#Though I feel like these more so just turn into why I love characters.... But alas

[nyaagolor]

Once again I have Rosa Umineko on the brain. We know that the VN is just saying doing "self reflection through the other" all the way down, but I feel like Turn (aka Sayo's vent session) and the way she characterized Rosa is really reflective of her darkest thoughts. All the matriarchs represent being trapped in different cycles, self-inflicted or otherwise, but Rosa stands out to me among them for being the best representation of inevitability. Rosa's abuse of Maria is visceral, upsetting, and more importantly tied directly back to her own abuse at the hands of her siblings.

Rosa in Turn is a cog in the cycle of abuse, and probably the character portrayed as the least likely to actually escape from it. Maria is the witch of origins, creating something out of nothing, but Rosa is the witch of inevitability. Rosa has been abused to a degree that Sayo struggles to articulate, only to enact that same abuse-- almost identical as shown in the manga-- on her daughter. Rosa is (allegorically speaking) Sayo's worst outlook, the inevitability of passing on hurt to the people you care about.

As far as Turn is concerned, Rosa is destined to enact violence. She represents someone so beholden to their trauma that they are doomed to repeat it. Rosa is an exploration of Sayo's worst, most violent impulses. There is a reason that Turn is filled with gore and mistrustRosa, to Sayo, is an inescapable fate. Rosa is the person who couldn't move on from trauma, someone doomed to pass it on to everyone they love, a child in a woman's body who cannot be more than the violence inflicted on her.

When Sayo starts writing, she feels like Rosa-- and Rosa has never been someone that could have a happy ending. Sayo always tried to tell her stories through other people, to explore herself through their narratives and have everyone start to understand her through empathizing with the women she makes heroines. These narratives also serve as ways to understand herself, to reflect her own traumas and deepest feelings onto other people and learn how to feel about herself via proxy. That's why I always found it fascinating that Confession effectively confirms Turn to be one of the first things she writes.

Rosa is Sayo's capacity for violence, her hopelessness, the crying child she sees inside of herself. Rosa is a representation of a Sayo who can't heal-- who doesn't know HOW to. But this is one of the first people that Sayo tries to explore, to empathize with, to find herself in. Sayo has always been writing with the idea of a happy ending-- maybe they can solve the epitaph, maybe they survive. If Rosa can be happy, Sayo can be happy. But we know how Turn ends: she can't. Gold in hand, the person she loves most in her arms, she falls to the sea anyway.

Turn, to me, has always been the rawest feelings we've seen from Sayo. This is her writing her own pain, trying to find happiness in the person she sees as an inevitable monster. In the end though, she can't-- the wolf is doomed to kill by its own nature

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

hello! This is my first time actually requesting anything so please bear with me ;-;

I would like to request a 5th lord! Reader x Donna, reader is also pretty shy and reclusive, spending most of her time hunting with her mutated hounds or quietly managing her villagers' troubles, but can be assertive and outspoken if needed, even standing up to mother Miranda if she feels she's being unfair with the others, though she'd much rather chill with her dogs or do paperwork and let others do the talking.

Reader and Donna are both on good terms with both of them managing to work up the courage to go hang out at the other's manors from time to time. It doesn't take long for their "good terms" to start evolving into something more romantic but both of them are dancing around confessing their feelings, scared that doing so might destroy the friendship they've worked so hard to built...

It takes a little encouragement from Alcina (and maybe a little teasing about how she "can stare mother Miranda down but now look Donna in the eye") but Reader manages to get over her fear and confess, much to Donna's relief and joy.

Yesss!!!!! This is your 1st time requesting? Welcome then :D!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

The fifth one

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! 5th Lord (more or less)! Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word count: 7,943

Summary: You're the fifth, but don't want to, you just want to love her...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

You rolled your eyes at the commotion that was beginning to form in the old cathedral.

“Please, that chandelier over there is much more elegant than you,” one of the attendees at that meeting muttered, Alcina Dimitrescu who, was arguing with her brother, Karl Heisenberg.

“How unoriginal,” her brother said, with a cocky smile that slowly turned to you.

You shook your head, crossing your arms and looking away.

“Your presence clouds my ideas...” Alcina said, with a mocking smile.

“Relax, that's altitude sickness,” he said, arching his eyebrows.

“Who's next? Come on, come on, round of insults!” the sinister Angie doll shrieked, making you cover your ears.

“Oh, Gods…” the priestess who had won the favor of the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, murmured. “Silence!”

“He started it”

“She started it”

Both Lords protested in a childish manner, giving each other glances that, you were sure, had formed a barrier that, if you crossed it, you would burn without remedy.

“Well, now that you've finally shut your mouths, we can begin,” Miranda said, turning her head towards you, probably watching to make sure you were paying attention.

You were always the focus of her gaze, probably because that evil raven woman still didn't trust you.

Every time you attended, a sermon, or had to meet with the others for any boring matter, you wondered why you were there. Those people were descendants of the founders of the village, they were blessed by the Black Gods, you were not. You were quite different.

You were born without noble blood, without a great mansion or power.

Always introverted but with a tremendous desire to explore, you spent your childhood being not much more than the butcher, the blacksmith or the family of weavers. Your family, humble but well-off, was in charge of supplying the villagers with firewood or coal, raw materials that were still needed in that place.

It was an important job, but not a relevant one.

You were orphaned at an early age, left completely alone in that sinister house in the mountains. Loneliness was not a problem for you. You were never exactly a talkative or communicative girl.

But that introverted character clashed with your adventurous spirit, with the desire to know more about that strange cult, to know why the Black Gods only existed in that place.

That daring to find out the different reasons that led Mother Miranda to name herself a priestess seemed worth discovering.

In one of your explorations you got too brave. You watched the witch work in the laboratory, you tried to read the labels of those strange bottles.

You fell in front of the blonde with a resounding sound. You already thought that your life had come to an end. But apparently, Mother Miranda didn't see a sudden interest in ending the life of that stupid snooper, rather she saw you as a unique opportunity to continue investigating.

She didn't care about your screams or your struggles, she took what she wanted, experimenting on you, putting into your body what she herself said it was: the gift of the Gods.

Miranda was probably even more surprised when, after a time that you were still unable to determine, you opened your eyes.

You, who already believed that you would die, resurrected on that dirty stretcher to the surprise and pleasure of the golden witch.

You were still you, but somehow, you were no longer the same. The smells, the sounds... Everything entered your body in an almost overwhelming way. It was as if you had suddenly woken up, as if something had made your senses sharpen.

Of course, you were glad to still be alive, but you were scared.

Your weak body became a weapon. Your strength was no longer that of a simple villager. You had been reborn with the gift of the superhuman and you couldn’t complain.

You were a partial success, one of the few who survived the graft, a miracle. Your strength, your senses, everything had improved substantially but... The strangest thing of all was when you discovered what exactly you could do.

The lycans, those unfortunate villagers who weren't as lucky as you were, came after you in the middle of Miranda's tests. You were never a fighter, of course, even with your new strength, you were scared.

But the miracle happened again.

Apparently, Miranda noticed something that you didn't. Those drooling beasts didn't attack you, they didn't bother wasting time tearing your skin or devouring you. To them you were like something untouchable. You thought it was because of the parasite but once again Miranda told you it wasn't.

Complete control over the village beasts, that was your true new ability. A very useful ability, indeed, at least for that horrible woman.

Miranda's confidence was even more fleeting and cloudy than the Black Gods themselves. Her amazement also hid some fear. You were certainly strong. You could make all the monsters destroy the village with a snap of your fingers.

According to the witch, your status as an ordinary villager placed you in a strange limbo. Neither a Lord, nor a villager, simply, (Y/N). Power was something you didn’t want, but you couldn’t longer avoid it.

You became something like the fifth Lord. The meetings, the sermons... Everything required your presence as well as that of the rest of the noble families. So… Well, Lord or not, you were part of it.

You didn't have a coat of arms, you didn't have a noble background, but you sat next to them. The only thing that relieved you was that those monsters weren't your new siblings. That was the only difference between them and you, for everything else, to the villagers, the number five was always present when they saw you.

Hunting, doing paperwork, answering calls and requests from the villagers… That was your routine. Yes, you preferred solitude, the comfort of your cozy cabin in the woods but… Well, you couldn't complain, it wasn't that bad.

Luck or caution, those two words sailed through your thoughts from time to time. You wondered if Miranda granted you those privileges just because you survived or, on the contrary, she preferred to have you on her side instead of having you against her.

In the meetings, together with the rest of the Lords, you thought about it, you thought about how strong Miranda would be if you and all her children rebelled against her. If you don't feed a beast, it ends up devouring you.

“The Petrescu family have decided not to make the monthly offering to the Gods, let's see, come on, ideas...” Miranda said, moving her arms.

“If I remember correctly, they have a daughter, right?” Alcina intervened, immediately returning you to that boring meeting.

“Mm, it seems so,” Miranda commented, listlessly, nodding towards the lady of the castle.

“She will serve in my castle as payment,” the lady in white said.

It gave you a shiver.

“Oh, sure, of course,” Karl said, interrupting his sister, as always. “I'm sure she's dying to serve you.”

“Their eldest son is strong, he'll be a good experiment,” the deformed Moreau commented.

“No, no way,” you intervened, shaking your head. “I'm the one who has to take care of your experiments.”

“You should have a nursery!” the doll Angie said, laughing sinisterly.

You smiled and nodded, arching your eyebrows.

“Yes, good idea,” you said amused.

“Not again…” Miranda sighed, running her hand over her mask, with a threatening tone.

Well, you couldn't blame her for being fed up with these meetings, you were too.

“Let's see, what punishment do they deserve? One by one,” the witch hissed through her teeth, thus avoiding another uproar. “Let's see, (Y/N), let's start with you.”

“Mm,” you murmured thoughtfully. “I don't think they deserve punishment, Mother Miranda,” you said after a few seconds of meditation, causing all those sinister gazes to turn towards you.

“No?” the witch asked, in a low tone.

“No,” you said firmly. “The Petrescu family has had plagues in their crops and that's why they haven't been able to make the offering to the Gods.”

“But it is my will, (Y/N),” the priestess protested, getting a little closer to you. You didn't feel intimidated, not in the least.

“Yes, and it is also our duty to take care of the villagers but someone…” you explained, pointing timidly at Heisenberg. “Someone preferred to steal the entire shipment of special insecticide, so they were unable to control the plague.”

“Oh, are you implying that it was me?” the Lord asked, pointing at himself. “How bold.”

“I'm not implying anything, Karl,” you said amused.

“Well, there are some very large flies in the castle, I needed that shipment,” he murmured amused, making the lady in white growl.

“Stupid bastard,” Dimitrescu growled, clenching her fists.

“Silence… Silence…” Miranda hissed, visibly tired. “Then, (Y/N), according to you I should forgive them for their lack of faith.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Punishing them for something we have not been able to remedy would be unfair.”

“You say I am unfair then,” the witch murmured, with a dangerous tone.

“In this case yes, you are, Mother Miranda,” you said without any fear.

Miranda stepped back, laughing sinisterly.

“Okay… I will forgive them,” she said, but lowering her tone as she looked at you again. “For now… Go away, the meeting is over.”

You all stood up silently and you sighed in relief, you could finally go home.

“Hey, you, newbie,” Karl said, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You have guts, huh? No one faces the witch without paying for it.”

“I believe in justice,” you murmured, feeling the cold of your skin as you left the cathedral. The Lord laughed amused, patting your back unpleasantly.

“How considerate…” he whispered. “Hey, come to my factory, there are some beers waiting for you.”

“Bah, not today, I have work to do,” you said, shaking your head.

Saying goodbye to your companions, you walked towards the last of them, towards the lady in black, who seemed to be waiting for you too. After all, her old estate was on the way to your cabin.

Lady Beneviento was a mysterious woman. Always silent, covered by that black veil… She was certainly the most interesting of the Lords.

Donna Beneviento was something like a silent friend. Everyone in the village feared her, but not you. Sick, psychopathic, deformed… You had heard so many things about this woman that you weren't sure if you believed them. In any case, she never showed any of that, in fact, you could say that in your silence there was something like a shy friendship.

You weren't a woman of many words. You enjoyed solitude just like she did. Maybe that's why you got along well.

Silence was the best of conversations, those discreet glances into your eyes, that shy laugh when you played with Angie to chain words together. Yes, you felt very comfortable with her, maybe too much.

But, even though you were shy, lately you tried to get some words out of that black veil, you were quite determined to hear her hoarse voice and not the usual squeals of the doll.

“So… How are your dolls?” you asked, walking slowly, making the lady turn around startled. It wasn’t common for you to break the silence without Angie around.

“Fine,” Donna whispered, with that hoarse voice, raspy from lack of use. Her voice was like a breeze, like a current of air that you couldn't see but you could feel.

“Great,” you murmured, lowering your head.

“How are your… Monsters?” she asked after a few awkward seconds in which you thought that talking to her was a bad idea.

“They’re fine,” you said the same way, nodding confidently.

“Monsters!” Angie repeated, breaking the calm of that little walk.

“Yes…” you sighed amused, winking at the doll, who laughed sinisterly. “Hey, Donna, what do you think of the Petrescu thing?” you asked the lady in black, having the strange need to talk.

“Cosa?” she asked, with an even softer voice, slowing down her steps to stand beside you, walking at the same pace as you.

“You know... That whole harvest thing,” you said timidly. “I honestly find it incredible that Miranda blames those poor villagers when she's supposed to be taking care of them.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured with disinterest, looking away. “You're taking too many risks.”

“Why do you say so? I say what I think,” you said, shaking your head.

“That's why you take the risk,” she commented, walking faster, reaching the wooden bridge that separated your world from hers. “Sometimes it's better to not say anything.”

“Oh, of course, that's your strategy, isn't it? I thought you were just a quiet woman,” you said amused, leaning on some rocks.

A soft laugh came from the lady in black, who also stopped.

“I am,” she whispered, moving the impatient Angie in her arms.

“I see…” you murmured, looking away embarrassedly. “I don’t know, maybe I’m too stupid.”

“Stupid for having a sense of justice?” she asked in a slightly clearer voice.

You shrugged exaggeratedly, spreading your arms.

“Maybe…” you sighed, looking at the cloudy sky. “Well, I guess we’ll see each other.”

“Yes, we’ll see each other,” the lady said passively, sighing uncomfortably.

“See you later,” you said, waving goodbye and jumping towards the mountain, a very big one.

“See you later, silly!” Angie shrieked, waving her arms in farewell, something you already saw from the top of the mountain.

“Hey, Angie, remember that you owe me 500 lei!” you shouted amused.

“That's a lie!” the doll protested. “Liar!”

“Next time try not to lose! You know that I am unbeatable in chess!” you said amused, earning a sinister laugh from the puppet, who said goodbye to you while the lady resumed her path.

You walked a little further through the forest until you reached your cabin, where some anxious barking alerted you.

“Oh, wait!” you shouted as your two favorite beasts launched themselves at you, covering you with licks. “Hey, okay, yeah, I missed you, guys!” you shouted amused, pushing the mutated dogs away from you. “Come on, it's time to eat.”

Routine fell upon you after that little interruption. Certainly, meetings weren't your favorite pastime, but after doing the same thing day after day, they were a relief.

Paperwork, calls from villagers begging you for some firewood, the occasional business with the Duke... It was all boring, but at the same time reassuring. Hunting with your dogs was the most fun thing you did, but even that became a tedious routine.

But, for some time now, a new hobby forced you to leave the safety of your cabin and look over the cliff.

Just below that great height, the Beneviento House stood, that strange place sheltered by a waterfall. At first you didn't give importance to the closeness you had with the lady in black, but... Little by little, that friendship grew, forcing you to keep an eye on her without wanting to.

Donna was like you, she didn't usually leave her house but, when she did, your heart started to beat strongly. A strange but interesting woman, that's what she was to you, apart from being a friend in a world of shadows. At least you liked to think that way.

Surely for her you were just a companion.

Lying in the snow, one that had long since stopped being cold for you, you observed the mansion, wondering what that woman was doing at that moment, if she would go out to take care of her flowers or it would be another boring day in which you couldn't see her.

“Mm,” you murmured, getting up, disappointed. “Today is not the day to go out, huh?” you said amused.

The sound of nearby axe blows brought you out of the comfort of your solitude, of your routine. The lycans always did the hard work, always cut down the trees to give you that precious firewood. Yes, you could truly feel privileged although those beasts... They weren't exactly intelligent.

“Hey!” you shouted, walking quickly towards that group of lycans who were cutting down one of the nearby trees. “I thought I told you to go to the western forest.”

The grunts were their response while they shrugged their shoulders comically.

“West, do you hear me?” you repeated indignantly, stamping the ground. “Oh, damn it. Give me that,” you said while taking the axe from one of them. “Go over there, and get a bigger axe.”

Taking another of your tools and giving it to the lycan, you order them to leave, something they obeyed, luckily.

“Great…” you muttered annoyed, running a hand through that half-felled tree. “Stupid lycans…”

Shaking your head, you put the axe on your shoulder, ready to return to the comfort of paperwork or the fun of hunting, you were still not sure. A strange creaking sound stopped your steps and you turned around trembling.

That tree seemed to lean dangerously, which made you open your eyes in fear.

“Oh, no, no, no, no…” you lamented, running towards it as fast as you could. You didn't get there in time.

The tree split and the larger half fell down the cliff. You could only touch it with your fingers before it disappeared into the abyss with a thunderous sound of breaking glass.

“Shit…” you sighed, closing your eyes tightly. That definitely hadn't sounded good at all.

Slowly, clearing your throat, you looked over the cliff. If that tree had fallen into the river it would have been a relief, but it didn't.

Below the slope, that tree rested on the roof of the Beneviento mansion, with its top stuck in one of the windows.

“Okay… Damn it,” you said through your teeth, running a hand over your forehead. “Damn it…”

“Hey!” a sharp scream made you look down again.

Donna and Angie had come out of the house, surely alerted by the noise. You tried to hide from them, but you weren't fast enough.

“Hey, you, I saw you!” the doll snapped at you, forcing you to look out again. “What do you think you're doing?! Do you want to kill us!?”

“Oh, um… I'm sorry!” you cried out embarrassed, biting your lip. Both lady and doll looked at you intensely.

“You're sorry?! Get down here and face me!” Angie demanded.

You had no choice but to obey, taking a big leap to go down to the grounds of the mansion. You landed next to Donna, looking at her briefly and then observing the mess the tree had caused.

“H-Hi…” you sighed nervously, with a shy smile. “Um, I can, I can explain it.”

“There's a tree going through the attic of my house, what do you have to explain?” the lady in black asked, with that usual hoarse tone.

You laughed amused by what you thought was a joke and scratched the back of your neck, looking at the tree and shaking your head.

“It was an accident,” ​​you said with a shaky voice. “It, it wasn't my fault.”

Angie and Donna looked at each other and, after a few seconds, lowered their heads towards the axe you were still holding, looking back at you shortly after.

“Oh, no, it's not what it seems,” you said nervously, hiding the tool behind your back.

“We caught you with the weapon, silly, anything to say in your defense?” Angie said, crossing her arms, held by her owner.

“Okay, I'm, I'm sorry,” you said, with your best good girl face. “It wasn't me, the lycans are getting stupider every day and they started cutting down a tree they shouldn't have and…” you stammered.

“Your apologies aren't going to solve the problem,” Donna whispered, lowering the doll to the ground.

“Yeah, I know but…” you said nervously, avoiding looking at the mess. “Don't worry, I'll call, I'll call the lycans to get it out of there. In the meantime, as compensation… I don't know, maybe, maybe you'd like to have some tea at my place.”

“Is that compensation?” the puppet mocked, shaking her head. “No, silly, we want a million lei.”

“What? A million?” you asked, mouth agape.

“Don't pay attention to her,” Donna murmured, walking away from you. “The tea will be enough.”

“Oh, okay…” you said blinking in confusion. You didn't think it was going to be that easy.

“What are you saying, silly Donna? Have you become…?” Angie said, tugging at her owner's dress. The lady looked at her firmly, making her shut up immediately.

Intimidation or control? You weren't sure.

The walk to your cabin was tense. After you called the lycans and they went up to the roof, you started to think about why you had offered the lady in black some tea. She certainly didn't seem displeased with the offer, but you found that something so stupid was enough for Donna strange. After all, you had impaled her house on a tree.

The lady in black gasped as your dogs roared at her presence. You couldn't be surprised by it. It was very strange to have visitors.

“Relax, they're harmless,” you said with a nervous smile, opening the door to your cabin. “That's Pinky, and that's Winky”

“Pinky and Winky? What kind of stupid names are those?”  the doll said, watching the animals with curiosity. They calmed down due to your caresses.

“Well, the ones I gave them,” you said proudly, stroking the head of one of them, causing it to lick your hand.

“Can I play with them?” the Angie doll asked, approaching cautiously. “Can I, Donna, can I?”

“I don't know,” the lady in black whispered, looking suspiciously at the hounds. “(Y/N), they won't hurt Angie, right?”

“No, I don't think so,” you said unsurely, watching the doll's timid interactions with the animals. “She'll be fine.”

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” the lady asked after a few silent moments watching Angie, who had already mounted one of the beasts.

“Oh, sure, come in,” you said, coming out of that daydream.

Donna entered slowly, observing every detail of your small but luxurious cabin.

“Mm,” she murmured, sitting on one of your sofas in a disinterested manner.

“It's not much but well, it's a home,” you commented, confused by the attitude of the woman in black, the passive and timid attitude as always. “Black tea?”

She nodded slightly and you did the same, nervously preparing the tea. Silence was once again your only companion. You couldn't say you were scared, but you were somewhat intimidated by her presence. You knew what she was capable of. You knew she wasn't right in the head. Maybe she had set you up to make you suffer for your mistake.

“Ahem, here you go,” you said nervously, sitting in front of her and showing a jar. “Do you want sugar?”

“No,” she answered dryly, taking the cup and bringing it to her lips, slightly moving her veil aside.

You couldn't help but notice her features, something that made her stop, replacing the black cloth.

“It's rude to stare at someone,” she murmured annoyed.

“I'm sorry,” you said nervously, looking away so she could drink calmly.

“What are you sorry about? About shamelessly staring at me or impaling my house on a tree?” Donna asked in a dark, hoarse tone, with a marked accent.

“Oh, the tree thing and... Well, the other thing too and... I'd better, I'd better keep quiet,” you said, hiding your embarrassment behind your cup of tea.

“Mm,” she murmured again with disinterest, leaving her cup on the table and resting her hands on her lap in an elegant and shy way. Surely she must have been uncomfortable, just like you.

The tension could easily be cut. Silence stopped being your ally and became your worst enemy. To talk or not to talk, that was the question.

Luckily, it was the lady in black who seemed interested in starting a conversation.

“What are you doing here all day?” the doll maker asked, barely moving.

“Nothing special, I don't spend much time in here, to tell the truth,” you said, clearing your throat, relieved by the disappearance of silence. “I don't like being locked up.”

“I see. You are like one of your beasts then,” she commented, tilting her head slightly.

You raised your eyebrows, not quite knowing how to respond to that statement.

“If by that you mean that I like the outdoors...” you murmured amused, with a calm smile.

“No, I say it because of how ugly you are,” she said abruptly, leaving you completely disoriented, speechless.

“Hey...” you protested at that gratuitous and unexpected insult.

“It was a joke,” she said, seeing your incipient annoyance.

You blinked confused, shaking your head and drinking again to relieve the trembling of your body.

“Forgive me, I'm not very good at it,” Donna said in a softer tone, laughing shyly. “I've never known how to joke.”

“A joke, of course,” you said calmer but tense, with your heart beating strongly in your chest. “Relax, I'm not good with people either.”

“It doesn't seem like it,” she said distractedly, shifting uncomfortably on the wooden sofa. “You get along very well with my siblings.”

“You think so? No, not at all, we just tolerate each other,” you explained in a relaxed tone, waving your hand to make light of it. “I usually go out with Heisenberg to have beers from time to time but the truth is that I prefer solitude.”

“Heisenberg,” the lady repeated, with a mysteriously dark tone. “Do you like spending time with him?”

You shrugged, not giving importance to those innocent questions.

“Yes, well, I'm still a human being, or so I think... You know, we're social animals and...” you said, leaning back in the chair, realizing what that question really meant. “Oh, if you mean... No, no, no, no,” you quickly denied. “It's not what you're thinking.”

“What am I thinking?” she asked, with a somewhat more casual tone, letting you sense a smile behind that black veil.

“I don't know, what are you thinking?” you asked back, shy but somehow confident.

“I'm just saying that you get along with my brother, I wasn't implying anything,” Donna said, with a slightly more serious tone, annoyed for some reason.

“Okay…” you sighed confused.

It was the first time you talked for so long with the woman in black and that started to take its toll on you, making you more and more nervous.

“I get along with you too,” you whispered almost without meaning to.

“Oh, really?” she asked with a mocking tone. “What makes you think that way?”

“Well…” you murmured, regretting your words. “At least you talk to me, they say that's a miraculous.”

“What's miraculous? Someone talking to you?” she asked, curious, reaching out her hand again for the cup of tea, indicating that you should look away again.

“No, you talking to someone,” you said in a small voice, lowering your head while the lady put the tea back in its place.

“Mm,” Donna murmured with disinterest, maintaining that tense and defensive pose, not paying attention to your words, or at least, not showing it. “What else are they saying out there?”

“Huh?” you asked confused, startled. “Oh, nothing bad, just, just that...”

“Bugiarda,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Excuse me?” you asked, getting closer in case you had misunderstood her.

“I say you are a liar,” she repeated, clenching her fists discreetly. “I know perfectly well what they say about me.”

“Oh, okay, but, but you asked me…” you stammered, the awkwardness tensing the atmosphere even more.

Lady Beneviento shrugged with a sigh.

“I was just curious, you're a very strange girl,” she whispered curiously, tilting her head again.

“Likewise,” you said laughing, joking unintentionally. You were too clumsy for social relations, you should know it. “I mean…”

A tender laugh came out of the veil again, a sweet laugh that didn't express that previous coldness. Your heart was restless, but your face made things easier for you, making you smile back.

“Sei divertente…” the lady whispered among laughs.

“Thank you, I guess…” you joked, raising your cup of tea in gratitude, drinking the remaining liquid.

“So you and me get along…” Donna said, after a moment of calm.

“Mm?” you asked confused, crossing your arms. You could no longer hide behind the empty cup.

“You said that before, you say that we get along,” the lady repeated, with a more impatient tone, as if she was annoyed at having to repeat things.

“You're at my house drinking tea so... It seems so,” you said amused, arching your eyebrows.

“How curious, I thought we were here because you’ve destroyed my house,” she said, crossing her arms, finally changing that stoic pose.

“Oh yeah, shit…” you sighed embarrassed again remembering the accident from a while ago.

“Don't talk like that, (Y/N), you're a Lord,” Donna reprimanded you with a stern voice.

“Can't a Lord say shit?” you asked amused, relaxing in the armchair.

“You shouldn't,” the lady said with a dry voice, shaking her head.

“Besides, I'm not a Lord,” you said after a few moments.

“No? So what are you?” she asked in a low, hoarse tone, more like her usual one.

“I don't know,” you answered with a slightly nostalgic sigh. You had never seriously considered that question. “(Y/N)”

“(Y/N)…” the doll maker murmured, in a somber tone. “Lady (Y/N)?”

“Just (Y/N)” you repeated, with a knowing smile, accidentally winking.

“Mm,” she murmured, finishing her tea and letting silence fall over your shoulders again.

“I don't think they'll take long,” you said, unable to find a suitable topic of conversation in your mind, one that wouldn't lead to awkward statements or questions from the lady in black.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, looking at the subtle trembling of your hands.

“No,” you said, putting on a serious expression.

“I’m making you nervous,” she said next, stating, not asking.

“No, no, no, no, I mean…” you stammered. “It's not that I'm nervous because I accidentally destroyed your house and I'm afraid you're going to give me nightmares or something like that,” you said, with a tone totally different from the one you wanted to express.

“If I had wanted you dead, you would already be,” Donna hissed in a sinister voice, one that made a shiver run through your body.

“It was, it was a joke,” you said timidly, scratching the back of your neck.

“I see you are not good at joking either,” she said, with a calmer tone, she even seemed to laugh.

“Not at all,” you said with a fearful smile.

“Hey, get away, you disgusting slime!” Angie's squeals alerted you. “Hey!”

You stood up with the lady, walking towards the door, where a group of lycans waited patiently, curious about the doll.

“Donna, Donna!” the puppet shrieked, running into the arms of her owner. “You, tell them to stop harassing me!”

“Hey, you, stay still,” you ordered the beasts, which continued to surround you in a sinister manner.

The lycans growled, but obeyed.

“Are you done?” you asked in a stern tone, crossing your arms. The strongest-looking one nodded in satisfaction. “Great...”

“There’s no more tree?” Angie asked curiously. You moved your head triumphantly.

“Mm, oh, and don’t worry about the window, the village glazier owes me a favor,” you said pleasantly, with an apologetic look. The growls of those beasts were uncomfortable and made you turn to them. “What are you looking at? Go away, go away…”

The pack of beasts scattered, accidentally hitting the lady in black, who fell to the ground with a gasp.

“Oh, shit, Donna…” you said nervously, helping the lady up. “Hey, be more careful! Shit, sorry, sorry…”

The lady groaned, helped by you and Angie, brushing the snow off her dress.

You were speechless. The black veil covering her face had moved enough for you to see her. She was… She was simply a beautiful woman, really beautiful. The deformity of her face was not an impediment for you to be dazzled. Of course she noticed, opening her one eye wide.

“W-Wait…” you sighed, reaching out your hand to the veil and awkwardly placing it. “There you go.”

“You are not scared,” she murmured, finishing to place the black cloth. You shook your head, with a strange smile.

“No, not at all, you are… You have nothing to do with what they say out there,” you commented unintentionally, nervous because of that beautiful face, one that made your heart race. “You are such a beautiful woman. I don't know why you're covering yourself”

Donna didn't answer. She just looked at you strangely, shaking her head.

“You're really bad at jokes, (Y/N)” she whispered in a surprisingly calm tone. “But thanks for trying.”

“I'm telling the truth,” you said, frowning as the lady walked away with a slow step, picking up her doll again. “Hey, Donna!” you shouted, getting her attention. “I liked having tea with you.”

“Of course, you say we get along, right?” she said, laughing shyly, still walking.

It wasn't the last time you two got together.

From the day you destroyed her house, the visits started to become more and more frequent. They were always absurd talks about topics that weren't important. In your house, in hers, the place didn't matter.

Your mind began to unravel why a part of you seemed addicted to looking over the cliff, to see if the lady would leave her house. She was beautiful… Really beautiful, a wounded woman with a tormented soul who was terribly attractive to you. The veil disappeared over time, at every tea, at every visit she was closer and you were closer.

It was hard for you to recognize it but… Soon friendship was no longer enough, soon your lips sighed as you walked away from that house, as you watched her leave yours. You were attracted to her, you liked her, Donna was perfect for you but at the same time she was something impossible to have and you should accept it before falling into the clutches of an unhealthy crush.

“That was the last time I skied with my dogs,” you said one quiet night, one in which the tea went on so long that the stars shone in the sky.

The fireplace in the Beneviento house crackled, giving your body a different, strange warmth. Maybe it was just having Donna next to you, with her legs up on the couch, listening to your stupid adventures for hours.

The lady in black laughed, changing her teacup for a glass of wine, one she slowly brought to her lips as fire glowed in her eye, making you shiver.

“It wasn't a good idea,” she commented amused, leaving the glass on the table. “You could have hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I'm resilient,” you joked, raising and lowering your eyebrows, settling yourself on that sofa.

“You say your life is boring, but it doesn't seem that way to me,” Donna said, looking at you distractedly, lowering her hand dangerously close to yours.

“Most of the time it's boring, I only tell you the best parts,” you said, drinking your glass of wine, briefly looking at your hands.

“Would you have liked not to be a Lord?” she asked, with a sadder look, without looking at you.

“I'm not a Lord,” you said amused, relaxing your smile when you saw her serious face. “But, what do you mean?”

“You know, I'm wondering if you would have preferred a normal, ordinary life,” the doll maker whispered, looking at you again, curious.

You shrugged, finishing your wine.

“I don't know,” you sighed wistfully, looking at the fireplace. “I guess my life would keep being boring.”

“Mm,” she murmured, resting her head on the couch, as if she was waiting for a longer answer.

“Well, let's see, it has its good points,” you said in a more casual tone.

“Like what?” the lady asked.

“To have met you,” you murmured involuntarily, noticing how your cheeks were heating up with blush.

“You... Are you glad you met me?” Donna asked, leaning towards you.

“Yes, Donna, you are a wonderful woman,” you said, faking a friendly smile, lightly hitting her hand, one that grabbed yours without wanting to, putting your heart on alert.

“I, I'm glad I met you too,” she sighed, watching how your hands played on their own, getting to know each other, caressing each other involuntarily. “I... I...”

“Hey, it's too late, fools!” Angie interrupted, just when your bodies began to walk the path that separated them. You stepped back, keeping your gaze on the lady, who did the same, with a serious expression, as if she had regretted her movements.

“Angie…” Donna sighed, also annoyed by the doll's boldness.

You wondered what would have happened if the puppet hadn't appeared, what your lips would have done.

“S-she's right, um… There's a meeting tomorrow and we should rest,” you said nervously, getting up from the couch.

“Yes, I…” she said, nodding but unable to take her eye off yours and nervous just like you. “We, we'll see each other tomorrow.”

“Yes…” you sighed with a weak smile, taking your hands away from each other at the same time. Unintentionally, they had remained together. “Donna, I…”

“Yes?” she asked, perhaps too quickly.

You opened your mouth but couldn't say what you wanted, something prevented you.

“Nothing, um… Have a good night,” you said timidly, moving away from her.

“(Y/N), wait, I have, I have to tell you something,” the lady said, gently grabbing your wrist.

“Yes?” you said the same way, with almost pleading eyes.

She imitated your gesture, opening her mouth and not saying anything. If it weren't in those circumstances it could have been somewhat comical.

“I... T-thank you for, for having dinner with me,” she finally said. “I hope you rest.”

You nodded disappointedly, walking towards the exit.

Cowardice, that was the only word on your mind. You wanted to tell her many things, you wanted to tell the doll maker that you would like to spend more time with her, that every second by her side was wonderful, but you couldn't do it.

Cowardly, yes, but also worried, your head was spinning from that crush that you couldn't deny. Maybe Donna was just excited to have someone after so much time alone, it could be that the lady in black was just a friend, and nothing else.

If so, any advance on your part would be a hammer, a saw, a cutting element that would irreparably break your friendship.

You didn't want that, you didn't want to lose her for confusing your feelings, for misinterpreting hers.

The next day you opened your eyes routinely. You had barely rested, thinking about everything that was happening around Lady Beneviento, everything you lived with her every day. Staying calm and strengthening the friendship was your priority, no matter how many times your heart reminded you of what you really felt for her.

“Welcome, my children...” Miranda said, while you all sat down in your seats and you smiled at the lady in black, who made a gesture to greet you, indicating that you should sit next to her. “(Y/N)...” the priestess murmured, showing that subtle contempt she felt for you, who were not part of her family but were not a villager either.

“Hey there…” you said haughtily, earning a strange look from the lady in black.

The witch smiled sinisterly, moving away from you to begin her usual speech.

These meetings stopped being boring a long time ago.

While Miranda spoke you made mocking gestures so Donna looked at you, rolling your eyes, nodding ironically... Anything that would grant you the perfect gift of her soft laugh under her veil.

“Hey, Donna, how do you say boring in Italian?” you whispered, getting a little closer to her chair. She looked at you, moving Angie so she was comically leaning in your ear.

“Noioso,” Angie whispered, to which you nodded gratefully.

“Mm,” you murmured amused. “I suppose it will be useful for the next meeting.”

Donna shook her head, sighing amused.

“So… Boring witch would be something like... Strega noiosa?” you asked, getting a little closer to the lady's ear.

“Yes, more or less,” the lady whispered, in a tone that only you could hear. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I like to know what I'm looking at,” you said, pointing at Miranda with your head.

Donna laughed nervously, unable to be discreet, attracting the attention of the priestess, who immediately fell silent.

“Donna, I can't believe it,” Miranda sighed, crossing her arms. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing, Mother Miranda,” the lady murmured, holding back her laughter.

You looked away, meeting the eyes of the lady of the castle, who was looking at you with a frown, you didn't know for how long.

“Oh, okay, go away, out...” Miranda said, tired, gesturing with her hand.

Luckily, you were spared that reprimand.

“I'll kill you, (Y/N),” Donna whispered as you walked back home. “I swear I'll kill you.”

“Hey, I didn't do anything,” you joked. “I'm just trying to pass the time.”

“I'm sure you did,” the lady said, walking slowly beside you. “Oh, I'm almost done with the doll you ordered.”

“Wow, that's fast,” you said satisfied, walking slower and slower, enjoying that little moment of company.

“Well, the hounds were difficult to make” she commented, disinterested.

“Oh, shit, I mean, jeez…” you joked, scratching the back of your neck. “Now that you mention it… I should go buy them some meat.”

“Are you coming this afternoon?” the ventriloquist asked, accidentally taking your hand, something that you, of course, didn't prevent. “I'd like… For us to have dinner together, like yesterday.”

“Sure, but I'll cook,” you said amused as your hands slowly separated.

Donna turned around, giving you one last look before disappearing into the forest.

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Ah, fuck!” you screamed when a hand rested on your shoulder. You turned around scared.

Alcina, Lady Dimitrescu, was behind you, with the same expression as at the meeting.

“Well, well…” she murmured in a sensual voice.

“Oh, hello, Alcina, I…” you stammered, still scared. “Do you need something? Have you run out of firewood?”

“No…”she sighed, changing her frown into a sinister smile. “Tell me, (Y/N), what exactly is going on between you and my sister?” she asked, making you blush again.

“What? I don't understand,” you said nervously, looking for an escape route with your gaze. There wasn't one.

“Please, I saw you at the meeting, you looked like two clingy teenagers,” she commented, rolling her eyes. “Come on, confess, what's going on?”

“We are, we are friends,” you said, with a sad smile.

“Donna has a friend…” Alcina sighed, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Do you realize how stupid it sounds?”

“I don't know why you say that, she's a kind woman and… When, when you meet her it's… It's…”

“I know what she's like, dear,” the lady in white interrupted. “That's why I'm surprised that someone like you got that close to her.”

“We, we get along,” you said, nodding with a serious face, watching the lady in black walk away without looking back, luckily.

“Is that all?” Dimitrescu asked.

Let's see, she was over a hundred years old, she wasn't exactly stupid... It wouldn't be easy to fool her.

“Yes... Unfortunately,” you sighed, looking at the snow under your feet.

“Oh, see? That doesn't seem like a dirty lie anymore,” the lady in white joked. “So? What are you going to do?”

“What? Oh, nothing...” you said with a sad, timid voice, shaking your head. “I guess.”

“Mm...” Alcina murmured, running a huge hand over your shoulders. “It's funny... You, a Lord...”

“I'm not a... Bah, never mind,” you said, interrupting but regretting it later.

“How can it be? You face Mother Miranda and don't have the guts to tell Donna what you feel,” she said, with an inquisitive look.

She knew more about your feelings than you did. Would Donna have talked to her? It seemed unlikely.

“It seems easy, but it isn't,” you protested, crossing your arms.

“I think so, dear…” she sighed, lighting a cigarette. “Take some advice from me, (Y/N)… Tell her.”

“I can't do that, what if she doesn't feel the same?” you said nervously, less and less uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Please…” Alcina murmured, rolling her eyes again. “Stop fooling around and tell her how you feel. Donna doesn't take hints, understand? She needs really big signs to show her the way.”

You nodded, frowning.

“Hey, what do you care?” you asked curiously.

The lady in white shrugged her shoulders with a funnily sinister smile.

“Let's say that… I need some time without the castle phone ringing and disturbing me…”

“What?” you asked curiously. “Did Donna tell something to you?”

“I didn't say that, (Y/N)…” the vampire murmured, turning elegantly, leaving you stuck to the snow, blinking and breathing heavily. “What are you doing standing there? Run…”

You nodded, overcome by euphoria, turning around with a smile. Yes, Donna felt the same, there was no doubt. You didn't know why Alcina helped you, or what things Donna told her about you but… You had to tell her, tell her that your cabin wasn't warm enough if she wasn't with you, that… That you loved her…

You ran with all your might, jumping through the forest with the strength that love, or nerves, gave you.

You reached the clearing where little Claudia was resting and took one last big jump, avoiding the elevator.

As you fell you realized that you had terribly miscalculated and your body was quickly approaching the mansion hopelessly.

“Shit!” you shouted protecting yourself with your arms as you went through the newly repaired attic window, falling thunderously to the ground. “Ouch...”

You shook the glass off your body, checking that your wounds were healing on their own as usual.

“Hey!” Angie's shrieks reached your ears and you, timidly, looked out the broken window with an embarrassed smile.

“Hi...” you sighed timidly, moving your hand in greeting, looking at the lady who was watching you calmly.

“(Y/N)?” Donna asked, shaking her head.

“Silly! What's your problem with that window?” Angie asked as you jumped to the ground in a quick movement, landing in front of the lady.

“I'm sorry, I had to talk to you,” you said nervously as she removed a piece of glass from your dress, one that you couldn't shake off.

“I guess walking isn't your thing, right?” Donna commented, amused, not the slightest bit bothered by your accident.

“No, my favorite hobby is being with you,” you said quickly. She moved away, but not enough for your hands to not be able to reach her face. “D-Donna, I... I...”

Not finding words that could be useful, you decided push that horrible veil away from her face and capture her lips with yours, in a deep, sincere kiss that she immediately returned.

“I'm in love with you,” you whispered still on her lips, kissing her slowly, grabbing her waist as she did the same, smiling in relief.

“Really? Are you serious?” the lady asked, caressing your cheeks. “Me, me too…”

“Yes… I may not want to be a Lord but, but I want to be by your side, to be with you… I, I love you, Donna, I love you…”

“Lord or not, my heart is yours, (Y/N)… Yours forever…”

[enden-agolor]

When i tell you i screamed, i SCREAMED, Lukas and Petra's interaction with a very tense and very saddening vibe really adds to Petra's character of always and making sure not to let her emotions and feelings spill, keeping up her facade of a strong and very strict leader when deep down she just wants to go out and adventure with her friends again :( The whole mayor thing really doesn't suit her but she probably became one as to lead the people the way Jesse did but ended up with what she has now, when her frustration of keeping things to herself has spilled because of Lukas' and his similarities to Jesse had really made me sad as her way of dealing with grief is to not show it, when she said that he sounded like Jesse, it seems that the memories of her and Jesse instantly came up and she just kinda wanted to think about it, about what Jesse wants and for the first time she actually think about Jesse with how he'd go and scold her for turning BeaconTown like this and I'd like to think that she'll go to his treehouse and stay there as it helps whenever her head is in shambles and need to think :> JDIDJNEJD I LOVE THE NEW CHAPTER SO MUCHJH

YES. YOU GET IT.

I know this is a jesskas story but I very much deeply care about the other characters and making sure they stay true to their canon counterparts as well, even with all these new life changes. Petra is very much unhappy where she is now. Eventually, you'll see and understand why she's in the position she is, despite hating it. While she does feel very bitter towards Lukas for what he does as a job, it mostly comes from the jealousy she has that it's not her who is travelling the world the way she wanted to back in the day. Lukas is a walking reminder of something she wishes she had, and his care towards the people and the environment makes it even worse because he does think like how Jesse would. Jesse would do what he did in his situation, and that's to tell Petra that she's running BeaconTown wrong and that this just isn't right. Lukas has no relationship he fears of ruining with Petra, so snapping at her for running the town the way she is wasn't something he was scared of if there was any ounce of possibility that it could benefit the town, or maybe even Petra herself. Learning that she's an Order member definitely changed his perspective of her, understanding now that there is something much darker deep down inside her happening. Lukas doesn't despise her, but he certainly doesn't like her. He believes in her though. And that's something she really needed to hear. It means a lot, especially from an outsider who barely knows her or her situation.

There will be a lot more plot involving her in the future 😁

[rivendell-poet]

I loved the little sibling headcanons so much! But reading Legolas’s part gave me a small idea for Thranduil because he is such father-coded sometimes.

So what if the same reader always had bandages wound around the entirety of their right eye and some of their right cheek for some secret reason that nobody knows. Thranduil is slightly intrigued by how this human teenager manages to fight so well despite being disadvantaged in sight, and after he grows much closer to them, he asks them about the bandages. And because reader trusts him a lot more than before, they (sort of) hesitantly take off the bandages and reveals how the entire bandaged area was heavily damaged/scarred from dragon fire mostly due to their recklessness a few years back. I think it’d be interesting to see Thranduil’s reaction towards a young human that also suffered from the feared dragon fire. I don’t mind if you write headcanons or a scenario for this :)

Btw sorry if this request was weird 😅 I just think that Thranduil’s character has so much to be explored, especially as we don’t see him interact as much with humans and younglings

Glad you liked the little sibling hcs! I'm always weak for platonic!lotr <3 And please don't worry about your request - I loved it, and I'm only sorry it took me so long to write. Hopefully you enjoy <3

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧-𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 1k | TWs : Brief discussion of scaring

✧ When he first meets you, a lone human who has somehow managed to brave Mirkwood, his mind doesn’t pay too much attention to the bandages.

✧ Another human eccentricity.

✧ It’s only after, when the scouts are quick to dole out praise for you - praise that does not come lightly from elves - that he thinks back to them. How you are able to fight remarkably well with something covering your right eye.

✧ Not that it matters to him when he calls for you to be escorted to a room and watched.

✧ Thranduil is a kinder king when not dealing with dwarves and dishonest folk, so has no reason to throw you into the dungeons. He doesn’t fully trust you at first, but that can be left until tomorrow.

✧  Late next morning you are invited to his chambers after eating, and he asks questions of you - why you are in Mirkwood, your age and general motivations. But not your bandages.

✧ Until the very end, when he asks if you would like to see a healer for your injuries.

✧ Your freezing is almost imperceptible to humans, but obvious to an elf. You decline, hands still frozen by your sides, but he lets you go without further issues.

✧ Mirkwood’s palace is a great haven for you - full of scrolls of lore, warriors of the highest skill, and places of respite if it is needed.

✧ When you initially only planned on staying for a day in there, you soon find yourself becoming familiar with your room. And then days turn into weeks, and the rest of Mirkwood becomes more familiar as well.

✧ Once you’ve become more comfortable with the elves you go down to spar, and to your surprise there are some happy to train with you.

✧ Although you are not as skilled as an elf they acknowledge your talent for what it is, impressed.

✧ Whispers spread all the way through Mirkwood, and even the king is reached by them eventually.

✧ Thranduil asks to be kept up to date about you, of course, as you are in his kingdom. Word reaches him that you managed to disarm a guard, and for some reason he feels genuine pride in the news.

✧ As the guard turns to leave, Thranduil asks when you had the bandages removed and by who.

✧ The guard answers that you haven’t.

✧ You’re not blind to the stares at your bandage, but something new has been occurring. There’s even more subtle glances, but less questioning about it. As though your bandage is now something to be observed, and not questioned.

✧ The excitement around it eventually dies down, especially as weeks in Mirkwood become months.

✧ It’s around the first month mark that Thranduil requests to see you again.

✧ Being summoned by the king is nerve-wracking, but once you’ve been around him for a while you become more relaxed.

✧ He doesn’t behave like the rigid, cold but regal king you were expecting. He is still regal, effortlessly so, but there is warmth in his gaze - when he asks you about your day, or compliments your progress.

✧ Some days you don’t even have to tell him about the feat you accomplished, as he already seems to know. But he still listens intently when you explain it, asking questions in just the right places - and always with sincerity.

✧ Over time, you begin to think of him a small bit like a father.

✧ Then one day, he asks you about your bandages. Why you still wear them after so long.

✧ He regrets it when he sees you freeze up, but when he begins to talk you raise a hand to stop.

✧ Hesitantly, you begin to remove the bandages from around you, not looking at him until they’re all of.

✧ As soon as Thranduil can see your face he recognises dragonfire on it. Scars so similar to his own, but on the face of a young human instead of an elven king.

✧ You can see the shock on his face as his eyes seem to sweep every area of the scars and not want to settle back on you. You take a deep breath, beginning to apologise for them.

✧ “There is no need.”

✧ Thranduil interrupts, softly but it stops you instantly. “The wounds you bear show you have survived, that you have faced dragonfire and lived. You… you should not need to be ashamed of them.”

✧ The revelation is surprising, but it makes you smile. You thank him, for being understanding about them - and he responds that he always will be, will always support you.

✧ There’s some deeper meaning to his words, but you cannot quite decipher it.

✧ The rest of your meeting is fairly normal, until the end when he asks questions you did not expect. How it affects you, if you can still see out of that eye - if you are in any pain.

✧ Each question you answer honestly, and any complaint that is raised he instantly tackles - doing his utmost to make sure you are comfortable.

✧ As you leave you turn to bow goodnight, and it looks as if he is about to say something before bidding you goodnight as well.

✧ In the morning you receive a summons to his chambers for later that day.

✧ For the first time you walk to Thranduil’s room without bandages covering your face, but you don’t find yourself afraid of him. Of him judging you.

✧ When you walk in there’s a nervous air. But not from you. From Thranduil.

✧ And he apologises, for not being honest sooner.

✧ You watch as the smooth perfections of his face give way to scars that being to mimic your own.

✧ “I would have told you sooner, if I had known you would understand this pain. I am sorry for not telling you.”

✧ The silence is loud, and then you move closer.

✧ “There is nothing to apologise for.”

A/N : Hopefully you liked it! Sorry if it wasn't as father-coded as you liked, I think I got a bit too deep into lore and setting up the story. But this is the second scenario in a row I've been very interested in expanding, so let me know if there's more interest in this universe!

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[cactusisconfused]

I give you more ghoap botw ideas cuz I love the au

Here are the boys :DD ghost is designed more after link in totk cuz I felt that suited him more, and soap’s in a version of Zelda’s ceremonial dress (for him it’d be robes or some kind of suit)

For the ghosts/champions i also had some ideas

Revali - Nikolai (mainly cuz hehe pilot) or Gaz

Urbosa - Laswell

Daruk - Price or Alejandro (I lean more ale on this one, but I’ll get to why in a minute)

Mipha - Roach

Sidon - Rudy or Alex

Riju - Farah

Teba - could also be Nik

And I have no clue who Yunobo would be

King Rhoam - Price

Now hear me out, I know in hyrule warriors Rhoam was kinda a dick. I say Price would be the king because as a captain he had to make hard decisions same as a king. So in this au let’s say that Price sees that yes soap isn’t paying attention to his studies/training nor has unlocked the goddesses power yet, but he does see his son trying to help his people. (though in a really dangerous way)

So as the King, Price orders the swords champion as Soap’s personal guard to keep him safe with all the dumb shit he’s been pulling. While he’s still hard on Soap with unlocking his power; he understands that you can’t really rush it, and over all is just proud of how far Soap has come already. When the calamity hits Price fights with his people until his last breath, and prays to the goddess that Soap and Ghost are ok. (Whoa that got sad, i’m sorry 😅)

Ok sorry that this is very long, I just really like botw and totk and love the idea of this au!! Also have my recreation of that one memory :DD

OOOOOOOOOOOOO I LOVE THIS!!!!

AND YOUR ART-VERY TASTY!!!

Honestly I agree for the most part about the characters. Ravoli I feel is hard to place given he has a very cocky and self assured personality that none of our guys truly fit. I want to say Nikolai would fit the most, but I also think he would work great as Teba as well (mainly cause of the pilot thing.)

I wonder though, if roach would be a better Teba given Teba in game is seemingly a man of few words (but I also head canon roach as quiet but an absolute menace, so another problem there.)

Anywho, I also have no clue who yunobo would be either 😅

-

I feel Ghosts family should also somehow be implemented into the BOTW lore. I’m thinking that when he was going through the process of getting the master sword and training to be a royal knight, not because he felt he had a duty to the royalty of hyrule, but to gain enough respect and fear so that he could finally protect his family from not only his father but from monsters and other intruders.

However, he gains more than he ever thought he would, becoming more than just a simple knight. He has less time with his family, his mother, brother, Beth and Joesph.

Eventually, some event happens were Ghost has to go against the yiga clan. In response, the yiga clan sets out to massacre Ghost’s family, much like how they did in the comics.

I think that event, that failure to protect his family, is what drove him to go completely mute, on top of already being quiet in the first place.

Idk, this turned into a long ramble. I am living for your thoughts though, love them! :)

[darcytaylor]

I understand your pain as a fellow non-shipper in this fandom. I don't know where to go anymore myself. I fully understand why you needed to step away. I often wonder if anyone is having any fun here anymore. There are entrenched narratives that are easily debunkable yet people will chop your head off if you dare to even suggest they aren't true. You can either join the entrenched echo chambers or get out, which I find absurd. I for one have been very over it for a while and I hope they don't put you off again because a more balanced space is desperately needed. There are more of us here than you'd think, we've just been beaten back from engaging because you can't reason with some corners of this site. The brainrot is alarming.

Thank you for sharing this with me, and letting me know that there are people who may be more like myself out there! I completely understand where you’re coming from - it really does feel like navigating a minefield at times in fandom spaces, especially when things become so polarized.

I love diving into the complexities of the characters in Bridgerton, but I also enjoy following the actors’ careers and seeing the variety of roles they take on or the work and things they do outside the show.

I still believe that speculating is fun and a natural part of engaging with any fandom. It can help keep the excitement alive between seasons or during gaps in content.

It’s also human nature to be curious about what’s going on behind the scenes with the actors or within their social circles. There’s nothing wrong with wondering what Nicola, Luke, or any of the Bridgerton cast are up to in their personal lives. It becomes tricky, though, when speculation turns into certainty or when people lock themselves into one interpretation of events.

I try to approach it by coming up with multiple possibilities instead of latching onto one theory and running with it. I believe that way, it stays playful and open-ended without diving into a rabbit hole of "this must be true." I also think it can be a healthier way of engaging because you’re acknowledging the unknowns while still allowing space for curiosity.

Nicola could be dating Jake, Luke (N or T), Eamon or the bartender that works down the street from her house. The options are endless! When you come to a conclusion with the little facts that we actually know, it can hinder the balance between curiosity and respect for the actors and their close circles.

I think it’s fun to explore all the possibilities without getting stuck on just one explanation. That way, I can stay open to new information and avoid getting swept up in the frenzy of needing certainty.

I think it should be about enjoying the journey rather than rushing to a definitive answer. Staying open to possibilities keeps the fandom fun while ensuring we respect the boundaries of the actors and their personal lives.

Bring on the possibilities!

[wannabehockeygf]

hurt my feelings - elias petersson

part of the think later fic series

"She wears your number, but I got what you like, She's got you right now, but I'm still on your mind, I should've known better, You should've known better than me."

*** request: "I was wondering if you would be able to do an Elias Pettersson one? If not that’s fine, but if you do I would LOVE hurt my feelings with elias where he is in an open relationship and sleeping with the main character, but she’s in love with him yadayadayada. If you could do angst with a happy ending that would be great. Thank youuuu" summary: a more-than-stupid hookup has you feeling more than you thought it would. word count: 6k pairing: elias petersson x fem!reader warnings: nothing really, post-sex stuff? notes: - hi requester ty for waiting for so long for this. it's been in the making. - first petey fic! - not really proof read. - also the fact tate wrote this about a hockey player... cole sillinger u will always have fumbled. ***

Elias lifts his hips, pulling up a pair of sweatpants you’ve never seen in any picture of him, or anywhere else but when he’s with you. Which, admittedly, means you’re either in his car, at your dingy studio in Coal Harbour, or some other obscure spot for a quick fuck, just for him to leave right after.

You don’t want to feel this way. But the heart wants what it wants, and you want him.

Problem is, you can’t have him.

You watch him adjust his sweatpants, the fabric clinging to his hips, and feel the familiar ache in your chest, one you desperately try to ignore. His skin gleams under the dim light of the car’s dashboard, and the air inside is still thick with the heat of what you’ve just done, your clothes scattered near the passenger seat. But the warmth between you faded as soon as he reached for those pants.

The reality of it all starts to settle in, creeping up on you as you sit there, still trying to catch your breath. Your body’s exhausted, but your mind? It’s racing, swirling with all the things you don’t want to admit, not to yourself, and definitely not to him.

Elias, with his perfect nonchalance, runs a hand over the top of his head, his eyes scanning the fogged-up windows. His fingers drum against the steering wheel like it’s just another night, just another routine. And that’s what you hate the most—that it’s all so easy for him. He always makes it feel like it means nothing. Meanwhile, your heart is screaming at you to stop pretending it doesn’t.

“You want me to take you home?” His voice breaks the silence, casual, like he hadn’t just been inside you, like the intimate moments you share have no lasting weight.

You glance at him, a knot tightening in your stomach. The suggestion feels so transactional, like a one-way ticket out of his life until the next time he feels like doing this again. And you hate that you want the next time so badly.

“No,” you mutter, though your voice betrays you, shaky and unsure.

His brow lifts, a flicker of surprise, though he quickly masks it with that cool indifference. “No? You wanna stay here, or what?”

You hate how his tone makes it seem like you’re the one being unreasonable. You shift, pulling the hem of your shirt down to cover yourself, fighting the creeping embarrassment that always comes in these moments. “I just—” you hesitate, searching for words that won’t make you sound pathetic, needy. “I’m not some, like… some pit stop for you to get off and leave, Elias.”

He turns to you fully now, eyes narrowing slightly, the laid-back air around him thickening into something heavier. “What are you talking about? You knew what this was.”

Of course, you knew. You told yourself that over and over again, every time you ended up tangled in his sheets or here in his car. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Yeah, I did,” you snap, the words sharper than you intended. “But I didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?” His voice is calm, too calm, like he can’t understand why you’re spiraling.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bitterness rising. You weren’t supposed to feel anything for him, right? That was the whole point. “Like I’m some backup plan until you’re bored again.” The confession hangs in the air between you, thick and unwelcome.

He exhales slowly, turning his gaze away, staring through the windshield into nothing. For a moment, it seems like he might say something to comfort you, to give you some semblance of reassurance. But instead, all you get is a quiet, “I never promised you anything.”

And there it is—his honesty, cutting deeper than you’d expected. You should respect him for it, for being upfront, but all it does is twist the knife in your chest. “I know you didn’t,” you whisper, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “But it still sucks.”

The car falls silent again, save for the hum of the engine, and for a moment, you wish you could just crawl out of your own skin and leave the feelings behind. Maybe then you wouldn’t care about how Elias is already emotionally checked out, like this was just another night, another body. Your body, for now, but never your heart. That wasn’t part of the deal. Yet here you are, feelings clawing their way to the surface no matter how hard you try to shove them down.

“Look, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, just say it.” His voice cuts through the silence, casual as ever, but this time it has a slight edge to it. Like you’re the one being unreasonable for having, god forbid, feelings. “I told you from the start, I’m not looking for anything serious.” He shifts in his seat, pulling his hoodie down over his chest like he’s already ready to move on with his night. “I thought you were cool with that.”

You feel the words hit like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sitting heavy in your stomach. Cool with that? You’re supposed to be cool with feeling like nothing more than a convenience? Like your body is something he can dip into whenever he feels like it and then discard just as quickly? You swallow hard, trying to push back the anger that’s rising, though your hands are already trembling in your lap.

“Yeah, well,” you start, your voice barely steady as you speak, “I thought I was too.” You pause, searching for the right words, but they won’t come. How can you explain something you don’t even fully understand? “But it doesn’t mean I want to feel like… like this.”

Elias shifts again, turning toward you, his brow furrowing in confusion. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, the casual rhythm so at odds with the tension building in the air between you. “Like what? You’re acting like I’m doing something wrong.” His tone is laced with mild frustration, as if he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re spiraling. And maybe that’s what makes it worse—the fact that he doesn’t get it.

You look away, staring at the streaks of condensation on the window as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Like I’m just a body to you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Like you only want me when it’s convenient.” The vulnerability in your words makes your skin crawl, and you hate how pathetic you feel, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Elias lets out a long sigh, rubbing his hand over his face like you’re exhausting him. “I’m not trying to make you feel like shit,” he says, his tone softening, but the detachment is still there. “I told you from the beginning, I’m not gonna settle down. This is just… fun. You knew that.”

You know he’s trying to be reasonable, but it doesn’t matter. The words feel like salt in a wound, deepening the hurt that you’re so desperate to hide. Fun. That’s all it is to him. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not asking you to settle down with me, Elias. I’m not fucking delusional,” you say, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm. “But I’m not some fucking plaything either.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “Jesus, you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he says, his voice sharper now. “It’s not that deep. You’re making this into something it’s not.”

The dismissiveness in his tone makes your blood boil. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck as the anger takes hold. “Not that deep?” You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, you really don’t get it, do you?” You turn to face him, your eyes burning as you meet his gaze. “I’m not asking you for some fairytale relationship, but fuck, Elias, I deserve more than being your afterthought.”

He stares at you, expression hardening as your words hit. His jaw clenches slightly, the tension visible in the way his hands grip the steering wheel. “Again, you knew what this was,” he repeats, his voice low, controlled. “If you’re catching feelings, that’s on you. I didn’t ask for that.”

The coldness of his words stings, each one hitting like a slap. And you hate it—the fact that he’s right, that you’re the one who let your heart get involved in something that was never meant to go beyond the physical. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You don’t think I know that?” you shoot back, your voice shaking with anger. “I didn’t ask for it either. I didn’t want this. But it’s happening, and it fucking sucks.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “We agreed this was just sex. Nothing more.”

Ridiculous. The word echoes in your mind, bouncing around like a cruel reminder of how you’ve let yourself get here, feeling something for someone who can’t even give you an ounce of what you need. Your hands tremble, and you quickly shove them under your thighs, trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m ridiculous then,” you spit, the bitterness in your voice seeping into every word. You feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you blink them back, refusing to let him see just how much this is hurting you. “But I’m done with this. I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Elias looks at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite read—anger? Frustration? Indifference? You can’t tell anymore. “Whatever. I’m taking you home.” ***

You sit on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow across the room. Your phone rests beside you, silent, no new notifications lighting up the screen. You've been staring at it for what feels like hours, waiting for something—anything—to distract you from the gnawing emptiness settling in your chest. But, of course, nothing comes.

With a frustrated sigh, you grab your phone, thumb hovering over Instagram, knowing full well what you're about to do to yourself. You shouldn't, you know that, but the temptation is too strong. Against your better judgment, you open the app and type her name into the search bar. Her profile pops up almost immediately. There she is—her.

Elias’ girlfriend.

You click on her latest post, a snapshot of her at Rogers Arena, grinning ear to ear, wearing his jersey like it’s a crown, her hands raised above her head in mock celebration. #CanucksWin, the caption reads, followed by a string of blue and green heart emojis. She looks so… happy, like she belongs there, like she’s the one who has his heart, his attention. And maybe she is.

Your chest tightens as you scroll through her feed. Picture after picture of her and Elias at games, on vacations, laughing together, looking every bit the perfect couple. There’s one of them at the beach—Elias, shirtless and grinning, his arm slung casually over her shoulders, while she looks up at him like he’s the only person in the world. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners... You know that smile. You've seen it before, but not like this. Not in a way that made you feel like you’d been given something special, something real.

No, with you, it’s different. It’s fleeting, temporary. You’re just a body to him, a release when he needs it. Nothing more.

You hate it. Hate how she looks so comfortable in his world, while you're stuck on the outside, desperately clawing at the edges, trying to convince yourself that you don’t want what she has. But you do. God, you do.

You toss your phone onto the bed, resisting the urge to scream. The jealousy burns in your throat, hot and bitter, swirling with a cocktail of self-loathing and frustration. You shouldn’t care. This wasn’t supposed to matter. But here you are, scrolling through his girlfriend’s Instagram, tearing yourself apart because she has what you can’t.

The thought of her being with him—touching him, laughing with him, wearing the #40 like it was hers—makes your skin crawl. And the worst part? You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop thinking about her. About how she gets to have the part of him you’ll never touch. His heart. The part that matters.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are already moving, dialing Elias’ number. It rings once, twice, and then you hear his voice on the other end, casual, indifferent.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, like he’s not surprised at all to hear from you.

Your heart thuds against your ribs, the jealousy bubbling up into your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the faint sound of music in the background, a soft murmur of voices. “Yeah, kind of. I’m with—” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know who he’s with. The words are already twisting in your chest, like a knife being driven deeper with every syllable.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to… meet up,” you say, trying to sound casual, like you’re not affected by the fact that he’s with her right now. “You know, for a quick one.”

Elias lets out a soft chuckle, the sound grating against your nerves. “I can’t tonight,” he says, his voice smooth, unbothered. “I’m with my girl.”

The way he says it—my girl—makes your stomach churn. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as the anger simmers just beneath the surface. “Right,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant, but the bitterness seeps into your voice anyway. “Of course.”

You can practically hear his smirk through the phone. “Another time,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Like this is just a game to him, and you’re a piece he can move around whenever it suits him.

“Yeah,” you force out, teeth gritting. “Sure. Another time.”

You hang up before he can say anything else, before you can hear the sound of her laugh in the background, or worse—imagine them together. The thought is enough to make your skin prickle with jealousy, the heat rising in your chest, suffocating you.

Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys, slipping on your shoes, and heading out the door. You don’t even bother to think twice. You aren’t the type to back down, not when you want something. And right now, you want Elias. You want to prove to him, to yourself, that whatever he has with her doesn’t compare to what he has with you.

By the time you arrive at his ritzy apartment in Yaletown, your heart is pounding in your chest, nerves and adrenaline mixing together in a volatile cocktail. You stare at the building for a long moment, the reality of what you’re about to do settling in. You shouldn’t be here. You know you shouldn’t be here. But the jealousy is too strong, too consuming, and all you can think about is how badly you need to see him. Need him to see you.

So, you go up the elevator. Up to whatever floor you know he’s on, the one where you can see all of Vancouver in its expensive glory, and you knock.

You stand in front of his door, knuckles still tingling from the knock, heart thundering in your chest. The hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound your own shallow breaths as you wait for him to open the door. And when it finally swings open, there he is—Elias, standing in front of you, shirtless, skin gleaming like he’s been lounging around, maybe with her. The sight of him, so casual, so at ease, only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low but sharp, like he wasn’t expecting you, didn’t want you there. Behind him, you can hear the faint sound of a television, laughter that isn’t his. Her laugh.

Before you can respond, her voice floats from inside the apartment. “Eli? Who is it?”

Your heart clenches painfully, her voice piercing through the air like nails on a chalkboard. She sounds so… comfortable, like she belongs there. Like this is her place, her life, and you’re just an intruder.

Elias’ eyes flick to you, something unreadable passing over his face. He turns slightly, leaning into the doorframe as if shielding you from her view. “It’s nobody, älskling,” he calls back, his voice steady, but the dismissal hits you like a punch to the gut. Nobody. “Give me a minute.”

Your throat tightens as he steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The distance between you is small, but it feels like a chasm. He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t reach for you. He just stands there, watching you with that same indifferent look, like you’re something to be dealt with, not someone he wants to see.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is low, but the edge is unmistakable. It stings. But not as much as the jealousy burning inside you, clawing its way up your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep it together, trying not to let him see how close you are to breaking.

“I needed to see you,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The truth of it tastes bitter on your tongue. You hate yourself for it, for how desperate you sound. For how desperate you are.

Elias sighs, rubbing his hand along his jaw, the muscles in his arm flexing as he does. You hate how your eyes follow the movement, how even now, when your heart is shattering, you still can’t stop wanting him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, glancing back at the door like he’s afraid she might overhear. “You know I’m with her tonight.”

That word—her—sends another wave of anger crashing through you, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out. “Yeah, I know you’re with her. I saw the Instagram posts. I saw everything.” Your voice cracks on the last word, betraying just how deep the jealousy runs, how much it hurts to see him with someone else, someone who isn’t you.

He frowns, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw her at the game, wearing your jersey, looking so damn happy, like she has everything,” you spit, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. “Like she has you. And she does, doesn’t she?”

Elias’ face hardens, his jaw clenching as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s because she’s my girlfriend,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice making your stomach twist. “And you’re… not.” The words hit you like a slap in the face, knocking the air from your lungs. "You’re not." Two little words, but they’re enough to unravel the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to. Your entire body goes rigid as the weight of his indifference sinks in. It’s like being plunged into ice water—shocking, numbing, suffocating. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. What can you say? That you know you aren’t his girlfriend? That you know you don’t belong in his world, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise? That every second of this—of him—feels like borrowed time?

Your chest tightens, jealousy wrapping around your throat like a noose, squeezing until you can barely breathe. You try to swallow it down, to keep the rising panic at bay, but it’s too much. It’s all too much. The sight of him standing there, so cold, so unreachable, while just behind that door, she laughs, probably stretched out on his couch, wearing his jersey, living the life you want. The life you can never have.

Your hands tremble at your sides, and you press them into your thighs, trying to steady yourself. But your knees feel weak, like they might give out beneath you at any second. You hate this. You hate the jealousy coursing through your veins like poison, making you feel small, insignificant, pathetic. You hate how he can do this to you, how easily he can reduce you to this—a broken, jealous mess, standing in his hallway, trying not to fall apart.

“I… I don’t care,” you choke out, though the words taste like a lie. They hang between you, brittle and fragile, crumbling the second they leave your lips. Of course, you care. You care too much. That’s the problem. The jealousy claws at your chest, each breath shallow and ragged as you try to keep the dam from bursting. But it’s too late. The cracks are already there, spidering through your resolve, threatening to split wide open.

Elias just stares at you, his brow furrowed, like he doesn’t quite understand why you’re standing there in front of him, unraveling at the seams. He uncrosses his arms, his posture softening ever so slightly, but his face remains guarded. His silence only makes the jealousy gnaw harder at your insides, like it’s eating you alive from the inside out.

“Why are you with her?” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat. You hate how vulnerable you sound, hate the way your voice cracks, betraying just how much you’re hurting. But you can’t stop yourself. The words tumble out, desperate and raw, needing to understand. Needing him to say something that makes sense. “Why are you with her when… when you don’t even care about her the way you—” You cut yourself off, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. You can’t say it. You can’t admit it.

Elias’ gaze flicks to the floor, his expression shifting, something like guilt passing over his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, like he doesn’t know where to start. The hesitation sets your mind racing. The jealousy swirls around your thoughts, twisting every moment you’ve spent together into something ugly, something tainted. Has any of it been real? Or have you just been fooling yourself in your delusions all along? Is this really all you are to him—a temporary distraction, something to fill the empty spaces between him and her?

“I don’t know,” Elias finally mutters, his voice barely more than a sigh. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something there, something deeper, something almost sorrowful. But then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar guarded look. “I just… I don’t know.”

The simplicity of his answer, the emptiness of it, sends a wave of frustration crashing over you, mixing with the jealousy already burning in your veins. “That’s it?” you snap, your voice rising, barely able to keep the tremor out of it. “You don’t know? You’re with her, you’ve been with her, but you don’t know why?”

You’re losing control. The words are tumbling out faster than you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy consumes you, feeding off every tiny piece of doubt, every flicker of uncertainty. You hate how much you want him to give you an answer, to explain why he’s with her and not you, why you’re standing here, outside his door, while she gets to be inside, living the life you’re so desperately clawing for.

“I—” Elias starts, his voice soft, almost apologetic, but you can’t let him finish.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” The question comes out more like an accusation, the jealousy twisting your insides, making you feel sick to your stomach. “That’s why you’re with her. Because you love her, and I’m just—” You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. Just what? A fling? A mistake?

“I don’t—” Elias stops, running a hand across his jaw, his expression torn. He lets out a long, frustrated breath, his gaze darting back to the closed door, like he’s afraid she might hear. “It’s not like that,” he says, but his voice is quiet, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

“Then what is it?” you demand, your voice shaking, barely able to keep the desperation at bay. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fight the urge to cry, to scream, to do something other than stand there, unraveling. “Because it sure as hell seems like she has you. She’s got the jersey, she’s got the smile, she’s got the fucking Instagram posts—and what do I have? What the hell do I have, Elias?”

He stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking between you and the door, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but can’t. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, and you feel yourself breaking, the dam inside you cracking wide open.

“You can’t even say it, can you?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long. “You can’t even admit that you don’t care about her the way you—” You stop, choking on the words, unable to say what you so desperately want to hear.

Elias lets out another sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, and for the first time, he looks tired. Tired of this, tired of you, tired of the mess you’ve both made of whatever this is. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something there—something almost sad. But it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally mutters, his voice low, almost resigned.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy twists and tangles inside you, tightening its grip until it feels like you’re going to burst. “I want you to say you feel something,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Anything. Just… anything.”

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his face blank, his silence louder than any words he could have said. And that silence—it shatters you. It breaks you into pieces so small you don’t even know if you can put yourself back together again.

“I can’t do this,” you finally choke out, the tears you’ve been holding back for so long spilling over, hot and fast, burning as they slide down your cheeks. You swipe at them angrily, hating yourself for breaking in front of him, for letting him see just how much he’s destroyed you. But there’s no stopping it now. The dam has broken, and the jealousy, the hurt, the love—it all comes rushing out in a tidal wave of emotion you can’t control.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper again, your voice cracking, barely able to hold yourself together as you look up at him, your heart in pieces at his feet. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I love you, Elias. And I hate it. I fucking hate that I love you, and you can’t even—” You stop, choking on the sob that rips through you, your whole body trembling with the force of it.

Elias’ face softens, his brows drawing together in something that almost looks like regret, but it’s too late. You’re too far gone. You’re already falling apart, the jealousy and heartbreak swallowing you whole.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low, almost tender, but it only makes the pain worse. Because sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Sorry doesn’t make you her.

You shake your head, the tears blurring your vision, making it hard to see him. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice hollow, broken. “Me too.”

*** The rain starts falling in steady sheets, drumming against the window as you sit curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. The flickering images mean nothing, just background noise to the storm inside your mind. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been sitting there, wrapped in one of Elias’ old hoodies. The fabric is worn and soft, smelling faintly like him—like cedar and soap, like something familiar and heartbreaking all at once.

You hate that you still wear it. Hate that you can’t let go, even when you know you should. Even when you know it’s over. He chose her. He made that painfully clear, standing there in that hallway, his eyes darting between you and the door where she waited for him. And yet, here you are, clinging to the last scraps of him, like they could somehow make up for everything you’ve lost.

The rain blurs against the window, much like the tears you’re too tired to shed. You feel hollow now, emptied of all the anger, the jealousy, the heartbreak that consumed you. All that’s left is a dull ache, a quiet sorrow that settles deep in your chest, heavy and unmovable.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, sharp and unexpected in the quiet of your apartment. Your heart stutters in your chest, a flicker of hope igniting even though you tell yourself not to feel it. It can’t be him. It won’t be. And yet, as you stand and pad to the door, every step feels weighted with anticipation, your fingers trembling as they curl around the handle.

You open it to find Elias standing on the other side, the beanie on his head damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his jacket. He looks like he hasn’t slept, his eyes dark and tired, his expression unreadable as he stares at you in the dim light of the hallway.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, your heart pounding in your ears, waiting for him to speak, to say something that would make sense of all this. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time, like the weight of his silence might crush you both.

“Can I come in?” he asks finally, his voice low, hesitant, as if he’s afraid of your answer.

You should say no. You should slam the door in his face, walk away, leave him standing there in the rain. But you don’t. Instead, you step aside, the words caught in your throat, and let him in.

He moves past you, his presence filling the small space with a tension you can feel in your bones. He stops in the middle of the room, glancing around like he’s searching for something, maybe the right words, maybe some kind of explanation. But all you can do is stand there, your hands gripping the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, trying to steady yourself.

“I broke it off with her,” Elias says quietly, his back still to you, the words hanging in the air like they might shatter the second they leave his mouth.

You blink, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s said. The rain beats harder against the window, filling the silence between you, a reminder of the storm both outside and within.

“What?” Your voice sounds foreign, small, like it isn’t even your own.

Elias turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours, and you see it then—the sorrow, the regret, the weight of everything that’s passed between you. He takes a step toward you, his movements cautious, like he’s not sure if you’ll let him get any closer.

“I broke it off with her,” he repeats, more firmly this time, his gaze steady, unwavering. “I know there was an agreement, but itt wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve done it sooner, but… I was scared.”

Scared. That word echoes in your mind, bouncing off the walls of the tiny apartment, wrapping around you like a vise. What did he have to be scared of? He’s the one who had control, who made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for him to decide if you were worth saving.

“You hurt me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the rawness of the admission surprising even you.

“I know.” Elias steps closer, his hands slipping into his pockets, his posture uncertain, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The apology should feel like relief. It should feel like something breaking free inside of you, but instead, it only makes the ache in your chest grow heavier. “You can’t just… say sorry and think it fixes everything,” you murmur, turning away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Elias doesn’t respond right away. The weight of his silence feels almost unbearable, pressing down on you like gravity. Then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear him take a deep breath, his footsteps soft on the floor as he moves closer.

“I know I can’t fix it,” he says quietly, his voice so soft it’s almost lost beneath the sound of the rain. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of the indifference you’d seen before. But it’s not there. Not now. Now, his eyes are filled with something else, something raw and honest, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you.” The words spill from his lips, quiet but sure, like he’s been holding them back for too long. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Your chest tightens, a rush of emotions surging through you so fast you can barely process them. You want to believe him. You want to fall into his arms and let those words heal all the wounds he’s left behind. But the scars are still there, fresh and painful, a reminder of everything that came before.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears you held back earlier threaten to return.

Elias closes the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands reaching for yours. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, the familiarity of it both comforting and heartbreaking all at once.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice low, desperate. “I’m not asking for everything. I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me. I need you to know that I choose you.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. He chooses you. After everything, after all the hurt and confusion, he’s standing here now, choosing you. But is it enough?

His fingers tighten around yours, pulling you gently toward him until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “But I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you let me.”

After what feels like an eternity, you nod, a single, tentative movement. “Okay.”

Elias lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it in for hours, and without another word, he closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a way that feels both familiar and brand new. The warmth of him, the solid weight of his chest against yours, makes something inside you unclench, like you’re finally able to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him. Finally.

[pjo-andsequels-confessions]

This is going to be long/a rant.

I dislike all the ships. Even Percabeth, heck, especially Percabeth, even though I used to adore them. I read most of RRVerse when I was younger but now that I am rereading them as an adult with actual healthy relationships... I just feel as though they're not necessary to push the plot (Caleo, Frazel, Solangelo, you name it).

Or even good.

All characters have the potential to be very interesting and have more nuanced arcs that are not dependent on romance but noooo.

They need to be paired off.

The MC needs to get the pretty girl.

I believe that majority of Percabeth shippers only ship it either because it's canon, Riordan based it on his relationship with his wife, they ignore all the blinding red flags that could be seen if they just... read the book and actually think about what's happening instead of just taking the words at face value.

Luke's redemption is undeserved. And I'm pretty sure I like Luke more than the average PJO fan.

If it was ever even hinted in PJO that he cared instead of acting akin to a cartoon villain, it might have been more realistic.

Show him struggling against Kronos when it showed that the titan was no better than the Olympians. Show him caring for the TA, the demigods that the books claims he wanted to have a better life (Ethan, Alabaster, etc.)

He was fighting for a good cause, only it felt like Riordan didn't even know where to go with the guy. The majority of his characterization are seen through fans that actually try to understand his ideals in the book and those who watched the TV.

The TV part because he didn't look like he meant any of the kids any harm and was only really there to recruit for the TA.

All the Olympians suck, except Hestia. Yes, even Poseidon. We only like him because he calls Percy his favorite, and even then why?

That doesn't make him any less unlikeable. He shouldn't have favorite children in the first place. I know it might seem silly to judge a non-human character using human standards but he's still a bad father.

The leap from TLO to CotG, where Poseidon tells Percy that he had a price to pay for being alive (paraphrasing)? No wonder the dude said Poseidon was his dad in name only.

Speaking of, Percy is not without fault either. His fatal flaw is supposed to be personal loyalty. But in HOO it basically turned into loyalty to Annabeth only.

Wtf was that treatment of Nico now? Telling the rest of the crew some stories to the point that it made some of them doubt if they should save Nico in the first place?

Like??? Dude, you spent THREE books making sure that you are the hero in the Great Prophecy so that Nico doesn't get it??? Hello???

Where did the Percy we grew up with go? He's just so obsessed with Annabeth now? Is that all he is now?

Am I the only one that sees this?

Someone please rewrite the entire series lol. I love the fanfics that stage a mutiny against Riordan's canon— making it more complex, nuanced and basically just better.

…

[yuseirra]

Kamiki(+Ai) Mini-analysis

I feel the best part of this work comes from the psychological aspects, it's intriguing how real and complex it can get. It's honestly what's drew me in this time around, and I really hope they revert back to exploring things in relation to it after some dire events get resolved somehow.

Today I wrote a small anaysis of Kamiki's character since he tends to be a bit confusing at first glance: I can be wrong, of course, but I'm confident with my analysis regarding the emotional aspect of things. I felt it would be nice to bring up!

Honestly, I don’t think Kamiki is such a difficult character to understand regarding his mentality. His self-esteem is severely low, so he internalizes all the negative criticism and accusations thrown at him without resistance, accepting them as they are. In fact, he adds to it by blaming himself even more. Sometimes, he even goes out of his way to act in ways that invite misunderstandings. Since he’s already trapped in a state of self-loathing, the fact that he doesn’t bother to make excuses is just an extension of that.

He has an incredibly low opinion of himself. That's because he was constantly mistreated and never been properly loved all his life till Ai came along. At the same time, it’s not like he dislikes people… Ai, on the other hand, seemed to have some defensive feelings toward others, maybe even a little distaste for people (which, in a way, can act as a shield to protect oneself). But Kamiki? When someone comes to him, he’s just happy to have a shred of affection and, like a puppy, he eagerly follows along, giving everything he has. He’s been starved for love. Him trusting people so eagerly and easily—that’s where it comes from. His trust in Ryosuke and Nino is also rooted in this. Kamiki seems to genuinely like people. When he receives kindness, it makes him purely happy… he wants to believe in their good intent and think 'oh, they like it, so it's fine, right? It's a good thing if others are happy' But again and again, he’s taken advantage of and abandoned. And, at some point, he realized—even though it seemed like people cared about him, this wasn’t right. They just used him up and it wasn't real affection that he'd received. The real problem is with those who used him. If they had been decent people, this wouldn’t have happened… But when these things happen, instead of blaming others, he always turns the arrow on himself. His already low self-esteem sinks even lower, and he blames himself and hates himself even more. Ai, on the other hand, had enough of a backbone to protect herself by holding onto some anger toward others. So, even though she couldn’t quite love herself, she could still carry some pride and confidence, enough to live life on her own terms. But Kamiki? When something goes wrong, he blames himself. He tries to rationalize these sorts of situations by believing that it’s because he’s not good enough, or because he’s unworthy, that everyone leaves him. That’s also one of the reason why he lacks aggression—he always sees the fault within himself. Look at the flower bouquet incident. He probably wasn’t at fault at all, but because he bought the flowers, he lied at first and said it was his doing. The fact that it was a lie implies that the rest of what he said was likely the unfiltered truth. If he were truly guilty, the story would have ended in chapter 154, but it didn’t—there was more to it after that.

I’ve mentioned before that you have to dig deeper to understand the real intent behind his words. In chapter 153, he said he killed Ai.

In chapter 154, he changed his story, saying he only manipulated Ryosuke to scare her, but he never intended to kill her.

Then, in chapter 160, the tone softens again—he says he really just wanted to give her the bouquet. And this is the real truth.

What’s happening here is that he hates himself so much that he piles more blame on himself, amplifying his responsibility for what happened. He feels like the person he loved died because of him, and that’s why he can’t forgive himself… But the more he talks about Ai, the more sincere he becomes, gradually revealing his true feelings.

When it comes to attachment styles, Ai had some avoidant tendencies,

While Kamiki shows a lot of traits typical of anxious attachment.

Yet despite this, the two of them clearly got along well. I keep coming back to this, and there’s hardly any room to argue otherwise. The fact that Ai could think so highly of him is honestly so remarkable…

For someone with avoidant tendencies to say, 'I want to live with this person forever,' that means the other person was truly perfect and lovable in their eyes. That’s an incredibly strong bond. I wish people would recognize this... believe in that idea for once, They really did find a huge liking to each other, and that family Ai imagined WAS really possible. They would have built a nice and happy one. It wasn't a messed-up relationship they had. They are tragic because they could have been perfect.

Even though both of them had their own struggles, they were good people at heart, and they surely could have supported each other to live well together. The real problems came from the outside.

I wrote this up as I attempted to draw a piece earlier(going to complete it and post it today!) these are sort of the things that pass through my head when I draw things sometimes

I need to understand the psychology of these characters to at least some degree in order to portray them, I may not be perfect with these, but I really try!

[juaneloriginal]

silly thingy

@blackkatdraws's sillies

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

This week on "CJ needs to gush about DAO": Morrigan's dark ritual.

I adore Origins because depending on how serious you take roleplay, every decision you make is a thread that leads back to your origin, and in this case of the ritual, who you choose to romance can have a major impact on how you handle this choice.

For context, my canon run is with a female Tabris who romances Alistair and keeps him as a Grey Warden, and is close friends with Morrigan. It's more in character for my Tabris to reject Morrigan's ritual and not even bring it up to Alistair, which would result in her leaving him behind while she makes the ultimate sacrifice in killing the archdemon... however, agreeing to convince Alistair to do the ritual with Morrigan is the only choice in the entire game where I break roleplay because I'm selfish and weak and I want Tabris to live.

I have a lot of strong feelings about the ritual, like it hurts me. It makes me want to chew on furniture. I can talk about it until I can talk no more. I so badly want to be strong enough to remain in character and reject the ritual.

Let me explain: Tabris survives an origin that deals with sexual assault. She gets kidnapped on her wedding day, she watches the other kidnapped women and her husband get murdered, and then is too late to save Shianni from being assaulted... and Tabris carries that trauma with her throughout the entire game.

If the way to save her life is to ask the two most important people she cares about; one being her lover and the other being her best friend; who she knows hate each other, to have dubiously consensual sex in order to make a baby to absorb the old god soul... she's saying no. The last thing Tabris would ever do is put someone into a sexual situation where consent is at all dubious after what she saw happen to Shianni and nearly happened to herself. She'd rather die than force that upon Alistair and Morrigan.

That's what I mean when I say origin affects everything; I know some will side eye that with "Really? Your warden would rather die than let Alistair sleep with another woman? It's one time, and Alistair agrees to it, so no one needs to die?"

Let me be clear in saying this isn't a "Morrigan slept with my man" issue. Sure, that part's awkward and it sucks, but that's not even breaking water tension, let alone diving into the deep waters to the core of the issue.

For my Tabris, this is about betrayal, consent, and accepting fate.

The person offering Tabris this deal is someone she thought of as a trusted friend who has actually been lying to her the entire time. It doesn't matter what Morrigan's intentions are now or if she genuinely wants to save the wardens. She knew from the beginning why Flemeth sent her with them, she admits as much. She knew a warden would need to make the ultimate sacrifice and then leveraged that to get what she wants. Morrigan waited until the night before, when Alistair and the warden learn one of them has to die to defeat the archdemon, and took advantage of the high running emotions and possibly the fear of dying to make the warden agree to her ritual.

At least, that's how my Tabris interprets this confrontation. She feels betrayed by someone she came to love like a sister and went out of her way to help Morrigan with her mother upon learning what's in Flemeth's grimoire. And then that someone tells her no one needs to die, she just needs to convince Alistair to sleep with her... which is a huge fucking problem.

The Alistair and Tabris romance is slow; it took a long time for either of them to be comfortable with being emotionally vulnerable and trusting each other with basic intimacy, let alone sex. Tabris is mortified at the idea of putting Alistair in this situation. Not only would it feel like a betrayal on her part to ask that of him, but she knows the last thing Alistair ever wants to do is father a bastard who then goes on to grow up without him. How could she possibly ask him to do that?

Then you consider that ritual or no, there isn't a guarantee that they'll survive anyway. Say they do the ritual and Tabris dies anyway; she made Alistair sleep with Morrigan in order to save her and then she died anyway. Or if Alistair dies then Tabris gets to live with the fact that the last person Alistair was with was a woman he hates because she asked that of him… and either way, Morrigan gets to walk away with what she wanted.

Tabris led the group, and she's accepted that if Riordan dies [which he does] then she'll be the one to make the sacrifice, even if it means breaking both hers and Alistair's heart.... except she doesn't because I'm a coward who doesn't want to lose her because my worldstate isn't good without her in it but I also refuse to lose Alistair so I just pretend it plays out differently in my head it's fine-

But... that's how I play Tabris and view the situation. My friend @pi-creates and I have discussed the dark ritual at length. While I play a Tabris who romances Alistair, Pi plays a Mahariel who romances Morrigan, so we have vastly different interpretations of the ritual itself and Morrigan's intentions.

Which yeah, it makes total sense that someone who romanced Morrigan with a different origin, and has the option to do the ritual with her rather than asking someone else to do it, wouldn't see this the way I do.

To quote Pi: "Playing as a male warden in the Morrigan romance makes the whole situation feel different, and maybe it’s because she’s presenting it differently due to the emotional connection, but it feels more like she’s opening up about her initial instructions (that she had been given by Flemeth) and offering a solution to avoid the possibility of death. And for my Mahariel, the constant threat of sudden death has haunted him from the start – he caught the blight and was ripped away from his clan (something he did not want to do in the slightest), got forced into a Grey Warden ritual that could kill him, was forced into a battle that could kill him, going on this whole quest that he never wanted but has now become responsible for regardless of his thoughts on the matter… the dark ritual may be one of the few moments where he is presented with an option to decide if he wants to walk into certain death, or take actions of his own volition to stop it.

"The idea of the ritual still feels like a dodgy thing to do since the ultimate outcome is unknown at that point, he’s taking Morrigan at her word that it will save the warden and that this child would be unharmed, just with an old god soul that she isn’t exactly clear on why she wants that and is determined to runaway immediately after the battle to secure it properly. It could be interpreted that it’s purely a preservation thing, but I’m biased to wanting Morrigan's intentions to not be power based.

"But also, taking part in the ritual isn’t as outlandish for my warden since he and Morrigan have already been involved in an intimate relationship. It’s the future of the ritual that is scarier – the idea of this old-god baby, and the idea of Morrigan insisting that she’s leaving afterwards when Mahariel and her have a loving relationship. He’s hurting, but he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Alistair to die, he doesn’t want Morrigan to leave, he definitely doesn’t want pregnant Morrigan to leave on her own… it’s complicated, but for completely different reasons."

And I find that fascinating. I want to know how other players approach this part of DAO, what origins they play, and who they romanced. Seriously, this is an invitation to anyone reading to share their thoughts.

What about a warden who doesn't even have Alistair in their party because they made Loghain a warden? Is there anyone out there who has Loghain do the ritual with Morrigan and why? What about male wardens who don't romance her? Do you choose to do it with her anyway, or do you ask Alistair or Loghain to do it? Do you tell Morrigan to fuck off with the ritual? Why? Who makes the ultimate sacrifice in that case? And what about Morrigan herself? How do you interpret her intentions/motivations? I want to know.

I'm telling you, this is a discussion that gets me excited, as most discussions about DAO do.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my 1 (one) stardew opinion is shane should not have won the bachelor poll

[riwooga]

Okay Whitney character dive, I'm just gonna use he/him pronouns for all of this except for PC ✨

I don't know how much of this makes sense but I'm going to ramble and I can already tell this is gonna get quite long

And once again small disclaimer I'm just rambling my personal speculation and thoughts and have no ways of knowing what the creators actually planned/intend for a character!

... Okay I have to add a cut I think it'll clutter the tag too much 👉👈

I actually kind of want to start out with making a comparison of Whitney vs Avery. Because I adore both, yet have actually seen some people interpret them in almost a switcharoo to what I do? Which is super interesting to me, but their character archetypes are definitely similar in several senses, and I find it fun to think about so-

From my point of view, what they have in common, in my opinion, is the "Control and status" mindset.

So when we first meet Whitney, he's obviously not introduced as a good guy, he's a bully, an utter asshole, and for a long time he is just that, he doesn't treat PC nicely until you get pretty high up in love, and still there he's still sometimes an absolute ass. (Just.. A more controlled one that will sometimes semi-respect your boundaries if you enforce them)

Whereas Avery, we meet as this charming, slightly mysterious yet chivalrous older man, helps us out, takes us out for a nice meal and in turn afterwards keeps being quite charmingly chivalrous as long-- as you act the proper way.

But the kind of funny thing it me is, with both of them, once you're in a relationship with you start to see the facade slip sometimes.

With Whitney, you start to see softer moments, it's small things that could be missed or brushed over perhaps, but you start to see moments where he shows he actually cares about the PC, and can actually be sort of sweet if you're in private with him.

Where as with Avery, you see the facade slip too-- but in the opposite way in my opinion? You start to see a colder side of him, start to see that what he cares about is appearance, and see that if you don't act the way he wanted you to, the anger comes through. (I'll definitely go more in depth of Avery if I make a post for him too)

Which again, feels like opposites, yet so similar?

And to touch back on their "control" mindset, there the thing is Whitney seems to be almost desperate for control, and will fight to have it, desperate for something he can actually have his own control over, likely stemming from a home life where he feels stuck and like he has no say in anything (Will touch more on this in just a second)

Where as Avery... Isn't desperate for control, rather he seems to simply expect it. He expects that PC will fall into line and be good, let him make the decisions that make them both look best. Especially at first of you chose the options that provoke him a bit, you can sense he almost starts to consider PC something to be tamed at that point.

Where both of them, highly value their status and other people looking upon them the way they've worked hard to obtain.

And to further explain what I meant with Whitney's home life, let's just say I think there's a reason that Whitney seems to be away from his home for as long as he can, why he prefers to loiter in alleyways and get drunk and cause trouble..

If we, once again, look at psychology, delinquent behaviors USUALLY stem from not feeling seen or heard by your parents, stem from an anger and frustration of either too strict rules or otherwise things like neglect. Same with bullying, usually also stemming from issues in the home life leaving the bully feeling weak and worthless, where bringing others down gives them a high of somewhat power. Especially to people they have a sense of envy toward.

We can also somewhat guess out from certain dialogue that Whitney's family probably isn't the wealthiest, as he describes his own room as a dump and also admits to Bailey that he indeed doesn't have near enough money to afford the PC. Plus if his parents were rich I don't think it'd make as much sense for him to be stealing, other than I guess pure provocation?

So those things combined I feel like I can definitely start to guess why Whitney might feel that lack of control in his life. I'm like... 90% sure I have seen Vrel say that the only thing feels like he has control over is his appearance? (And then the PC)

And while Whitney's relationship with the PC may start as a control thing for him, a simple way to get that itch satisfied and have some humiliation fun as well, well... He does genuinely start to care for the PC. Not that you'd get him to fully admit just how much he does.

Some of my favorite moments is when his brain almost short-wires when the PC not just reciprocates but initiates, especially outside the sexual context. Instantly blushing and trying to play it smooth but often ending up stuttering a bit. Or if you're gone too long and you can see faint tears in his eyes? Yeah good shit.

But also I absolutely have to mention how he is also so oddly soft in encounters, like often saying PC is like an angel, kissing PC'S forehead, praising... Like even in the "embarrassing" scenarios he often has this softness to him.

And to just softly go back to the whole bully psychology thing, a really interesting part of Whitney's character in my opinion is his target on Kylar, especially once he's with the PC.

Whitney in general is quite jealous / possessive, the only way he's sharing the PC is on his own volition, when he's the one controlling the scenario and who touches who. We can see he gets confrontational even in class of people just looking at the PC, or how he gets so frustrated if one of his friends try to help themselves to the PC.

So, to see the PC give someone like Kylar attention? Of course his brain will spiral.

Whitney has probably done so much to build up his position, to be popular, attractive, feared, to be in control, so to see /Kylar/, the freak, the weird little creep everyone actively avoids, who's such an easy target for bullying because of it-- /that's/ someone PC is interested in? Infuriating. A confidence hit probably. From his point of view he has so much more to offer than that pathetic little freak, doesn't he?

And that's where one of Whitney's big flaws come in, because when he feels upset, or even betrayed by the PC, he acts out. He starts to threaten, he starts to humiliate, he forces the PC into dangerous situations. A way to try and snatch that control back.

If pushed far enough, (spoiler warning here!!) we know he's even willing to sell the PC off to the underground brothel because of that loss of respect from everyone else. Because of that loss of control that he so desperately clutches onto.

But I'm gonna try and round it off a bit here--

Whitney seems to have a rather poor handle on emotions, on vulnerability. It's easier to be someone people fear and be having fun with it than it is letting someone even catch a glimpse at the vulnerable parts inside.

... Which is exactly why the moments that he has alone with the PC is something I absolutely melt over, those cracks beginning to show the softness.

So to sum up!

I find Whitney a really interesting character, as much as I roll my eyes at him and think he's a stupid ass, I really hope we in the future keep seeing him develop more and more 🤧

[woolydemon]

i am so apathetic to popular male transformers characters, but i have a simple trick to make me care abt them: i turn them into robot women then i suddenly start seeing their appeal

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.