makes you think I was?”

His long, slander pale fingers wrap around your fingers, eyeing your chest with lust, perceiving the hardened nipples under the white nightgown you dress. Then he raises his eyes only to meet your inexpressible face completely red.

“I… It doesn’t matter how I think when it’s a fact”, you try to protest, but it dies incomplete in your throat the moment Aemond gently rubs his knee against your entrance.

You should not enjoy this, but by the Kraken, here is no ordinary man.

“And if it was? Why would you care?”, he is pleased to find some reaction in your eyes at the moment he speaks with his husky voice, a positive effect of him over you.

“I don’t”, you squeak as he continues doing what he’s been doing with his knee.

“Deny me, then. Send me away the way you sent your suitors all before”, Aemond defies you, aroused as you begin to rub against his knee, willingly this time.

Eyes locked in one gaze, no one is ready to surrender. Yet.

“My king should know better whom you speak to.”

“One day you’ll wake up with regrets if I leave.”

You move closer to take hold of his long face, fingertips daringly touching his cheeks, up to his eye—but despite your staring you don’t touch the eye patch. Letting them slip to his silvery hair, wrapping your fingers around his locks, pulling him closer to you.

“Will you dare to leave me, Aemond Targaryen?”

His eyelashes barely open as his lips remain close to yours, his left hand holding your waist as his right one leaves your neck, slipping vaguely and purposely over your breasts before resting over your waist.

“Will you stay, Y/N Greyjoy?”

When you dare to remove his eye-patch, Aemond surprises you by not fighting away your curiosity. Knowing how this means he trusts in you, it’s enough to knock down every other barrier you’ve held up to him.

“Must be exhausting to repress your sentiments to this anti-hero”, he stares at you intently.

“It is”, you gasp, spreading your legs as his hand finally moves under the skirt of your nightgown. But he doesn’t make to your core, not yet, which makes you mewl.

Aemond side smirks at you, waiting to bend you to his will. You barely breathe, but this time you turn the tables by letting another hand finding the way to his pants.

“My lady!”

“You did not take me as a damsel, did you?”, you chuckle, even though he sees you are misleading in your eyes.

In truth, as you feign a confidence you don’t have, all you did was having a limited experience with men. So you did know some things as he can tell by the form your fingers skillfully unlace his pants and…

“Shit!”, Aemond curses.

You giggle quietly, appreciating the mix of shock and libidinous in his wide-eyed gaze. It feels good to have his length throbbing against your hand, how you manage to have him under your control.

It feels so good to deflect him to you, to have captured your captor.

“Gods…”, his moans are sensually low, the pleasure stamped in his features making you wet in your legs.

What is meant to be an instrument of domination is now domineering you. And oh you want more… But then, you stop.

“Y/N…” Aemond groans in between annoyance and disbelief.

“I cannot do this”, you say, detesting to break the spell, but then…

He gives you a quizzical look, perhaps thinking many possibilities of why you are doing this to him after he let himself be so crudely open to you.

Precisely why you are surprising him again when you tell him.

“I am not your whore, Aemond. You either make me your wife and queen, or my life ends right here, right now”, you indicate with your head in direction to the opened window. “I am a Kraken’s daughter. I am the sea, I cannot be caged for longer.”

Maybe it’s the wine, but you are scarcely afraid of holding back a character that hasn’t fitted you for long.

“I grew to love you and even though I am forsaken by my family, more painful would be if I were deserted out of your heart.”

Aemond’s features sooth before your words. Indeed he’s been taken by surprise, a deed few would have claimed to do.

“You could have said this earlier”, says he, shortening the distance between you two, cupping your face with his. “I meant not to dishonor you, my lady.”

“I was afraid you would not…”

“…love you?”, he chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “I fucking do. Hence why I said I’m not prepared to let you escape. I cannot do so. And I am ready to make you my queen.”

One smile is enough to firm the peace between hearts in array.

***

• I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero…

Aemond admires the wild beauty that sleeps next to his side. His queen, at long last announced before the whole realm notwithstanding the disapproval of his council, his wife.

He begins to kiss your face, before burying his face against your hair. No more sorrow when your sea salt scent envolves him in a jolt of happiness never before experienced… not before Alys.

No more past to daunt his heart and torment his mind as his tongue slips to your ear, biting your earlobe and sliding to your neck, his hand pressing against your waist. His eyes remain glued at your peaceful, serene face, despite the shivers that begin on your skin and, as he discreetly pulls off the blankets, sees the exposed nipples hardening.

Aemond is careful not to wake you yet. Admiring your nude frame as his lips move to your neck, he keeps in mind the events of the day before. No protest came from Pyke as one of them is crowned their queen. But you are still resented to write them letters, despite the efforts of your brothers in renewing a direct alliance with the crown—to the Lannisters’ preoccupation.

The king is not here to please anybody, but you. He recollects how beautiful you were in a green, silk gown, appropriated for summer feasts. His mother’s tiara was placed above your head, and your hair down reinforced your sparkling beauty.

As his mouth leaves bruises against your skin, you move lightly, making incomprehensible noises. Aemond smirks, slowly turning over your body, always careful when doing so.

Contemplating your nudity under his gaze, he recollects the night before—and the nights beforehand where he took you as his wife, never able to leave your body, remembering how you mewled under his touch, how humbled you were when you begged.

“My lady likes to be commanded in bed”, he said in the occasion.

“Only you has possessed this right”, so you snapped in between short breaths.

Smiling at the retrospective moment, his lips now move delicate to mouth out your nipples, finally awaking you as his fingers move down to your womanhood.

“Oh Aemond!”, you cry out in pleasure, eyes open with despair, as your body reacts like a big wave sets to hit the shore violently.

“Yes, my lady?”, he takes his time in each nipple until your cries get louder, all the whilst his now two fingers make way deep inside you, already familiar with the walls that clench around it, the spot that is soon making you call his name.

And then…

“I need you!”, you whimper.

Your wishes are prompted complied. What a good way to start your tenure, you remember thinking. When looking at you, Aemond Targaryen knows he is not merely a king, but a man who finally found love in his lifetime.

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Is equality ideal in and of itself?

The reason that governments and companies are focusing on equality of outcome is to rectify past and ongoing injustices and to give everybody a seat at the table.

If somebody is unfairly advantaged and you then do something to help the disadvantaged person catch up, is it bad?

What’s wrong with a 50% target for female representation when both men and women are roughly 50% of the population ? This isn’t unfairness, the opposite would be unfairness. It’s justice.

"Is equality ideal in and of itself?"

Equality of opportunity seems to me a good goal to aim for as a society: everyone should be free to apply for any position, regardless of race, gender, religion or sexuality, and the best person for the job should get it.

Forced equality of outcome, on the other hand - which is what you are demanding - is a great, unworkable evil, that can only be implemented, for a short time, through brutal totalitarianism, and will progressively worsen and eventually destroy whatever human activity it is introduced to.

"The reason that governments and companies are focusing on equality of outcome is to rectify past and ongoing injustices"

The problem here is you have either consciously or unconsciously taken on Marxist ideas based in "conflict theory" and other identity politics nonsense. This divisive way of thinking about people originally started with class, but then spread to race and gender and sexuality and myriad other smaller warring categorizations. The outcome of this is it makes you see people not as individual human beings, each deserving of the same respect and compassion as each other, but as faceless representatives of groups struggling for power over each other, that those within your political ideology label either "good" or "bad", regardless of their personal circumstances or individual needs.

Under this model of thinking, which you really need to get past, a comfortably well-off, college-educated black woman driving a company car is being oppressed by the homeless white guy eating out of a dumpster she drives past on her way to her air conditioned office job every day.

Madness, obviously, but it's this ideological framework that has led to the far-left calling for "reparations": taking money from poor white people today whose ancestors never owned slaves, and giving it to every different kind of black person today, none of whom have ever been slaves.

This way of looking at humanity is, again, a great evil. And the complete opposite of equality.

"What’s wrong with a 50% target for female representation when both men and women are roughly 50% of the population ?"

So you are demanding 50% of all lumberjacks, coal miners, construction workers, mechanics, roofers, plumbers, long distance lorry drivers, electricians and refuse collectors be women?

How do you propose to do that?

As many as 99% of each of those fields are male, not because any women are barred from those professions at all, but simply because very, very, very few women choose to enter those dangerous, dirty, back-breaking fields.

So the only way you would be able to make any of those professions 50% female would be to force hundreds of thousands of women to work those jobs they don't want to, instead of whatever career they'd rather freely pursue.

Is that what you thought you were asking for?

No, I didn't think so.

And that's because you've likely never once thought through any of the pretty-sounding utopian fantasies you've taken on as your opinions without question.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Louis Tomlinson is sequestered in the executive boardroom of a swanky hotel in suburban London, and is treating it the way a pupil might a classroom when the teacher’s popped out. He’s leaning back on his chair, feet up on a radiator, hands clasped behind his head and a cigarette on the go. “All right?” he says, grinning impishly.

Despite huge global success with One Direction (70 million albums sold), which prompted a fanaticism that made Beatlemania look tame, he seems remarkably unaffected and far more normal than one might expect from someone with 35.8 million Twitter followers. He’s a 31-year-old so unassumingly bloke-next-door that the bloke next door wouldn’t look twice.

“I’ve always had a problem with ‘ego’,” he says, “and I’ve always been worried about being one of those people in the public eye who just loses all sense of reality, and becomes an arsehole.” As if by way of explanation, he adds: “I’m from Doncaster.”

And so while his former 1D bandmate Harry Styles, a superstar, floats through life like the fashion world’s favourite clothes horse, Tomlinson kits himself out in JD Sports: Kappa T-shirt, black sweatpants, Adidas socks, scuffed trainers. When he tells you he often frequents his local pub unmolested, you believe him.

“If someone does come up after an hour to ask for a selfie, I won’t say no and I won’t run away,” he says, “’specially if I’m three pints deep!”

Of the five members of 1D, Tomlinson has had the slowest start to a solo career. There are compelling reasons for this — family tragedy for one — but he’s also had to figure out who he is without the band around him. “With this job,” he says, “there’s so much room for overthinking, you know? Someone from the record label will tell you they like your stuff, but you find yourself thinking: yeah, but do they? It’s the fans that help you really believe in yourself.”

In the band, Zayn Malik had the best voice and Styles had the best everything else. While the other three — Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Niall Horan — were hardly driftwood, each has nevertheless had to dig deep to carve out a solo persona that would compel beyond the bubble.

“I do miss the boys,” he says, “and I do definitely miss being one of the five, but I like doing my own thing too. It was time.”

It’s a bright winter’s day, and the man in sports casual is enjoying special dispensation here in the hotel: permission to light up. Had this been denied, there might well have been a problem, for Tomlinson chain-smokes with the wild abandon of Mad Men’s Don Draper.

After the release of his second solo album, Faith in the Future, in November, he adds another necessary notch in the belt of any self-respecting pop star next month: the documentary. All of Those Voices is a routine behind-the-scenes look at 21st-century celebrity but stands out for the multiple crises of confidence Tomlinson feels any time he’s not on stage.

“This is a confidence game for anyone,” he says earnestly, “and there’s been plenty of moments of vulnerability throughout the entire process.” An overriding concern of the documentary is not just whether people would be interested in him, but whether they’d take him, someone discovered on a TV talent show, seriously.

When Styles won his Grammy awards this month — he collected two and won four Brits — he used his acceptance speech to say that “this doesn’t happen to people like me very often”. This was swiftly ridiculed across social media because of course white men tend to win quite a lot. But what he likely meant was that it doesn’t happen to the product of manufactured boy bands, many of whom have the use-by date of a pint of milk.

“Only Harry knows what he means there, it’s hard to speculate,” Tomlinson says, “but we all came from relatively humble beginnings, and now we are where we are.”

But while Styles is a once-in-a-generation talent and knows it, his erstwhile bandmates — and this one in particular — need convincing.

Louis Tomlinson comes from a big family — his mother, Johannah Deakin, married twice and had seven children — and was a hopeful child actor before in 2010 auditioning for The X Factor. This is where 1D were created, “masterminded” by Louis Walsh. Deakin, who had Tomlinson when she was 19, was his biggest fan and they’d always been close. When, for example, Tomlinson lost his virginity, it was she he told first, not his friends.

In 2016, a year after One Direction split, she died from leukaemia, aged 42. Two years later, his 18-year-old sister, Félicité, who’d been struggling to get over her mother’s death, accidentally overdosed on cocaine, painkillers and an anxiety drug. The combined loss hit him hard. Aside from the single he wrote about his mother’s passing, 2020’s Two of Us, his mourning has been largely private.

He squints through a veil of cigarette smoke. “Some of the things that have happened recently have been quite drastic, yeah, but then so much in my life seems to have been pretty extreme, one way or the other.” In 2016, at the age of 25, a brief relationship with a Californian stylist, Briana Jungwirth, resulted in a son. “There’ve been challenging times, definitely. It’s funny, but I couldn’t even tell you how many years ago my mum passed, I just blank it out. But for the first 18 months, I’d take any form of bad luck personally. I’d feel every tiny thing. But now I genuinely feel I’ve come out the other side. I feel more empathy for everything and everyone these days.”

After his 2020 debut album, Walls, failed to set the world alight, Tomlinson called time on his relationship with Simon Cowell. “It was mostly amicable,” he says, nodding. “Simon always had my best interests at heart, and I liked him. He had his faults of course, like all of us, but it was always inevitable I’d have to go off and do my own thing.”

His new record, then, was a leap into the unknown and he elected to write not with professional songwriters but rather fellow creative artists: Theo Hutchcraft from the band Hurts, Joe Cross from the Courteeners and the singer-songwriter James Vincent McMorrow. “And that was a big difference, huge. These are people who live and breathe music. It’s the first time I felt really comfortable doing my own stuff, you know?”

Previously he’d been encouraged to sing like a nice young pop star should, without regional inflection. “When I was in the band,” he says, “working with professional songwriters whose entire aim was to write the hit single, they’d tell me that singing in my natural accent wasn’t commercial. Sorry, but what a shit idea! Who wants to sound like everybody else? I dumbed down a little bit in the band, because you do, but I’ve learnt who I am now.”

The album, which has its inspiration firmly in early Noughties indie, sounds more Kaiser Chiefs than One Direction. A risk, then. But when it came out, it debuted at No 1. While this did wonders for his confidence, it’s clear from the documentary that he still needs people — a support group — around him. He actively courts the friendship of his touring band, not necessarily a given among solo pop stars, and he seems almost always sociable. It’s when he’s not up for group activity that people worry. There’s a revealing moment in the documentary of him having just appeared on James Corden’s US talk show. Backstage Corden, an old friend, pleads with him not to go quiet on him afterwards. “You vanish, you change your number, no one knows [where you are],” he says.

Until recently Tomlinson lived in London with his long-term girlfriend, the model Eleanor Calder, but recent reports suggest they’ve split up and he’s dating another model, Sofie Nyvang. Life, clearly, is complicated. Perhaps that’s why he smokes so much. He says, though, that he feels finally relieved of the myriad pressures that once clung to being a pop star whose fanbase was predominantly teenage. Such as?

“Well, being a role model for one. I never wanted that. I always had to worry whether it was OK if, say, I was seen here or if I could get away with smoking a joint there, before concluding: hmm, probably not. But I never wanted to be the perfect pop star, especially in the climate of Instagram. I don’t want to put an artificial world out there. I think it’s important that people see your scars, your flaws.”

It’s never easy growing up in public and Tomlinson had no choice. “When One Direction split up,” he says, “I was mortified, I was absolutely gutted. I was a bit bitter, I suppose because it just felt like another loss to me. But I’ve a better understanding of things now, and there’s not as much anger. It is what it is.

“Getting back together at some point is hard to imagine right now,” he continues, “but I’d be surprised if we lived out our lives and didn’t have a moment where we had a reunion, or whatever you want to call it. I’d be up for that.”

When I ask what it’s like watching Styles’s ascendance into the biggest star of his generation — something that might delay such a reunion — he blows out a long plume of smoke.

“Well, it’s not a surprise is it? We were always aware that Harry fit that mould, and it’s been an amazing thing to watch. Envy? At the start maybe, when I was trying to find my feet, but it’s never healthy to cross-reference your own success with others is it? These days I’m learning to elevate myself in those moments when I have to. I didn’t know how to do that before, but now? Now I know I f***ing can.” All of Those Voices is in cinemas from March 22,  allofthosevoices.com

-Full article. Feb 23 2023. Link here. Free link here.

[huayno]

understanding the heart in umineko

If, for instance, a man tells us he is 'an unreal man', and if he is not lying, or joking, or equivocating in some subtle way, there is no doubt that he will be regarded as deluded. But, existentially, what does this delusion mean? Indeed, he is not joking or pretending. On the contrary, he goes on to say that he has been pretending for years to have been a real person but can maintain the deception no longer.

His whole life has been torn between his desire to reveal himself and his desire to conceal himself. We all share this problem with him and we have all arrived at a more or less satisfactory solution. We have our secrets and our needs to confess. We may remember how, in childhood, adults at first were able to look right through us, and into us, and what an accomplishment it was when we, in fear and trembling, could tell our first lie, and make, for ourselves, the discovery that we are irredeemably alone in certain respects, and know that within the territory of ourselves there can be only our footprints. There are some people, however, who never fully realize themselves in this position. This genuine privacy is the basis of genuine relationship; but the person whom we call 'schizoid' feels both more exposed, more vulnerable to others than we do, and more isolated. Thus a schizophrenic may say that he is made of glass, of such transparency and fragility that a look directed at him splinters him to bits and penetrates straight through him. We may suppose that precisely as such he experiences himself.

We shall suggest that it was on the basis of this exquisite vulnerability that the unreal man became so adept at self-concealment He learnt to cry when he was amused, and to smile when he was sad. He frowned his approval, and applauded his displeasure. 'All that you can see is not me,' he says to himself. But only in and through all that we do see can he be anyone (in reality). If these actions are not his real self, he is irreal; wholly symbolical and equivocal; a purely virtual, potential, imaginary person, a 'mythical' man; nothing 'really'. If, then, he once stops pretending to be what he is not, and steps out as the person he has come to be, he emerges as Christ, or as a ghost, but not as a man: by existing with no body, he is no-body.

A 'truth' about his 'existential position' is lived out. What is 'existentially' true is lived as 'really' true.

Undoubtedly, most people take to be 'really' true only what has to do with grammar and the natural world. A man says he is dead but he is alive. But his 'truth' is that he is dead. He expresses it perhaps in the only way common (i.e. the communal) sense allows him. He means that he is 'really' and quite 'literally' dead, not merely symbolically or 'in a sense' or 'as it were', and is seriously bent on communicating his truth. The price, however, to be paid for transvaluating the communal truth in this manner is to 'be' mad, for the only real death we recognize is biological death.

The schizophrenic is desperate, is simply without hope. I have never known a schizophrenic who could say he was loved, as a man, by God the Father or by the Mother of God or by another man. He either is God, or the Devil, or in hell, estranged from God. When someone says he is an unreal man or that he is dead, in all seriousness, expressing in radical terms the stark truth of his existence as he experiences it, that is - insanity.

What is required of us? Understand him? The kernel of the schizophrenic's experience of himself must remain incomprehensible to us. As long as we are sane and he is insane, it will remain so. But comprehension as an effort to reach and grasp him, while remaining within our own world and judging him by our own categories whereby he inevitably falls short, is not what the schizophrenic either wants or requires. We have to recognize all the time his distinctiveness and differentness, his separateness and loneliness and despair.

The Divided Self, R.D. Laing

[catominor]

my fictional romeguys introductory post to contextualise the posting!!!!!

this is my little guys from my novel project which is currently in its Infancy very much. the story is set... somewhere roundabout the 80s-70s bce probably. it's broadly about two guys who make a jointly beneficial political alliance (and also become friends in the process) their psychosexual joint consulship and its consequences

main guys:

lucius furius m. f. sp. n. camillus: 45 years old, semi down on his luck patrician. he spends most of his time when he isn't trying to enhance his dignitas in the political sphere being a weird shutin and not leaving the house if he can avoid it. was injured very badly when he was young during a brief military career, preventing him from doing war stuff again... for now. (he also had a hugely comical and deeply formative crush on his commanding officer during said military career). ambitious beyond both his physical and monetary means. has been in a sexless arranged failmarriage for like 25 or so years with his wife, caecilia, whom he was married to because his family desperately needed money (but he does love her in his own weird way i think). also loves gardening, stoic philosophy, being maybe slightly addicted to opium wine, books in general, and being inside and in his house reading his scrolls (despite being in politics, having to shake all those sticky plebs' hands makes him want to kill himself fr. the price he pays for his rightful place in society as he sees it...). he is a huuuge sullan also. to him sulla did nothing wrong ever in his life. most famous for being a bit eccentric and reclusive, but still quite respected by most of the senate for his modest lifestyle and his refined and learned tendencies.

gaius martinus: our biggest handsomest general... a couple years older than lucius furius, wealthy plebeian senator. he's a bit of a new man; his family has only been in the senate for a couple generations and never attained the consulship. he's a simple type of guy really; he's a squarely competent (though not really that astounding) military commander, not very book-smart, and has an impressive appetite for all of life's pleasures. most people who don't instinctively look down on him for these traits tend to like him tremendously; he's easy to talk to, friendly, generous, and cheerful. he has a wife, poppaea, who he loves very much, and 6 horribly behaved sons to whom he is a beautifully absent father. his favorite things to do are hang out at the baths or the gymnasium, throw big dinner parties or go out partying with his friends, and do his thang commanding his troops and chopping people up with his sword in The Wars. he doesn't have very strong political leanings, and mostly just wants to be paid attention to, adored, etc. most famous for accidentally unleashing a pack of tigers intended for his games into the streets of rome while he was plebeian aedile, and for throwing big knock your socks off parties (and not getting mad at the guests for taking a little of the food home)

heres a main guys image (coin of them i drew):

others:

caecilia: lucius furius' wife in their arranged failmarriage. for her this relationship is constituted of a mix of resentment and love; they get along very well mostly, and in another life they could have been good friends, maybe, but in this one they're married and he's wasted her life. she helped him tremendously with everything he's done in politics, both with her advice and with her money, and in return she's mostly just been taken for granted. she wanted kids. there never were any. she thought he might die from one of his many ailments (he is the worlds sickliest man) soon enough; he never did. who's to say you can't love someone while also wondering if you could get away with killing them every now and then? she mostly passes her time by weaving, and writing vulgar epigrams which she publishes under a pseudonym for funsies...

poppaea: gaius martinus' wife. there isn't too much to say about her; she really is gaius' other half. like him, she's cheerful, easygoing, and enjoys the finer things in life. she loves gaius dearly, despite the fact that he's far from faithful; poppaea isn't the jealous type, or else, knows she can't really afford to be. she is also a wonderfully absent mother to their children, mostly preferring to leave the child raising to the nannies and take pleasant strolls around the gardens and go shopping in the big markets with her friends. she has a close relationship with her father, and often visits him.

quintus poppaeus: gaius martinus' father in law. a thoroughly slay old man. businessman who was never involved in politics (made his money from the mines), loads of money and mostly spends it on building hanging baths in his baiae villa, installing the latest garden fountains to flex on the neighbors, ridiculously swagfully effeminate outfits, and so. so many beautiful pet fish. his only child is his daughter, poppaea, and he adores her. he also has a very friendly relationship with gaius.

furia: lucius furius' younger sister and only living sibling. she's a bit like him if he were more mentally stable and normal. she's in a barely tolerable marriage with another aristocrat. her and lucius furius don't speak very often; she resents him a bit for having power over her i think (their father died when they were young) and he probably made her marry whatever crappy guy shes married to now (have i mentioned this is a work in progress)

theres other of my own characters but these are like. the ones who will Matter the most and that i will post about tbh

none of the stuff mentioned in here are things which would like. spoil any Plot so i wont say any more... im not too precious about spoiling things cause its such early days (plus i think if i write well enough it will be interesting to read even if you know what happens hopefully?) but i just dont want to make the post any fucking longer lol...

[yolowritter]

In Offense to Emilie Agreste

Hello there everyone, and- ...okay, put down your pitchforks, I haven't even started yet! Before an angry mob gathers 'round my blog, allow me to explain what today's rant is about. Unlike Lila Rossi, whose existence makes me want to hurl bricks at my screen whenever she appears, Emilie Agreste is actually a pretty interesting character. However, there are things about her (both canon and implied) that have me giving this picture-perfect gal a very intense side-eye. So today I'll be talking about what I think of her character, why I think she could have been written better, why she absolutely isn't a good person, and how the narritive does her a diservice by reducing this poor lass to an insignificant plot device, just so her clinically insane husband can have a reason to bully teenagers in spandex!

Firstly, let's quickly establish what we know about Emilie. I'll explain why I believe anything that isn't directly stated later, now it's just the basics. She and her sister Amelie are coming from a well-off family in England, presumably with quite high standards and expectations. We know little about her early life and it frankly isn't important, but she does at some point take an interest in the creative arts. She firsts meets her husband-to-be Gabriel when she arrives in Paris to further her education, and it's easy to assume they become friends due to similar interests. Then, later down the line, they meet Nathalie Sancoeur, with whom they scour the world to find the Miraculous jewels. After they do find the Butterfly and Peacock in Tibet, they all return to Paris and she creates Adrien Agreste, her son, using Duusu's powers. About twelve years later, she falls ill and "into a deep sleep" because the Peacock Miraculous was broken. This kicks off Gabriel's descent into madness and his crusade as Hawkmoth, which slowly drove him to insanity for reasons seen in this post. But still, this vague timeline leaves us with a lot of questions as to who she was as a person, and how she lived her life.

Before I delve deeper into this, I would quickly want to clarify the sources for the above information. We know from Represenation that Emilie met Gabriel when she went to Paris for educational reasons. I honestly don't remember if her field of study is mentioned, but considering she later stars in Andre's film "Solitude" it isn't hard to derive that said studies could be related. The high expectations from Emilie's family come from the fact that Gabriel had to change his name at some point in life, possibly because Emilie's parents wouldn't accept her marrying some "lowborn". Additionally, we know Amelie's marriage to Colt was arranged, so there definately is a sense of "securing the family lineage" here that exists in what remains of aristocracy today. In Passion, Nathalie is implied to be a treasure hunter of some sort at the time she meets Gabriel and Emilie, though how long she's been at the profession isn't clear. Still, they do work together to find the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous. We see in Evolution that they are occupying the Agreste Manor with the Peacock in hand, so it's possible they purchased the house either right after their trip to Tibet or before. Other relevant information comes from the thumbnails of Emilie's videos and photos from the Passion episode.

As an aside, Astruc better give us that Tibet special, because I need more Agreste family Lore! These people made their drama the entirety of France's problem and while I respect that, I need to know more! Also, Thomas' quote of "a lot can happen when three people are in close proximity for a long time"? Pretty sure that's from Twitter btw, if you want to look it up. I see you, Thomas...I see you...

Anyway, onto exploring Emilie's themes as a character. From the very start of the show, we have a lot of clues that point to her being an angelic, kind and can-do-no-wrong type of character, at the very least in Gabriel's eyes. There is a whole other topic here about him being obsessed with the past and looking at it with rose-tinted glasses, but I digress. The portrait of Emilie in the atelier, her photo in Adrien's room, and Gabriel's fond remniscing all give us the idea that she was a wonderful, lovely person! In fact, we even get a bit of personallity added to her in the Simon Says episode, where Gabriel tells Chat Noir "you have some of her (Emilie's) flair for dramatics". So of course, she was goofy sometimes, which is a trait we see Amelie share at least a little of in the Felix episode, what with her Elsa-style entrance into the manor. For Season 1, we got plenty of information as to her character, even if we didn't know her name quite yet.

In Season 2 we get more of these examples of her being a wonderful person who is dearly missed, such as the whole plot with the above-mentioned Solitude movie, and Adrien wanting to go see it. Why exactly Parisian cinema is playing this movie in the first place considering what we know about Andre abandoning his career as a director is completely unknown and reeks of a plothole to me, but then again so do half the episodes in general. Point is, from very early on in this show we get a positive perspective on Emilie's character. Sure, there's a lot we don't know about her, but I'm sure her wedding day, her early years with Gabriel, their actual relationship, whatever she had going on with Nathalie, and the whole drama with her parents and later Amelie's husband isn't important...right?

Yeah no I'm not letting her off the hook. Aside from the obvious Adrien stuff that I'll get into in a bit, it seems suspicious to me that nobody can ever come up with anything negative to say about Emilie. And I don't mean a genuine character flaw, even if nobody is perfect, I mean just...something embarrassing? An old joke shared between friends from college, a little detail that sheds light at her sense of humor, even a fond recollection of something silly that happened in her youth. There's nothing. Aside from Gabriel saying she had a dramatic flair, which I will talk about, we know nothing about Emilie Agreste as a person. She barely feels alive, almost existing solely to be the "dead wife" archetype of the show. And okay sure, some of that is the fault of whoever was in the writing room when they try to bring her up. But come on, you're telling me Nathalie doesn't have a single memory or photo in that large stack of recollections that shows her being alive for once?

And of course I don't mean Emilie being literally alive, we see plenty of that. But think back to the photo with Gabriel, Audrey, Emilie and Andre for a second. As an example. I can't recal the exact details, but Emilie is standing to the side, closer to being out of frame than anyone else. In the middle of the shot, the other three seem to be having a good time, but she's only giving a polite, proper smile to her friends. Naturally, not every person out there is extremely expressive, but this is a safe space. Emilie is with close friends and everyone is enjoying themselves, yet her face looks like she came out of a portrait. When I noticed that little detail, I went running to find more. Aside from the videos that she left behind, we've never seen her speak or interact with any character excepting that Evolution scene where she first gets the Miraculous. So can we please think about this logically for a second? What kind of person is Emilie Agreste?

She was born in high society, with a lot of expectations on her shoulders and only her sister for company in her formative years, if Adrien and Chloe's sibling-like bond is anything to go by. And yes that's another post entirely, but they were childhood friends and he had almost nobody else his age to talk to, so I'm drawing a parallel. I won't speculate at all about Emilie's childhood, because frankly it's irrelevant to today's conversation. What I will say however, is that everyone we meet who has interacted with her has fond memories and good things to say about her. And every depiction of Emilie we get, even those not made by Gabriel, she seems to radiate perfection. And that right there is her character's theme. Being perfect. She presumably was the perfect daughter, the perfect (or at least a good enough) student to go to France in order to further her education, so on and so forth. But her family life very much isn't anything close to that. For one, her sister is stuck in an arranged marriage with an abusive a-hole who seems to have been spat directly out of a Texas steretype. There is no indication that Emilie knew about this, but...she also eventually let Colt borrow the Peacock Miraculous to make Felix. Clearly she entrusted Colt Fathom of all people with a magical artifact that can make sentient life, because sure, that seems perfectly reasonable!

Of course signs of abuse are hard to notice even when directly pointed out, but for the purposes of Emilie and Amelie, it seems fundementally against the good, pure and angelic character that Emilie has been presented as to even consider handing Duusu over to Colt. I'm ignoring the issue of Tomoe since that hasn't been explained, but there's clearly something wrong here. And now...now we come to Adrien's home life. We know that he has never been to public school before Origins, which happened only because Chloe enrolled him by the way, and Gabriel does allow him to go at the end of the day. We didn't know at the time, but it does seem reasonable for Gabriel to refuse him completely here, seeing that in hindsight, Adrien's class specifically becomes a hotspot for Akumatizations. But despite this danger, Gabriel still allows Adrien to remain in public school. Additionally, it's completely reasonable to assume that a pre-teen and later teenager would want more freedom to explore the world, and I find it incredibly unlikely that Adrien only expressed this after Emilie keeled over. Surely, this child would have wanted to make friends before then, especially if Chloe would brag about how many friends she has in school, which seems like a thing she would absolutely do to impress him. Sure, that last bit is speculation, but Chloe does act like this all the time in Season 1, so it's natural to consider that she did so before too! The thought of Gabriel being the permissive parent here, and therefore not the one keeping Adrien inside all the time...it really frightens me.

And just to be clear, this isn't a tinfoil-hat "Emilie is secretly evil" theory or anything like that. I'm just saying that she isn't perfect, never has been, and actually made a lot of mistakes during her life. Especially with Adrien. Because doesn't it seem like a loving mother's attitude to want to spend time with her precious son, showing affection and being with him at all times? As a reminder, unless the concept of adoption was never invented in this universe, Emilie Agreste could have just grabbed a child out of an orphanage at any point during her lifetime. But instead, she specifically wanted this one, Adrien. And what does she do to get her precious, perfect baby boy? Why, she scours the entire planet with her huband (possibly to-be) and her definately-not-side-chick Nathalie the treasure hunter to find a magic brooch that gives her the power to make him herself, exactly how she wants! Plot aside for a minute, doesn't that sound a little bit insane to you? The desire to have a child alone wouldn't drive anyone to go to such lengths, and this is assuming she is infertile or has some other problem that a good night under the stars with her pals Gabriel and Nathalie won't fix!

Clearly, Emilie had something very specific in mind when going through all the magical, mystical and half-maddening hoops that she had to go through in order to make Adrien in the first place! She practically dragged her husband and their friend on a worldwide trip just to find some tiny bird goddess stuck in a brooch! Are you reading this correctly? And then after Adrien popped into existence (presumably by being carried to term, etc.) Emilie made sure to shower him with love and adoration. But she also kept him isolated, and secure. This isn't as much speculation as it is just reading between the lines, but Adrien seems constantly awestruck throughout the show when presented with new experiences. Not to mention another disturbing thing, she was put inside the life support pod with Adrien Amok on her finger! That's a huge red flag, right in front of us, but it's been ignored because Gabriel is the one who uses it on-screen. Consider that by the time he does use the Ring, Gabriel is well on his way to utter insanity, considering that Shadowmoth is already unhinged enough to quickly evolve into Monarch once the conditions are right. Gabriel has absolutely no chill when it comes to terrorizing innocent people, or using Adrien's Amok to control him when need be. So why is there an implication of Emilie doing the same when she should have been perfectly sane and not driven to desperation because of a loved one's loss like her husband? Again, go check out this post for a full Gabriel analysis.

I'm not saying that Emilie was evil or crazy or a psychopath or anything of the sort. I'm telling you all that she had control issues. Among all the other stuff we know, and with said information pool being tiny to start with, Emilie Agreste seems so intersting! There should have been a whole plot point about removing the rose-tinted glasses that her death cast down on Gabriel, Adrien and Nathalie! There should have been flashbacks to when she was alive! We should have seen her interact and show love towards Adrien! To her credit, Emilie did see that her death was going to mess with Gabriel's head tremendously, and left him a little video politely asking that he doesn't become an internation terrorist. You know, just as a failsafe. It sure is a shame that she never had that conversation with her husband when she was still awake, or that to our knowledge, never said goodbye to Adrien. The public narrative is that she "disapeared". Are you joking me? Of course Gabriel covered everything up, but this is never adressed!

The writers have a ironically perfect character in their hands! Emilie is a mystery to the audience, she has a complicated relationship with both the show's main villains (Lila doesn't count if she's in barely a dozen episodes), one of the titular characters, and is also literally the reason why the show's events kick off in the first place! But we are shown nothing of her for over one hundred episodes of Miraculous! Even Ephemeral, one of the episodes I hate the most in the whole show, could have given us a glimpse into whatever Gabriel's restructured world would have looked like! It was the perfect oppurtunity for us to see Emilie up on her feet and actually having a role to play, instead of just discount Mrs Freeze! Yes I know her name is Nora, I know it's not the same situation, shush, I'm making a "Emilie is in the basement fridge" joke. The writers and Thomas did this woman so dirty it's not even funny! And I am offended at her, because at the end Emilie serves no purpose than to have Gabriel be "sympathetic" in Season 2! There are a dozen plot threads just dangling around for them to rip out of the ceiling and play with, but Emilie's very existence amounts to absolutely nothing! A gravestone would have served as a better character, because at least there could be something useful writen on it! Some kind of descriptor that gave us any insight into her personality!

But no, she's a blank slate! She's just some gal that showed up, found a magic peafowl and keeled over, ultimately leading to Adrien's sheltered home life, social awkwardness, and mommy issues! Because you cannot tell me that Emilie's parenting, no matter how well-meaning, didn't screw Adrien's early life up! She could have been the best mum in the world and it still wouldn't have mattered, because she considered him her perfect creation! Can you see the irony here? Can you observe the myriad of metaphors and the hundreds of ways this can get included in a story? Does Thomas Astruc and his team want me to have a mental breakdown??? Like, excuse me, honestly excuse me, but the sheer amount of offense I take both on Emilie's behalf and to her utter uselessness in this franchise is astronomical! I love this character! I really do! Wrote a whole alternate backstory for her where she and Nathalie are college roomates and everything! Heck, I love her so much that I did make her into a crazy psychopath in one of my AUs just so she can play a key part in that story as the Hawkmoth-equivilant! My love and adoration for Emilie Agreste reaches the god damned moon and back, but unless she actually has more than ten seconds of dialogue in some kind of flashback or prequel, I will continue to be offended! I'll continue to be pissed! And I'll continue to pray for the day where she becomes more than a practically irrelevant plot device!

Anyway, I need to cool off. I need to have a drink. I need to relax and take a break before making the post in defense of poor Chloe, because she too got shafted by the narritive, just like Adrien's mum. Expect it sometime soon, or at the very least when I'm not going insane over the fact that despite directly causing every major event in this franchise to occur, Emilie Agreste is a bigger question mark than the dude in a banana costume. Seriously, what the heck is up with Mr Banana anyway? I'll be seeing you all soon, but until then, Stay Miraculous everyone!

[copaganda-clobberfest]

What’s the white fang? Srry i don’t watch rwby

The White Fang is an organization made up of an in-universe minority group, the Faunus, who use violent (but successful) means in the hopes of achieving a set goal, being getting basic fucking rights for their people who, up until around the time the show begins if I recall, were being ENSLAVED.

But while in the first 3 seasons they were treated as Team Rocket Grunt: Black People Metaphor edition for our white mains to beat around, around volume 4 things quickly became incredibly sickening for me.

First of all, introductions of characters such as Fennec, Corsac, and Ilia— all of whom are non white characters even outside of their Faunus heritage, the former two being Muslim-coded and the ladder Lakota respectively— and said Lakota girl coming from a not-too privileged standpoint of someone who was orphaned by human doings, when her parents died in a mining accident that was never prevented by the company they worked for.

These characters are BAD Faunus, portrayed as violent and with the two Muslim-coded characters being portrayed as weirdly cult-y? (one basically kills himself/gets himself killed for the cause. I wish i was joking*) and the indigenous girl needing to be tamed by her much whiter friend due to her having been protesting “wrongly.” Indigenous people who protest against their treatment are to this day (as the bigotry and oppression faced by native peoples hasn’t gone away one bit) labeled terrorists.

The White Fang… are written to be terrorists. Terrorists who just want to take over the other and rule because “they (Faunus) are the dominant species.” This straight up sounds like propaganda you’d hear on the news during 2020. Shoot me.

The allusive leader of the white fang is barelt a character because she gets fridged the moment we see her and yet there is something to be said about her allusion. She is based of Shere Khan, a character from The Jungle Book,

written by the same guy that wrote the infamously racist “White Man’s Burden” poem in support of colonization and social Darwinism.

And then we get to Adam. Arguably the character apart of the white fang we saw THE MOST of, who in season 5 is suddenly this cruel, heartless asshole who only wants the Faunus to take over the white people I mean the humans.

And then in the season AFTERWARDS it’s revealed oh he never cared about the Faunus AT ALL HE JUST WANTED POWER BECAUSE HES JUST AN ABUSIVE ASSHOLE CUNT AND BTW you know the scene? The scene the writers included so that the viewers REALLY got just how evil Adam truly was?

They revealed Adam got fucking branded in the eye like a slave would be in 1800’s America. I wish I was kidding I really really wish. Branded with the initials of a human-owned, rich white company with… a German name. Schnee. Why do I point this out?

The name, Adam, is a Jewish name. It’s Hebrew. Fuck this show.

(sorry this is super rambly Anon just this topic makes me really mad in particular. Again, sorry!)

Edit:

*I worded this wrongly. He simply died for the cause, not outright offed himself or anything. My mistake. Still not a good look at all, but mistakes are to be corrected when I see them.

And no, this is not me trying to be some… “abuse apologist” for fictional characters. I am simply pointing out the fact the character was written this way, but also, what such a decision reflects onto the rest of the story. Plus… the (frankly poorly handled, that’s another day’s discussion) abuse storyline isn’t what we’re talking about. It’s the fucking racist writing perpetuated in this show.

But similarly to how it went in the show, the abuse storyline was able to cover up the racism for most people, as it nearly did me on an initial rewatch. Just like how Hama’s justifiable feelings towards the Fire nation were covered up by her blood-bending other people. The Flag-smashers’ ideals being covered up by them being terrorists. Killmonger wanting to improve the lives of black peoples globally being partially covered up by… you get the point.

Reblogs are turned of on this post for the meantime because I don’t want to start drama on what is meant to be a fairly harmless poll. Sorry for that.

[ninchen1909]

The Teacher and the Mob Boss - Chapter 6-

Warnings: alcohol consumption, cursing

Word count: ~1.800

This chapter is written from Bucky's perspective, so enjoy

I stare fixedly at the car key lying on the desk in front of me, as I have done so many times in the last few hours, trying desperately to suppress the urge to grab it and just drive to her. I clench my jaw tightly and frantically run it through my already tangled hair.

The radio silence between me and (y/n) is unbearable, again and again I go through the last days with her in my mind, I analyze every single aspect of our time together. However, I can't think of anything that would make her mad at me. For the first time in my entire life, I have real interest in a woman, for the first time, it is important to me what she thinks of me, and whom I want to show everything of me. Someone I want to be completely involved with.

Every time Charlie tells me a new story about her, every time it comes back to me how loving, smart and understanding my princess is, and with each story, the need to see her grows. How many times I have stood outside her apartment, resisting the urge to knock on her door and nag her until she finally tells me what is going on. But I will respect her wishes and her personal freedom.

Frustrated, I slam my fist on the surface of the desk in front of me and take a big swig of whiskey from my glass.  Her rejection almost causes me physical pain. The need to see and hold her grows with every passing second. I don't know when it happend, that I'm so addicted to her, I just know that it happend and that i don't want to change it.

The ringing of my cell phone snaps me out of my cloudy thoughts, without paying attention to the name recognition I pick up and hold the phone to my ear.

"Barnes" my voice sounds monotone, devoid of any emotion

"It's nice to hear from you too boss" I roll my eyes in annoyance

"What do you want Natasha?"

"I have news for you" I can literally see her grin in front of me. Silence falls over our conversation.

"Nat if you don't say something right now I'm hanging up."

"It's okay, calm down Barnes. Wanda just called me." Annoyed, I exhale

"Anything interesting coming up now?"

"Now hold on. Wanda told me your teacher doesn't want to know about you anymore.”

"If you were just calling to state the obvious, I'm hanging up now." My finger is already wandering over the display, about to end the call, when Nat stops me.

"Wait Barnes..." again a short pause fills the conversation.

"I know the reason why she doesn't want to talk to you anymore" abruptly my whole posture changes, I now sit bolt upright in my chair listening to every word that comes out of Natasha's mouth.

"She thinks you are engaged"

"I'm what now" I jump up from my office chair so fast it falls over backwards.

"I'm not engaged, I most certainly am not. Who would say something like that?"

"Linda Pierce" the name makes my blood run cold and my eyes narrow to slits. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears and the blind hot rage rises inside me. In a flash, I grab my car keys and am about to rush to the door when my conscience, in the form of a certain redhead from the other end of the line, speaks up.

"James for fuck's sake chill", I immediately stop in my movement.

"How am I supposed to go down when they're spreading rumors about me, I'm definitely not engaged to her, that will never happen. I really want to put a bullet between their eyes, right now."

"I can understand you, really I can. And believe me, every one of us has a rage against this family, I mean they are the reason why half of our people are no longer with us. But we need a plan, all right. We can't just run into this thing haphazardly. Wanda will come to me now and we'll talk about it again in detail, I'll let you know tomorrow what exactly came out of it." a low grumble escapes my throat.

"You do know that I'm actually the boss here, right?" a soft, laugh can be heard from the other end of the line, which also elicits a smile from me.

"then act like it Barnes. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Before I can say anything back, a steady beep is heard from the other end of the line, a clear sign that Nat has just hung up.

The rage against Pierce and his family is omnipresent, various murder fantasies shoot through my head, one more bloodthirsty and brutal than the other before. The urge grows in me to implement every single one of these ideas personally on Pierce and his sieve.  However, it doesn't take all too long for these to be replaced by a freshly acquired knowledge.

"She thinks I'm engaged, that's why. The reason she's mad at me is not because of me,but because of a lie" an disbelieving laugh escapes me as I realize why my princess suddenly didn't want to talk to me anymore.

Without thinking about it for long, I grab my car keys and thank God that Charlie really wanted to spend the night with her grandma today. With quick steps I cross the foyer of my mansion and a little later I'm already sitting in one of my cars. With a quiet purr the engine comes to life and I bring the already very familiar route to (y/n) apartment behind me.

The bright lights of the street lamps pass by the car windows like bright flashes and the darkness covers the city like a threatening blanket. Arrived at my destination, I leave my car almost in a hurry and rush in the direction of her apartment and finally hammer like a madman against the door.

I hear how the door of the neighbor opens, which, however, after only a short, sharp look from me immediately disappears again in the interior of his apartment.

"Princess open the door. Please" After a short while, can hear loud poling and a quiet "Damn" from the inside of the apartment, before the door is torn open. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I look into her bright eyes. Already at first glance, I can see that she is apparently drunk or at least on the best way to it.

Tenderly, I push her aside to make room for myself in her hallway, grinning at her, and I can't help but pull her into my arms and hold her so close to me. Her familiar smell rises to my nose and I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying it. When I finally break away from her again, I meet confused eyes.

"What are you doing here James? Shouldn't you be with your daughter?" she turns her back on me at that and makes her way to her living room, with quick steps I follow her.

"Charlie is with my mother and I really wanted to see you." an incredulous sound leaves her perfect lips.

"I told you to stay away from me. It hasn't even been eight hours James." she takes a deep sip from her wine glass

"I can't help it, you put a spell on me. You're a drug I can't get off of. And I know what your problem is now." She raises an eyebrow in invitation.

"Oh you do?" tenderly I pull her to me and take the glass from her hand before setting it down on the living room table.

"Yes, and I just want you to know that I'm not engaged. I would never flirt with anyone else if I were. You might want to keep that in mind for the future."

A disbelieving laugh escapes her and she looks at me, stunned.

"It's really beyond belief that you assume we're going to have a future together, which then goes as far as an engagement. Your ego must really be bigger than the Empire State Building." Annoyed, she rolls her eyes and drops onto the sofa, quickly I do the same and sit down next to her.

"If it makes you feel any better, my ego has shrunk quite a bit since your rejection." I watch her as she intently observes the liquid in her glass. A desperate attempt to avoid looking me in the face.

"Definitely won't hurt you if you take it down a notch." Her bitchy tone makes me laugh before I take the glass from her hand and allow myself a hearty sip from it.

I quickly become serious again, however, as I remember the real reason for my visit. With a deft movement, I put the glass back on the table and grab her hand instead. With slow, circular motions, I let my thumb glide over the back of her hand.

"I'm serious though (y/n), I'm not engaged, I would never make false promises to a woman. Loyalty still means something in my world, you have to believe me."

I look lies still on our hands and her voice is more like a whisper, an insecure undertone resonating in it.

"But James, why would a perfect stranger come to my workplace just to tell me this lie. It doesn't make any sense at all."

She finally lifts her gaze and looks at me, at the sight of sadness in her eyes, I have to swallow hard and it feels like my heart is breaking a bit.

"I can't tell you why she did that, at least not yet, I have to find out for myself first. But I can tell you that my family and the Pierce family have a long history together..."

"Tell me."

"Princess, I don't think this is the right time."

"It wasn't a request James, it was an ultimatum. Tell it to me or leave. Your choice, I deserve the truth and if you can't even give me that then I can't need you in my life. You just said loyalty still means something to you, so prove it to me." her face is rigid and her voice sounds firm, I don't doubt for a second that she means her words. I straighten up further and intertwine our fingers together.

"Alright, but please let me finish, alright?" after a short nod from her, I start to tell her my whole life story.

[skymagpie]

I was in the mood to discuss the most common criticisms for Below Zero today on Reddit because I feel like people do not give some of the writing of this game enough credit, it’s actually good, you just need to read a bit between the lines. Yes it could’ve been better, it was slightly underwritten, but the core line was great and with more polishing it would’ve been excellent. I can probably talk more about it (and I will make my full rant one day), but I just felt this at the moment.

[ ID: Reddit reply from user ‘SkyMagpie’ reading: I think it also comes down to taste and to each individual person, so I respect that some people will not like the plot. I have to just disagree on some of the points and comment on others because these discussions come up often (SPOILER WARNING for people reading this):

I think the current version of the story is less cliche and stereotypical than the original version (from the early access which was written by the same writer from the 1st Subnautica game). There Al-An was cold, uncaring and an asshole. Some aspects of that story were better (Robin working for Alterra and having a change of heart), but some were worse (Al-An being the stereotypical asshole alien and the villain guy being a clearly bad guy with malicious intent)

.Al-An is not an emotionless computer to whom Robin has to teach emotions, he knows emotions - he clearly realizes right away that Robin is angry that he invaded her mind and decides to give her space to process it, he talks how his people upon realizing their mortality found a shrine to think on what it means to die, he asks her about memories (so he is trying to process grief) and he correctly notes that she is upset about her sister's death and copes with food. He clearly understands Robin's emotions and his emotional changes come from within himself and not from Robin, he chooses to hide information from her and he is also scared she will be mad at him for it. The only thing Robin show's Al-An are human customs and cultural elements as well as human concepts such as music for the purpose of entertainment, having pets just out of pleasure of doing so and the meaning of poetry when referring to abstract concepts such as "hope".

To go off my last point, Al-An has knowledge, but he has a hard time grasping human concepts because he has not lived with humans. It's the same about not being able to understand jokes and comedy between IRL cultures because the difference in language and way of living means that a part of the joke is lost (for example not all people who don't speak English well or are familiar with British culture will find British humor funny). This is what Robin teaches him. Al-An knows what hope means in the semantic sense, but he doesn't know what hope means to humans. To Emily Dickinson, hope is the thing with feathers - even we as humans who know the poem can disagree on the meaning of hope and interpret the poem differently. I feel that Al-An's writing broke out of the common stereotypes for aliens in subtle ways which are not obvious straight away. A lot of his ignorance came off as charming curiosity rather than instant dismissal of emotion. The note he leaves Robin after she tells him the Emily Dickinson poem is really sweet and shows his willingness to learn and to understand.

Robin and Al-An mutually helped each other go through grief and came out changed. I'd argue that Robin's character is probably the weakest point of the story because it is not clear when she changes and she comes off as preachy, but she is still driving the story forward with enough space for us as players to insert our own emotions. The story with Sam was good, but I think it was pretty brave to take the less obvious route and not just have Alterra be evil and kill Sam, covering her murder as Robin believed, rather have Sam die because she wanted to do something good and she screwed up - she still did well, but not everyone walks out a hero, and in this she parallels Al-An who had a good idea and drove his race to extinction because he also screwed up. Not everyone walks out unscathed. But Al-An learned from Robin and Sam as much as Robin learned from his story and found peace with her sister's death. Robin finally met Sam after she died and learned that her sister was brave and willing to fight what she believed in, even if it ended in tragedy.

Thank you if you read this far, I just think that this story is very cute and it falls together nicely. Maybe the original premise is cliche, but the elements make it very interesting if people are willing to dive into them. That goes for most stories, strip any story down to it's summary and you will get the same stories over and over, but its the way the are told and the execution that people enjoy, that's where the charm is and for me personally this was a really nice story. However it's okay if some people don't like it. And we have to note that Subnautica games are PG10+ so these were written with a younger audience in mind and the plot lines are simpler for children to grasp. Older players and fans have enough things to dig through to still be entertained by the story. The original Subnautica had a pretty cliche story line too, but the way it was executed in combination with the world is what makes it so lovable. When it comes to story, both games are equally good in my opinion.” end ID ]

[irafuwas]

random unprompted ask that you do not have to answer if you don't want to, but: i see that silkali is your favorite ship and i was wondering if you had any headcanons or just general thoughts about them that you'd like to share :o

Hi hi!! Yes, I’d love to share some of my thoughts on silkali, thank you so much for the ask!! ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Some headcanons:

adhd x autism power couple

I really don’t think they’d get together while at NRC. Silver is so laser focused on training to become a knight, and Kalim is so preoccupied with learning to be the next head of his family’s business, that I don’t think the stars would align for them to start dating while at school. When Silver realizes he’s fallen in love, he’d hesitate to confess since he knows he wants to stay in Briar Valley and serve the royal family the rest of his life. (I really don’t think anything is going to get Silver out of BV unless he’d be accompanying his father to go live with him elsewhere.) So for that reason (and also because they’re both shy and silly), Silver wouldn’t tell Kalim how he feels before they graduate from NRC. In my mind, they don’t get together until like a good decade post-graduation.

Silver likes that Kalim does most of the talking, and he never feels pressured to speak at length if he doesn’t want to. Kalim in turn likes that Silver is level headed, a good listener, and that he’s one of the few people he can enjoy silence with.

Kalim never gets mad when Silver falls asleep on him mid-conversation and he’ll be happy to sit and wait for however long it’ll take for Silver to wake up.

I think Kalim would be the first of the two to start crushing on the other. He’d get like shoujo manga heroine vision and start seeing sparklies and rainbows and stuff whenever Silver is around dfkgjdf

If they did go out during their time at NRC, Jami would for sure get really worried and trail them on their dates. He’d stake out on top of a nearby building, and he’d watch them from the scope of a sniper rifle. Atop another nearby building, Lilia would also be watching them, but from the scope of one of those really long paparazzi cameras instead.

After they get married, they have a lot of kids (all adopted and of all different species). I’m not sure how many, but at least five. (Kalim wanted a large family because he grew up with one and he adores all his siblings, and Silver feels it’s his duty to provide a loving home to any children in need.) Kalim has tons more experience with kids than Silver does, so Silver would lean on him a lot in the beginning with their first baby, but I think Silver would get the hang of things pretty quickly and he’d be a great dad.

No matter whom you ship Silver with romantically, I think we can all agree Lilia would be his number one wingman and he’d be really annoying lol. He’d def pester Silver a lot for any updates on his courting endeavors and give him the most Awful advice ever. He’d be like, “Silver, I’ll do anything to make sure this ship sails!” and Silver would be like, “Father, what vessel are you referring to…?”

I ship them for a couple different reasons, but I guess the main one is that I love that Silver genuinely appreciates and respects Kalim for who he is, and that Kalim in turn sees past Silver’s stone faced exterior and he can see all the good he has in his heart. A lot of the other characters more or less just put up with Kalim, and they’ll be kind to him just so they can get something from him. And with Silver, most people don’t take the time to understand that just because he’s quiet and doesn’t outwardly express his emotions a lot, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care or that he’s literally emotionless. So I guess I just like that they understand each other beyond the superficial impressions the other students have of them.

They honestly remind me a lot of Soriku – with Kalim mirroring Sora's bright and sunshine-y nature and Silver being more serious and solemn like Riku. Silver said in his dorm uniform vignette that he wishes he could be more open like Kalim, and if we ever get Kalim wishing he could be more like Silver in some way I will melt into a puddle on the spot lol (‘cause it’d mirror sora and riku’s convo on the dark margin at the end of KH2).

I have a couple different songs for them in my silkali playlist, but the one I think encompasses their ship the best is mona lisa by Sam Cooke! (it’s from Kalim’s pov)

[bluespring864]

I had kind of hoped upon waking up that I had somehow hallucinated a post I saw multiple times on my dash late last evening, because it contained one of the most bad faith takes I have ever seen on tennisblr, but it seems I didn't. Let me ask you the following (now that I have slept on it and am not replying as impulsively as i might have yesterday).

To the mutuals I've seen in the notes of that post: Do you really think when you see a player who rarely has beef with other players have some beef with someome about their attitude towards him and his team, that the only or even the main reason possible must be that that player is racist, of all things? I am not saying that such a reading is impossible, I am not saying that there is no racial bias there - this is of course a possibility. But is it the most likely/only option?

The two other players mentioned in that post (Carlos and Holger) are two people who have always been extremely respectful towards Novak, whereas Ben has done a little bit of mild trash talking during their match and (according to Novak) there was an incident towards his team before the match.

Now we don't know what exactly happened there, so it's difficult to judge without all the facts. To me personally it looks like Novak overreacted somewhat. The parts I have seen were the ones of Ben talking to his team during the match, and that certainly was different from how most other players talk about their opponent during a match, but in my opinion a public callout of that is a bit much.

It isn't surprising in the least though, seeing as the amount of times Novak talks about "respect" has basically become a meme at this point. This seems to be something he cares about a lot, and it seems he gets irritated quickly when someone doesn't share his views on what he deems respectful.

So as I said, while racial bias is a possibility, is it the most likely one in this case? Or could it be that people who dislike Novak anyway jumped on this possibility as the only way to interpret the situation and many of you shared this or liked this, implying that you agree with it?

I have to say, while bad faith takes on Novak never surprise me on tennisblr and I usually completely ignore them (how many times have I seen someone say during the last two weeks that he is faking his injury or that he uses his injury as an excuse, when this is a player who's very careful about not using injuries as an excuse for the way he played and has spoken about knowing exactly how citing an injury might come across), what surprised me a little bit in this case is just how many people jumped on it.

This is not meant as a callout towards the op of that post, whom I don't know and don't follow, or towards anyone who shared that post, it is just my reading of the situation which I talked about with a few mutuals before sharing it to make sure I wasn't completely off base. I am of course open to discussions (though very busy today, replies might take a while) and I'm not even mad at anyone who shared that post, I just wanted to get this off my chest.

(I have no illusions about this getting shared as widely as that other post was and it doesn’t need to be either. I only put this here because I care a little bit about the opinion of some long standing mutuals, who might read this post.)

Well. This got long. Peace and love on planet tennisblr, and (not to sound like a certain player) maybe some respect towards everyone as well ;-)