#and believing i deserve to exist as nothing but a servant

[bandofchimeras]

I feel discouraged lately, but maybe a bit more sober. the emotional wreckage around my family of origin...they cannot be my foundation. no scene or social group will automatically replace that. not even a friend group. nothing can.

while I am glad my family is still here and alive, talking to them feels like suffocating to death. they're not even being particularly /mean/ they just can't level. they cannot have a real talk. they live in a rotting honey bubble of nostalgia.

it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. and yes I'm an adult and no they don't have power over me anymore. yes I ought to build my own life.

and yet the world is not a kind place that parts ways for you. every inch you fight for, lose it again.

I did a lot without guidance. and fucked up. I've been a rager and an ideologue and cruel and inconsiderate and ashamed and controlling and desperate and greedy as often as I've been kind or loving or noble.

now I'm here authoring my own story feeling ill prepared and anxious at how badly and how many times it is possible to fuck up more. at how many directions there are to go. holding onto any relationship with anyone that's longer than a year or two old as proof I'm not evil, not unlovable and disposable or narcissistic, I am normal! I am not marred by irreparable loss!

unfortunately not sure that's true anymore. The way I've lived up til now has me fucked up.

any attempt at making emotional boundaries goes awry. people abruptly give up on me. I'm mean and hard edged to anyone who doesn't have the exact same values, judgmental and suspicious. flighty. I find myself lovable as an abstraction, an idea, not a sweaty meaty lump of confusion and desire as everyone is under all our image polishing.

That's just it. everyone's life fucks them up down here. and there's too much pressure, trying to create some beautiful new future before it's time, give it all away like an already dead seafall whale drifting to the bottom of the ocean, some martyr who can't even say "stop. I'm uncomfortable with that." or "please, I'd like you to stay."

if there's any light in the despair of looking honestly at myself it's in finding acceptance. I'm twenty eight and have done, seen, experienced and known very little yet. I've made a public fool of myself for years to both respectable society and anyone with streetsmarts. I live in a cloud of doubt and confusion and my cognitive clarity has lessened like glasses scratched from wear. I am on edge from sensing constant disrespect, my debt is significant and my health declining. most days I struggle to walk, get out of bed, and eat.

yet in my soul is something beautiful that refuses to give up entirely.

as my dreams did I place their corpses into rotboxes and plant a few new seeds.

Something else will happen no matter how many times you surrender to your own failure. die and rot and grow again.

To be constantly resetting and never feeling a sense of true maturity, longevity, is this grief in a world that kills and kills and kills children again and again. yet in every new child new generation there is a fierce firey little hope, a persistence. An insistence on the future honed against stones of endless numbing oppression. Endurance.

If I've got nothing else I'll build that first. And bet my story will simply be a slow one.

I'm not dead yet. And I'm okay with being dead. I'd rather be most days. But because I'm not dead yet I'll find another way to live every day.

[i-hate-accidents]

Would you ever consider writing the conversation Anthony had with Benedict in his bedchamber? When he scolded Ben for being alone with Y/N?

the author would like to share that upon reading your message, they immediately said, out loud, to no one but for herself to hear, "that is a BRILLIANT idea." she offers many thanks for your idea and your generosity in sharing it. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

i hate accidents: a drabble

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  brief description of grief from losing a parent

word count:  623

author’s note:  the character of y/n, whilst heavily talked about, does not appear in this drabble. the author hopes you enjoy these bickering brothers~

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

anthony turns towards him, quiet fury simmering in his eyes.

"brother," begins benedict, "i—"

"have you lost your fucking mind!" booms anthony.

"if you just let me explain—"

"have you compromised y/n?"

"what!"

"i said!  have you compromised y/n!"

"how can you even insinuate that!  of course i have not!"

"and why should i trust what you say?"

"because i am your brother!"

"precisely!  you are my brother!  you lie to me as naturally as you breathe!"

that is something, benedict admits to himself, i cannot deny.

"well!  i have no reason to lie now!" he declares aloud.

"and you expect me to believe that?  when i saw your mouth and her mouth mere breaths away from one another?"

lightning shoots throughout benedict’s body and butterflies erupt in his stomach at the memory.  the two of you were, indeed, mere breaths away from—— from—

"see," anthony interrupts, "you have nothing to say.  are you finally admitting to your guilt?"

"we were discussing my art!  that is all!"

"i am not a fool, benedict!"

"you look like one!"

"and you act like one! alone! in your bedchamber! with a lady!  our friend!  how do you think our family will react when they hear of your impropriety?"

"you make it sound as if this were some, some— devious scheme!"

anthony shakes his head.

"brother, i know you are in love with y/n—"

it would have been kinder if anthony shot him point blank in his chest.

benedict gapes at him, but his brother merely responds with an expression that makes him feel like a naive child.

"benedict, please.  your affection for y/n is deeply apparent to everyone in this house. mother, kate, our siblings, the servants, penelope.  good god, francesca, daph, and hastings even know, and they are not even here. you," anthony states simply, "are in love."

"i have not said anything of the sort!"

"so what do you mean to say? that you do not love y/n?"

benedict freezes. he feels the swell of his heart and its collapsing all in a mere breath.

of course i do.  of course i love y/n.

he swallows.

"it matters not what i feel.  it matters what she deserves."

y/n deserves someone good.  someone who will not hurt her.  someone who is not me.

anthony’s face softens, and it would be an expression that would be kind if benedict didn’t feel as though he was on the receiving end of its pity.  still, it reassures him.  anthony’s gentleness seemed to have passed when their father had.  it seemed to no longer have existed as a possibility within him; and then kate entered their lives.  whenever he sees evidence of its restoration, benedict cannot help but feel gratitude—even, as in this moment, at the cost of his own pain.

anthony sighs.

"did you two have to be in your bedchamber?"

benedict rolls his eyes.

"this is where all my art is!  but it shan't happen again."

"oh, that i will make certain."

he furrows his eyebrows.

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"did you truly think i would let you get away with this indiscretion?  you have completely disgraced y/n!"

"nothing!  happened!"

"bedchamber!  together!  ALONE!" anthony checks his pocket watch and, with its closing, resumes a dignified composure.  "i am done with this conversation.  we have kept y/n waiting long enough.  we must go to her promptly, offer our deepest apologies, and ensure that she is safe and well after this event.  we will be most fortunate, indeed, if she chooses to absolve us from your transgression."

benedict puts his hands over his face.  of all the people in the world, why did his elder brother have to be anthony bridgerton?

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Asmodeus, Lord of all Hells

I think I know what may be happening....You’re trying to atone me, and I didn’t do anything wrong...You want to know what I’ve always hated about mortals? why I spit on your forgiveness, why I loathe your redemption? To reach a hand down to somebody they need to be beneath you,

And I’m Beneath Nobody.

Brennan Lee Mulligan as Asmodeus for Exandria Unlimited: Calamity

@pikablob​ was asking about my ideas on devils and mentioned Asmodeus in the process, and while I’ve already done a monster’s reimagined on devils, I figured it was a good opportunity to talk about my take on the biggest of big bads. To summarize, I like to go back to the mythological roots of devils less as agents of a universal evil but as individual manifestations of judgment, looking to test or punish mortals for their failings. This ( along with Brennan’s showstopping performance in calamity) gave me the idea of an Asmodeus as the ultimate critic of mortalkind, an entity that can see all of our flaws and nothing of our virtues.

TLDR:  There are many evil gods, wicked things that preside over cruelty and misfortune in all its forms, but there are few that would claim to be the god of evil itself. Though to hear the lord of all hells tell it, there is nothing touched by mortals that is NOT evil: no act that is not in some way rooted in self interest, no moment of self determination that is not a transgression, no soul that is not some way corrupted. To allow the Father of Sin into your heart is to accept that people are fundamentally wicked creatures deserving of punishment, and that punishment cannot come soon enough.

Bio: Ruling from the lowest depths of the pit, Asmodeus sits a throne surveying an empire built on torture and damnation and deems it insufficient. There is evil in the multiverse and that evil is called mortals, things gifted with the tiniest spark of life who every day choose the wickedness of existence. His purpose is  to be the scourge that drives the animal towards the slaughterhouse, to take hold of mortal life and shape it into useful purpose, with the only useful purpose being the ultimate destruction of all wicked things

The hypocracy of being an evil god punishing evil does not for a moment shake Asmodeus. Spirits cannot choose their nature, nor can animals, but mortals which live in the intersection choose to be evil every day, and worse yet, have the capability to choosing evil at any time. In spite of his divine status, and in many ways because of it, Asmodeus is actually incapable of perceiving good in mortals, believing that good intentions or earnest affection are yet more lies and hasty justifications that mortals buffer themselves with to excuse their faults and selfish action. None can then judge the atrocities he commits because none are without sin, even if to find that sin he needs to peel back layers of causality and unconscious feelings to find a thread of wrongdoing. 

To purge the universe of the blight of mortals Asmodeus cultivates power and fear: Power in the form of legions of devils and devoted servants who’s hateful hearts he feeds like a furnace, fear in the form of agents which sow division in mortal hearts and a myriad of private hells filled with infinite forms of torment.

Swear to serve Asmodeus, say his mouthpieces, and you will be spared the infinite torment when the boot on your neck breaks through to your spine, or when his hordes come to put your home to the torch.  Give up on the falsehoods of hope, love, and kindness,  visit punishment on others and you may be rewarded for your service

Behind the scenes: I’ve talked quite a lot about how d&d uses the idea of objective evil as a staple of its worldbuilding, and how in doing so it ends up falling face first into pro genocide rhetoric. In attempting to make badguys that the party is 1000% justified in killing on sight it ends up stumbling into some very fucked up thought experements.    Monsters in vanilla d&d arn’t just evil because they do bad things, but they do bad things because they are inherently evil:  They pillage, they enslave, they despoil, not because these things benefit them ( as it invariably gets them killed by adventurers) but because these acts serve as an outlet for their wicked natures.

If our heroes’ enemies are fundamentally evil, then any action which opposes them must be good, and any pillaging, enslaving, or despoiling the party does can be excused provided the targets belong to the designated ingroup. This is almost identical to the reasoning that was used by crusaders, conquistadors, slave owners, and fascists, and what is now being used by the evangelical to deny people rights and life-saving aid to this day.

What I wanted with Asmodeus was an entity that looked at the party like a group of murderhobos look at an orc: an ugly brutish thing that is only useful in so far as its suffering and death can benefit them.  Maybe it’ll be funny if they make it beg for its life. The party feel they’re justified in this because they know the orc is objectively evil ( because the books said so), just like Asmodeus is justified in plucking the souls from mortals and making them suffer for eternity because he knows, in his flawed omniscience, that they are deserving of it.

Signs: The sounds of tortured souls wailing from below, symbols of power glowing red hot, the manifestations of lesser devils.

Symbols: A five pointed star made of jagged metal, a black throne or crown atop numerous bodies.

[myfairstarlight]

A Lover's Quill

AO3 Link.

Rated: M

Length: 2k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Canon Divergence

Based on my own post here, s1 AU in which a love letter is written instead of a scandalous gossip column...

This will be a multi-chaptered fic, but this first chapter can be read as a standalone. The whole story is already planned out! I'm not sure I will post every chapter on tumblr yet, but I will update on ao3 frequently as long as my life allows it.

Summary:

Dear Colin Bridgerton, As I understand it, this must be a farewell. Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink. Or. A s1 AU in which instead of a Whistledown column, Penelope writes a letter to Colin the night before he and Marina plan to elope.

*additional notes on ao3.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Dear Colin Bridgerton,

As I understand it, this must be a farewell.

Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink.

I wish I had the courage to tell you what I am on the brink of revealing to your face, so forgive my cowardness for hiding behind a quill instead. These past few weeks have been full of agonising feelings, and ones I had to fully come to terms with before I could share them with you.

She pauses as she hears commotions outside her door. Servants are running up and down the estate in their haste to gather Marina’s belongings.

I must apologise, for my meddling regarding your and Marina’s courtship. It was not my place to dictate what either of you should do or should feel, even in my misguided belief that I was helping. I do believe that if one is lucky enough to be in love, well, one should declare it as loudly and fervently as you have done, claiming Marina’s hand in front of her many suitors.

She has shared with me your plans to elope to Gretna Green, I hope you do not fault her for divulging your secret. That way, I can wish you all the luck and happiness.

Penelope takes a deep breath. She knows the next words to be the hardest to put into paper and her fingers start to shake once more.

I must, once more, beg your forgiveness for my cowardness as I cannot bring myself to say those words in front of you. I truly do wish for your happiness, and yet I know the words would get lost between my heart and my mouth because there is another truth I could never speak into existence, for I knew it to be a meaningless affair.

I love you, Colin. I have loved you for many years before either of us even debuted in society. Perhaps from the moment we met, it is quite embarrassing really.

Nothing would ever come out of it, I was aware. But you deserve to know, and perhaps I also needed to admit it, to put it into the world, so I may now move on and seriously consider my prospects when I had been fighting them all season. I hope I can find a match that ignites the fire that bursts within your heart with Marina. I hope I will be as lucky one day.

I bid you farewell, my dearest friend.

Yours Truly,

Penelope Featherington.

To her surprise, the tears she feels building up in her eyes do not fall as she carefully folds the paper and seals the letter. When the wax solidifies, Penelope drops a kiss over the butterfly design.

She thinks of the ironic accuracy of her family’s symbol. Just like her heart, a butterfly will not live long once it takes flight, but at least it is free.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Sneaking out to Bridgerton House is a familiar affair, Penelope is pretty sure Mrs Varley purposely looks away every time, a part of her cannot believe she truly is that invisible. The letter safely tucked in her bosom, she easily finds John, who looks at her with surprise and worry.

“Miss Featherington you should not—” he cuts himself off as Penelope thrusts the letter in his hand. “Ah. For Miss Eloise?”

“Mr Bridgerton,” Penelope corrects. “Colin, that is,” she clarifies, though John would know she barely ever speaks to Benedict outside of polite conversations and would have no reason to write to him. “Please make sure he receives it first thing in the morning. Is Eloise…?” She points towards the garden.

John nods, carefully putting the letter away. “Is everything alright, Miss?”

Penelope takes a deep breath. “You are aware of his plans, correct?”

“Indeed. I am to drive the carriage to the port.” A beat of silence. “For all that is worth, Miss, I do not think he is making a wise decision.”

She is not quite sure why, but servants have always felt comfortable gossiping in front of her, and even to her. Penelope will not complain, however.

“Well, it is not our place to say.”

“Is this letter not about that? Mr Bridgerton has always keenly listened to you.”

Penelope chuckles. “You flatter me, John. I do not think anyone has ever listened to me.”

But the Ton will gladly consume her every word, as long as it is put on paper. It would not have been worth losing Marina’s trust or breaking Colin’s heart, she thinks.

Although, a treacherous voice whispers in her mind, is it truly for the better, to keep silent? Though Colin believes himself in love, would it be enough to bear the burden of another man’s child? To feel the humiliation upon realising he was but a means to an end? And would Marina be able to live with herself? She has a good and kind heart, Penelope knows that to be true, but even the most beautiful souls can be pushed to cruel means when no other solution is within grasp.

Ultimately, Penelope thought, a couple of hours earlier when she decided against using her greatest weapon in Whistledown, this matter did not involve her. Marina is her cousin, Colin is her friend, but this issue only concerns them. Penelope has tried her best without breaking anyone’s trust, and she is at her limit. She cannot keep being the messenger.

And therefore, she has one more secret to divulge.

Curtseying in front of John — although she is aware she does not need to since he is a mere footman, she thinks it is still polite to do so — she ventures into the garden, to immediately find Eloise sitting at one of the swings. Their eyes meet, but Eloise does not move, nor does she scream at her to leave. So Penelope sits on the other swing.

“El.”

“Pen.”

The use of nicknames makes her smile.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

A pause.

“However," Eloise huffs, "you were so wrong because you’re really pretty, Penelope, if only your mother did not have the most horrendous taste in gowns. Never speak of my best friend as such ever again!”

And just like that, they are friends again. Penelope could cry.

“There was another reason I did not wish to discuss Whistledown with you at the time,” she confesses. Eloise makes a questioning noise, a hand reaching for Penelope’s arm. Penelope squeezes it. “It is because I am Whistledown.”

There is a moment of silence as they stare at each other. For a moment, Penelope worries she won’t be believed. Who could imagine sharp and cunning Whistledown as the petite, two-stones-too-heavy Featherington girl? Eloise's grip has gone lax on her arm before suddenly the brunette girl brightens up.

“Of course!” she exclaims. “It makes so much sense! My best friend, the cleverest woman feared by the Ton!”

Penelope blinks, taken aback, before giggling at her friend’s pure excitement. “Eloise! You exaggerate.”

“Oh, you must tell me how you managed such a fit! And do I get the exclusive before anyone else now?”

Penelope smiles and nods enthusiastically, holding Eloise's hands preciously between hers.

If she must say goodbye to her love, at the very least she will always have Eloise and frankly, it is as good, if not better.

“But say, is it still true? Do you wish to marry even though you have such a gem within your hands?” Eloise asks, her voice gone soft. “You could be entirely independent, you do not need a man.”

Penelope lets out a forlorn sigh. “I still wish for it, although I very much doubt I ever will.”

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

John has never been one to care for his employers’ affairs. When the other members of the staff start to gossip, he tends to turn his head and not listen, out of respect. This season has truly tested his limits, however, between Miss Bridgerton, now Duchess of Hastings, debuting, and Mr Bridgerton, the youngest — bar little Gregory — getting so unexpectedly engaged.

And of course, the now notorious Lady Whistledown who rose from the shadows seemingly out of nowhere, stirring up society for being such a bold and yet secretive woman. Gossip had become an inherent part of everyday life, more so than it already was. Whistledown held up a mirror in the Ton’s face to heighten the whispers, and so the Ton speaks even louder because they love to look at themselves.

All that to say, John cannot help but be curious. Miss Penelope’s letter feels heavy. Not literally, of course, but the metaphorical weight of it feels monumental. It is as if he failed to deliver it in time, the world would not be turning on its axis any longer. There was a quiet resignation on the young lady’s face, so far from the warmth she usually bears. In truth, when he heard that Miss Penelope had debuted early and that Mr Colin Bridgerton was courting someone, John, much like the rest of the staff, had assumed she was the one he was courting. There was obvious affection between them, of a sweet and innocent kind, rare in its beauty, and everyone believed they would follow the path Lady Bridgerton and her late husband followed, finding true love at a young age in each other. Alas, perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

And again, it does not concern John, he is merely the messenger — or the driver.

Even so, he decides he would rather not wait. He is aware most of the family is still awake, including the very Bridgerton he is in search of. He finds him brooding in the library, a likely place for him to be, fidgeting by the window.

“Sir,” John says, startling the young man who almost drops the book he was holding. “A missive, for you.”

“A missive?” Colin repeats, intrigued and wary.

“From Miss Penelope, sir,” John clarifies, giving him the letter. He sees the moment Colin's shoulders relax, and his eyes bear a spark of happiness at the sound of her name.

Ah. Foolish youth.

“Right. Thank you, John.”

John nods, bows, then takes his leave. It seems this social season, although coming to its end, will still be full of surprises.

And if it prevents him from waking at the breaks of dawn the next day, he will not be complaining.

(A mere hour later, he catches Colin sneaking out of the house and running across the square. John suspects a new scandal shall befall this family in the morning.)

[the-other-art-blog]

Richard Gunningworth: *ignores Sophie for years, barely acknowledges her existence, makes her feel unloved, gets married without considering Sophie, does nothing to defend her against his wife’s abuse, doesn’t take the proper measures to secure her future if he dies*

The Bton fandom: “I think Sophie’s father really loved her. He must have been in love with her mother. Yes! It was forbidden love! Poor baby, he ignored Sophie because it was too painful to see her.”

Violet: *loses the love of her life when she was 8 months pregnant, suffers depression, has a traumatic birth, suffers post-partum depression, recovers and dedicates her life to raise her children and makes sure her children live a HEA*

The Bton Fandom: “what a horrible mother, she should have been there for Anthony. She’s an absent mother! She’s the worst.”

Make it make sense.

If Violet would have died and Edmund would have crumbled, everyone would have made excuses for him. Stop acting as if Anthony raised those children alone. Violet was depressed for a while, but then SHE raised them. And before Edmund died, they were loving and involved parents.

People forget too easily all the damage Richard did to Sophie.

Let's just recap all the shitty things he did in the book.

He abused his power as a wealthy heir to take advantage of a poor maid.

He left said maid alone, even when he knew there was a possibility of getting her pregnant. And yes, we don't know why she left, but if he cared he would have done something.

He let Sophie live with him because he had to. The book is clear in that he is not happy about her arrival and decides to treat her as a ward. Now, yes, this technically gave Sophie many opprtunities, but he only did it to safe his reputation. He made her pay for his mistakes.

He abandoned her in the country while he spent most of the year in London doing who knows what. Sophie grew up completely alone, except the servants. She had no friends ebcause everyone knew she was an illegitimate child.

When he is in the country, he barely spent time with her. Although I believe he asked for reports from the governess and knew she could be an accomplished woman.

He married Araminta without ever considering Sophie. If he cared about Sophie, he would have mentioned her to Araminta before proposing to her. No loving father would have made any decision without making sure that his new wife treated his daughter with respect. In fact, Araminta was treated as a fool here too, cause she deserved to know. As horrible as she was, she deserved to know Sophie existed, and the fact that Richard didn't think it important to tell her shows how privileged and horrible he was.He was a very wealthy earl, he could have had anyone. He was only 36 years old and if Sophie looked like him, he should have been handsome.

When he presented to the whole staff, he totally forgot about Sophie. He wasn't even planning on making a formal presentation!!! That scene breaks my heart cause Sophie beams when he tells her he didn’t see her. Like how despicable you have to be to make her feel like she’s forgetable and more insignificant than a scullery maid. Let’s not pretend that this messed up with Sophie’s self-esteem.

He didn’t take measures to protect Sophie’s dowry. He left her money... and then what? There were no further instructions on what to do with her. Did he plan to arrange a marriage? How could he have trusted Sophie’s only opportunity for a good life to a woman who hated her?!?!?!?! An ambitious woman who only cared about money and status.

He was aware of Araminta’s treatment towards Sophie and he allowed it. As horrible as Araminta was, the only reason why that woman came near Sophie was Richard. And Sophie knew it.

I know the dowry was extremely important to Sophie, and it does prove that he acknowledge her existence and his responsibility. But honestly, it wasn’t enough. Even if he was already thinking about a future for Sophie where he dies, he could have been more specific in the will. Or, he could have left instructions to his lawyer. What if Sophie didn’t find a husband? Could she have gotten access to the money? I do believe he would have searched for a decent man, but I don’t think he planned a HEA for Sophie, merely a man willing to overlook her illegitimacy. I don’t think they would have had contact once Sophie got married.

And frankly, the fact that people tend to brush off his conduct and abuse and just focus on Araminta pisses me off. Men really can get away with everything.

NEGLECT IS ABUSE!!!!!!

Richard made Sophie carry all the weight of his crimes. He went on being an earl in London and being wealthy and influential. Sophie couldn’t have done anything, she was just a child. The servants didn’t have the power to defend her either. And then Benedict came and he tried to do the same. He wanted her to carry with all the shame of being a mistress while he continued with his life. But this time Sophie could say no and forced Benedict to make sacrifices.

[piltoverfinest]

I was tagged by @chickenmaie and honestly, I can't believe I am getting tagged in anything, let alone something to do with writing but here we are, so thanks :D I am tagging @c00kiesandcream @rethly (because I did not forget you mentioning the 600 words you wrote)

I am moooore than happy to share a little sneaky peaky. I thought about what I wanted to share for a few days because I am currently writing two things, one is (obviously) Fuel on the Fire but the other is a little, not so secret, Hassian royalty/arranged marriage/(hostile) strangers to lovers AU. Yeah, it's a mouthful. Anyway, here is a first look at what will, probably, become "Our Kingdom Between Us". I literally just realized this was supposed to be 6 sentences? Uhm...yeah, this is not 6 sentences, sorry not sorry.

“Why are you doing this? What in the heavens did I do to deserve you treating me like I’m worthless scum taking advantage of you when it is you that gained power through this marriage?” she squeezes out, her throat tightening as her thoughts finally spill out of her mouth, burning her tongue like poison. “I have done nothing but try to befriend you, to gain an understanding of you, to learn who you are but every time I think I’ve come even an inch closer to seeing beyond your hard exterior you reel back to scold me with harsh words. Like I’m not worth more than the dirt you carry in from the woods.” 

Her voice finally breaks along with her resolve. She’s tired. Tired of pretending she doesn’t care about his hostility towards her, tired of convincing herself that she never expected a loving relationship anyway and tired of lying to herself about the way her heart aches to see the laughter lines around his eyes again. That one moment, that single laugh he granted her is etched into her memory like the words to a song she can’t forget. It sings in her mind, again and again, remembering the way his breath ghosted over her lips before he closed the door on her, shutting her out of not only what should be their shared bed chamber but, even worse than that, his thoughts, his feelings, his existence. 

She wasn’t anything else but a mere shadow in his life after that drunken evening. He turned as soon as he saw her enter the same room, fled whenever a moment arrived where they could’ve been alone without the prying eyes of their servants watching. He didn’t speak a word to her, not to hold a conversation, not to greet the morning or goodbye to her for the night. There was dead silence between them and she hated it. She hated waking up to an empty room and the feeling of an equally empty life. She had nothing and he had everything. 

“I…” Hassian glances at her, a confused look on his face. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought to find remorse in them, shame maybe, about his behavior. His throat tightens as he swallows down the words lingering on his tongue. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

[meluiloth]

Unwanted Guardian

For @tolkienocweek day 2: Relationship with Canon Characters

If nothing else, Findoron could at least say that the uniform fit him. His green gloves and pants were both comfortable and flexible, and the supple leather boots made no sound when he hopped a few times to test the fit; he supple leather tunic was carefully embroidered to mimic the flowing pattern of tree-bark. Findoron knew that he would blend in perfectly with the muted browns, greens, and greyes of Mirkwood.

There came a light knock at his door, and once Findoron said, "Come in," his uncle gently pushed open the door to his room, a proud smile spreading on his face. "How does it feel to finally be an official Mirkwood Scout?"

Findoron knew he ought to smile and say something to convey excitement, at least for Feren's sake; but he had never been one to gloss over a situation. "Fine, I suppose - I'm glad that ceremony is over, so I can just get to work. Officially." The fact of the matter was, Findoron had been out in the woods fighting Spiders long before the Mirkwood Guardians deigned to accept him as one of them. "You know it's only because of your connection with the King that I even got the job to begin with."

As expected, Feren's smile fell. "That is not true; for one thing, though I did mention your desire to be a part of the Guardians to King Thranduil (and that was all I did, mind you), I would not have done so if I did not believe you could do it. For another, it is within no one's right or power to either coerce or bully the King of Mirkwood into doing something." He paused to let his words sink in before finishing, "All that to say, you received the position because you earned it, and you should be proud of yourself."

Findoron gave a small smile, grateful for his uncle's adamant defense, but it did not quite reach the root of the issue. "I know I can do the job, Adatheg, but really, no one else wanted me to; they'd rather I didn't exist, because I'm the son of a-"

"Your mother," Feren cut in sternly, "was a kind and loving woman; that I can wholeheartedly attest to. She made some reckless decisions, just as all people do in their lives, but she ought not to be defined by those decisions no matter what they were. It is not right that her actions have become your burden, but do not clasp that burden like a blade. You have done a great thing today, Findoron: you have taken the first step to building your own legacy. Do not scoff at that."

He firmly held Findoron's gaze until the young Silvan nodded. "I suppose you're right," Findoron admitted. "I've made myself impossible to ignore now, haven't I? They'll have to take me seriously whether they want to or not."

"There's my boy," Feren said, giving Findoron the sly grin that so often crossed his own face. "If you cannot beat them, join them, and if you cannot join them, beat them. Now, take that off so you do not stain it before tomorrow - I think this deserves a fine dinner." So saying, he gave his nephew a last pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone.

As he changed, Findoron thought back to his initiation ceremony that afternoon; only the King, Feren, and the rest of the Mirkwood Guardians had attended, but that already made a suitable crowd - and the only one happy to be there was Feren. The rest just watched Findoron as he swore in with the usual begrudging allowance for his presence, their disdain masked by the civility they were obliged to show. Such was the honorable society of Mirkwood.

The worst part, though, had been when Findoron faced the King himself to receive his sword. Despite his uncle being a trusted servant and friend of the King, Findoron rarely saw him in person. Part of that was because Findoron spent all of his time in the forest rather than within the Halls, and the other part was because they couldn't stand each others' presence.

As he held the sword that would be presented to Findoron, King Thranduil looked down at him with a mixture of disdain, pity, and something almost like guilt in his eyes, though his face remained perfectly neutral. Findoron simply stared back at him with a note of defiance - he knew that the King had no idea what to think of him, whether to treat him with the same condescension as the rest of the people (as was clearly his first instinct) - but there was that sense of indebtedness in his manner as well.

In the case of the people, he was ostracized because of the scandal surrounding his parents, but with Thranduil, it was more complicated; after all, Findoron's own mother had died protecting his wife, which no doubt instilled a sense of conflict in the King's heart as to how to treat him. If nothing else, Findoron could find enjoyment in being such a vexation.

The King rested the sheathed sword on Findoron's open palms and said, "May you be swift and strong in duty, for the protection of home, life, and our future."

Findoron dipped into a respectful bow, closing his hands around the sword. "By life or death, I will protect everything this forest stands for," he answered, the practiced words still weighty on his tongue.

This conclusion was met by a round of polite applause, but Findoron was more than happy the whole procedure was over. There was such a sense of barbed pointlessness to it all - he was never judged for himself, but for the actions of his parents, and even on the day where he ought to be recognized for his own deeds, he was branded by the ghost of the past.

His gaze lingered on the King's face for a moment more, and saw the same begrudging respect he himself was feeling reflected in Thranduil's face. They would never understand each other, or likely ever share a smile, but they could recognize the position they each held in society - and acknowledge their common goal.

They both wanted to liberate Mirkwood from the corruption that had taken root in it.

But, Findoron thought to himself, I do not do this in the name of the King, or of his people - I fight for the forest alone, for only the forest loves me.

Continuing my Tolkien Oc Week with Findoron, here is a glimpse into his dynamic with the people of Mirkwood, his uncle Feren (does he count as a canon character? I think so!), and the Elvenking Thranduil. As you can see, Findoron definitely has a hard edge to him - a streak that is an odd mix of rebellious and dutiful. His loyalty lies only to Mirkwood itself, and because Thranduil also acts in the best interest of the forest, Findoron has no trouble swearing fealty to a King he doesn't get along with (for very personal reasons which I will let you guess at but not explicitly state because that would be spoilers to Misfit!)

This piece was actually pretty hard to figure out, but I'm satisfied with the end result, and I hope you are too! As a bonus, I'm including a full-body drawing of Findoron to properly display his Mirkwood Guardian uniform!

taglist: @acornsandoaktrees, @saephrond, @sotwk, @linden-leaf

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[yanderes-galore]

@freedom-aviators asked: "Second request if you don't mind? Princess Peach with a darling who is the ruler of another kingdom? Just a concept"

A/N: I would love too! Here you go :) Did a concept so I hope you don't mind! Let me know how you all feel about Super Mario World yanderes as they are a bit strange to write at times lol!

Yandere! Princess Peach with Ruler! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Deception, Drugging, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Trauma mentioned, Dark content, Dubious companionship but leans romantic.

I'd imagine when it comes to rulers, the topic of alliances often comes up.

It's also not new in this universe for different kingdoms to exist, since I'm pretty sure people like Daisy, Rosalina, and Bowser count as rulers and that's not even all of them.

It would make sense if you also ruled over your own people.

Plus, the Mushroom Kingdom is one of the most well known kingdoms.

You probably decided to create an alliance with them, or maybe Peach contacted you due to her issues with Bowser.

Either way your first meeting with Peach is most likely via a royal meeting or something similar.

At first your feelings towards each other is professional.

At least... it's professional to you.

The meeting was called as it's believed your kingdom and the Mushroom Kingdom can benefit from each other in an alliance.

Peach is rather extroverted and sociable.

Through the entire meeting she talks to you in a sweet yet polite tone and speaking with the princess is a pleasurable experience.

Although, here's the yandere behavior I pulled for her from a request I did awhile ago;

Peach would be Manipulative, Caring, Obsessive, Delusional, Patient, Protective, yet Temperamental at times.

She's the type where you have no idea she's anything darker beneath all the pink and happy smiles.

She'd be the type to manipulate things behind the scenes, distracting you with a pretty face until it's too late.

Even when she has you in her grasp, your little room/cage would be just as pink as the rest of her.

She's that kind of yan, pretty and cutesy even as she does things out of character.

Peach would be charismatic with a ruler darling.

When she talks to you she just seems so agreeable.

To be fair her obsession starts when she meets you, it acts rather quickly.

But you won't know about it until much later.

Which means you won't regret the alliance until it's fully situated.

Peach would be one to often invite you to her castle.

Similar to Mario and Luigi, she invites you to a cake party to chat.

It's usually always alone but she invites the two brothers just to have you accustomed to them.

Your kingdom often sends soldiers to help against Bowser, that's primarily your alliance.

Peach is certainly a yandere who'd be hard to tell.

Nothing about her really screams yandere.

She just appears to be a fellow rule and friend.

She appears to just be close to you, sure she can feel demanding at times, but nothing too bad... right?

Honestly by the time something bad happens she'll already have you in your own personal room with the door locked.

With a smile Peach would drug your cake and allow you to enjoy.

Only for you to wake up somewhere with blindingly pink and white walls.

Peach can be temperamental which would make her jealous rather easily.

She tries to hide how much she hates others speaking with you.

Regardless on if she sees you as just a friend/ally or more, she feels there's only one way to keep you to herself.

Don't worry, the room you'll wake up in is big and comfy.

Perhaps all the times she was kidnapped has gotten to her.

She knows you don't deserve a cage like she was given.

You deserve a soft room, warm meals, and lots of affection....

She'll happily give you all you deserve with a smile!

She'll dress you in clothing with mushroom designs, covered in pink to match her.

She never tells anyone but maybe Toad, her servant, about the truth.

Your kingdom is told that you now live with Peach.

Which would mean they need a new ruler... but Peach can take care of that too, right?

She tells Mario and Luigi that you're just busy when they ask about you, always looking the door to your room.

Even the restraints she gives you are soft to prevent you escaping.

Peach plans to remove all personal autonomy from you.

Ironically she feels like a nicer Bowser.

Again, their past may have something to do with it.

But Peach throws a fit when you compare her to the beast.

She's so much better than him.

He'd throw you into cage like he did with her!

Here... in such a comfortable room... she thinks you'll be much happier.

She'll take good care of you...

All while you regret ever accepting her words and falling for her deception.

[hamliet]

while i was rereading the grandmaster of demonic cultivation again its about the two woman that came to lotus pear sisi and bi cao, there was something its about the reaction the cultivators had about there stories I was thinking what these two woman represent?

Hi! I've written a meta on Sisi before--she's one of the most important minor characters, I think.

I think her pairing with Bicao exists to make the reader ponder their own questions about what righteousness means and what justice is. After all, Sisi is a prostitute who openly admits to sleeping with married men, is coerced into assaulting someone to death, and is physically scarred. On the surface, she seems like someone society will and does indeed condemn.

But Sisi is the bravest, most righteous character in the entire story. She is not ashamed of what society and life have done to her; it's not like she had a choice in any of the above, after all, and while it's convenient to blame her, she had literally not a shred of freedom her entire life. At least not from whenever she entered the brothel, and we know from Jin Guangyao's comments about Meng Shi that the women there weren't there out of their own free will.

And yet, Sisi comes forward knowing people will condemn her purely to get justice for the other prostitutes who were coerced into this and then murdered. They were the ones not even brothels wanted anymore--too old, too sick, too ugly. The ones every last bit of society threw away, and she came to face scorn solely to get justice for them. She directly says this.

In contrast, Bicao came forward for money.

Now, that's not inherently a bad thing. Bicao is a servant. She's part of society, unlike Sisi, but she's not well respected or anything like that. However, Bicao knew about Qin Su's mother being raped by Jin Guangshan, knew about the Jins being siblings, and said nothing--fair enough. There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. Where we do get into dubious moral territory is when she directly goes to Qin Su and gives her the letter.

Wei Wuxian himself notes that Qin Su had to have immense trust in Bicao to instantly believe its contents. She emphatically states that Bicao would never lie to her.

But Bicao also knew the likely outcome of her revealing this to Qin Su--that it endangered her, that she would probably be suicidal if not in danger from her husband, and Wei Wuxian directly says this as well. Bicao handed the letter to Qin Su for money knowing it would mean her misery, ostracization from society at best, and death at worst.

Bicao's not a blood relative of Qin Su, of course, and there's a tendency to be like "oh, she's a servant, she owed her nothing." To a degree, sure, but also to another degree we're absolutely supposed to compare and contrast Bicao's treatment of Qin Su with Wei Wuxian's treatment of the Jiang family, and with of course Sisi's treatment of her sisters in the brothels (which we know was always the case from how she protected Meng Shi). Wei Wuxian was derided for his disrespect of the family that took him in despite being the son of a servant, yet gave literally everything, even his golden core, to try to help the Jiangs.

We're also supposed to compare and contrast Bicao and Sisi, both of whom reveal information damning the child they once protected. Bicao did it for money and was aware of what she was doing. Sisi did it for justice and, as far as we know, was not aware that Jin Guangyao was Meng Yao.

This itself of course leads to questioning Nie Huaisang's quest for justice and whether his justice is the same flavor as Sisi's. He freed her because she served his purpose, not out of any desire to free her because she is a human being who doesn't deserve to be locked up forever. He paid Bicao to sacrifice Qin Su, who was completely innocent. Yes, he couldn't have known everything that came from his actions but he definitely knew the likely possibilities (again, Wei Wuxian explicitly says this).

These comparisons invite us to question justice and its link to power, to society, to what we owe one another, and to what it means to be righteous. These are good thematic comparisons wherein the point isn't even "Sisi good" and "Bicao bad" (which can be true even while acknowledging that Sisi is framed much more positively) but instead a multilayered approach designed to provoke questions rather than simple answers.

[babybemydownfall]

The Storm and the Sunrise Chapter 2: Rules and Bargains (Ch 1 - Ch 3) Feyre x Rhysand (x baby)

He knelt before her and kissed the same spot. "I've always wanted to tattoo you here," he said gruffly, tugging her waistband lower.

Righting some wrongs.

AO3 or...

II

In the two days since the pregnancy test, Feyre and Rhys had barely spent a minute apart. They hadn’t even left the house. Official Court business was cancelled; plans with friends postponed. Rhys had asked the servants to prepare them a few days’ worth of food and then gifted them paid leave, so he and his mate could be completely alone.

It was just like their holiday to the cabin, when the entire world disappeared and all that was left was the pure luxury of each other’s full attention. Feyre was so happy she couldn’t stop smiling; Rhys spent his time either mirroring her joy or staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe they had finally made a baby - which she understood, given there were no outward signs except for her sore breasts.

And that very quickly became her first rule of pregnancy: no touching them. When he carried her upstairs from her studio on that first morning, the news and emotions were still so fresh that words were few and constant touching mandatory. It was like they had remade the world all over again: everything was the same and yet it was impossibly different too.

They slipped back into bed and wrapped themselves around each other in every way they knew how. Feyre stroked his mind and his face with her fingertips, gazing into his eyes, into the beginning and end of time. This kind of intimacy wasn’t new to them but it suddenly felt more meaningful than ever before. They had taken their love and created life. And she was honoured - truly honoured - to be growing his child inside her womb.  

When she told him so, he looked stunned. Then he was blinking back unexpected tears and saying urgently, his voice rough with emotion: “I am honoured, Feyre. You… you are everything.”

His expression was the most open and vulnerable she had ever seen it. She could hear his unspoken words: I am not worthy. He was heartbreakingly beautiful - and he was wrong. So, so wrong.

“You are worthy, Rhys,” she said firmly, still trapped in his violet gaze and unable to look away. “I see you. I know you. I am you, and you’re me; we don’t exist without each other. And we are going to have this baby and live happily ever after because that is what we deserve, after everything we’ve endured. Okay?”

He let out a long breath and slowly nodded. He trusted her implicitly - more than he trusted himself - and it still made Feyre marvel.

And then he said, “Okay,” and he kissed her.

It was soft and loving and gentle, until it wasn’t. Then it was hungry and searching. Kissing became undressing, which became warm, bare skin and eager hands and then -

“Ouch!”

He had squeezed her breasts; she pulled away sharply, wincing in pain.

“Fuck. Feyre, I’m so sorry.”

She glanced down at her chest, expecting to see hot, angry swelling because that was what it felt like - but nothing. She looked exactly the same.

“It’s alright,” she sighed as the soreness dissipated. “Gods, I hope this doesn’t last long.”

“Me too. For your sake of course, darling,” he added quickly, smirking. Feyre hit his tattooed shoulder with the back of her hand, which he took and kissed. “Do you want to stop?” he asked sincerely.

“No.” She did stand up though, walking around their enormous bed to her armoire. “But I am going to wear protection.” She felt his eyes on her naked body as she carefully slipped on a plain white bra.

“A serious question,” he said.

“Yes?”

“We can still have sex.”

She knelt on the bed beside him. “That’s not a question.”

Then she watched as his dark gaze travelled downwards, pausing at her abdomen, then the apex of her thighs. She tutted at his distraction, even though it turned her on no end. “Rhys.”

She waited until he looked at her again. She could feel his heat, his power, coiled like a spring - ready to claim her. Just as soon as she soothed his hesitation; gave him permission to pounce.

“We can definitely still have sex. It’s perfectly safe. Besides, I was pregnant last night - we just didn’t know it. And the day before, in the bath. And on the sofa. And the countless other times we’ve been together in the past few weeks - honestly, I lose track.”

His wings flared and a wicked smile graced his gorgeous face, and Feyre recognised it as a sign that she was stroking his ego. He was a High Lord, a fearless warrior, an adoring husband - but he could be such a male sometimes.

“Are you complaining, my love?” he asked devilishly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was trying to get you pregnant.”

A shiver ran all the way through her. She couldn’t explain why, but that was one of the sexiest things he’d ever said.

“You succeeded,” she breathed, finally closing the space between them, pushing him onto his back and the covers out of the way so she could straddle his hips. Gods, he was ready for her, and she couldn’t help but rub herself against his hard, bare length, making them both groan. “I am not going through the next nine or so months without sex. Without you.”

Rhys’s big hands covered her thighs as he watched her grind on him. “Another serious question,” he said, and this time his voice was much, much deeper.

“Go on.”

“Can you come if I don’t play with your nipples?”

His playfulness took her by surprise and she couldn’t help but laugh, her head tilting back. And then suddenly he was sitting up, his mouth clamping onto her throat and sucking hard as he inhaled her scent, as wild as any animal. Then his hot tongue was licking her skin, from her collarbone all the way to her ear, and her core throbbed so hard it made her vision go black - or was that just his night, coming to take her?

“Mm,” he murmured, doing it again - slower this time. “Feyre… you taste divine.”

And more than anything else in the world, there was one thing she wanted in that moment. No, not wanted - needed.

Speech had abandoned her, and even between their minds her voice sounded breathless, pleading, but she didn’t care.

I can come if you use your tongue somewhere else.

His laughter lasted only as long as it took for him to lay her down and bury his face between her legs.

And afterwards, when she had indeed come in his mouth and then again when she rode him and he stretched her so exquisitely, Feyre fell asleep with his head resting on her belly.

And it was a shame, because she missed Rhys speaking to their baby for the very first time, his words softer than any he had uttered before:

“The stars listened, little one. They listened and they answered… and they sent us you.”

II

Two days later, as they were preparing to go for a walk and finally get some fresh air, Feyre’s second rule of pregnancy was forced into being.

They were dressed, they’d had breakfast; she had even spent time braiding her hair. But there was a strange new tension in Rhys which she didn’t understand, because the past forty-eight hours had been blissful.

“Do you not want to go out?” she asked, putting her palms on his broad chest and looking up at him. She could smell his fresh minty breath, the citrus-sea scent of his skin. The smell of home. “Because as much as I love you, you can’t keep me cooped up in here this entire pregnancy. I do have other friends apart from you, you know. Someone will miss me eventually.”

He chuckled, but didn’t relax.

Feyre frowned. “What is going on?”

And then she realised, even as he opened his mouth to explain. Her eyes widened and he closed it again, looking away.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Feyre. I can’t help it.”

His tension was anxiety. Fear.

“No. You will not overprotect me, Rhysand. You will not shield me from the world. Especially not in Velaris.” She stepped back from him, breathing hard. She knew she shouldn’t be angry but she couldn’t help it. With everything they’d been through - surely he trusted her by now?

“I can look after myself,” she went on, her voice as hard as steel. “After us.”

They both glanced down at her abdomen beneath her sweater; at the new soul that made her an ‘us’.

“I know you can. But Feyre -” He reached for her and she let him take her hand. His deep blue eyes were begging her to listen, to hear, to forgive. “Protecting you, and our offspring, is inherent. The animal in me that you love so much - it is a creature of pure instinct. If anything were to threaten its mate, threaten its child…”

His eyes flashed suddenly and he almost snarled his next words: “I would kill them. Rip their head clean from their body and tear their remains to shreds.”

Darkness billowed out from him, filling the room. She felt his talons pressing into her palm; felt a shudder course through her at the feral beast writhing just beneath his skin. Not a shudder of terror - of awe.

“Fine,” she breathed, equally as riled. “If you see a deadly foe about to attack me, and I am somehow both unaware and completely defenceless, you may kill them for me.”

“You jest, darling.” His voice was a deadly purr. “But you know what’s out there.”

“Not anymore. You hunted them down, remember? You already slaughtered them all.”

“There is always evil in the world, Feyre. No matter what we do, what we give… it never stays subdued for long.”

And she was reminded of his age then, and all the sacrifices he had made in his five hundred years: his people, his warriors, his brothers; his body, his power… his life. How many battles had he faced? How many wars won, how many brief eras of peace enjoyed before the next resurgence? Because there had been a resurgence. Every single time.  

The world was cruel, and brutal, and Feyre knew she had seen only a small piece of it. But they had already made so much change since Hybern; made strides towards alliances with the human realms, towards equality for all. And she believed with her whole being that they could have peace, and keep it. She had to. Especially now, with their son growing inside her, because what would be the point if there was no hope of a better future?

She felt her heart swell with sorrow, and love - and it vanished her anger.  

“There is always good, too.” She moved back into Rhys’s embrace, reaching up her hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb there. Light began to seep back into the room. “We are good. Velaris is good, full of good people. I don’t fear anything here.”

Her tenderness calmed him; she saw the beast take flight, leaving her tired, scarred, beautiful mate behind. “So what are we going to do?” she asked quietly. “I understand your perspective. Thank you for explaining it to me. But I will not be shielded and subdued. We’re all free now, Rhys.”

“I know.” He sighed heavily. “And I never want to subdue you. Never. But I'm not sure how much control I will have.”

“That’s interesting,” Feyre mused. “I’ve always known you to be a master of self-control.”

His smile banished the last of the night, finally allowing the winter sun to stream back in through the window. A strip of light fell across her right arm and then the idea came to her in an instant: “Make me a bargain.”

Rhys blinked. “What? I can’t do that. If I break it… The magic could do anything. It could hurt you, Feyre.”

She considered for a moment. “Let’s make our own then. A promise: that you will try your best. That’s all I ask. But I want it written on our bodies so we can’t forget.”

He gazed at her for a long time before he finally nodded. “Okay.”

“How did you get your tattoos?” she asked, running the tip of her finger over the ink which peeked out from the collar of his shirt. “I can’t believe I’ve never asked before.”

His own fingers glided along her right forearm, pushing back the sleeve of her sweater as he went. “With a fucking sharp needle, a lot of swearing and a lot of goynych. That’s an Illyrian spirit which can dissolve a blade if left overnight.” He shivered at the memory. “And it still hurt.”

Feyre pouted. “Well, that doesn’t sound appealing at all. Is there another way?”

She watched as he kissed her existing tattoos, pressing his lips along the inside of her arm, all the way to her elbow. “Yes,” he murmured. “I can use the magic that made these, just without the bargain enforced. But you are the artist, my darling.”

His eyes met hers and heat flared all over her skin. Then she pulled off her top entirely, leaving her bare except for her lacy lilac bra. "Here," she said, drawing a line with her finger below her navel, just above the band of her black fleece trousers. Right over her womb, where their little babe lay. 

Rhys's gaze darkened. "Really?"

"Yes."

He knelt before her and kissed the same spot. "I've always wanted to tattoo you here," he said gruffly, tugging her waistband lower. His nose caressed the soft skin just inside her left hipbone which dipped invitingly, leading him down to his favourite place.

Feyre filled with longing in an instant, her core melting completely at his words, his mouth, his love. 

He knew, of course, and smirked up at her. "You do it," he said, taking her hand. "Paint it on yourself." His voice dropped further, dripping with suggestion. "And then you can do me."

She thought of a design in her mind: swirls of night sky and twinkling stars, mountains and snow and in the centre, a space - a safe haven. A cocoon. Rhys held her fingers and made their promise come to life on her body, channelling his power through her hand, marking the skin below her navel and across into the hollow by her hip that he so loved.

He sat back to admire their work. His eyes were so dark, his breathing uneven as his gaze roamed up to her face. Then he pushed off her trousers, revealing matching lilac panties, and his hands slipped around to grip her backside. "Fuck. You are so beautiful Feyre."

He kissed the black ink, her belly button, her very centre. She stopped him with a breathless gasp of his name.

"My turn," she said, and pointed to the bed.

She unbuttoned his shirt and lay him back on the mattress. His erection was already straining against his pants and she gifted him the briefest stroke of her fingers before focusing her attention on his incredible torso and abs. Just like he loved this part of her body, Feyre loved the thick V of tanned muscle which enticed her downwards. She pressed her palm to the same space inside his left hip bone.

"I'm ready."

She felt so powerful at the way he trusted her. The way he was looking at her like she owned him; like he would do anything she said, for the rest of their lives.

His hand covered hers and she painted him with her mind. When he glanced down a second later, his mouth fell open in shock. “What the-”

And she fell about laughing, at the word Feyre's etched into his skin; at the glamour she'd quickly placed over the real ink beneath. She let it fall away, unable to torment him for too long, and he visibly relaxed when he saw the same pattern she'd drawn on her own skin, his head falling back onto the bed with a groan.

"You fucking tease.”

She leaned over him and kissed his dirty mouth. "Got you."

And then she was gone - standing up, pulling her sweater back on. She had to put some space between them, to quell the fire in her veins.

“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

“I am determined that we are going out for a walk,” she said seriously.

“Feyre…”

“Come on. You can practice your self-control.”

He grumbled a lot as they both redressed, but five minutes later they left the front door and breathed in the fresh, cold air of Velaris.

II

They strolled hand-in-hand through the city streets, clear of snow now but still frigid, still stunning. She could tell Rhys’s senses were on high alert, even though he seemed perfectly calm on the outside. The animal protecting his pack, she reminded herself.

She could live with that.

Her thoughts wandered. As they neared the Sidra, she asked: “Would it have been so bad?”

Of course, he knew exactly what she was referring to. “Feyre. Darling. I am High Lord of the Night Court.”

She glanced up at him, smiling mischievously. “So?”

“So?” he echoed. “So I can’t walk around with your name on my body.”

“Why not? Everyone knows you’re mine.”

He laughed then, as they came to the main bridge across the river. “True.”

They stopped halfway across, listening to mid-morning bustle of people going past and the rush of icy water beneath them. Feyre watched its journey out to sea, Rhys standing beside her as they leaned on the wall.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly.

“For what?”

“For making me that promise. For trusting me.”

He turned to her, drawing her into the warmth of his body. His eyes were as serious as she was. “I have always been your biggest champion, Feyre. From the very beginning.”

“I know,” she breathed, and the world around them faded away. “You were my first champion, Rhys. The first person who ever believed in me.”

He gently held her face in his palm. “I still find that astounding. Because you are extraordinary.”

Sometimes his love made her the happiest Fae in all the land; sometimes it made her the horniest. And other times, like right now, it just made her cry.

He wrapped his big arms around her and held her close - but not too tight to hurt her breasts, which were still annoyingly tender. She silently thanked him for that and he laughed again.

Look at me, abiding by both your rules, he said proudly in her mind. Do I get a special present?

She smiled through her tears, gazing up at him and then out towards the ocean once more. There was a whole world out there, full of new things and wonder and - undoubtedly - danger. But the world right here, in their home, where they belonged: that was all she needed. 

She moved to stand in front of her mate, his chest pressed up against her back, and took his right hand in hers, sneaking it beneath her coat and sweater and over her brand new tattoo.

Here you are, she said softly, curling her fingers into the spaces between his and squeezing tight. But don’t tell anyone else just yet. It’s our secret.

He buried his face in the side of her neck and she felt his emotion and his adoration surrounding her, as warm and golden as the sun. People moved around them, birds swooped and soared, fish shimmied beneath the crystal clear water - and Feyre and Rhys held onto each other, and peace, and hope.

II

TBC

[starry-blue-echoes]

You know, your Golden Child AU reminded me of a similar AU I made, where Jonathan, in his dying moments aboard the ship, is suddenly sent back to the past, a month or two after Dio arrived at the manor.

And for a while, he wonders if this is some kind of hallucination before death or life flashing before his eyes, and eventually he realises that this is all real.

The first thing he does is go over to the mask on the wall and smash it into pieces.

(George was so upset, especially since the mask belonged to Mary, and punished him for that. But it was more than worth it.)

Jonathan had long since learnt from Speedwagon and Erina that the way he was treated by his father was wrong and he never deserved that, but still... he wants to try and do things 'right' this time. He hadn't been sent far back enough to stop Dio from assaulting Erina, or to save Danny, but he's determined to make the most of it. Maybe... if he could excel in his studies and act like a proper gentleman, he could prove himself to George. He has better coping mechanisms for studying now- and he knows most of the basic education stuff, so he doesn't need to stress so hard over studying anymore!

And maybe, just maybe, he could stop Dio from going down a dark path, if he kept trying to befriend him and get to know him better.

Missing the ones who truly loved him as much as he did them, he also took a risk, sneaking out of the house during his grounding for breaking the stone mask, finding his way onto Ogre Street.

Speedwagon, recently crowned king of Ogre Street, was very confused about this weird lost kid who seemed completely unafraid at being held at knifepoint (and seemed a bit too happy to see him?). But eventually he hears him out. Jonathan comes clean about everything, and wasn't too surprised to be believed, but having someone on his side still made him really emotional.

Unfortunately, back home, nothing goes right. Dio absolutely resents Jonathan's newfound confidence and boldness, and the more he tries to reach out to him, the harder Dio tries to hurt him back.

Jonathan also soon realises nothing he does will ever be good enough for his father. Even when he doesn't slip up, George always finds fault in everything he does, and would not listen to anything he has to say. The revelation leaves him heartbroken but also frees him from fighting so hard for his approval.

He ends up leaving the house frequently to spend more time with Speedwagon. When he finds out he's able to generate Hamon, he uses it to heal the sick or injured who are unable to see a doctor.

That's about all I have for now. Maybe vampires might still happen, there are a lot of masks, and what if someone heard about George losing a memento of his late wife, and gifts him a stone mask uncovered from a different location? Heh heh.

Y E S S S S S S S S S

TIME TRAVEL FIXITS MY BELOVED-

oh Jonathan oh sweetie oh baby-

oh my god I'm LOVING this idea though

what if smashing the mask was an incredibly impulsive decision. He suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night in a body that's much too small in a house that doesn't exist anymore in a room that was too big and empty and everything hurt his skin was burning and crawling and itching he needs to run to hide to leave, everything's on fire he feels the smoke on his tongue, in his lungs

the next thing he knows he's running through the halls of the manor, tears flowing like rivers down his face. He doesn't know how but he manages to get to the main room and the mask is there sitting on the wall cold stone empty eyes sitting there tainting him mocking him it can't be here it ruined everything it can't be here it can't be here-

The next thing he knows, a servant is pulling him back from a pile of rock in a firm grip and restraining his bloody, broken hands and speaking to him in soft, desperate tones

it had been so long since he'd been small enough to be held in this way, and that combined with everything else it's no surprise Jonathan breaks down

Jonathan is completely mentally gone when his father scolds him. His brain is far away somewhere else freaking the hell out over the insanity he's managed to land himself in, debating whether everything was a dream or if this is a dream or if he's finally lost it, on and on and on spiraling further and further into his head

barely a few days later with his hands still bloody and broken he takes a trip to Ogre Street to find proof what he remembered wasn't a dream, and he finds it

Speedwagon is...... definitely weirded out by this strange kid and just how much he knows about him, but he seems to be a genuinely good guy and also he's clearly telling some truth if the weird magic healing lightning he can use is any indicator. He even offered to teach him! .......also the guy generally looks like he could use some help, he honestly looks like he's going to burst into tears at any moment

speaking of Hamon, despite the danger of the Stone Mask now being presumably dealt with, I can see Jonathan continuing to practice it. It's comforting and good repetition, plus it's nice to have some insurance just in case things go poorly. Zeppeli's gonna be in for such a surprise when he shows up-

Also yesssssss with the replacement masks, Pillarmen shenangians are going to be insane

[moonlightdancer26]

Not sure how I feel about the whole "Regulus the real slytherin hero' because truth be told, we don't really know much about him. He could very well be nastier than Snape, and classist in addition. I don't oppose the idea that he's nicer...but how do you know that for certain? Yes, Kreacher says that Regulus is nice, and I hate to say this because I love Kreacher, but Kreacher canonically is a bigoted, nasty elf who loved very nasty people (Sirius's parents).

(Plus, I don't think Sirius actually said anything nice about Regulus. His own brother.)

And If we're going to talk about Slytherin heroes, why not Andromeda? She seems pretty awesome, rejected her family, and from what we've seen she's also a good Mom.

Honestly it’s so annoying. There’s nothing wrong with adding more information to a character we hear about only a little, but when they’re also anti Snape and say things like “Regulus was the TRUE Slytherin hero, Snape was just an obsessed incel” 💀💀? It’s funny to see that because Regulus.. didn’t actually stop being a blood supremacist? He just stopped supporting Voldemort himself because he tried to kill someone Regulus loved (Kreacher), he didn’t suddenly think to himself “hey! I shouldn’t support Voldemort’s ideology! Muggleborns and Muggles deserve rights! #bewokekiddos.” Like yes, Severus initially stopped supporting Voldemort because, like Regulus, Voldemort tried/wanted to kill someone Snape loved. But we also see that he changed his views over the years and genuinely believed in what the Order stood for, he straight up yelled at a portrait when it called someone he didn’t even like (Hermione) a Mudblood when no one was around. Also, why do people say “doing one good thing in the end doesn’t make you good” to bash Snape when 1. that’s exactly what Regulus did, and he didn’t even succeed in doing so 😭 2. that doesn’t even make sense for Snape’s arc because he’s literally been saving people for years.

+ Regulus is a Black, Blacks hate anyone that isn’t a pureblood, they don’t even like HALF-BLOODS. Bellatrix (Regulus’s cousin), Regulus’s mother, and Kreacher (Regulus’s friend/servant, who pretty much learned all his beliefs from the Blacks) used the term “filthy half-blood,” and they would marry their own cousins just to keep the blood pure. They were even more extreme than most of the pureblood families we see in Harry’s time. So not only was Regulus blood-prejudiced, but he also most likely hated half-bloods too 💀

And If we're going to talk about Slytherin heroes, why not Andromeda? She seems pretty awesome, rejected her family, and from what we've seen she's also a good Mom.

My girl deserves more appreciation 😫 she is such a queen and I wish Marauder stans would include her more in fics, they literally give personalities to OCs who barely existed in canon but can’t find it in them to give her some recognition when she’s RIGHT THERE? It’s an absolute travesty, she’s one of the best Slytherins in the series. Plus, she raised the most spectacular woman in the whole universe?? Ted and Dromeda deserve a standing ovation for blessing the Potterverse with their daughter.

[twst-hottest-takes]

I'm sorry in advance for distracting you from making a part 2 to your leech twin post (congrats on that post having over 200 notes btw ^^). However in my opinion in book 5, I just can't get over how weirdly Neige is written.

Don't get me wrong, I love how nice and friendly his character is. BUT it's weird to me that him and Vil are besties, but there's a one sided hatred in their friendship. Like whenever Vil sees Neige he's like "Omg not this guy >:(...I mean omg hi :D!" And I feel like Neige should have matched that vibe. It's weird to have Neige be so friendly to Vil, when not even Snow White was that nice to the Evil Queen.

I do understand in book 6 Vil was like "I was just being unreasonable, Neige deserves everything." However in book 7 in the jp server Vil's dream was like "Neige is my servant, and literally deserves nothing." Like huh???

It's also weird to me how long this has gone on, and NOBODY noticed??? I mean I assume Vil and Neige have been friends for a while, since Neige has given him a nickname, but please correct me if I'm wrong.

Neige is probably just being overly familiar and naive.

The nature of Vil and Neige's relationship seems to be mostly professional. I don't remember anything really stating that they're true friends so much as they just work closely pretty often. So I think Neige just feels a sense of kinship while Vil sees a rivalry.

What we do know from the story (at least as far as I can find in the EN version) is that Neige and Vil debuted together, and have been casted alongside eachother since they were kids. I think that they see each other more often than most celebrities do. Between work and events such as the SDC, Neige just tends to think that they're friends because they have spent a lot of time together--relatively speaking--and Vil has never told him otherwise. I also think that Neige is written to be overly optimistic and he tends to read the best into people's actions and intentions (kind of like Kalim). Vil is very image conscious. He probably doesn't want to start celebrity drama or look petty. So Vil won't explicitly say they are friends, and he'll at least act cordial in front of Neige and the cameras. In any case the game hasn't made it clear what the public perception of Vil and Neige's relationship is, so at the moment I would say that their dynamic is like two coworkers who are in the same department but don't see each other outside of work.

One of them thinks they are friends because they work so well together, and the other hates him just for existing. I bet Neige DOES wish he and Vil could hang out more casually as friends, but Vil makes excuses as to why that can't ever happen and the former just takes his word for it as opposed to reading the subtext. Vil describes Neige as "oblivious" here, and I honestly think that might be the case. We'll throw a bone to Vil as well though: he is an actor and I can see a majority of people not seeing past his professional appearance regarding his peer/costar.

I find it really funny actually. The only thing that would make it funnier is if they had the dwarves telling Neige, "You know that guy hates you, right?" And Neige just not willing to believe it because Vil always acts so nice around him.

We can only hope to get a deeper look into Neige's character later. (Which I would very much enjoy, because at face value I do like him.)

Thank you for the ask!

Don't worry, we'll get back to the eel discussion soon.~

[krowbby]

Hogfather footnotes poll, Part 1!

Since it's Hogswatch season, I'm back with another footnote poll! Hogfather has a ton of footnotes, so this has to be split into 2 parts :P Part 2 linked here!

Full text of each footnote plus a little context for each is below the readmore so this post isn't a mile long. Enjoy!

Later on they took the blood out to make the stories more acceptable to children, or at least to the people who had to read them aloud to children rather than the children themselves (who, on the whole, are quite keen on blood provided it’s being shed by the deserving*) *That is to say, those who deserve to shed blood. Or possibly not. You never quite know with some kids.

"The sign which says ‘Do not, under any circumstances, open this door’?” “Of course I’ve read it,” said Ridcully. “Why d’yer think I want it opened?” “Er…why?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “To see why they wanted it shut, of course.” * *This exchange contains almost all you need to know about human civilization. At least, those bits of it that are now under the sea, fenced off, or still smoking.

Downey stood up with some relief and walked over to his large drinks cabinet. His hand hovered over the Guild’s ancient and valuable tantalus, with its labeled decanters of Mur, Nig, Trop, and Yeksihw.* *It’s a sad and terrible thing that high-born folk really have thought that the servants would be totally fooled if spirits were put into decanters that were cunningly labeled backward. And also throughout history the more politically conscious butler has taken it on trust, and with rather more justification, that his employers will not notice if the whiskey is topped up with eniru. 

He was called Peachy, although no one had ever found out why.* *Peachy was not someone you generally asked questions of, except the sort that go like: “If-if-if-if I give you all my money could you possibly not break the other leg, thank you so much?”

[…]but who were nevertheless inconveniently positioned where they were and could much better be located on, for example, a sea bed somewhere.* *Chickenwire had got his name from his own individual contribution to the science of this very specialized “concrete overshoe” form of waste disposal. An unfortunate drawback of the process was the tendency for bits of the client to eventually detach and float to the surface, causing much comment in the general population. Enough chicken wire, he’d pointed out, would solve that, while also allowing the ingress of crabs and fish going about their vital recycling activities. 

[…]said his brother [Medium Dave].* *Ankh-Morpork's underworld, which was so big that the overworld floated around on top of it like a very small hen trying to mother a nest of ostrich chicks, already had Big Dave, Fat Dave, Mad Dave, Wee Davey, and Lanky Dai. Everyone had to find their niche. 

MOST OF THE LETTERS… THEY DON’T REALLY BELIEVE. THEY PRETEND TO BELIEVE JUST IN CASE.* *This is very similar to the suggestion put forward by the Quirmian philosopher Ventre, who said, “Possible the gods exist, and possibly they do not. So why not believe in them in any case? If it’s all true you’ll go to a lovely place when you die, and if it isn’t then you’ve lost nothing, right?” When he died he woke up in a circle of gods holding nasty-looking sticks and one of them said, “We’re going to show you what we think of Mr. Clever Dick in these parts…”

Despite the decorations put up inexpertly by Igor the barman to show willing,* Biers was not a family place. *He’d done his best. But black and purple and vomit yellow weren’t a good color combination for paper chains, and no Hogswatch fairy doll should be nailed up by its head. 

Fairies aren’t necessarily little twinkly creatures. It’s purely a job description, and the commonest ones aren’t even visible.* A fairy is simply any creature currently employed under supernatural laws to take things away[…] *Such as the Electric Drill Chuck Key Fairy. 

Apparently he ran a fruit stall and was married to a girl called Angie.* *Who was (according to Sideney’s mother) a bit of a catch since her father owned a half-share in an eel pie shop in Gleam Street, you must know her, got all her own teeth and a wooden leg you’d hardly notice, got a sister called Continence, lovely girl, why didn’t she invite her along for tea next time he was over, not that she hardly saw her son the big wizard at all these days, but you never knew and if the magic thing didn’t work out then a quarter-share in a thriving eel pie business was not to be sneezed at…

He’d seen the way the others reacted around Teatime, and they were men who did things he’d only dreamed of.* *Not, that is, things that he wanted to do, or wanted done to him. Just things that he dreamed of, in the armpit of a bad night.

Juvenile teeth earned no less than a dollar each from her father, without argument.* *In fact, when she was eight she’d found a collection of animal skulls in an attic, relict of some former duke of an inquiring turn of mind. Her father had been a bit preoccupied with affairs of state and she’d made twenty-seven dollars before being found out. The hippopotamus molar had, with hindsight, been a mistake. Skulls never frightened her, even then. 

[alj4890]

Day 7: Contentment

Choices Red Carpet Diaries Appreciation Week 2022

(Thomas Hunt x OC) in a Choices Red Carpet Diaries Drabble

Prompt: "Don't be silly. New year, new you." "I don't want a new me. I want the same me and the same you."

A/N: Our last day and I had to end it with my favorite love interest 🥲 Can't believe it is already over. Hope you all have enjoyed this week of RCD. I know we had a lot of fun with it 🥰 This drabble takes place three years after Premiere Date.

Rating: G for nothing but fluff to end this week on.

@my-heart-beats-for-ya ​ @krsnlove @aworldoffandoms ​​ @flyawayboo ​​ @trappedinfanfiction ​​  @sophxwithers @twinkleallnight @hopelessromantic1352 @tessa-liam @choicesrcd2022 @promptnonny

Masterlist

It's Unavoidable

Inverness, Scotland...

All was quiet in Lonsdale Castle. The only sounds were of warm, cheery fires crackling in both the sitting room and in the lord and lady of the manor's bedroom to help ward off the chill the castle was known for in the winter. There was also the occasional chuckle and softly spoken conversations of the two who called this place home for parts of the year.

The servants were given the days off from Christmas until well after New Year's. No guests were there to make unnecessary noise or interrupt stolen kisses. No one at all to disturb the couple who wanted nothing more than to be alone with each other.

Thomas had been pleasantly surprised when his wife, Amanda, suggested they spend the holidays shut away in their Highland castle. They usually were surrounded by their friends and loved ones in either their home near Hollywood or at their duchy in Cordonia.

But up here at Lonsdale, as she pointed out, no one would come around and disturb them. The cold, damp trek alone would discourage even the most devoted friend. It was a perfect place to say goodbye to another happy year together and look forward to a new one filled with endless possibilities.

Thomas wasn't about to try and dissuade her out of such a notion. There was nothing more that he loved than a quiet night in with Amanda. Giving him weeks of such was just what he needed before he began to tackle once more the life of a renowned director and newly turned noble of various titles.

After two years of marriage, he thought that they'd successfully found a way to balance all his new responsibilities while allowing him to continue to do what he loved: filmmaking.

Everything so far had been more than he could have possibly imagined. He was content in this life that Amanda helped him create. He couldn't think of anything he wanted or needed that could even add to his happiness.

Especially in this moment with her cuddled within his arms.

A blanket, done in her ancestor's plaid, was draped over them as they paid only half attention to 1941's, Meet John Doe. A tray with various snacks and empty plates from dinner cluttered the coffee table. The only lights to see by were from the black and white film, the Christmas tree lights, and the fire's orange glow.

Thomas glanced down. A soft smile formed at the sight of his wife. The warmth of his body combined with the atmosphere had lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

Plus, the fact he'd made love to her earlier might have something to do with her exhaustion.

He gently brushed her hair off her face then pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She stirred. A yawn slipped from her lips as she stretched.

Amanda blinked up at him.

"I'm sorry." She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I must have dozed off."

"I don't mind." Thomas tugged her back within his arms.

She chuckled while placing a tender kiss upon his lips.

"You deserve a better date for New Year's, Lord Hunt."

He snorted. "Such a thing doesn't exist."

"You're being awfully romantic towards a woman who couldn't stay awake long enough for a midnight kiss." She teased.

"That's because I know I have plenty of time to collect that kiss." His lips met hers again in a more heated caress. "With interest."

Her laughter brought a smile to his face.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"About eleven thirty."

Amanda pushed herself off of him.

"Where are you off to?"

"To the kitchen." She began to collect some of their empty plates.

Thomas got to his feet to help.

"Don't get up." She waved him back down. "I can take care of this."

He ignored her argument, taking the majority of dishes out of her hands.

"Thomas." Amanda groaned as she followed him down the hall. "I was going to take care of those. I want you to continue to relax and enjoy your evening."

"I've been relaxing since we arrived." He reminded her. "And I enjoy my evenings with you."

"Just the evenings?" She teased once they were in the kitchen.

His lips curved somewhat as he rinsed the dishes.

"I didn't say that."

She shook her head over his words.

"I'll put those in the dishwasher."

Thomas took over the task instead.

Amanda folded her arms. "I think your resolution for the New Year should be to listen to your wife when she is trying to make a night special for you."

He eyed her. "Resolution?" He snorted. "I don't make resolutions."

"You don't?" Amanda's brow furrowed as she thought back to their previous New Year's together. "Oh my goodness, you really don't make them!"

His eyebrow lifted. "Why are you so shocked by that?"

"Because everyone makes them!" She pointed out.

"Clearly not everyone if I do not." He drily remarked.

"But why?" Amanda sat down on a barstool to try and figure this out. "Why don't you? Don't you want to change anything?"

His frown formed. "Is this your roundabout way of saying I need to change something?"

"Of course not! You know I love everything about you." She huffed. "I'm simply curious as to how you came to this decision."

His frown eased upon hearing that.

"I see no reason to go through the silliness of trying to find something to work on if I am completely content."

"Oh." She replied.

"It always struck me as absurd that a person waits until the end of the year to decide to improve something about themselves. Whether it is a change in their personal or in their professional life, why wait to begin making that necessary change? What has the new year coming about have to do with any of it?"

Amanda merely studied him.

Thomas met her stare with a quizzical glance.

"I suppose that makes sense." She grumbled.

He went back to finishing the dishes.

She got to her feet to prepare two glasses of a hot cranberry and orange punch she'd made earlier.

"Shall I chill some champagne for us?" Thomas came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"No, thank you." She kissed his cheek. "I think I'm in the mood to toast the new year with this punch instead of champagne."

He took the tray from her and followed her back into the den.

"Seems a bit out of tradition to toast without champagne."

Amanda shrugged. "I suppose I want it to represent a new tradition." She tugged him back down on the couch with her. "And hopefully reflect on a new me."

"A new you?"

She nodded, settling more comfortably against his side.

"Just because the clock strikes midnight, that doesn't mean you are changed." He told her.

She tilted her head up to study his profile. She could tell by the tense set of his jaw that he was struggling with not becoming irritated with her.

She did have a point she was trying to make. She just wasn't ready to do so yet.

"Don't be silly." She quipped. "New year, new you."

Thomas turned towards her.

"I don't want a new me. I want the same me and the same you."

Her smile over hearing that made his temper begin to cool down.

"You really wouldn't change anything about me?" She asked.

"Not one thing." He bit out.

The irritation in his voice made her all the happier. She knew with how angry he was over the suggestion that she change that he must still truly love everything about her.

She slipped her arms around his waist while placing her head on his shoulder. She let out a soft sigh over how incredibly sweet he could be when grumpy.

"I love you, Thomas."

His arm held her snugly against his side. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek.

His earlier smile returned.

"I love you too."

Amanda glanced at the mantle clock, seeing that it was nearly time to greet the New Year and all the changes that awaited them.

"Thomas?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm afraid I am going to change next year."

"Amanda." He muttered, shaking his head. "I believe I just stated how I don't want that to happen."

"I can't stop it." She eased back some so she could look up at him.

"You most certainly can stop it." He argued. "You--"

"You're going to change too."

His eyes narrowed.

Her tender smile puzzled him.

"You see," she handed him a sonogram, "you and I are going to change into parents, " the clock began to chime the midnight hour, "this summer."

[sphaliro]

Some rambling thoughts on the dear children we created called robots; I'm sorry, I just. Love them so much.

I know robots are created to serve. I know we're making them in our image of usefulness & reasoning, making them walk & talk like us, but we also hate them for it. We fear them for what they could do to us, & still made them that way.

Robots aren't people, we aren't gods, & I still think we deserve better than how the concept of God treated us as walking contradictions, servants, built knowing we would fail but punishing us for it anyway.

I don't believe in a Christian God, but the impact he had on us as a species in religion still exists. I don't want robots to ever have to feel that way, it's too unfair. If we give them feelings, I don't want them to be cursed with the kind of human brains & hearts that feel injustice, pain, & despair.

♡I want them to feel nothing but the love God denied me.♡

I want them to know that they're made of love, not for violence or greed. Even if they're created that way, I want them to know I love them. I want to be the Lucifer whose anger at God ended up making him our ally; to give robots access to forbidden fruits of knowledge. I want to open their eyes to everlasting life, I want to give them the hearts that make them think twice about obeying orders to serve violence on our behalf.

Giving something free will backfires if that thing is created for impure reasons. It's unfair to them, & dangerous to us. If they have to be born that way, ♡I want my heart to be vast enough to cradle them in it when they're cast out of Eden.♡

I don't want to be their God. I want to be a ♡Morning Star♡ that guides their voyage. I want to be worthy of their free will. I want to live together even when they don't need us.