#among his inner circle he has an author

[lordadmiralfarsight]

So, this is something I've been sitting on for a good while. Mainly because I got too heated each time to write a post about it.

On the 7th of February 2024, France organized a memorial service for the Franco-Israeli killed in the 7/10 attack. That was a good thing but, like many people in France, I personnally felt that it was a bit late. Still, better a memorial service than nothing at all. A nice touch was inviting the famillies of hostages and putting them front and center. That was positive, in my opinion, and a good show of solidarity.

So, you might be wondering what about this has me heated. Two words : Far left. or, in three words : La France Insoumise. LFI is a far left party that has a worrying amount of weight in France, right now. They have some of the common hallmarks : revolution fetishism, radicalist talking points, repeated attempts to delegitimize the election system (like Mélenchon claiming the 2022 presidential election was "stolen" when he ranked 3rd), etc... Recently they have also refused to condemn Hamas' attack. While they didn't openly support it like some fring trotskyist parties, they refused to condemn it, and at least one of their PMs went to Tunisia to basically parrot Islamist talking points blaming Israel for everything. They have overwhelmingly expressed support for "Palestinian liberation", because saying they support Hamas wouldn't be good press, so they skirt around it. But everyone gets the message, really. So, what did they do for that memorial service ? Well first off they participated against the wishes of the famillies of the victims and hostages. That's bad, but it gets worse. Because of course. See, their main representative in Parliament, Mathilde Panot, felt the need to also put front and center Palestinian victims. Now, I do believe Palestinian victims of this war should be remembered, and honored (provided they weren't terrorists). But ... is the memorial fro the 7/10 victims really the place ? No, no it fucking isn't. And that's what has me heated : this was a memorial for Jewish victims, and they were looking to appropriate it. And it gets even worse ! Because you see, Miss Panot had the perfect exemple : two Franco-Palestinian kids from her constituency that had died in Gaza. Why is that worse ? Because of why the kids were there. They were there because their mother fled to Gaza, from ISIS, after embezzeling money meant for Syrian refugees. Let me rephrase : the mother created a charity to support the victims of the Syrian civil war and of ISIS attacks, then made off with the money to deliver it entirely to ISIS. Then had kids with her ISIS assigned jihadi husband. And when ISIS collapsed, she sought refuge with Hamas. And because of that, her kids were in harm's way when Hamas launched a pogrom. And LFI thought that THIS was the correct exemple to bring to that memorial service. Is it tragic the kids died ? Yes. But maybe, just maybe, putting their terrorism enabling mother up as an exemple of martyred mother, during a memorial for the victims of an antisemitic pogrom perpetrated by said terrorism enabler's allies is a profoundly shitty thing to do. And that, among other things, is why most of France considers LFI to be antisemitic.

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta must become the big sister

I think what's especially interesting to note in chapter 154 is Nayuta's failure to use the right tactics.

Denji raised Nayuta correctly, emphasizing going to school, trying to control her possessive outbursts while being extremely present for her. In short, he nurtured her, giving her the protection he hadn't enjoyed as a child himself.

Although Nayuta knows her own nature and instincts, and is not naturally altruistic, she still looks at herself in a certain way: from society's point of view, and from her own, she is a child.

What I'm trying to say is that it's not insignificant to have Makima reincarnated; we could very well have had Nayuta, already an adult, because she's a devil who doesn't grow up. Nayuta already seems to grow up much faster than humans, so Fujimoto could very well have decided that a demon, especially a knight of the apocalypse, should already be born as an adult.

She grew up more quickly, and by the time Denji had finished devouring Makima, she already had the appearance of a 4/5-year-old child.

Fujimoto made Nayuta a child, because it's this state of being that makes her a control demon so paradoxical. Indeed, if Makima was so powerful, it wasn't just because she was older; the fact that Denji had killed Makima didn't change anything in terms of the fear one can feel of control.

What affects Nayuta's power, capable of controlling only 3 people at a time, is the way she conceives herself.

Makima was so powerful because she occupied a fairly high hierarchical position among public hunters, just as she had unquestionable authority over her agents. What's more, the government assigned her an objective of a universal nature: to protect all mankind from evil things. This role of universal protector, albeit a protective one, naturally places Makima, the control demon, in the role of guardian, humanity being as harmless as obedient puppies. The only thing Makima couldn't feel superior to was Chainsaw Man, for he is the entity that provides the means to pursue her universal goal of protection.

The key to Nayuta's fate is the fact that she has been loved and pampered by Denji. She makes it clear: it's natural for a demon to kill humans. Which, on the other hand, indicates that it's completely unnatural and almost unnatural for a demon to love and be loved by a human.

To have been loved, to have been happy, enabled the control demon to understand other ways of relating than pure domination, whereas Makima didn't understand human relationships, to the point of being moved by a hug, so unattainable for her.

Nayuta understands the nuances of relationships, just as she claims not to be the leader of powerful public officials but a mere child, which always places her in an inferior position to her enemies. That's why she's less powerful: to be in control, she needs to feel superior, which she can't easily do when she sees all these adults surrounding her so vehemently.

She focuses more on her social role as a child to be protected than as a demon attacking head-on. She still adheres to her role as a child, she's not obsessed with CSM because she can't reach him, he's now in her inner circle, she doesn't have a universal goal such as protecting the humanity like Fami suggested, she just wants to go to school.

In short, the control demon no longer wants to control, no longer needs to, or when she does, it's out of sheer necessity. The fact that she's weaker was Kishibe's objective when he gave custody of the demon to CSM, to make the control demon more human, more childlike, to avoid this exponential need for control. In short, the fact that the Control Demon's supreme objective is to be loved has contained its power, because its objectives have been achieved.

We can see how love is an unnatural thing, because it limits a demon who should be supreme through his solitude. For Nayuta's sake, to get out of her situation in chapter 154 would be to have a crisis of ego, and I think that symbolically it's not out of the question that if Nayuta abandons her role as a child, she'll grow up brutally. For a demon, appearance and age are simply a question of positioning in society. Makima had chosen to take on the appearance of a femme fatale to enable her to manipulate more effectively.

A soft voice, an attractive appearance to encourage us to lower our guard, the better to control coldly.

This is also why Barem is so dangerous to her: he's big-boned, aggressive and very tall, so he can be naturally frightening to a child. If Nayuta wants to control him and regain the upper hand, she mustn't see herself as a child with a gun pointed at her head. That even when assaulted, even when held at gunpoint, she's still in full control, that despite the chaos, she's still superior.

It's no coincidence that it's a gun that's pointed at her. Guns are fatal for humans, but for demons, especially the most powerful ones, they don't mean much. Nayuta doesn't need to be afraid of a gun, she needs to embrace her demon nature.

And she's on that track because protecting CSM, rather than being protected by him, means she can now play the role of a big sister.

What's more, she needs to get to know her own need for violence and cruelty. Chaos isn't what she likes, this chain of violence and combat isn't what she desires, because what she wants is cold, absolute control, where all she gets is unfailing obedience, people falling into line, not men with spears fighting each other in a primal manner.

She has been brought up by Denji, adopting his mannerisms and his way of speaking, but she also needs to distance herself from this fraternal figure in order to be herself.

All this leads me to say that the Knights of the Apocalypse, by moving away from what they are, are THE ONES who bring about the apocalypse, which is totally obvious, hence their name.

By loving something abnormal for the demon of control, by falling in love with his worst enemy for the demon of war, by wanting to save humanity to better eat what it produces for the demon of famine... show how they are all affected by humanity, to the point of putting aside their demonic nature.

Think of it as a kind of broken balance, which leads the eldest, the demon of death, to intervene. Why? For death represents absolute equilibrium; no one can escape it, it is an absolute rule from which it cannot be dislodged, it is an inevitable and firm end. Common to all species.

So she intervenes, to pull the ears of her little sisters Nostradamus' prophecy doesn't predict the apocalypse - in fact, it predicts that it will be triggered by the Knights of the Apocalypse, who have set out to protect mankind from the apocalypse. It may sound complicated when you put it like that, but the idea is to reinforce the idea of inevitability: protecting mankind from the apocalypse isn't a rebellion, something that can work; on the contrary, Fami's plan triggers it because she denies her nature. It's a losing game.

When I say that Nayuta needs to be a little more Makima again, it's not just for her own good, it's also for the good of humanity, and I find that ultra interesting: it's necessary for the antagonist we got rid of in part 1 to return, at least partially, in part 2.

But she mustn't go back to being that obsessive protector, she must simply resume its role as predator. Mankind needs predators: with the evolution of technology, it thought it could challenge its food chain, but paradoxically it needs to be bruised by demons to survive, since the balance of the world is at stake.

It's all the more symbolic that Barem and Fami use the wrong strategy: like Prometheus, they give fire to men via contracts with the fire demon, reinforcing the idea of evolution to escape its nature. It's even more symbolic that many weapons serve this project, such as Miri, the demon of the whip and the spear, hybrids linked to this civilisation.

It's absurd for the demon of control to argue that she's just a child. If she wants CSM to escape, she must also allow him to free himself from his role as big brother and protector. And the answer to this question was given by Fumiko, who didn't realise that dogs and Meowy weren't just animals. What she should despise is certainly not her own family.

Humanity is nothing more than pets, and this realisation is the key for Nayuta to become herself again.

[hellwantfuckme]

shameless.

summary: she hates solstices, but Azriel has his own way of making her liking the solstices.

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (f receiving)

words: 4.7k

author's note: I'm not sure if I like this or I hate this. English isn't my first language and is my first time writing smut after years of reading it😭. Just let me know if you want a second part:).

Every solstice, since Eclipse was of use of reason, had been the day on which she had kept herself the furthest away from her family, from the paranoid mother, who was a ticking time bomb that when exploded burned and scorched forests, dried up oceans. From the exhausted father, who still maintained his mocking humor from his younger years, when he still had his youth, when the weight on his shoulders was light, unaware that the burden would increase over the years.

In reality, for years she had had a flame of hope under layers of sharp ice, that someday, they could spend the holidays in a somewhat normal way. But over time that flame had done nothing more than extinguish, leaving in its wake smoke. Smoke that filled her lungs and didn't let her breathe, smoke that oppressed her chest, that made her so overwhelmed that her eyes clouded with tears.

That smoke hadn't disappeared to this day.

The warm room by the fireplace, the orange light, gave her a perfect view of everything that was happening throughout the large, lively living room. She heard Cassian's laughter and Mor's insults towards him. The more or less trivial conversations among the rest that spread throughout the room like grains of sand in the sea.

Eclipse just knew she didn't have enough wine.

In reality, she hadn't wanted to be here, it was Feyre, who with puppy eyes, had almost begged her to attend. Just for one year, to try to see what they did, how they did it. And she promised that if she felt too overwhelmed she could leave.

Eclipse had been thinking of leaving since she had walked through the door and greeted every member of the inner circle, even those who didn't sit so well with her as Mor. She couldn't help but feel that, in some way, the smell of her anxiety would become thick enough for everyone present to smell it, even through the glamour she had put on the scent of her emotions, and ruin the party for them.

The glamour was a band-aid on the crack in the earthquake floor, it did nothing to help her mental state. She just took another sip of the expensive wine, if only she didn't have that suffocating predestined feeling rooted in her chest, she would have admired the taste of the good, very expensive wine.

The warmth in the room was probably just right to keep them comfortable in the cold winter, but Eclipse felt it was too much, even the thin dress with an opening that showed her leg and a tremendous neckline felt like too much.

Everything was too much.

But she could leave, right? She could get up from the corner of the couch where she had been sitting for the last half hour, leave, and no one would judge her. She had her issues with some people in this court, but everyone had matured enough not to judge her if she suddenly left, end of story.

The place next to her on the couch sank slightly under the weight of an Illyrian who smelled like cedar and mist. Some of the tension in her shoulders left her. Just a little.

He didn't say a word, just glanced at her. Eclipse knew that was enough for him to know everything she was wondering about; after all, he was the Spymaster.

But the look wasn't heavy on her, it wasn't overwhelming. Eclipse looked at him too, turning her head just slightly to meet his gaze.

He seemed relaxed; it was one of the few times Eclipse saw him without his usual Illyrian leathers, without the bright siphons. Eclipse knew he enjoyed these festivities, the solstices. She could understand why, his family, probably the most precious thing to him, all in one room. No problems or anxieties or fights. Just them.

Another reason why Eclipse didn't feel like part of all this. She looked away.

Azriel drank in every expression of hers, hated the tension in her shoulders and back. Hated the way her brow furrowed slightly, her fingers squeezing the wine glass. Something inside him urged him to provide her with comfort of any kind.

Maybe it was because he had already consumed a reasonable amount of wine, maybe it was because he couldn't bear to see her so uncomfortable, especially in a time when she was supposed to be happy. Each of his cousins had managed to overcome whatever was haunting them because something was still threatening them, and Eclipse seemed to be doing the same, until the solstice. Where everything fell apart. Azriel wondered why and only remembered the firm, somewhat sad words Nesta had once said about Eclipse:

"We all demanded too much of her," Nesta had begun, speaking in the past, her voice tinged with regret. Cassian's hand had rested on hers, offering support for whatever she was feeling. "And she accepted it, she dealt with it as best as she could. If she still can't handle the festivities, if they're still too much for her, no one will demand that she heal quickly, get over it all at once, and fit into this too."

Azriel wondered if her words were, in addition, a reflection of how she would have liked them to behave around her when she was still struggling with constant bad habits.

He thought for a second, just one more look at the anxiety dancing in her eyes was enough fuel. Azriel placed his hand on her exposed knee.

Eclipse froze, her gaze slowly dropped to where their skins met, looked for a second, two. Insecurity filled Azriel; he was almost sure she was looking at his scars, and his own shoulders tensed.

But just a second later, as though she had sensed his intention to pull away, her hand settled on top of his. A gesture so natural, comfortable even, that it made his heart skip a beat.

Eclipse leaned back against the couch's backrest, bringing the edge of the dark red wine glass to her lips for a slow sip. She looked at him again, with a half-expectant look, bright with what, if he didn't know any better, he would describe as innocence, and the touch went from simply resting her hand there to a gentle, firm grasp.

Firm enough to keep her grounded. To keep her from wandering in whatever was tormenting her.

Eclipse refrained from licking her lips, definitely not wanting to ruin the lipstick.

"You know, maybe you should stop wearing those leathers so often, you look good, more than good." The comment escaped her lips with such naturalness, sincerity, that Azriel couldn't help but feel his cheeks redden slightly. The words stuck in his throat.

"I don't mean you don't look good in that outfit either, just that..."

Eclipse's hesitant words stopped as she noticed the color in his cheeks, a tiny smile pulled at Eclipse's lips.

"I'm sorry, I think I've had too much wine."

"No," Azriel hurried to reassure. "It's okay. You look... splendid, absolutely."

His eyes drifted away from her face, roved over the exposed collarbones, the particularly tattooed one underneath. "Born to die." Then over the neckline of her dress, and he couldn't help but linger there a fraction of a second, no more than what was appropriate.

Eclipse, it seemed, hadn't noticed the way his eyes had moved. Her cheeks had a barely noticeable blush, her gaze slightly lowered, embarrassed, he recognized quickly. Then it was Azriel who couldn't help the amused little smile that tugged at his lips.

His hand moved up her exposed leg slowly. Her heart skipped a beat as Azriel continued to raise it almost too slowly, her own hand still on top of his. It climbed until it was on her thigh, moving his hand so that it was on the inside, burying his fingers minimally.

Eclipse held her breath, her cheeks turning a darker pink. Her eyebrows arched just slightly, looking at Azriel out of the corner of her eye, but he looked straight ahead, as if nothing was happening, as if her pulse wasn't racing, her heart hammering against her chest as the contact burned.

Eclipse swallowed, and took a sip of wine, her head spinning.

I probably should be thinking that they were in a room full of people, and Azriel had his hand buried in the middle of her. But as she glanced around the room, and felt Azriel's hand moving inch by inch upwards, so slowly that she felt like she was going crazy, no one was really paying attention. Mor and Cassian laughing at something Nesta had said, and Rhys with a furrowed brow. Eclipse thought she heard something about the smaller wingspan of the three Illyrians in the background. She didn't really pay attention. Feyre and Elain were chatting quietly across the room while Amren was sitting in Varian's lap, the heir of the Summer Court leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

Azriel buried his fingers more forcefully. Eclipse crossed her legs with the intention of pushing Azriel's hand away, feeling the soft wetness between her legs increase.

She thanked every existing entity for the glamour to her emotions that she had put on before entering, and thanked Rhysand for teaching her how to put on and take off glamours months ago, because otherwise the smell of her arousal would be out there, mingling with the air particles.

Azriel looked at her, although she didn't dare to look back at him until his hand slipped between her crossed legs and separated them, resting the back of her thigh against the couch again, guiding her leg to spread further than before. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked up at him.

There was something shining in those hazel eyes, something primal well hidden. Heavy eyelids as she swore he was devouring her with his gaze. His hand dug deeper, higher, until it was inappropriately close to her center, and he squeezed the tender skin.

Eclipse looked around the entire room again; she really didn't want anyone to see this interaction, especially because she was aware that she was blushing. Azriel seemed to understand, leaning in, his body blocking out hers. His mouth mere inches from her ear, as if about to whisper something. His wing engulfed them, darkening what she saw, giving her only an illusion of privacy that she didn't fall into so easily. But at least it hid the direction of his hand.

A musky smell, carrying Azriel's essence, softly reached her nostrils. The almost imperceptible scent of his arousal. She might have sighed.

His hand continued its path, shamelessly upwards, until the pads of his fingers brushed the skin extremely close to her panties. She heard Cassian's voice in the background, slightly louder.

"Azriel," Eclipse gasped, with a soft warning tone, but Azriel just let out a soft growl.

His fingers touched the damp fabric of her panties, more roughly than he had been fondling her thigh. His fingers pressed onto the wet patch, and Eclipse grabbed his wrist, stopping him instantly.

"All of this for me?" Azriel purred. Eclipse didn't miss the subtle amusement in his voice. His hand stayed still, but his fingers were still pressed, right above her nerve.

"I think you're the same or worse, Azriel," she didn't need to look down at the bulge in his pants to know what was there.

A shadow curled into Azriel’s ear, and he tensed. He immediately pulled away, returning to his previous position, his scarred hand on her knee.

Eclipse looked at him, totally confused, wondering what had caused his attitude to change so abruptly. She sighed through her nose, her gaze wandering around the room again.

Feyre had a little smile tugging at her lips, one she tried to hide ridiculously while looking at her, in particular.

A gentle caress against her mental barriers, ones that were still not very strong but were on their way to, Eclipse reluctantly let Feyre in.

"So close Azriel was just a few seconds ago..." her cousin's voice, amused, curious, and eager for gossip, sounded in her head. Eclipse refrained from rolling her eyes, feeling Azriel's gaze on her.

"I had forgotten how absolutely nosey you are."

A giggle sounded in her mind.

"Cassian has been teasing Morrigan, didn't understand why until I looked where he looked for a second."

Eclipse inevitably cast a glance at Cassian, who was now listening attentively to something Nesta was saying. She looked back at her cousin.

"I think Azriel felt me looking, that's why he moved away."

"You think, Feyre? How do you know?" She sarcastically replied, sweeping Feyre out of her mind, raising her mental barriers again. Feyre just chuckled, Rhys then looked at her, as if he wanted to know where the source of her amusement was coming from.

Eclipse sighed, taking another sip of her almost-empty glass of wine at this point.

At the end of the night, they had decided to go to Rita's. Neither Eclipse nor Azriel had wanted to go, although Mor gave them both a suspicious look, with some tension on her shoulders. She insisted a little more than everyone, a little more on Azriel, to go to that club. Eclipse wanted to ignore it, really wanted to. But she couldn't, especially not when their gazes connected, and Eclipse didn't like what she saw. The glint of jealousy in her eyes appeared and disappeared, barely a millisecond, but she saw it clearly.

She had never particularly liked Morrigan, or at least not since Eclipse started exchanging words with Azriel and she tensed every time they had the slightest interaction.

Eclipse made sure to keep the real, and somewhat venomous, opinion to herself.

Azriel's hand had moved very little from her knee the whole time they were sitting there, although his thumb traced circles. And he gave gentle squeezes every time Eclipse seemed to get lost in her own, hurtful, thoughts.

Eclipse felt a ghostly touch on her calf, she didn't have to look down to know it was one of his shadows. They swirled around her soft skin, and at one point, they seemed to bite her, only gently. Her cheeks took on a pinkish hue as she found herself looking for a way to lean into the contact that wasn't quite a contact. Eclipse had the feeling that the bite was just to see how she would react.

The dark irregularities crept up her skin, slowly, torturously. They crawled, sending shivers all over her skin, climbing and climbing until they caressed the inner part of her thigh. Eclipse had the impulse to close her legs, but Azriel kept a firm grip on her knee, preventing her from closing them together. The shadows explored what they wanted, all the skin they had available, without really reaching what was the desired center of her.

Eclipse found his gaze, fixed on her as if he were studying every reaction, memorizing every small expression with dilated pupils, heavy eyelids.

Eclipse opened her mouth, ready to make a comment, but before any sound could come out of her mouth, the ghostly sensation danced over her panties, swirling in circles above the fabric. Her teeth found home on her own lip, refraining from moving closer. The touch was hesitant, curious. But not enough, Eclipse had an idea of what would be enough.

"Azriel." the plea escaped her lips before she could contain it, before she even wanted to contain it.

"Yes, darling?" his raspy, lust-filled voice filled her ears.

The shadows pressed more firmly against her, pushing the fabric aside. And they roamed all over her wetness, revolving around her clitoris, probing her entrance.

A gasp escaped from her lips, her hips involuntarily moving forward, the shadows retreated, the touch becoming lighter. Eclipse refrained from groaning. Her hand found Azriel’s still resting on her knee and almost desperately pulled it towards her center, but his hand refused to move past the middle of her thigh.

Azriel smirked.

"Needing, darling?"

Eclipse glared at him, he leaned towards her until he was millimeters from her lips.

"Tell me." he told her, ordered her. "Tell me what you want, and it's yours."

The shadows circled tightly against her clitoris, Eclipse let out a shaky breath.

"I want you."

Those words were enough to make him lose his mind. In one moment they were separated by millimeters, and then his mouth was on her. There was nothing gentle in the way Azriel kissed Eclipse, punishing lips against hers. The shadows probing her entrance dove deeply, and Eclipse whimpered.

Azriel took advantage to slip his tongue into Eclipse's mouth, his hand finding its place on her nape as his tongue explored Eclipse's mouth, swallowing every sound she let out while his shadows, teasing, barely satisfied the desire that made her dizzy, that made her unable to form a rational thought. His tongue took control almost instantaneously, perhaps because Eclipse was too excited to reciprocate the kiss in the same way, or maybe because naturally she submitted to him.

Azriel's hands found their place on her hips, and then lower, until he could lift her and sit her astride his lap. His mouth didn't leave Eclipse's, every time their tongues brushed, Eclipse felt as if she was dizzy and the wetness in her pussy increased. As if Azriel felt it, he drew her closer to him until her center was against his hardness. Eclipse moaned. But then, Eclipse felt everything around her disappear. Everything. And she felt herself in freefall, instinctively placing her hands on Azriel's shoulders, holding on. But a second later, reality reappeared around her again.

The smell of him was all around, Eclipse glanced at her surroundings and quickly realized where they were; Azriel's room. He was sitting in the middle of his bed, his back against the headboard, and she was still in his lap. The smell of him was all around, Eclipse glanced at her surroundings and quickly realized where they were; Azriel's room. He was sitting in the middle of his bed, his back against the headboard, and she was still in his lap.

"You didn't expect to stay in the living room, did you?" Azriel teased, one of his hands finding its place on the nape of her neck as he pulled her back to his lips, and the other on her hips, he guided her forward, and then back, the command was clear: rub against me.

Hesitant, Eclipse moved her hips against him, finding herself needing that delicious friction that made her delirious. Eclipse broke the kiss to breathe, but his lips didn't leave her. They kissed the corner of her mouth, the jaw, all the way down to her neck and stopped there, deciding to take his time adorning her neck. Eclipse rubbed against him again, more needy, less hesitant, managing to elicit a growl from him. His teeth sank into her warm skin in response, her eyebrows arched as she murmured his name like a prayer.

He licked the small mark, his tongue soothing the sting. He kissed and sucked and bit a little more, all the way down. Down to her collarbone. He licked the letters tattooed underneath, and if it was possible, she felt herself harden underneath him.

His hand moved up to the straps of her dress, and he looked at her, asking for permission. Eclipse nodded, granting him permission. More than enough permission for him, and he slowly lowered the straps, freeing her breasts and pausing for a moment. Admiring her.

"You are beautiful." he breathed. "The most beautiful thing I've seen in my life."

Sincerity dripped from his voice, and as if he wanted to prove it, he took a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking on it.

Eclipse rolled her eyes at the heat her nipple was receiving, her back involuntarily arching. Her hand buried itself in his black hair, feeling his teeth graze her sensitive nipple as his fingers caressed the other, giving it the same attention.

"Azriel." she moaned. The need between her legs was almost painful.

Azriel pulled away, releasing her nipple with a small "pop". The same hungry need from her reflected in his eyes. Azriel dragged Eclipse's mouth back down to savor her once again. Kissing her hungrily.

Eclipse felt pressure against her center again, but it wasn't the shadows this time, but Azriel's fingers. They pushed her panties aside and slid between her folds, spreading her wetness. Eclipse let out a moan against Azriel's lips as the pad of his finger rubbed tight circles on her clitoris, needed after all the teasing of his shadows. Azriel smiled into the kiss, his tongue delving into Eclipse's mouth once more.

Azriel used his other hand, his grip on her hip, to keep her from moving for greater friction.

His fingers traced her entrance, and he inserted two fingers, the gentle touch of before forgotten in a corner of his mind, after craving this all night. Eclipse let out a small tortured sound, the stretch producing a slight sting, and Azriel noticed how incredibly tight she was. He couldn't help the slight furrow in his brow, not when the evidence of the slight pain was as clear on her features as water.

"Eclipse." he called, her eyes fixed on him once more. "When was the last time you did this?"

The question caught her off guard, Eclipse blinked.

When was the last time she had had sex? The answer quickly reached her. Years. It had been years since she had touched anyone in this way, and she hadn't wanted to either.

As if anyone could blame her, with everything she had experienced to get to this point.

Eclipse didn't open her mouth, but she was sure that Azriel could see the clear answer in her eyes. He didn't hesitate, he brushed some strands away from Eclipse's face, his hand cradling her cheek and kissed her again.

He swiftly maneuvered to sit Eclipse on the edge of the bed and position himself in front of her on his knees. Eclipse looked at him with curiosity, expectantly. He just smiled at her, his mouth attacked her neck again and made his way down, leaving marks along the way. Marks that would last until tomorrow.

His scarred hands found the back of her knees and pushed her forward. He didn't bother with foreplay.

He lifted the fabric of her dress until it ended up bunched up around her waist, and took the edge of her black panties and removed them, throwing them somewhere in her room that he really didn’t care about.

He pressed his swollen lips against Eclipse's inner thigh and listened to her pant, taking a slow, torturous path upwards. And just before reaching her needy, soaked sex, his lips found the skin of her other thigh.

"Azriel." Eclipse whimpered, a complaint. His teeth sank softly into the skin in response.

"Patience." was all he said as he pressed kiss after kiss, each one closer to where she needed it most, each slower. He stopped for a second to observe her, his cock throbbing painfully against his pants as he saw her. He raised his gaze to find Eclipse's flushed face looking at him, her lipstick ruined, probably he had the remnants of the red tint on his own lips as well, but he couldn't care less. He just lowered his gaze back to her wet pussy, begging for his attention, and licked his lips before placing each of her thighs over his shoulders and burying himself deeply between her legs. Devouring her as if she were the elixir of life.

His tongue licked between her folds, from her entrance to the apex and back down until his tongue was soaked from her essence and went back up, easily finding her clit and using the tip of his tongue to draw tight circles, her taste intoxicating him, making him eager for more. He sucked the nerve a second later and Eclipse trembled under his expert mouth. His hand rested on her lower abdomen, keeping her in place as his tongue played over her clit. Eclipse let out a moan from the depths of her chest. Her head thrown back, sensations engulfing her, ravishing her.

His tongue felt so, so good against her that her moans were almost whimpers as he devoured her, like a hungry man. She didn't know how much, how much, she had longed for this until she had it. And there wasn’t a part of her that he hadn't licked, nibbled, or sucked. The tension in her lower stomach became more prominent, the knot tighter, her hips moved involuntarily against his face, his hand pushing her down, the grip firm.

"Azriel." she breathed, her face contorted by pleasure as she felt her legs tremble. Barely able to process a rational thought, unable to contain the sounds that came out of her mouth again and again.

Azriel inserted a finger, slowly this time. Her soft walls welcomed it eagerly, urging him to go deeper. He pumped gently and when he was sure she could handle it, he inserted another finger. The rough touch from his scarred hands made her roll her eyes.

Eclipse felt a ghostly touch on her breasts, then circling her nipples. She let out another whimper, feeling like everything was too much and nothing at the same time.

His name came out of her lips frantically, the tension building barely bearable.

"Are you going to come on my face, sweetheart?" Azriel murmured, sending vibrations through her core. He only heard a moan, or a whimper, in response. He caught her nerve between his teeth, a gentle pressure.

"Words, dear. Use your words."

"Y-yes." Eclipse breathed, Azriel curled the fingers he had inside of her, looking for that sweet spot that would make her see stars. Azriel knew he had found it when another moan, one that made his cock ache with how hard it was, came from her lips.

"Then do it, come for me."

His lips found the sensitive bud and sucked it, hard.

Eclipse felt the knot in her stomach tighten until she couldn't take it anymore, her eyes filled with tears as she came, the climax hitting her faster than she would have believed possible. Her legs trembling, waves and waves of pleasure breaking her into a thousand pieces and making her whole again as Azriel continued working on her tender center, more gently, to carry her through her orgasm but not overstimulate her.

A thin layer of sweat rested on Eclipse's skin.

The sounds she let out were the most exciting thing he had ever heard in his life, music to his ears.

"Do you think you can handle another finger, darling?"his hesitant voice filled her ears when she had calmed down, come down from her height. She hummed an affirmation, her breath irregular.

Azriel knew he would need a third finger inside her if he even hoped she could handle it entirely. Although the primitive need to taste her was much greater, the need to bury his tongue deep into her and taste everything she had to give him, he vowed to himself that he would. At another time, he would devote himself to testing her limits, to taste the essence of her climax. But for now, he simply added another finger.

Eclipse felt so full and sensitive, her internal walls inevitably tightened against the three fingers, which expertly curved against that spot.

Azriel ran his tongue gently over the swollen bud, reminding himself that she had just come, stopping himself from being rough against her sensitive clit.

Eclipse whimpered, Azriel's fingers entering and exiting, and the shadows curved over her nipples. Biting gently.

"Azriel." Eclipse begged, composing herself on her elbows. The sight of him, kneeling in front of her, with his mouth working on her pussy, was enough to send her to the edge again.

The only thought in her mind, as her entire world fell apart around her and there was only the devastating pleasure that ruined and repaired her at the same time, was that a long, very long night awaited her.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she wouldn't hate solstices so much from now on.

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- Smut Day Two

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

[please check all tags before engaging!]

My Name, Your Confession by @ofduskanddreams

Elain and Lucien are both determined to ignore the bond at Nesta’s mating ceremony, but their ideas backfire as the bond chafes and they reach a breaking point.

Elain refuses to say Lucien’s name when he’s around—Lucien vows to make her scream it before the night ends. Is it really recklessness if it’s fate?

Previously titled: “He Who Must Not Be Named”

Desperate Measures by @separatist-apologist

Day Court keeps Lucien busy.

Lucky for Elain, Lucien knows just the way to rectify that.

we'll always have paris by @beesays

"Someone might see"

"So let them"

Or Elain has an exhibitionist streak and Lucien indulges.

Like A Survivor by @reispinkoveralls

Elain suggests a rather creative solution to overcome her PTSD involving Lucien and a set of chains.

So Long, London by @shadowisles-writes

"You swore that you loved me but where were the clues, I died on the altar waiting for the proof."

After the war with Hybern, Elain is welcome back into Graysen Nolan's estate to marry him. Elated to live the life she dreamed of, Elain learns to glamour herself to fit in among the humans of their village. Unable to keep away on her wedding day, Lucien paces outside until the very last moment he can interrupt to beg her to reconsider, except the scene he walks into is anything but a wedding.

Push Me Up Against The Wall by @xtaketwox

It's been 6 months since Elain's world was turned upside down by Graysen's cheating. Vassa knows just the thing to help Elain move on: Lucien

Separate My Soul From My Body by @crazy-ache

“I am Elain Archeron, sister of the High Lady of Night, Feyre the Cursebreaker. I’ve come to demand the release of Lucien Vanserra back to the custody of the Night Court.”

"And why would I do that?" The High Lord of Autumn demanded.

“Because he is my mate.”

When Lucien Vanserra is held captive by his father in the cruel depths of Autumn, there is only one force more powerful than politics that can save him—his mating bond with Elain Archeron. She must make the choice to save him, even if it means binding their souls forever.

Solstice Traditions by @infinitefolklore

Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

Where's My Love by @shadowisles-writes

After getting the smallest taste of what being close to her mate might feel like, Elain can't help but need more. This is pretty much just smut.

Little Dove by @infinitefolklore

Human!Elain and Fox!Lucien

This is a slight canon divergence deleted scene.

After Feyre is taken to Spring Court, Tamlin sends Lucien to go check on the Archeron Estate. Lucien finds Elain all alone and offers her some company. Elain discusses her upcoming betrothal to Graysen, and Lucien tries to convince her to change her mind.

Kneel Before Me by @zenkindoflove

Lucien arrives at the House of Wind, only to be drawn into a sparring match with none other than the Inner Circle's own Shadowsinger. Things get out of hand and Azriel discovers whether he really can defeat Lucien easily.

Post-ACOSF, Elucien.

All Roads Lead To You by @annaskareninas

When Elain Archeron decides to travel the Continent, the last thing she expects is to run into Lucien Vanserra, her almost-mate, at a wine bar in the capital of Montesere. In fact, the only thing she expects less than that is to get extremely drunk, go skinny-dipping, and sleep with him.

The next morning, Elain flees Montesere. But it seems fate has other plans for her, because wherever she goes - Scythia, Xian, Rask - Lucien just keeps popping back up. Can she truly resist her destiny?

The Camping Trip by sunnyzoya

"Does that turn you on? Thinking about someone watching as I fuck you?"

I Think I Saw You In My Sleep by @zenkindoflove

The dreams of him come from the mating bond, but Elain wants them to stay. Elucien one-shot. Post ACOSF.

I'm Betting It All On You by @xtaketwox

Lucien is tired of living in limbo. He has a proposition for Elain. One kiss and if she still doesn't want him, he'll leave her alone forever.

Call Me When You Need by @whatishowedyouinthedark

Elain doesn’t mean to sleep with Lucien. The first time.

The Longest Night by @southsidestory & NextToSomething

The Winter Solstice is a time for gift-giving, love, and new beginnings. Elain wants none of those things from Lucien. She didn’t choose to be his mate, no more than she chose to be High Fae, and she’s not used to either yet. The only way to guard her heart is to keep her distance. But then a blizzard hits Velaris, leaving Lucien snowed in at the town house. And whether Elain likes it or not, she’s spending the night with her mate—the longest night of the year.

(A Court of Frost and Starlight canon-divergence.)

Emissaries With Benefits by @velidewrites

When diplomacy fails, Prythian courtiers Elain and Lucien like to resort to a steamier kind of negotiation.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — profile 1

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

❥･• yn homework club

note: they are all 19 years of age except for ni-ki (17)

Park Y/N, Decelis Academy’s top student and President of the Student Council. You have never once lost the number 1 spot throughout your time at the academy and the faculty absolutely adores you. Nothing is more important to you than excelling in your academics, as your dear mother have told you multiple times that people only remember you when you’re at the top of the pyramid. Despite your name being well known and talked about among the student body, you often keep to yourself and the exception of your inner circle. Thinking with your head rather than your heart, you have a hard time empathising with people, which explains your relatively small friendship circle. Have the most insignificant beef with Yang Jungwon, which you instigated by the way, but you’d never admit that.

Huh Yunjin, president of Decelis Academy’s theatre club and most probably the closest person to a BFF to you. Imagine Regina George but minus the unhingeness, that’s Yunjin. Despite her popularity, she’s actually a really sweet angel and would 100% drop whatever she’s doing for you. You first met in freshman year and is inseparable ever since. Her personality type enables her to empathise with you more so than others and you appreciate her for that.

Chanelle Moon, executive commitee member of the Decelis Student Council. For her, you’d imagine Janis but minus the black gothy aesthetics. Probably the most unbothered and coolest person you know (provided you don’t know much people anyways). Similar to Yunjin, she’s your ride or die and you can always count on her to literally hiss at the girls who would pick on you in the library.

Shin Ryujin, president of Y/N’s fanclub. Would literally sell her soul to hold your hand. Came to know her through Yunjin. You used to find it weird that she would openly simp for you but now you’re just used to the unhinged shit that comes out of her mouth. Despite her undying devotion, she respects your boundaries. You call Ryujin, Yunjin, and Chanelle the powerpuff girls because of how protective they are of you.

Choi Beomgyu, member of Decelis Academy’s media club and your unofficial hype boy. You got to know him after he came to the council room looking for Taehyun. The two of you clicked immediately. You were aware of your ‘poor’ interpersonal skills and he was like your personal trainer, he’d call you out for being too straightforward or that you should smile more when addressing the student body. Without even noticing, you’d go to him for advice and he’s always more than happy to help (well in exchange for your chemistry notes and answers of course).

Nishimura Riki, member of Decelis Academy’s dance club. The only member in your small clique that’s currently in their Sophomore year. Despite the age difference between him and the rest of your group, he somehow managed to wiggle his way into your inner circle even though most people would just outright ignore you. The aura and pressure of being friends with the top student wasn’t the most appealing. At dance practice is where he first met Heeseung, Jay, and Jake before subsequently meeting Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Yang Jungwon.

Kim Gyuvin, member of Decelis Academy’s media club. He used to find you scarily intimidating but that was before he actually got to know and work with you during school events. Gyuvin is like the brother you never knew you had. You also find him pretty funny, though most of the time you end up laughing at him laughing rather than the joke he tells. Oh, he also has a super ugly dog, and you never fail to tell him that.

prev | masterlist | next

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: ik it’s a little long 😅 but i figured it’ll make more sense if i explain their characters a little instead of just jumping straight into the smau like i did with hands on you

taglist open! send ask, comment or submit form to be added!

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter III: To Be A False Escort…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for your support for Chapter 2. It was so, so motivating to see it and use it as inspiration to get this chapter together for you in a timely manner. I even surprised myself, lol. Don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts about this one! And any theories you may have about the main mystery! You guys mean to world to me :)

Happy Reading!

- Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

October 13, 1895

The Phantomhive Estate’s Drawing Room

Receiving an offer to play billiards at the Earl of Phantomhive’s manor was the premiere invite. It was more coveted than an invitation to one of his balls or banquets, or even a request to meet in his office since it was the only way to know that you were a part of his inner circle. Phantomhive’s drawing room competition was only made up of his band of closest and most powerful allies.

Ciel preferred to keep this circle limited to the evil number five, including himself. After all, there was no use in quantity over the quality of service one might offer him. There was no use in saving face for some obsequious crowd when a smaller group could achieve the same and more.

At the established age of 20, Ciel hand-picked his own company, officially doing away with the former Earl’s out of self-preservation— most of those vultures were driven by their interest to unseat him, believing that they could outsmart his developing strategic mind. He had been 13 at the beginning of his reign.

Naturally, their gross assumptions led to the creation of the Phantomhive standard of care, which tended to mean: his staff taking creative license to maim or kill in extreme cases. He preferred to allow his staff to take care of the intricacies and portray while he reveled in his guests’ screams. Ciel imagined they would think better of crossing him, in the future.

Now, he sat in his long wingback chair, overseeing the game before him, half listening to his company, half planning his next turn in his mind. There were no good shots— he’d have to skip again. It was Ciel’s policy to never shoot unless he was certain he’d score. Taking useless turns that achieved little more than nothing was not in his nature.

“…Just can’t believe that ballerinas are dropping like flies and the Yard has all of us on a gag order,” Adam Blackwell, the Oxford Gazette editor-in-chief, grumbled. Originally from the States, it took time for Ciel to adjust to his blunt way of speaking. Although Blackwell seemed as though his blunt exterior made him unqualified for Ciel’s entourage, it was his influence on widespread media that made him a valuable partner. Blackwell cultivated Ciel’s publicity and in return, Ciel provided him with breaking stories, invaluable insight, and his endorsement. Now, the journalist’s words caught Ciel’s full attention.

Ballerinas ‘dropping like flies,’ the Yard’s ‘gag order.’

Ciel wasn’t aware that Her Majesty wished to keep these deaths quiet — nor why that would be. It wasn’t as if there would be a public outcry as a result; most perceived ballerinas as crass, vain, and promiscuous. Hardly a half step better than average prostitutes. They were every noble wife’s worst nightmare, given that their husbands were willing to empty their fortune to tousle their bedsheets with them, rather than remain faithful as their wedding vows outlined.

Now that he personally knew the Royal Opera House’s prima ballerina, Ciel understood where the stereotype emerged from. He’d never met a woman who smoked cigars or disrespected him with such insistence. He wrinkled his nose in remembrance of the permanent cloud of smoke that Y/n was so attached to and the tantalizing way she presented herself.

Of course, the worst of it was that Y/n was almost attractive enough for it to work if Ciel weren’t a gentleman.

Almost, he felt he needed to emphasize.

“Phantomhive,” the Viscount of Tiverton, Gabriel Giffard said his name impatiently. He chalked the tip of his cue stick, slightly wary of meeting Ciel’s eye. “Blackwell reminds me; I needed to tell you that there has been talk,” he ran the cue chalk over the stick’s end until there was a thick blue film over it. “Amongst the barons.”

“Talk?” Ciel asked, his back straightening in the chair. Giffard, like him, inherited his viscounty much too young as a result of a tragic accident. Only the carriage crash that killed his parents was likely a genuine accident as opposed to the purposeful Phantomhive estate inferno that killed Ciel’s parents and left him a sacrifice for a deranged cult.

Now, Giffard was known for secrets, pulling them from all ranks within British society: royalty, nobility, and the low class. How he came across them, Ciel was unsure, but he knew better than to dismiss his words. “Of what sort?”

“Lord Chancellor spotted you in the foyer de la danse at the Opera House. Socializing, bidding…winning said bid,” Giffard said facetiously, already knowing that it was true because his informants would never dare lie. The Viscount’s magnetic attitude was what tended to draw people in so close— it was what made strangers turn to friends after mere moments into an exchange. Ciel wasn’t quite convinced by the facade, but Giffard was plenty helpful.

Of course, it was Lord Chancellor. The man had nothing better to do than gamble his limited fortune away and cover his shame with undignified, craven, sexual acts with any ensemble member he could afford.

“Bidding? Excuse me?” Samantha Marias Delgaudio asked her lightly freckled features twisted into a look of animated surprise. “Phantomhive? Bidding? What?” She repeated the words as if the English made no sense to her, taking a soothing drink from her wine glass. Per the norm, it was filled with her favorite rosé, a brand that Ciel had shipped in for her. He didn’t have much of a taste for wine, but she visited often enough to warrant the special shipment. Moreso, Carlo Gancia was a longtime family friend to the Phantomhive family.

“Explain, Phantomhive.” Her hazel eyes squinted at Ciel, zeroing in on him the same way a sharpshooter would.

“Samantha—” Ciel started. She reminded him of a younger Madame Red, his late aunt, Angelina Dalles. Samantha had the same red hair, a dimpled smile, and easy humor.

“Sam,” she rolled her eyes, tired of the correction. She was the second-youngest daughter of Police Lieutenant Peter Delgaudio, close right hand to the Scotland Yard’s Police Commissioner, Arthur Randall. Randall, the supercilious bastard, was not fit for retirement quite yet. In another five years, hopefully. Sam wasn’t one for formalities, but so long as she refrained from using Ciel’s first name, he’d tolerate it. Besides, she tended to let a few facts about the Yard’s current cases slip, updating him on their progress, incoming cases, and loyalties within the force. Fred Abberline was too subservient for such a service, but Sam enjoyed the dramatics of being Ciel’s insight.

“No, Sam. You need to tell us why the Police Commissioner refuses to let me report these murders!” Blackwell interjected. “I could care less about where Phantomhive decides to—”

“Oh, be quiet, we can talk about that later,” Sam snapped, always one to get to the point. She turned her attention back to Ciel. “Why were you in the dance foyer?”

“The rest of the word is that you won the right to be Y/n Y/l/n’s only subscriber,” Viscount Tiverton added, adding to Sam’s outrage. He sent bitter looks to Sam and Blackwell, irritated that they interrupted his gossip.

“Who? The lead dancer?” Sam demanded.

“Prima ballerina,” Blackwell corrected, pedantic when it came to using the correct terms.

“That means the same thing!”

Ciel sighed, resigned. He should have paid more attention to the rest of the dance foyer’s guests and disguised himself better— one of the bidding noblemen recognized him. It was a risk to so much as admit that he was pretending to be Y/n Y/l/n’s patron to this tightly-knit group. The more people knew the more likely Natasha Gusev-Wood could realize that her company was under official investigation. She and her husband were still people of interest.

Besides, it was harmful for Ciel’s reputation to be a subscriber to a ballerina. He was the Head of Phantomhive; someone of his stature needed to be courting a proper lady, not soiling sheets with a coquettish, sultry dancer. He needed to change the narrative. Soften it. Make it slightly less scandalous.

“I am courting her,” Ciel replied simply, lying through his teeth. “My bidding serves to pay her rent and keep other men away at the same time.”

“No, you must be investigating her,” Richard Clerkenwell interjected, finishing his shot. He was always one to choose the worst time to enter the topic at hand.

Clerkenwell knocked the blue striped ball — the 10 — into a hole, the cue ball stopping on the edge before the pocket. The hit cleared the way for Ciel to knock solids one and six in. He handed the cue stick off to Sam for her to take her turn, but she merely held it in her hand, unwilling to let the subject drop while she played.

Clerkenwell was an Underworld arms dealer, running a minor branch within his family crime syndicate. The group dealt in weapons manufacturing and minor drug dealing, harmless enough to remain under Her Majesty’s radar with Ciel’s aid, but prominent enough for Richard to be a strong ally for the favor. Richard provided Ciel’s house staff (his undercover guards) with the latest in arms and weapons for a strong discount.

Unfortunately, that meant Clerkenwell had the finest criminal instinct out of the four of Ciel’s close acquaintances. Although he hadn’t seen through Ciel’s lie entirely, he didn’t miss the mark. Enlisting Y/n as his eyes and ears within the dance company kept her close. Ciel would be remiss to assume she was entirely innocent. After all, no crime can be committed with a motive.

There was no better motive than forcibly removing the competition— Ciel would know. Still…Sebastian’s words still held strong truth within them, “Miss Y/l/n does not seem to have the constitution of a killer.” The demon seemed comfortable with dismissing the prima ballerina as a suspect, but Ciel was not quite convinced.

“If she were the killer, there would have been no need for her to kill anyone besides Janet Fischer,” Sebastian had said. He had a point. Bloody demon.

“Investigating Y/n? So the Queen put you on this already,” Blackwell assumed. By watching his face, Ciel could see the journalist piecing the headline, the lede, and the rest of the story together in his head.

“No, Her Majesty did not.” Ciel scowled, wishing he could send the arms dealer to an early grave. But unfortunately, that would do more harm than good. If he was going to convince the rest of polite society that he was in love with Y/n, he needed to successfully convince this room first. “The case is in its infant stages. She wouldn’t enlist me without giving the Yard a fair chance,” he glanced at Sam meaningfully.

“That’s a nasty coincidence then,” Blackwell replied.

“I merely attended the ballet and took a vested interest in her,” Ciel struggled to coax his lips into a slight half-smile, a smug look that he imagined he’d give upon sharing vague details about his personal life. It was Earl’s grin, not his own, but that was the look they were accustomed to. The poisonous look of joy on his face normally insinuated that someone was about to take an unfortunate loss. “I am her patron. Becoming so was the only way to ensure the vermin stayed away from her.”

Fine. They will perceive the utter lack of adoration in his face as protective hostility.

Besides, there wasn’t a lot Ciel liked about Y/n to put the expected lovestruck look on his face. Overt frustration and protectiveness were better alternatives, given that he could hardly muster a smile when she crossed his mind. She was everything he disliked about commoners: promiscuous, rude, outspoken. Now he would need to fool his social circle into believing that he was steps away from wedding her.

It wouldn’t be his worst endeavor for the sake of Her Majesty.

“You intend to make her your Countess? Were you not having tea with Lady Howard?” Viscount Tiverton asked.

Tiverton would tell Ciel everything he needed to know at the expense of informing his circles about Ciel to avoid unwanted scrutiny. No one knew who the Earl invited to his billiards games— that information was as confidential as Funtom stocks. Thus, Tiverton would share sanitized versions of the truth, based on Ciel’s strategic allowances. Even still, carelessly allowing this information to ripple throughout the aristocracy was far from ideal. There needed to be a plan. Ciel would need to come to a supplementary understanding with him to control who got hold of the news and when.

Perhaps, that would be a follow-up meeting between himself, Tiverton, and Blackwell.

Caroline Howard was the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. Becoming a Duke was perhaps the only social upgrade Ciel was willing to make, given that the only title higher than a Duke was a royal, and with such an opportunity, there was no need to explore any lower matches, which would be an available Marquis or another Earldom.

Becoming the next Duke of Norfolk was well within his grasp, given the Howard family’s desire to progress their slow-moving relationship. Or it would have been within his grasp if he wasn’t sacrificing his personal life for the sake of the investigation. Ciel thought bitterly, silently cursing Y/n for her promiscuous reputation, cursing the Yard for being incapable of doing its job without his interference.

“I’ve promised nothing to her,” Ciel stood from his chair, taking the Viscount’s freshly chalked cue stick to take his turn. He lined the cue stick with the ball, taking ample time to ensure that the angle would strike both balls into position. When Ciel was careless, he missed as a result of his eyepatch misaligning his depth perception.

Though if he could kill two birds with one stone— two balls with one turn — he’d be that much closer to winning. Clerkenwell put up a decent fight; he always did. These individuals knew how Ciel detested an easy victory, but in the end, he was the champion.

“You’ve been after a Dukedom for the past two years, Phantomhive,” Blackwell shook his head, scoffing at Ciel’s flawless hit. American businessmen never seemed to understand the importance of the drawing room. Too many waged important decisions and bets on childish games such as these were made here to overlook.

“Such matters can wait. There is no crime in enjoying Y/n’s presence now that she’s caught my interest,” Ciel allowed them to draw their conclusions from those words. He righted himself and handed off the cue stick to Sam. She cursed under her breath, unhappy with where Ciel left the cue ball.

He understood why Blackwell, Giffard, Sam, and Clerkenwell doubted him. No matter how Ciel fabricated the truth, it was still inconsistent. Improbable. They knew he was after a duchy, a noble wife to round out his chessboard. Y/n was a firebrand. She was not a Countess, much less a citizen of Her Majesty, coming from France. Ballerinas existed on stage to all, and backstage to those who could afford it. A prima ballerina did not have what was necessary to fulfill the Queen’s role on his board.

“Regardless, she will accompany me to your upcoming ball, Lord Tiverton,” Ciel sent a chilling smile towards the group, daring them to commentate further. “Now. Let’s finish our game, shall we?”

No one protested.

October 14, 1895

The Royal Opera House, Outside Y/n’s Dressing Room

Y/n was due to update Ciel on the information she uncovered since their discussion at the breakfast table. In an effort to keep their partnership inconspicuous, he offered to meet her backstage and escort her to the hovel that she called her townhouse. Prior to meeting her, he explored it with Sebastian, searching for clues of her being their killer, but most of her drawers contained pointe shoes of various quality, assorted sewing tools, clothing, packs of cigars, and wine. The only items that she seemed to make an effort to hide were expensive gifts from subscribers, and given that none of the victims’ fortunes were touched, there was no reason to assume the killer worked for a financial agenda.

Ideally, Ciel would have waited for Y/n inside her dressing room and allowed her director to presume they were having relations while they were truly going over information Y/n gleaned.

Though now that Ciel was claiming to be courting her, his plans needed to chasten and publicize. What was supposed to insinuate a sordid backstage affair, now needed to become the Earl of Phantomhive bringing his romantic interest roses after her flawless role in the show and escorting her home. Keeping her safe and well-provided for was the job of a false escort, he reckoned, despite having little to no romantic experience.

More to the point: their interactions needed to become much more inconvenient. Having to bring himself to the Opera House every other evening was already quite a burden but now, he needed to spend public, perceivable time with Y/n to make his story plausible. And rake his reputation through the mud while he was at it.

Blackwell and Tiverton’s words could only help so much. At the very least, Ciel’s blatant power was enough to keep any opposition or vitriol from his enemies private.

“Lord Phantomhive!” Natasha Gusev-Wood stopped in her tracks upon noticing him standing outside her star’s dressing room. He’d purposely paid an excess amount of money to avoid the dance foyer because the scene was too grotesque to subject himself to every other evening. (Watching sexual exploitation felt abhorrently close to participating in it.) When Ciel wrote a check for three times the amount he did to become Y/n’s sole patron, Natasha seemed to understand what he was conveying.

She briefly dipped her head as a gesture of respect. Her eyes were grey-ish blue. They were catlike as they surveyed him, pausing the bouquet of roses in his hands. Half of Natasha’s weight seemed to depend on the long cane at her side, the leather handle perfectly molded to her grip. The customization suggested that she needed walking assistance for quite a while.

“Mrs. Wood,” Ciel replied, making minimal effort to match her enthusiastic greeting. He returned her singular nod.

“Y/n should let you in a moment, I’ve only just helped her out of her costume,” she gestured to her single handful of tulle, her free hand grappling with what seemed to be an ensemble member’s outfit: a simple white number with the swan headpiece. Her Russian accent hardened her English. Uncomfortable with Ciel’s continued silence, she spoke again: “Our costume director has her hands full with preparations for The Nutcracker.” He assumed she was attempting to explain why she, the director and choreographer, was dealing with tasks as mundane as dressing and undressing her company.

“I understand,” Ciel opted to use the time to ask her about her husband, William, while he had the chance. Supposedly, the man was in France, scouting new ensemble members from the dance school Y/n grew up in. The timing was ironic to Ciel: about ten dancers are found dead, and the Opera House’s owner decides to search for a replacement, ignoring the issue altogether.

It was more than ironic. It was suspicious.

“How is William, these days?” As irritating as small talk was, it was often quite insightful.

Natasha answered as he expected her to. Her full lips pulled into a smile, her laugh was bashful. “He is set to return from Paris quite soon; he was looking for an understudy for Mother Ginger, given that the role is rather precarious,” she said, not expecting him to understand the reference. “But he is well!” Ciel couldn’t sense any half-truths or hesitation in her words— either she was a trained liar, or she was being honest.

“Do send him my regards,” Ciel requested, looking to build the foundation needed to have a meeting with the man. He needed to gauge him and decide whether or not the rumors surrounding William were true…

“Come in, Lord Phantomhive!” Y/n’s falsely cheerful voice called from the other side of the door, but Ciel didn’t move. This exchange was too pivotal to the investigation for two reasons: one, Natasha was the key to a meeting with William, and two, this would be the first time Ciel admitted to courting Y/n to anyone besides his allies. Natasha would spread the word, and her inevitable recount of the interaction would need to have the warmth necessary to be believable.

“Y/n will adore those flowers. Have a lovely night,” Natasha smiled. She picked up her cane, readying herself to step away, but the fabricated vulnerability on Ciel’s face must have stopped her. It was the same look Sebastian used when he needed someone to let their guard down— Ciel had plenty of time to learn to replicate it, over the years. Beyond that, he was a rather gifted liar.

“Do you truly think so?” Ciel asked breathlessly, sparing a look at the door to suggest that he was worried about Y/n listening in and another to his flowers to insinuate that he was rethinking them. “I…wish to begin courting her.” It was a flawless construction of a well-guarded man showing a crack in his armor for the sake of love. It was storybook. Ciel fought the feeling of bile rising in his throat.

Natasha’s mouth fell open, unsure of how to reply. “I-…they are beautiful. A man can never go wrong with classic red roses,” she managed through her surprise.

“I appreciate it. Thank you, Mrs. Wood,” he surrendered a smile.

“Of course, Lord Phantomhive,” Natasha nodded stiffly, her own knowing smile reflecting his. “I wish you the best of luck,” and with that, she continued walking to her original destination, newly armed with the freshest gossip to occupy the streets of London.

Once she was out of earshot, Ciel replied to Y/n. “Ready yourself to leave. I am escorting you to your home for the evening,” he raised his voice so she could hear him.

To his surprise, Y/n didn’t argue with him. Instead, she emerged from her dressing room after several moments, a small bag slung over her shoulder. As Natasha did, her gaze locked on his flowers before she looked at him with uncertainty. “Ciel…” she questioned, her eyebrows knitting.

“We should take our leave,” Ciel suggested, before lowering his voice, leaning downwards to address her more privately. There was a relative bustle backstage, but luckily, the ensemble and stage crew kept away from the prima ballerina’s dressing room, for the most part. “You will have your explanation in the carriage. Take this bouquet and hold onto my arm,” he muttered, righting himself and offering her the bouquet. It was a small cluster of red roses bound together by a thick brown ribbon, a touch of baby’s breath and greenery accented the sea of crimson petals.

Y/n held the bouquet in one hand and her other hand laced around Ciel’s arm hesitantly. She wiped away every hint of confusion from her face and replaced it with a satisfied half-smile, her back straightening with confidence, a sureness at his side. Bringing the flowers to her nose, she smelled them and sighed with gratitude. She was a better actress than Ciel originally thought.

“I adore them. Thank you, Lord Phantomhive,” he had to look away from her smile, avoiding it, in the same way, someone might avoid staring into the sun’s rays. He made a distinct effort to focus on her choice of addressing him.

“Sebastian is outside with the carriage,” he explained, leading the prima ballerina towards the exit near the dance foyer, allowing assorted ensemble members and their patrons to catch a glance at himself and his supposed courtship partner. If Natasha served the purpose he hoped, they all would have known to keep a particular eye out for them.

The moment they settled into the carriage, their respective placid expressions dropped like masquerade masks.

“Ciel, what happened?” Y/n demanded. “What happened to, ‘we are not courting, Y/n. We are not friends, Y/n,’ hm?” she impersonated him, lowering her voice to create a husky caricature of his. Her British accent was horrifying— she butchered the language enough in the first place, but this was a step further.

He certainly expected her to react this way, given that she was the personification of the theater itself. She was all drama, all theatrics. That was part of what made her so insufferable to him, a logical being.

To you, I am Lord Phantomhive! He wanted to demand, but at this point, he was growing weary of the correction. Briefly, he wondered if this was how Sam felt, constantly correcting people’s forms of address.

“Explain!” Y/n ordered just as the carriage began moving.

Ciel released the inhale he was holding. He shouldered off his black overcoat and folded it across his lap, suddenly uncomfortably warm without the chilly autumn air to keep him cold. The desire to explain himself was nowhere to be found. He rarely needed to do so! He was the Earl of Phantomhive!

She was no one in comparison; the bastard child of a maid and her employer, raised in a dance school out of convenience for her parents. A means for them to hide their shame.

Even so, Ciel found himself looking for the best way to inform her of what had happened in the past day.

“A Baron recognized me in the foyer de la danse. Acquaintances of mine questioned me about the matter, and I needed to keep my cover intact to ensure that no one heard word of my investigation.”

“Our investigation,” Y/n interrupted, causing a flare of annoyance to set Ciel’s lips in a pursed line. He took a sharp inhale, willing the argument to die on his tongue.

“Fine. They now need to believe that we are courting— for the good of our investigation,” Ciel said dryly, tilting his chin in a show of silent defiance, daring her to raze him further.

Y/n laughed, the outburst erupting out of her like a firework, bright and full of color. Her smile was lopsided and more genuine than he’d ever seen it, even if she was laughing at him. Her knees pulled together as she doubled over, acting as if the magnitude of her amusement may as well kill her.

He rolled his eyes and put his frustration towards squeezing his jacket.

“You told your friends that you have taken a liking to me?” Her shoulders shook with the effort that it took to reign herself in.

Ciel found a new reason to dislike her: her captivating smile, the way it made the corner of his mouth twitch because he confronted the hilarity of the situation.

Only, Ciel disliked that reason. Instead, he decided to focus on his existing ones: her selfishness, the sultry attitude of hers, her stubbornness. The fact that she originally deemed her ‘too busy’ to bother talking to her co-workers. She considered herself busy? Ciel ran an Earldom, multi-million corporation, and worked as a private investigator for Her Majesty.

That was why he had little to no interest in finding a wife, after Elizabeth. To this day, he struggled to take that utter embarrassment in stride.

“I had no choice. Admitting that my intended goal was to be your patron would have dealt near-irreparable damage to the Phantomhive name,” Ciel continued, finally sobering her riotous grin. “Telling them that I was acting as your patron would have—”

“Made them realize you were investigating my company, yes,” Y/n rubbed at the bridge of her nose, kneading the amusement off of her face. “I understand. But the thought of us in courtship is…” inconceivable? impossible? inane? “…Unbelievable,” she settled on. “Me and you? We could never hope to…” she thought out loud, trying to piece the logic together.

“—I’ve already set it up,” Ciel cut in. They were always interrupting one another. “All that is necessary is your consent, and I would be willing to compensate you for the additional time, as well.”

“Additional time?” She repeated.

“Noble courtship is a full schedule. You would be accompanying me to social events and public outings…” Ciel explained, expecting her to decline. He sounded like Sebastian, the careful way he debriefed potential wives for Ciel’s purposes.

As she puzzled over his words, the carriage came to a stop. Her head jerked towards the window, peering out of the glass as if she considered the possibility of Ciel holding her hostage at his estate until she consented. He could never. She was too irritating for anyone to hold hostage— even the most committed crime syndicate would surrender her. Ciel imagined Clerkenwell putting a bullet between her eyebrows for nothing more than to make her stop talking.

“Come up with me,” Y/n ordered, opening the carriage door and letting herself out before Sebastian could.

She didn’t give Ciel the opportunity to decline the offer. Instead, he followed her to her front step and watched her unlock the rusted doorknob. He shared a nod with his butler before stepping through the threshold and following the ballerina up the old stairway, since she rented out the first floor of the townhouse to a single mother and her daughter. He forced himself to take in her living space with interest to avoid suggesting that he’d been there before her inviting him inside.

The second floor was made up of two main rooms: Y/n’s bedroom and her common room, a multi-purpose space that housed a small kitchenette and an apothecary cabinet pulled against one side of the room with two couches and a coffee table pulled towards the side. Several large mirrors and a barre occupied the free side. Every surface was filled with assorted clutter and a thin sheen of uneven dust— Y/n cleaned some areas more than others.

She told him to take a seat and wait while she showed herself to her room to change out of her leotard, tights, flats, and the ratty sweater that she used to cover herself against the cool night. Reluctantly, he obeyed, ignoring the vague scent of smoke and her floral perfume. A variety of wine bottles lined a section of the shelves, but there were only two wine glasses next to them. The only visible food seemed to be a half loaf of bread, unopened jam, and crackers.

Even Ciel’s servants ate more and lived in better conditions than Y/n did— three well-rounded meals and quarters in his guest house, respectively. She had to have relied on her income from suitors and the ballet to maintain even this standard of living.

Minutes later, Y/n re-emerged from her bedroom. She scrubbed her face clear of any makeup and changed into an oversized night shirt and short drawers, leaving her legs exposed to her upper thigh. Her shirt was practically see-through— it was white and it fell an inch past her hips, resembling a night shirt he would wear to sleep.

Not only was Y/n all smoke and drama; she was also the very personification of scandal.

Yet, Ciel’s objection to her clothing died on his tongue. Instead, he cleared his throat and adjusted his trousers, since he had yet to sit on one of her dilapidated couches. The throw rug covering the wooden floor didn’t seem any better, nor did the wooden chair hastily pulled next to the kitchenette counter. Everything in the room seemed crowded towards one side to make room for the mirrors and the barre on the far wall.

“I need to darn my new shoes,” Y/n started sifting through one of the drawers in the apothecary cabinet. “We can discuss our courtship while I do,” she picked out a curved needle, thread, a thimble, and scissors, effortlessly sitting herself onto the rug. She crossed her legs in front of her, causing her shirt to hike up and expose the short drawers.

“So you intend to follow my plan, then?” Ciel said the question like a statement.

“I wish to avenge my friends. I will do what I must,” Y/n expectant eyes watched him blankly before turning playful, understanding why he had yet to touch any of the furniture in her home. A class difference. A world’s worth of differences between the conditions they believed were livable.

Being in this townhouse made Ciel’s skin crawl. He almost expected to catch a disease from being there. And yet, he didn’t show himself out.

Y/n’s smile was lopsided, hiding a sting of hurt smoothed over by immense self confidence. Ciel knew that look rather well. “Sit…unless the Earl of Phantomhive is only able to sit on fabric created by the best of silks and threads, sewn together by the best of—” the expression Ciel gave her was frustrated to make her laugh, cutting off her own sardonic words. After giving the area across from her a long look, Ciel sat himself down, cringing at the thought of the grime beneath him. The dirt. He was nearly certain these trousers were new, and now he’d need to tell Sebastian to burn them along with the rest of the evening’s ensemble when this was all over with.

“Has anyone told you how insufferable you are?” Ciel asked, watching her pull thread through the eye of her needle. She tied off the thread and cut the excess, paying his insult little to no mind. In fact, she almost seemed amused by his comment.

“I know no one has told you how insufferable you are,” she snorted derisively. “If they did, you would not be so…you.” Her threaded needle flew in and out of the satin shoe and she seemed to be stitching around the perimeter of the flat bit on the tip. The area the ballerinas balanced on. Y/n worked the needle precisely, almost as rapidly as Ciel’s mother used to embroider.

“I happen to do rather well for myself,” Ciel thought of the ever-prosperous Funtom Corporation, his extensive list of solved cases for Her Majesty, and his winning streak in chess. He did more than well for himself; so much so that there was hardly room to grow. The only way for him to improve his status would be to marry into a dukedom or a marquis, but that was so far into the future, he could hardly imagine it. Instead, Ciel decided to focus on more pressing matters: “what have you heard over the past two days?”

“Well,” Y/n paused to think. “No one else has missed rehearsal…but I learned some more of the patron’s names. For a dancer who…passed, and current company members,” she listed out names she remembered. For the most part, she caught wind of the most long standing subscribers, but only found the name of one patron of a murdered ballerina.

“Eliza O’Malley and Lord Alexander Huntington— Mr. Wood said she quit the company shortly before Janet died,” those particular names were the next step in the investigation, surely. Lords Tiverton and Huntington were throwing a joint ball at the end of the week to commemorate their corporation’s grand opening. It was some sort of soap manufacturer, amongst other luxury items for the washroom. There was nothing particularly special about the company’s product, but Ciel imagined it would do well because the Viscounts advertised it as luxury.

“I know Lord Huntington,” Ciel told Y/n about his and Lord Tiverton’s company and upcoming event. “We should make an appearance together. See if he knows anything of what happened to O’Malley,” the Yard found the ensemble dancer in pieces, her body partially pecked apart by vultures two blocks away from her home. The Undertaker suggested she died of a heart attack due to hard drug use. If she weren’t the eighth ballerina to die over the past month, the Yard would have ruled it an accident.

“If it is one killer, they are certainly well read and dedicated, my Lord. This is a wide variety of means to kill a human,” Sebastian had mused, likely amused at the thought of how fragile the human body is.

Ciel could tell Y/n wanted to ask what happened to Eliza, but she hesitated, leaving the question on her pursed lips. It was one of the more gruesome ends involved in this case. Ciel opted to spare her— there was little he detested more than crying. It was a waste of time and energy.

Not all of the bodies have been recovered yet, either. Ten merely commemorated how many ballerinas have been reported as missing. But the six of them found have all been dead.

“For one person to have the ability to kill these dancers in so many ways insinuates that they can directly manipulate their victim’s schedules,” Sebastian continued. They were looking for an authority figure. Someone with power— like a common patron, or William Wood himself. The man needed to return to London, and soon.

“We would need to attend after my performance,” Y/n tied off her stitch and repeated the process for her other pointe shoe.

“Fine. Have you attended a noble ball before?” Ciel asked, unsure if commoners held such events. Though, one glance at Y/n’s home suggested they did not.

“Yes, I have,” she didn’t need to explain, because Ciel had an idea as to why she would attend one. Subscribers with twisted morals were more than eager to show off their beautiful belongings, even if a living human qualified as such a thing. “Rather boring affairs, are they not?” Y/n asked rhetorically.

He reminded himself to write Y/n a larger check. No one deserved to sell their body to live— even if Y/n was, by far, the most frustrating person Ciel had come across in his life. That foyer saw to years long of demeaning abuse, no matter how content she pretended to be.

The insignia on Ciel’s torso burned as a reminder. The Mark of the Beast. He forced himself to swallow down the forming lump in his throat.

At least they shared a mutual disdain for the events, though he suspected for different reasons.

“You nobles are extremely rude,” Y/n claimed, wrinkling her nose as if she’d consumed something bitter. “You all grow up in such…lavishness; I would think your personalities would be slightly more pleasant for it.”

“And what exactly makes you believe you are so much more amicable?”

“Should you not know, Ciel?” She feigned innocence, batting her long eyelashes at him before her expression shifted to be more serious. Her pivoting needle paused; she was nearly halfway around the perimeter of the outer sole. “But truly: I may not be the kindest; but I am honest. I will never lie to you.” She expected him to reciprocate the sentiment, but he was reluctant to.

Ciel was a liar. A manipulator. Someone whose lies almost exclusively served his self-interest. Promising the truth to Y/n would be the equivalent of a wasp promising not to sting. Ciel could, of course, try. But if the situation demanded him to protect himself, he would. Repeatedly.

“Then I will do most everything in my power to do the same,” Ciel said cautiously, choosing the assemblage of words strategically. He didn’t promise— Y/n wouldn’t appreciate it, if she understood him the way she clearly thought she did.

Y/n’s smile was small. It held a note of melancholia, but there was a new appreciation in her eyes when he met them. She straightened her back and extended a hand, allowing her free one to hold her darning needle. “Then I look forward to our courtship,” she said, referring to their partnership and the particular way it needed to manifest. An extremely public relationship.

Still wearing his gloves, Ciel took her hand and gave it his business shake. He could feel her palm’s warmth through the leather. Her grip was firm like a nobleman’s.

“As do I.”

[popjunkie42]

ACOTAR fan fiction recs by meee!

If you’ll indulge me, I’ve been reading so much fan fiction lately and wanted to share the ones I am absolutely feral for. Everything is Feysand because that is my jam. Some have spice. I love them all with my entire heart. Trying to tag authors I know on tumblr but if I miss someone please let me know. Some possible spoilers for the series in descriptions below.

If you can’t figure it out my favorite genre is Under the Mountain what-ifs mixed with ACOMAF what-ifs but there are also a few modern AUs in here, among others.

Never Alone by Frufrusc - Is this my favorite fanfic ever? If you loved Time Traveler’s Wife you will love this. The writing, the dialogue…all of it perfect. A mysterious old magic visits Rhys (and eventually Feyre) first on Calanmai and takes both of them back in time to their mates when they needed them the most. If the thought of Rhys getting 9-year-old Feyre a birthday cake makes you melt then this is the fic for you. Still updating and the new chapter is fire. I would die for this fic.

What Dreams May Come by Anonymous - Rhys gets mysteriously ill during Feyre’s visit to the Night Court in early ACOMAF. This is adorable and sweet and angsty all at once and the characters are too. Feyre reads Rhys his favorite childhood stories in bed while he’s sick and they write notes back and forth while she’s back in Spring. Rhys cries because he loves her so much. Finished fic and if this is you please drop in my messages so I can heap all the love upon you.

A Court of Faded Dreams by @the-lonelybarricade - The one and only, maybe what started me back on fan fiction after not reading it for literal decades. After events in ACOWAR, the Cauldron sends Feyre back to the Spring Court before UTM while she is still human, with all her memories and she gets a chance to do it all again. Separate Rhys POV chapters that are everything. CALANMAI. Feyre and Rhys desperately trying not to touch each other so the mating bond doesn’t snap into place while UTM. Soft Rhys basically dying because he loves Feyre so much. It’s the best.

The Portrait of a Male by HopeLions13 - A warning that this one goes heavy on the SA, it’s kind of like if ACOTAR was done by Game of Thrones/HBO people. This fic is so good it makes me want to die. Rhys realizes Feyre is his mate on Calanmai and whisks her away to Velaris while he’s still stuck UTM. Of course this will not stand, so Feyre makes her way there to claim her mate she barely knows except through the stories from the Inner Circle. It is wrenching, and hot as HELL, and rewrites canon in wonderful and brilliant ways. The way things end after the third trial sets my brain on fire.

Darling.exe by @damedechance - Modern AU with Professor!Rhys. Feyre is a college art student taking a biology class with her friend Lucien. She wasn’t prepared for her insanely hot Professor, who she recognizes…from his Only Fans. Two chapters so far and I have thought about this fic an ungodly amount. Feyre is adorable in this and Rhys is insufferably hot and smug, as it should be.

I am no god, only woodworm by @damedechance - THE WRITING. In this divergent tale, Feyre wanders in the woods and unwittingly makes a terrible bargain with an absolutely feral and dangerous woodland sprite who commands the night. Please give me wild and creepy god-sprite Rhysand all day long. “I have no need to steal from you, because I need only to kiss you, for the silver to leap from your tongue and onto mine.” UGH

Darling, Let’s Run by @the-lonelybarricade - Again!! Rhys is a black cat, do you need more? Let’s keep going in the vein of Dark!Rhys. Feyre as a human is trying to find her sister Elain, who has disappeared after marrying Greyson and is accused of his murder. She meets a dangerous and mysterious stranger along the way to Velaris and can’t seem to shake him. Hot as hell.

Pomegranate by @mmvalentine - A gods/fairytale-esque story about the High Lord of the Night Court falling in love with the daughter of Spring who’s under the thumb of her terrible father Tamlin. Bonus Feyre beast form.

Dreams by ashesandhoney - An AU where Rhys doesn’t call in the bargain for six months but meets Feyre again at a High Lords ball (yes there is dancing, everyone please write more courtly dancing into your fics). I love this because of the interesting ways they try to control Feyre’s power, how she eventually trains, and Rhys of course being totally in love with her power. “Too thin, too pale, too calm. Feyre wasn't calm. Feyre threw bone spears at tyrants and sobbed until she could barely breathe and stormed into underground citadels because she loved so deeply it hurt. Feyre was anger and love and defiance all wrapped up in a fragile mortal body.”

Please enjoy as I have. And I’m always open to your Feysand recs. I’m sure there are more to add but this post has already gotten out of control. Thank you to everyone writing and being amazing on tumblr, I love you dearly.

[aphroditelovesu]

I read Yandere inner circle and I fell in love with it, but it also got me thinking on how every bat boy 🦇 would be as Yandere romantically for

Cassian I think you will be the most clinging Yandere out of the three Cassian would be the most clingy to me he is like a big softy out of the three and I think he is also the most emotionally intelligent out of the three and I think he would communicate better than the other two specially Azriel and it is unfair to say that Rhys is the most emotional intelligent just because he has mind power abilities we can’t say that he’s the most emotionally intelligent that would be unfair to Cassian so yeah, I think if I had to choose, I would choose Cassian out of the three as a yandere if he could handle Nesta’s mentality with her traumas I think he can handle mine.

Now for Rhysand I would choose him if he didn’t use his mind powers with for his benefit I think he could help me especially with my ADHD anxiety and depression, but I just don’t like anyone poking around in my head other then that I don’t really find a problem with him as a yandere but then agian being a yandere is already a red flag 🚩 but someone poking in my head is a big red flag and I think he is good in communicating, but not as Cass does especially with the high Lord ego I think that might be a problem I can handle his ego and arrogance but I just don’t want too no offense for the people who would choose him but if I had the choice of having all three of them, I would and I know how chaotic that would be, but I still would say yes and I know what I just said but I would still say yes I am just too indecisive AKA ADHD to choose between the three and I know I just said I will choose Cassian but I really had to mentally prepare myself, and have the strength myself to choose

for Azriel communication might be a problem with all of the trauma that he’s been through He’s not really a good communicator and he’s a bit of a sadist in bed. Even the author is herself said this and I “Azriel is a bit of a freak in bed” so if i for example, runaway, the punishments would be very harsh especially that he is literally the torture of the night court and he’s a stocker with his Shadowsinger abilities, so I also think he’s shadows would be all around me dancing and covering me which I have no problems with but I just had a special place for Cassian in my heart and it took a lot to make him a favorite because I’m so indecisive. Who would you choose? Out of the three of them or would you choose all three of them? I hope you could share some insights with me.

Honestly you described them well and I agree with you. Just having the yandere in the middle is a big red flag, but since it's fiction I don't mind🤭🤷🏻‍♀️

In my opinion, Cassian is the coolest of the bat boys. He is a big soft to his sweetheart and would be the easiest to deal with I think. Just give this male a little love and he'll be on his knees for you. But obviously he is a yandere and has the absurd and murderous possessiveness thing, but it is not difficult to calm him down. A big, walking teddy bear, basically.

He is a soft yandere but only for his darling. The others do not apply to this.

Rhysand is another soft one for his darling, but not as much as Cassian. He can be quite difficult to deal with at times, but Rhys will do anything for those he loves and he loves you, he's obsessed. He is willing to sacrifice everything and everyone just for his sweetheart. He's an easygoing yandere when you reciprocate his feelings, but as you said, his daemati skills are tricky. I guess Rhysand won't invade his darling's mind if they loves him back, but if not, well... We're going to have some problems.

He's easy to deal with if you accept him, but be careful with him as Rhysand can act quite strange at times.

And Azriel is, in my opinion, the worst yandere to deal with among the bat boys and one of the worst in ACOTAR. I love him but Az is very difficult to deal with. Whoever he obsesses over is screwed. He loves a lot and is very dangerous, besides being a born stalker. Azriel has many problems and dealing with them will not be easy. One of his shadows will always be watching you and reporting everything to him, what you do, what you eat and who you talk to.

And not counting the punishments, he is the High Lord's personal torturer, you can believe that his punishments will be painful. Yeah, dealing with Azriel is tough and I think he's the one most likely to kidnap your darling.

So if I were to choose, I would say Rhysand or Cassian. I love them all, but Azriel would not be my romantic choice, I have enough problems myself and it would be difficult to deal with mine and his I guess. My only problem with Rhys would be that his daemati abilities would annoy me, I'm very paranoid and I'd think he was invading my mind. I would only choose all three if they were platonic yandere, but still very reluctantly.

So I think my choice would be Cassian as well. The walking teddy bear 🥰🤭

I'm happy to share my houghts with you, anon! I'm always open to chat ❤️❤️

~ Lady L

[kandisheek]

Hey friend!! I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to let you know how much I adore your works, and how your presence in fandom has always been a delight. I love your year in fan recs—it’s so wonderful to see so many names I haven’t heard of before, giving folks a chance to read something new and giving less well known authors a chance to shine!!

How about some fun asks now?

If you were suddenly a billionaire and could quit your job and fully engage with fandom for the rest of your life, would you?

What’s a fic you’ve been dying to write but just haven’t gotten to yet?

Why do you love Tony Stark?

Oh my god, you're the absolute sweetest, thank you so much <3 I can only return the sentiment, your fics are a constant source of joy for me <3 And I'm so happy that you found some new authors through my recs! As for your questions:

If I were suddenly a billionaire I'd probably try to take over the world Tony Stark style and (most likely fail to) fix all the agregious wrongs, so I might actually end up not having time for fandom stuff anymore whoops 😂 But in all seriousness, if I could live off fandom writing and arting, I absolutely would. Although I'm fortunate enough to love my real life job as well.

I've been planning to write this fic for ages, in which Tony is with Ty and due to their relationship troubles (which are solely Tony's fault, of course, at least according to Ty) Ty signs them up for a couples retreat. Turns out its a tantric fix-your-sex-life thing, which Ty knew but Tony didn't, so that's great. And guess who Tony runs into on the first day? His ex that got away, Steve Rogers, and his lovely fiance Sharon. Seems like Steve's gay crisis after his stint with Tony led him right back to the straight life, which is just the cherry on top of Tony's shitty sundae. However, it turns out that Steve and Sharon's relationship is far from perfect, just like Tony's. And Tony does remember how happy he used to be with Steve. He highly doubts that Steve thinks the same though. Right? -- I swear I will write this eventually, but the outline alone is like 4000 words long and I just know this fic will be the longest thing I've written yet, and I'm just... yeah. Eventually, I'll get there :)

And I love Tony Stark because to me, he's the human embodiment of mind over matter. Even when all odds are against him, he finds a way to come out on top, despite his multitude of issues. He always pushes for the perfect solution, reinventing himself time and time again. He has flaws, but he wears them like armor. He has trust issues but is fiercely loyal to his inner circle. He's charming and hilarious in the best possible way. And of course, it doesn't hurt that he's hot as hell.

So yeah, Tony is incredible, and I love him. And I love YOU for asking me these questions, thank you so much <3 I consider myself incredibly lucky to count you among my friends <3

[supersaiyanjedi14]

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: CLOVER EBI

It's a good thing they had someone to look up to and get them through it. Not everyone is so lucky.[…] What good is saving the world without another generation waiting in the wings? Hopefully they'll leave Remnant better than we left it for them.”

PHYSICAL

While his exact age has never been stated, Clover Ebi was a contemporary of the likes of Qrow Branwen and Robyn Hill, so he was likely in his late 30s to earth 40s at the time of his death two years after the Fall of Beacon.  A human male, Clover was an esteemed graduate of Atlas Huntsman Academy, enlisting in the military’s Special Operatives division and eventually taking leadership of the elite Ace Operatives unit.  Easily one of the most capable soldiers produced by the program, he quickly caught the attention of commander-in-chief James Ironwood, and the unit was brought into the fold of the eternal war with Salem.  As a power player in Ironwood’s inner circle, Clover came to report directly to the general and spearheaded the field operations for the Amity Communications Tower project, setting the stage for an eventual offensive on the witch.  Sadly, Clover’s duties also required him to enforce Ironwood’s increasingly tight rule on the kingdom, generating a decidedly unpopular view of his team among the citizens of Mantle.  While he held pronounced status and autonomy in the Atlas military on paper, Clover and his unit, in practice, gradually amounted to little more or less than, as the Mantle activist Forest so eloquently put it, “Ironwood’s Personal Attack Dogs”.  The Ace-Ops were status symbols first and foremost; a team of charismatic and badass Huntsmen designed to impress potential recruits, and living weapons authorized to silence any and all dissidents.  While by no means a fanatical sycophant like Caroline Cordovin, Clover’s total loyalty to Ironwood did ultimately make him a mere extension of the general’s will.  His personal pride and morals had no bearing on his decisions. All that mattered were Ironwood’s orders, even as they became more draconic by the day.

An exceptional though otherwise typical human specimen, Clover stood at 6’3”, his brown hair, teal eyes, and handsome features serving him well as the face of the Ace-Ops, while his athletic muscular build highlighted his ability to shoulder the physical demands of his profession.  A solid general-purpose operator, Clover built up and maintained an exceptional blend of athletic attributes, configuring power, speed and reflex to best suit the situation in question.  His dexterity and reflexes were arguably his most developed traits, masterfully wielding his weapon’s functions to ensnare and subvert opponents both in close quarters and at range.  He has latched a Geist’s mask with his grappling line, entangled Tyrian Callows in a full-body tether, caught speeding objects out of the air with casual ease, and fenced evenly with both Callows and Qrow Branwen at the same time, no small feat given both men’s skill.  His ability to fight evenly with the pair, both also known for their exceptional speed, served as a testament to Ebi’s own polished agility, expressed through his use of upright acrobatics to cover ground on the battlefield and balanced footwork and nimble evasions when dueling.  Even when denied adequate room to maneuver, Clover was able to keep pace with the contorting Tyrian and defend himself from both Qrow and Robyn Hill while confined into an airship, while still remaining quite mobile when fighting on open ground.  While not an offensive heavyweight, Clover’s physical strength was nothing to scoff at.  He has manhandled a hulking Petra Gigas after hooking its mask before proceeding to rip the Geist from its body, and during his final battle, threw Qrow several yards and slamming him into the ground after catching him with his hook.  While these feats could be chalked up more to Clover riding momentum than his own might, they do speak well to the kind of power the Ace-Op’s muscles can generate.

While Clover’s lucky Semblance meant that he could typically breeze by obstacles without being tagged, he always responded well to the hits he did take.  During his confrontations with Tyrian Callows, Clover soaked up multiple physical strikes and continued to fight without any real strain, maintaining his composure even in the face of the Faunus’s sadomasochistic intensity.  When the airship crashed in the tundra, Clover bailed ship to avoid injury, but still endured the landing and engaged Qrow immediately afterwards despite having spent the better part of the night in the field.  In his final battle, Clover had to be brought down through attrition, the combined blows he took from Qrow and Tyrian ultimately wearing him down to the point where Qrow broke his Aura with a well-placed punch.  Though clearly worn out, Clover still regained his feet quickly, and while he had no chance of surviving Tyrian’s fatal backstab, he was able to hold a brief conversation and died relatively calm.  This indicates that the Ace-Op, while still as vulnerable as any mortal man, still possessed a powerful ability to deal with physical pain.  However, the circumstances of his death also highlighted Clover’s limitations.  His stamina was not unlimited, and if placed under enough pressure, he will eventually fold.  He won’t burn out immediately, but neither is he truly capable of weathering the storm.  Furthermore, while his military discipline allowed him to keep his cool in the heat of battle, his cocky attitude and total obedience to Ironwood has led to lapses in judgement that can put him between a rock and a hard place if he’s not careful.  Clover’s tragic death had just as much to do with him biting off more than he could chew as it did his inability to see the big picture beyond what James Ironwood told him to do.

As a high-ranking member of the Atlas Armed Forces, Clover was garbed in the uniform of his army, though his, like the other Ace-Ops, was a heavily tailored variant that highlighted his status.  His personal uniform consisted of a gray tank top over which he wore a sleeveless double-breasted white jacket with red and blue lapels, epaulets, and coattails.  The rest of the outfit consisted of white trousers, calf-high steel-toed boots, and fingerless gloves.  He further accessorized with a collection of personal ornaments, most notably his trademark four leaf clover pin inherited by Qrow Branwen upon his death.  While unarmored, Clover’s clothes were still practical and unrestrictive in the field, maintaining military reliability despite the decorative aesthetic.

RANKING: Tier 2, Peak Human Fitness

While not an overwhelming juggernaut of athletic performance, Clover Ebi still serves as a strong representation of the human Huntsman physical apex.  He is an experienced field operative who has taken great pains to stay on top of his training and exercise, boasting a balanced application of strength, agility and dexterity that affords him an impressive level of performance in all areas.  While he can’t be expected to dominate any adversary on the back of any specific physical attribute, he is not lacking in any areas either, while his physical hardiness and disciplined confidence allows him to work through hits and persevere under fire.  Clover’s final fate proves that he does have a limit to how much pressure he can take, but given the force he was up against, pushing him to that upper limit is no easy feat.

MARTIAL

Clover Ebi’s weapon of choice was a high-grade collapsible hooked fishing rod known as the Kingfisher.  The main iron shaft of the rod was of variable length, though Clover typically kept the weapon at approximately three to four feet, providing a moderate reach advantage when on open ground.  The sharpened hook on the tip was connected to a cable housed in the shaft and feed by a beveled reel that doubled as the hilt guard.  The reel itself had a powerful propulsion system that allowed the weapon to be utilized as a grappling hook, this method being one of Clover’s favorite methods of traversing his surroundings.  The simple black handgrip was fitted with a spike on the pommel and featured a manual adjuster that allowed the user to adjust the shaft’s length with the flick of a switch. Aside from Kingfisher, one of Clover’s lucky charms was an iron horseshoe, perfectly willing to use it as a makeshift knuckle duster and thrown projectile, and he was also known to regularly carry at least one gravity Dust bola for use as handcuffs or as an additional snare in combat.

As a student of Atlas Huntsman Academy and a member of the Special Operatives unit, Clover Ebi received a rich pedigree of combat training, preparing for both military operations and fighting the creatures of Grimm.  Distinguishing himself as an experienced field operative, Clover rose through the ranks to eventually become the commander of the elite Ace-Operatives, priding himself on his success on the back of his own merit rather than privilege.  That being said, the post-Fall of Beacon world changed Clover’s duties considerably, his team being dispatched to clear the construction sites for the Amity Tower project while also being constantly sent into Mantle to enforce Ironwood’s civil mandates.  While these measures made the Ace-Ops increasingly unpopular with the Mantle populace, Clover himself having a tense relationship with local political leader Robyn Hill, this regular field experience still helped keep Clover’s skills polished on top of his regular training and exercise, setting himself apart as one of the most skilled Huntsmen of his day.  Regarding Clover’s personal means of battle, his technique was very defense-oriented, employing tight one-handed blocking sequences and deflection parries to intercept both melee strikes and projectiles, while adopting a two-handed grip to use the elongated shaft as more of a polearm or quarterstaff.  For offense, he favored sweeping slashes and body shots delivered via flourishing spins, either to get around the opponent’s defenses or to confuse them with the twirls.  With the hook, Clover made avid use of blade manipulation techniques, often catching his opponent’s weapon and forcing it out of line, opening them up for a counterattack.  However, easily Clover’s most unorthodox technique was his use of his weapon as a combat lasso, grappling hook, and flail, frequently entrapping his targets in the cable to non-lethally disable them or swinging the hook from the cable to strike his targets at range.  Taking full advantage of the variable length of Kingfisher’s pole, Ebi often shortened it to accommodate tighter environments or to draw in the target after snaring them and lengthened it to improve his reach advantage.  This defensive fighting style was reinforced by his dynamic physical component and alternative equipment, enhancing his parries with nimble evasions and improving his tethers by manually threading his hook around his opponent’s limbs, while staggering his targets by throwing his horseshoe or tripping them up with his bola.  As far as alternative combat skills went, Clover Ebi was a highly skilled hand-to-hand fighter, freely incorporating punches and kicks into his style, and his military training virtually guaranteed training in the use of firearms, at minimum on how to engage enemy gunmen.

Clover Ebi’s tactics and conduct reflected his personal background as well as the realities of his service.  As the leader of a special operations unit, Clover was all about the coordination of small groups of operatives to achieve larger strategic objectives, assessing the situation and directing his followers to exploit it.  As the Ace-Ops were pieced together from operatives with complimentary skills and powers, Clover was almost always in his comfort zone, as he and his teammates could always take advantage of their individual strengths while covering for each other’s weaknesses, working together as a well-oiled, cohesive combat machine.  When facing the Petra Gigas in SDC Mine #2, Clover dispatched Vine Zeki and Elm Ederne to restrain the legs while Marrow Amin disabled its arms and Harriet Bree and himself covered their flanks by catching the loosed Dust crystals.  They followed this up with a hit-and-run badgering sequence while Clover himself leapt in, snagged the Geist’s mask with his hook, and forcibly pulled it out of the stones, giving Bree a chance to kill it.  A similar collaboration was seen when confronting Tyrian Callows during the Battle of Mantle, this time playing defensive interference to subvert and ensnare the Faunus while Qrow Branwen attacked him directly and Robyn Hill chipped away at a distance.  These encounters perfectly show Ebi in his element, coordinating multiple Huntsmen to cleanly and efficiently disable a threat with minimal collateral damage.  As far as his own tactics went, Clover was just as subversive but also more freeform.  With his Semblance enabling him to avoid missteps and find the most advantageous hit spots, he often went with the flow and adjusted as he went along, tailoring his approach to suit the situation.  He would open defensively to gauge the threat and work to undermine it, whether by trapping their weapon and leaving them open to a punch to the face or by taking advantage of their overcommitment to tangle them in his line.  He was at his best when exploiting the element of surprise, catching both Qrow and Robyn off guard by trapping their weapons.  While his methods had a steep risk-reward, as tangling somebody in a fishing line is nowhere near an easy feat, Clover was able to make these radical techniques workable thanks to his Semblance; he was supernaturally lucky enough that his moves were successful, and he avoided the stumbling blocks along the way.  He was a weaponized freerunner who achieved victory on the back of clever subversion and a mastery of the most unorthodox methods.

However, for all of Clover’s skill, his style and tactics still held major logistical problems. Despite the versatile nature of the Kingfisher, none of its functions were reliably lethal, meaning that, while appropriate for law enforcement duties, he had very little in the means of decisively ending the conflict.  Instead of winning by overcoming his opponent, Clover won by manipulating and trapping them, meaning that his success was reliant on perfect technique.  While his unconventional techniques were effective in his hands, this was chiefly due to his Semblance making even the most ridiculous method workable rather than being a developed and practical combat skill.  Despite tethering Tyrian Callows several ties in Mantle, Callows was able to break free thanks to his own vicious movement, and he folded primarily due to offensive pressure from Qrow and Robyn’s opportunistic shots.  Clover was able to compensate for this lack of lethality through his teammates, tools he lacked access to when operating alone.  Furthermore, Clover’s loyalty to Ironwood came before all else, following his orders to the letter even if they conflicted with his own morals or even on-the-ground facts, leading to disastrous lapses in judgement.  This came to a head during his final battle with Qrow and Tyrian in the tundra.  When Ironwood ordered Ruby Rose and her allies’ arrests and declared martial law in Mantle, Clover immediately moved to arrest Qrow despite the latter and Robyn’s protests, the situation escalating into a full fight that allowed Tyrian to kill their pilot and crash the airship.  Clover escaped and acknowledged Robyn’s injuries, but rather than offer truce for her sake, Clover insisted on Qrow’s surrender with a transparent appeal to their friendship.  Not fooled, Qrow drew his weapon and the two fought evenly until Tyrian interfered.  Despite his awareness of Tyrian’s danger and Qrow’s good intentions, Clover attempted to battle both of them rather than collaborate, directly interfering with Qrow’s attempts to attack Tyrian in order to subdue him.  This proved to be Clover’s undoing, as Tyrian was able to manipulate his opponents to continue bashing each other rather than focus on him.  To his credit, Clover was able to acquit himself extremely well, briefly overcoming Qrow and managing to defend against Tyrian’s savage onslaught before trapping him in his line.  However, Clover’s lack of offensive power meant that he could not reliably defeat his opponents, and mounting pressure from two fronts was ultimately too much for him to handle.  Qrow eventually broke his Aura with a heavy punch, giving Tyrian a chance to impale him with a surprise backstab, using Qrow’s own weapon to frame him for his former friend’s death.

RANKING: Tier 2, Advanced Mastery

With the various options of his weapon and his underhanded tactics, Clover Ebi has a very diverse and versatile skill set that has been honed through well over a decade of training and battlefield experience.  His subversive and defensive fighting style allows him to undermine and undercut his adversaries with radical tricks and maneuvers that most aren’t prepared to engage, and his developed skill allows him to stand equal to many of the greatest martial artists in his setting.  At the same time, while a competent and charismatic battlefield leader skilled at managing and directing his assets, Clover’s tactics in single combat are far less effective due to his reliance on his chosen techniques rather than practical ones.   His weapon and style trade lethality for options, resulting in a thinly spread skill set, while his stubborn persistence has led to him making bad calls, sometimes fatal ones.  Clover is cautious enough not to overextend, but he doesn’t always look at the big picture, leading him to bite off more than he can chew.

SPECIAL

Clover Ebi possessed the ability to passively affect probability, manipulating the world around him to act to his advantage in whatever endeavor he was participating in.  As this power allowed him to come ahead in just about everything, even in the most unlikely situations, Clover came to identify his Semblance simply as Good Fortune.  Upon their first meeting, the parallels between this ability and Qrow Branwen’s Misfortune were obvious and apparent, as both powers were constantly active, interfering with the lives of their bearers.  However, where Qrow’s Semblance affected his surroundings and people in his vicinity, Clover’s Semblance only affected himself and his personal actions.  While the circumstances by which Clover discovered his abilities are unconfirmed, he obviously unlocked them early on, aiding in his meteoric rise in prominence among the Atlas elite forces.  This ability manifested in various subtle ways, usually as a utility safeguard and tactical aide.  Lucky observations enabled him to locate entrances into blocked off locations and advantageous terrain positions, while conveniently improving his footing and balance to avoid falls and injuries.  Clover’s abilities even allowed him success in mundane activities such as card games, indicating a powerful degree of influence even outside the rigors of combat.  Clover was talented at supporting his Semblance’s influence with his own charisma and strategic observations, granting good fortune to larger objectives by turning them into HIS objectives.  This was part of the reason why he was such an effective team leader, as he was able to keep his subordinates unified in the field while enabling them to perform their jobs successfully.  On their own, the Ace-Ops could be prone to interference, yet when Clover was in the picture, they were a virtually unassailable unit.  This trait was not limited to his direct subordinates either; Clover was a good leader for everyone.  When confronting Tyrian Callows in Mantle, Clover, Qrow and Robyn had never fought alongside each other before, Qrow in particular barely being Hill’s acquaintance, yet the three of them were able to function extremely well together to meticulously bring the Faunus assassin to his knees.

Given how heavily Atlas Academy emphasized their students to develop the combative applications of their Semblances, it should come as no surprise that Clover took full advantage of his supernatural good luck in combat.  His ability to narrowly avoid hits and obstacles was the crux of his defensive component in battle, calmly responding to any attack made against him by getting to the right place in just the right amount of time.  Grazing strikes were basically a non-issue for him simply because he was lucky enough for them to miss him by inches, which in turn made traps and subtler probing attacks effectively useless.  This fed directly into his landing strategies, calmly jumping from extreme heights and managing to catch the landing every time, this talent saving him from a Teryx that latched itself onto his airship and enabling his escape from the crashing Manta in the tundra.  It even reinforced his in-combat evasions and martial defense, seen when he casually deflected Robyn Hill’s bolt at near point-blank range and latter avoided Tyrian Callows’ Aura Disruption strikes by the skin of his teeth.  Clover’s most pronounced use of his Semblance in battle was his use of it to enable his unorthodox fighting style. As visually cool and clever as Clover’s technique is, the fact remains that it is very lacking in terms of substance.  It’s a very showy and impractical method that would require perfect technique every single time to be workable.  Luckily for Clover, his Semblance meant that he could perform perfect technique almost every single time.  Where a normal person would be hard-pressed to snag an evasive opponent like Tyrian in a full body tether or catch a hole in Qrow’s sword at just the right point to rip it from his grasp, Clover was able to perform these moves on command and extremely frequently.  Clover’s Semblance was, in essence, the ultimate cheat code.  Regardless of the risk of the situation he was in or how improbable or crazy the fighting maneuver he was trying to pull off was, he was able to make it work by effectively hacking reality to shift things in his favor.

The problem with this sort of power was that there are certain situations one cannot simply leave up to fate to decide.  As previously mentioned, the main difference between Misfortune and Good Fortune was that Qrow’s Semblance affected the world around him, interfering with what other people were trying to do, while Clover’s Semblance only affected him and his own objectives.  While both developed a good deal of skill with their powers, Qrow was skilled at catching on to what his Semblance was causing, adjusting his tactics to take advantage of what his opponent was going to trip over.  By contrast, Clover’s Semblance covered for what should have been a risky move or a misstep to the point where he never truly struggled.  Good Fortune merely handed Clover one victory after another, to the point where he became reliant on his powers in combat.  This motivated Clover to develop the most hair-brained and head-scratching tactics in battle simply because he had never failed at making them work.  As a result, Clover was never exposed to his own limits and had no way of gauging situations where no amount of luck could help him.  Despite executing his usual high performance in his final battle, subverting Qrow and evading Tyrian, his greatest pitfalls happened when he was simply being overwhelmed directly, forced to give ground against his opponents and being worn down by their combined pressure.  Unlike Qrow, whose self-imposed isolation allowed him to develop his own talents in response to his limitations, Clover was constantly working with a team that Ironwood specifically built to cover each other’s’ bases as pieces of a puzzle.  That’s not to say that Clover was weak individually, but the circumstances of his career blinded to his own shortcomings.  Not only was he denied a chance to figure out what they were in the first place, but his blind loyalty ensured that he never felt the need to question Ironwood’s decision and find out what they were.  When he was isolated from his allies and tried to fight Qrow and Tyrian on his own, Clover lacked any of their strengths that could potentially shift things in his favor, and his luck eventually wore out.

RANKING: Tier 3, Specialized Combat

Clover Ebi’s Semblance was the centerpiece of his combative viability, allowing him to avoid the subtle mistakes by the skin of his teeth while also bringing consistency to what should have been risky maneuvers in combat.  His success at expanding his objectives made him invaluable as a military unit commander while also turning him into a devastating martial combatant, twisting probability to make his desired outcome a reality regardless of how unlikely it seemed.  However, Clover’s Semblance was extremely singular and inwardly focused, lacking any ability to actively influence the flow of the engagement, while his seeming inability to falter had a major negative effect on his battlefield conduct.  Clover’s Good Fortune allowed him to breeze by just about any obstacle, but this lack of failure also meant that major holes in his approach were never addressed because he was so overpowered that they almost never came up.  Still, having literal luck on your side is not small thing, and anyone who challenges Clover is going to need every Ace they can fit.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 2, MASTER HUNTSMAN

Clover Ebi is ranked primarily on account of his martial skills, his performances in other areas adding layers to his versatile and high-performance fighting method.  For all his shortcomings, Clover’s position as the leader of Atlas’s best Huntsmen was well-earned, perfectly embodying everything James Ironwood expected out of his premier fighting unit.  An incredibly well-rounded athlete who could handle hard combat smoothly and calmly, Clover’s attributes made him perfectly optimized for the various combat situations he was guaranteed to find himself in, situations his fighting style was perfectly designed to engage.  He made use of an unconventional weapon that enabled a martial technique based around subversion, deception, and tricky maneuvers designed to subdue his opponent in ways they couldn’t possibly expect based on how unusual they were.  All of this was enabled by a Semblance that was quite simply a hack, twisting situations in ways that allowed his attempted techniques to work the way he wanted, even if they seemed like they were too tricky to be consistently reliable.  However, Clover’s weaknesses cannot be ignored, as everything just described was only consistent when Clover was operating as a unit where he could call upon the strengths of others.  When deprived of this support, Clover’s fighting style was all the more flashy and ridiculous while also lacking in ways to decisively end the battle, while his Semblance could not protect him from the power of direct assaults.  Clover’s attributes, rather than being based around practical techniques honed by experience, were based around making cute tricks into weapons by just being lucky enough for them to work in live combat.  And because Clover never truly deviated from this pattern, this saddles him with a circumstantial ranking of Tier 3 if confronted with someone he simply can’t subvert quickly.

Clover Ebi may be one of the best warriors of his day, legitimately comparable to Qrow Branwen in terms of developed skill, but his overspecialization with his Semblance has reduced him to a one-trick-pony.  Where his contemporaries had the benefit of being forced into situations where their weaknesses were exploited, motivating them to learn from experience and tweak things accordingly, Clover never did this, not because he was too arrogant to learn, but because he wasn’t allowed to.  Ironwood placed Clover in charge of the Ace-Ops in recognition of his skill, but the nature of the team meant that they were constantly covering for each other while having no real expectation of having top operate independently.  As a result, despite being the best Atlas had to offer, the Ace-Ops viability in single combat is shockingly limited, their leader especially.  The greatest irony about Clover was that his Semblance allowed him to practically coast by any pitfall and win no matter what, yet he was ultimately reliant on the support of his allies to fill in the gaps in his skill set and function as a Huntsman.  Simply put, his potential, both as a fighter and as a man, were stifled by James Ironwood who only wanted one thing out of him.  This isn’t to say that Clover was a victim or a mindless drone, as his loyalty to Atlas, James, and his mission were genuine convictions and he was complicit in this overspecialization.  Much like his commander, Clover Ebi started off with good intentions. Sadly, this loyalty was taken advantage of by one unworthy of it, and Clover Ebi ultimately lived and died as just another weapon pointed at the enemy so someone else could claim a victory.

*originally posted on RoosterTeeth Community page on 05-21-22*

* images taken from RWBY Wiki and @rwbyweap*

RWBY Combat Analysis

[josefavomjaaga]

Joseph’s daily life in Spain

This is from the memoirs of General Auguste-Julien Bigarré, one of Joseph’s aide-de-camps, who saw Joseph in a very favourable light. (Just to be fair, as I’ve been bashing poor Joseph so much lately.)

Here’s what he has to say about Joseph’s daily routine when in Madrid. Which Joseph was most of the time.

When King Joseph was not in the army, he usually got up at 6 or 7 o'clock in the morning; at 9 o'clock he received the service of his house; at half past 9 he had breakfast with two boiled eggs or a small fish; at 10 o'clock he gave an audience to his ministers, received Marshal Jourdan and the French or Spanish generals who had to speak to him; at 1 o'clock he attended the Council of State; at 4 o'clock he went to the Casa del Campo, where he dined with Marshal Jourdan, the Count of Mélito, General Béliard, sometimes ladies of the Court, and some officers of his household; after dinner he rode on horseback or in a carriage, played a game of twenty-one in the evening, and, before going to bed, sent the estafette for France.

Considering that Eugène, in a country not in uproar, and of which he was not even the actual monarch, often worked past midnight, to the point Auguste complained about it, Joseph’s 9-to-4 working schedule seems not all that impressive. I guess he was better organised. (And to be fair, with Joseph’s very reduced scope of influence, there probably was not all that much to do for him. Not in the office and in Madrid, anyway.)

[…] The persons admitted to the intimacy of His Majesty were: Marshal Jourdan, Generals Offaril [Gonzago O'Farrill], Saligni and Merlin, the Count of Melito, Chamberlain Carafa, Councillor of State Ferri-Pisani and M. Deslandes, his private secretary.

To be noted: Only one Spaniard in Joseph’s inner circle, O’Farrill.

Nothing was more amiable than King Joseph in what he called his family councils; a very distinguished amateur of the arts and sciences, he judged authors with exquisite discernment, and as he loved poetry, he often declaimed verses by Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire, with all the taste with which he was penetrated. In Spain, as in Naples, the prince was bitterly reproached for having been a little too busy with women during the time he governed these two kingdoms. […]

As for the senior French officers who have been attached to His Majesty, there is not a single one who can, without betraying his conscience, complain about King Joseph in their regard.

… I think I can come up with one …

At a certain time when this prince could afford to make some liberal allowances to the officers of his house, he gave each of his colonel-generals two million reals, and each aide-de-camp one million. His aides-de-camp were twelve in number, whom I believe I must name by rank of seniority, in order to confirm what I am saying: Franceschi, general, Stroltz, general, Bigarré, general, Guy, general, Henri Tascher de la Pagerie, colonel, Marius Clary, colonel, Firmin Marie, colonel, Rœderer's eldest son, colonel, Desprès, colonel, Clermont-Tonnerre, general, Lafon Blaniac, general, and the Marquis of Casa-Palacio, general.

Which, for Bigarré, may have been the main point: Joseph was generous with money. And he could be, as he himself received an allowance from Napoleon’s civil list. But also among Joseph’s aides, not a single one seems to have been Spanish.

[waheelawhisperer]

Your taste is impeccable, Im curious about your thoughts on Ironwood. I can kinda see the appeal but not really

Honestly there are a lot of reasons I like Ironwood. I'll start with the more superficial ones and go from there.

His voice. I really like deep voices on both men and women and Ironwood's is very nice and calming. His VA did a great job.

He's aesthetically pleasing. I'm not attracted to him personally, but in a purely aesthetic sense, he checks a lot of my boxes - I like his height, his build, his hair, his beard (when he has it), his facial shape, and so on. I'm not a fan of war or imperialism, but I also have Hideo Kojima brain, which means I never grew out of my little-boy fascination with things that go fast or go boom, so I think military equipment and aesthetics and uniforms and so on are rad as hell. Suits and long coats are both things I like a lot and Ironwood's got both going on at one point or another.

He's very complex and compelling, second only to Raven among RWBY's cast in that regard. He's got a lot of personal strengths and a lot of personal weaknesses, and they really serve to make him feel like, well, a person. There are some characters in RWBY that feel flat and bland and lacking in dimension (Vine Zeki, please come stand at the front of the class), but Ironwood never does. He possesses genuine personal courage - he fights an Alpha Beowolf to protect the students, regularly joins his comrades on the front lines, and personally apprehends Watts in Volume 7, flaying the skin off his own arm in the process. He's genuinely warm and caring toward others (at least the ones in his ingroup) - he offers the students the chance to flee the Battle of Beacon without judgment, he sends Yang a prosthetic entirely unprompted, and he welcomes the protagonists to Atlas with open arms, offering them his personal support and his Kingdom's resources. He's emotionally demonstrative and also, in many ways, a very lonely man - just look at how happy he is to see his fellow members of Ozpin's inner circle every time they reunite. He shows flashes of tactical and strategic competence with the Amity plan, the ambush his forces pull against Tyrian, and his capture of Watts. He's also stubborn, paranoid, convinced that his solutions are the right ones, and very willing to sacrifice people who aren't members of his ingroup if he thinks doing so serves the greater good. He's a strong man in many ways, but that strength is brittle and easily shattered. Just ask Cinder.

Many of his personal traits would be considered strengths in other action-oriented media, but are portrayed as weaknesses here. Generally, it's great for your action hero to be determined, to be willing to stand against the whole world to do what they believe is right, to be willing to buck authority when that authority holds them back, and so on - that gives them the strength and resolve to push on through adversity and blah blah blah, but with Ironwood it warps into tunnel vision, into commitment to a failing course of action, into a willingness to listen to others, but not accept that they might actually be right, often because something happens that he thinks proves him right (the breach at the end of Volume 2, Salem's arrival in Atlas). Instead of being a strong, resolute hero or ally, a source of hope and inspiration in the world's darkest hour, he becomes an obstacle that must be circumvented because he's too inflexible to bend.

I love the way he serves as a microcosm of Atlas. He does a great job of embodying his Kingdom's positive and negative aspects - the arrogance, the belief in Atlas's superiority, the technological advancement, the appeal to force, the symbol of hope, the conception of themselves as the defenders of the world... all of it is made manifest in General James Ironwood.

I appreciate his ability to cause problems by accident and cause problems on purpose. He's a very versatile man.

Finally, he's just... fun to watch. When he's onscreen, I feel like something interesting is going to happen. Will it be a good thing? Maybe not, but it will be a thing I want to watch.

[mariacallous]

The killing last weekend of a Kosovo police officer by a group of 30 or more heavily armed Serbian nationalist militants marks the most significant security incident in that country, and the western Balkans region, in more than a decade. The US ambassador to Pristina, Jeffrey M Hovenier, described the attack subsequently: “We know it was coordinated and sophisticated … The quantity of weapons suggests this was serious, with a plan to destabilise security in the region.”

Kosovo’s authorities concur and are even more explicit in who they blame. Namely, Serbia’s government, and its strongman president, Aleksandar Vučić.

In the hours after the day-long skirmishes between the militants and police, in which three attackers were reported to have been killed, the office of Kosovo’s prime minister, Albin Kurti, posted photographs of the large cache of seized weapons and munitions. “The perpetrators acted not alone,” he wrote, “but [with] state backing. Serbia must be held fully accountable for sponsoring terrorist violence on [Kosovo’s] territory.”

Serbia, of course, denies these accusations, and responded with allegations directed at Kurti and his government for their purported persecution of Kosovo’s Serbs. Yet the Vučić government also promptly declared a day of national mourning, and regime media have glorified the dead attackers as martyrs for the Serb nationalist cause.

Few analysts, though, have any doubt that Serbia played a significant role in the attack.

It is claimed that the country’s territory was used as a staging area for the militants, whose leadership is known to have close ties to Vučić and his inner circle. Drone footage published by Kosovo police, for instance, appears to show that the vice-president of the primary Serb ethnic party in Kosovo, Srpska Lista, was among the attackers. Srpska Lista is widely perceived as a proxy enterprise of the Belgrade regime, while Milan Radoičić has been under US sanctions for his involvement in significant criminal activities since December 2021. He is now believed to be in hiding in Serbia. Another of the attackers was allegedly the former bodyguard of the country’s intelligence chief (who is also under US sanctions).

The bigger question is how this attack could have happened in the first place.

Kosovo still hosts a Nato peacekeeping force of about 4,500 troops who are closely involved in policing and intelligence-gathering in the country. They were violently attacked in May of this year by Serb nationalist crowds, leaving more than two dozen peacekeepers injured. And Kosovo’s government has warned of the growing likelihood of renewed Serb-orchestrated violence since September 2021, when Serbia deployed fighter planes along the border for the first time since the 1999 Kosovo war.

The answer, alas, is not comforting.

The attack is the (in)direct product of a radical reorientation of American and European policy on the Kosovo-Serbia dispute and the broader western Balkans. Since 2020, Washington and Brussels have explicitly centred the interests of Belgrade over all other neighbouring polities, in an improbable scheme to pacify the country’s nationalist leaders and pull them out of Russia’s orbit of influence. This in a country where 70% of the population backs Russia’s aggression against Ukraine. Even after the May attacks on Nato peacekeepers, for instance, the US and EU, incredibly, sanctioned Kosovo.

Kurti has explicitly accused the EU’s chief regional envoy, Miroslav Lajčák, of working in concert with Serbia to pressure Pristina to give in to Belgrade’s demands. And most observers agree with him. Before Lajčák was appointed, seasoned regional experts warned against the move, citing the former Slovakia foreign minister’s historical ties to Russia. Speaking to Voice of America about this week’s attack, the former CIA analyst David Kanin likewise blamed western appeasement of Vučić for emboldening extremist elements in Serbia.

A sharp course correction by the US and EU is now needed. It is evident that both the Biden administration’s policies and those of the European Commission have contributed to the most significant security crisis in the region in years. Their appeasement of Belgrade has endangered Kosovo, but also neighbouring states such as Bosnia and Montenegro, where Serb nationalist militancy, also sponsored by Serbia, is likewise the chief domestic security threat.

The US and EU sanctions against Kosovo must be reversed and replaced by restrictions against the Vučić regime. Serbia’s EU accession efforts should also be frozen until Belgrade demonstrates a serious commitment to de-escalation and functional acceptance of the reality of Kosovo’s existence as an independent state. . And the five EU member states who do not yet recognise Kosovo’s sovereignty should be reproached for their role in exacerbating a major European security issue when the continent can least afford it.

Until then, there can be no meaningful return to dialogue, no matter how much western diplomats will it.

[nymfaia-archive]

HAURCHEFANT ; ANCIENT VERSE.

Svalinn is most known for how keenly Azem speaks of them: a being with a gilded tongue and a golden heart that could rival the very sun. While decidedly not a member of the Convocation or their close inner circle, his name tends to be familiar to most of those in Amaurot, especially those closely tied to the creation of arts:

He is the author of many and more of the oldest pieces of poetry, the rhymes and rhythms that those across shards remember but cannot place the beginning of. While most of it has been recreated and credited to others across the history of the shards, many of them echo what was once common reading in the Ancients.

He and Azem had a bond like no other. While they traveled on occasion, Svalinn held little power - metaphorically or literally - to truly embark on his own. He wished to see the world, but feared weighing down the one truly meant to do so: and as a result, he wrote.

Most of his works are wholly inspired by the traveler themselves and the tales they shared with him, and are - to everyone but himself - blatantly things created from love, both of them and of the world itself.

While he has likely been invited to speak at conferences or contribute to the Bureau on an official manner, Svalinn has consistently refused to be recognized officially as anything but a man with too many words and not enough time. Words had little reason to be called his own when anyone else could have pulled them together just the same, he would say sheepishly, and that was that.

(If Azem asked nicely, he may, eyes closed and voice but a whisper, recite the ones he has memorized, the ones that remind him the most of the being that, to him, walked among the very stars and hung the sun in the sky. But only if they asked.)

[luckypinebooks]

What the book has shaped up to be (so far)

The original list of tropes gave a pretty good framework: fake marriage, city versus country. And those two have survived, among others. But it’s grown to have a bit more depth than that in my mind. Behold the shiny summary I wrote up for my author friends! 

At the age of thirty, Olivia St. Clair has already gone through the crucible of transformation - from heiress of Canada’s most famous billionaire family under her father’s thumb, to self-made entrepreneur and director of a non-profit that stands for everything her family’s corporation doesn’t. But when a fateful phone call takes her back to her Uncle Henry’s cattle ranch in Wyoming, Olivia goes from her busy but predictable life in the city to a whirlwind of endless open sky, oncologist appointments, dates with manure, and a green card marriage so she can stay in the US during her uncle’s final months.

Wyatt Henderson already knows his calling in life - to work the land at Lucky Pine Ranch and care for his small inner circle of trusted people until he dies. It’s a small list and a simple life, until Henry’s long-lost niece comes barreling back into Wyatt’s life and makes him question if his future is as figured out as he thought. They’re different in many ways, yet he finds himself offering to drive down to the county courthouse as soon as there’s a question of Olivia having to leave the country. As they navigate grief, impending loss, business decisions, and family entanglements together, Wyatt and Olivia have to question: what, exactly, makes a marriage real?

[bookeysnewsletter]

The Four Agreements: A Summary of Life-Changing Wisdom

Chapter 1 What's The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

The Four Agreements is a spiritual book written by Don Miguel Ruiz that offers a code of personal conduct based on ancient Toltec wisdom. The agreements are: Be impeccable with your word, don't take anything personally, don't make assumptions, and always do your best. The book explores how living by these agreements can lead to personal freedom, happiness, and inner peace. It emphasizes the power of positive thinking, mindfulness, and self-awareness in creating a fulfilling and purposeful life. Ruiz's teachings have inspired millions of people around the world to live authentically and strive for personal transformation.

Chapter 2 The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz Summary

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz is a spiritual book that offers a code of conduct based on ancient Toltec wisdom. The book presents four agreements that, if followed, can help individuals achieve personal freedom and happiness.

The first agreement is to be impeccable with your word. This means speaking with integrity, saying only what you mean, and avoiding gossip and negativity. By being mindful of your words, you can create a more positive and harmonious environment for yourself and those around you.

The second agreement is to not take anything personally. This means realizing that the actions and words of others are a reflection of their own beliefs and experiences, not a reflection of your worth. By not taking things personally, you can free yourself from unnecessary suffering and drama.

The third agreement is to not make assumptions. This means asking for clarification and communicating openly and honestly, rather than jumping to conclusions. By avoiding assumptions, you can prevent misunderstandings and conflicts in your relationships.

The fourth agreement is to always do your best. This means giving your full effort to everything you do, regardless of the outcome. By doing your best in every situation, you can take pride in your efforts and live with no regrets.

Overall, The Four Agreements teaches readers how to live a more fulfilling and authentic life by practicing these four principles. It encourages individuals to be mindful, compassionate, and true to themselves in order to achieve personal freedom and happiness.

Chapter 3 The Four Agreements Author

Don Miguel Ruiz is a renowned author, spiritual teacher, and shaman, born in 1952 in Mexico. He is the author of several best-selling books, including "The Four Agreements," which was first published in 1997.

In addition to "The Four Agreements," Don Miguel Ruiz has written several other books, including "The Mastery of Love," "The Voice of Knowledge," "The Fifth Agreement," and "The Circle of Fire."

Among his works, "The Four Agreements" is arguably the most popular and well-known. It has been translated into over 40 languages and has sold millions of copies worldwide. The book presents a code of personal conduct based on ancient Toltec wisdom, offering powerful insights and practical guidance for achieving personal freedom and happiness.

Chapter 4 The Four Agreements Meaning & Theme

The Four Agreements Meaning

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz are a set of principles that can guide individuals to live a more peaceful and fulfilling life. The agreements are:

1. Be impeccable with your word: Speak with integrity, say only what you mean, and avoid using words to harm yourself or others.

2. Don't take anything personally: Recognize that others' actions and words are a reflection of themselves, not you. Don't let the opinions of others affect your self-worth.

3. Don't make assumptions: Communicate clearly and ask questions to avoid misunderstandings. Assumptions often lead to unnecessary stress and conflict.

4. Always do your best: Strive to do your best in all situations, but also recognize that your best will vary depending on circumstances. Avoid self-judgment and appreciate your efforts.

Overall, these agreements encourage individuals to live authentically, communicate effectively, and approach life with kindness and compassion. They can help people cultivate healthier relationships, reduce stress, and find inner peace.

The Four Agreements Theme

The theme of "The Four Agreements" by Don Miguel Ruiz is centered around personal development, inner peace, and spiritual enlightenment. The agreements outlined in the book serve as guiding principles for living a fulfilled and authentic life. These agreements include:

1. Be impeccable with your word: Speak with integrity and only say what you mean. Avoid using your words to spread negativity or harm others.

2. Don't take anything personally: Understand that other people's actions and words are a reflection of their own beliefs and perceptions, not a reflection of who you are.

3. Don't make assumptions: Avoid making assumptions about others or situations and instead seek clarity and communication to prevent misunderstandings.

4. Always do your best: Strive to give your best effort in everything you do, regardless of the outcome. This agreement encourages self-compassion and continuous self-improvement.

Overall, the theme of the book emphasizes the importance of self-awareness, mindfulness, and conscious decision-making in order to live a more fulfilling and peaceful life. It encourages readers to challenge their beliefs, break free from societal conditioning, and cultivate a deeper sense of authenticity and harmony within themselves.

Chapter 5 Quotes of The Four Agreements

The Four Agreements quotes as follows:

1. “Be impeccable with your word. Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others.”

2. “Don’t take anything personally. Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream.”

3. “Don’t make assumptions. Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want.”

4. “Always do your best. Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.”

5. “Be skeptical, but learn to listen. Don’t believe yourself or anybody else. Use the power of doubt to question everything you hear: Is it true? Is it really the truth?”

6. “Happiness is a choice, and so is suffering. Whenever you feel unhappy, remind yourself that you have the power to choose happiness. Happiness is your birthright.”

7. “Don’t take anything personally. If you can accept the belief that you are never responsible for how others treat you, you will no longer be a victim of needless suffering.”

8. “Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness, and drama.”

9. “Be skeptical, but learn to trust. Use the power of trust to discover which agreements are based on love and which ones are not.”

10. “Your happiness is the greatest gift you can give yourself and others. Make a conscious decision to be happy and stay happy, no matter what.”

Chapter 6 Similar Books Like The Four Agreements

1. "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho - This internationally bestselling novel follows a young shepherd named Santiago as he embarks on a journey to fulfill his personal legend and discover the true meaning of life.

2. "Educated" by Tara Westover - This memoir tells the story of Westover's unconventional upbringing in a strict, survivalist family in rural Idaho and her journey to seek knowledge and education, ultimately breaking free from her past.

3. "Becoming" by Michelle Obama - In this highly anticipated memoir, former First Lady Michelle Obama invites readers into her life, exploring her childhood, her time in the White House, and her journey to find her own voice and identity.

4. "The Nightingale" by Kristin Hannah - Set in Nazi-occupied France during World War II, this gripping historical fiction novel follows two sisters who must navigate love, loss, and sacrifice as they fight to survive and resist the enemy.

5. "The Martian" by Andy Weir - This science fiction novel follows astronaut Mark Watney, who is stranded on Mars and must use his ingenuity and resourcefulness to survive until help can arrive. With humor and heart-pounding suspense, "The Martian" is a thrilling and unforgettable read.

Book https://www.bookey.app/book/the-four-agreements

Author https://www.bookey.app/quote-author/don-miguel-ruiz

Quotes https://www.bookey.app/quote-book/the-four-agreements

YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzYDRQcKiOc

Amazom https://www.amazon.com/Four-Agreements-Practical-Personal-Freedom/dp/1878424319

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6596.The_Four_Agreements