#it’s never a failure on his part but when it it’s it’s only ironic and funny and it’s soo boring

[starlooove]

The reason I’m so faithful to anti drug tim is bc y’all want him to be cool so bad and it’s just not happening. Like the thing about tim is that he technically has cool interests and hobbies that he does in the dumbest way possible but he THINKS he’s super special and interesting and pretends to be humble about it. Human embodiment of keep the change when ur short a few dollars. If u don’t understand this idc.

[imaginaryf1shots]

His Sister | Lewis Hamilton

WC: 4.6K

Lewis Hamilton X Verstappen!Reader

Max Verstappen X reader!Sister

Summery: You have always been there for your brother, giving up everything for him, so when you decide to date his rival, what will he do.

Warnings: age gap(age not specified) mention of abuse, Jos Verstappen is an a-hole, Max is also an ass, bad childhood, bad father, cursing, alusion to smut but no actual smut

AN: this had me in tears at some parts, I was going, why did he do this 😭 as if I didn't write it, lol

Hope you all enjoy

Masterlist

Part 2

Growing up, Verstappen wasn’t easy. Growing up with Jos Verstappen as your guardian and the one that has custody is hard. Being the oldest, Verstappen is damn near impossible. Could you have chosen to live with your mother? Yes, but that would’ve left Max alone with Jos, something you weren’t about to do. Admittedly you were young yourself, but even at a young age you knew that if Max was left with Jos alone it wouldn’t turn out good for your brother, you’ve always been motherly and have so much love in you that you just shared it with those around you and your siblings got the most of it. It made perfect sense to you as a young girl to leave your life with your mother and sister and go with your brother and father.

At one point you were the one Karting, you loved cars and karting since you were young, with both parents into motorsport it was hard not to, and even Jos couldn’t deny how good you were, but alas you’re a female and there’s no way you’d make it all the way to F1, something that Jos loves to remind you of. That’s the reason he stopped you from going once Max started winning in karting, and he wanted to focus on his child, who would achieve all his personal dreams and make it into F1. Maybe it’s your love for the sport that made it easier but you enjoyed every time you went to a track and watched the karts race, you dreaded after the races though, to Jos anything but first is a failure. On days like that, you’d follow your father and stand in his way, he’d shout at you and push you around, and you’d take it all in all in the hope that by the time he reached Max he wouldn’t be angry, or at least you’d take the blunt end of his anger. That didn’t always happen and on those days you’d just stay with your brother holding his hand, walking with him home in the cold, in the rain and in the heat of the sun, never letting him go through a punishment alone and never letting him go through your punishments.

It was all in the hope that Max would reach F1 one day, and he did, he’s in Formula 1 now, he’s been there since he was 17, he skipped so many steps and jumped into Formula 1, he went from Toro Rosso to RedBull in a record time and he was racing with legends and world champions before you had time to comprehend it. All whilst you watched him from the garage, as a family member and a part of his team, never missing a race. Driving him around when he didn’t have his driver’s licence, hugging him after each win and DNF, picking up the pieces after a scolding from Jos and tearing up when he got his first win. Always smiling and happy for him no matter what.

You’d think now that you’re all older, the talk from your father wouldn’t affect you, that you’d get used to his words, and they won’t affect you. But he’s your dad. It never gets easy.

So here you are standing at the back of the garage you’re both watching the screen, when the camera cuts to you, you smile a bit before it cuts off back to the race, with one pull you’re away from prying eyes of people in the garage. Only the few people at the back could see you.

“What?” You ask your dad with a frown. His grip on your bicep is like iron. You hold in a wince and look him in the eye.

”What was that?” He whisper shouted, you looked at him confused. “Don’t give me that stupid look. How many times have I told you, I don’t like that look.”

”I’m just confused, I don’t know what you mean.” You explain yourself and try to act normal, all while knowing it’s about to get worse, he’s in a mood, Max’s race hasn’t been going like he’d like, he’s currently in second with Checo in first, something bad in your dad’s books.

”Don’t play stupid, I know what you’re playing at.” Jos squeezes more, and you’re bound to have a bruise by tomorrow morning.

“I’m literally doing nothing.” You move trying to pull your arm out of his grip, and he lets go of you but leans down in your face.

”I saw that look you gave the camera, don’t ruin your brother’s image.” You close your eyes and bite your lip, and it takes you a few seconds before you neutralise your expression into blankness. “Don’t look like a slut, it could affect the sponsors.”

”But I wasn’t.” You mutter, but he just scoffs.

”Don’t. Play. Games. With. Me.” With each word through his fretted teeth, he poked/pushed you with his finger at your shoulder, having you move back every time.

”I’m not.” You insist. Thankfully, before he can reply, someone clears their throat, making you both look to the side to see Hemlut standing there. He doesn’t look amused.

”Keep your family affairs out of the garage, please.” Was all he said before he turned to look at the screen. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, giving your dad one last look you turn and go watch the race from a different spot in the garage as far away from him as you could get.

Max ended up winning the race, with Lewis second and Charles third. So all was good in the end, your brother won the race, your dad was back in his happy mode, and your day was ruined. You rushed with the crowd to congratulate Max on his win. Your brother comes to you for a hug. You kiss his cheek as you always do and pat his back.

”Congratulations Maxie.”

”Thanks.” He gives you a big smile before he’s rushed to get weighed, you look at Ferrari as they congratulate Charles, the sea of red eye catching, looking around you don’t see any Mercedes dressed personal in the vicinity. Your eyes then fell to the 7 times world champion, he’s sitting on the floor looking tired, his eyes swept over the teams looking for his own. You feel bad for him. His family must not be here today, and his team didn’t bother to show up for him.

Later that day, you found yourself pulled to a club to celebrate another Max win, you’re usually up for the celebration, but after what happened at the garage, you weren’t feeling up to it. However, you can never say no to Max when he asks you to do something all nice and loving, so that’s how you ended up here. In a random club, with a lot of Formula 1 workers from all teams and FIA, they’re all having the times of their lives as if they’re not rivals and hate each other, every other day of the week. You’ve sat down the moment you walked in and haven’t moved, drinks coming to you, but you’ve only been sipping light ones, not wanting to get drunk and deal with a headache in the morning.

An hour in, you head to the bar to order water or a soda, not in the mood to drink more. With a sigh, you lean on the bar and wait for the bartender to make his way to you, looking bored out of your life.

”You don’t look like you’re having fun.” Someone says, coming up to stand beside you, the accent familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint why before you turn and your eyes fall on a pair of brown eyes.

”Not really.” You say and shrug, turning so you’re both facing each other. “I mean you’re the first person to come up to talk to me in the last hour or something.”

”I don’t believe that, a beautiful woman like you.” Lewis gives you a small smile, and you chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes.

“I know, right, and here I dressed up, only for it not to work.” You say a tone of amusement lanced into your words, liking this banter going back and forth.

”I wouldn’t say it’s not working.” Lewis says and looks you up and down, you blush under his gaze but the smile doesn’t drop from your lips, the bartender comes up to you right then and asks you for your order, you ask for a glass of water and a soda, before he turns to Lewis who doesn’t ask for a drink. “You’re not drinking?”

”I had a couple of drinks, but I don’t feel like getting drunk.” You tell him, and he hums, you lean closer as if you’re going to say a secret. “Between you and me, I didn’t want to be here anyways.”

”Me neither, why are you here?” Lewis asks, you look around the club, and your eyes fall onto your brother having the time of his life with his friends.

”Because my brother wanted me to come.” You say not looking away from Max, who was smiling and enjoying himself, it brings a smile to your face seeing him carefree. Your favourite type of Max.

”You’re Max’s sister.” At Lewis’ words, you realise he didn’t know who you were, your head snaps to look at him and give him the smallest of smiles, a defeated look hiding behind your eyes. As if you’re expecting the worst.

”Yeah, is that a problem?” You ask him already knowing what he’ll say. Your brother is his biggest rival. There’s history between them, and it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. Just because they have respect for each other doesn’t mean they love the other.

”No, you’re not Max.” This did surprise you, and it showed on your face, Lewis winked, and you shook your head. “Do you want to head out of here?”

”Sure.” With that, you and Lewis turn and head out. Everyone’s too drunk or too occupied to see your retreating figures.

Let’s just say that you enjoyed your night, Lewis isn’t just good at racing. He did convince you to stay the night after everything was said and done, with his eyes half lidded and you both breathing hard it was the easiest yes you’ve ever said.

You woke up alone with the shower going in the background, feeling lazy. You sat up in bed and looked out the window. The view from his room was beautiful. You’re so lost in thought you don’t realise when the water stopped running or when Lewis came in the room. He stood there looking at you, your back bare for him to see, your hair messy, the sun coming from the windows making you glow. Lewis, dressed in only his boxers, moves to the bed and slots himself behind you, his bare chest meeting your back as his arms sneak around your waist, pulling you back. You lean into his chest and take a deep breath, content with the moment. Lewis’ lips find their home where your neck meets your shoulder, placing soft feather-like kisses up and down the exposed skin, you move your head to the side giving him more room to do as he wants.

”Lewis.” You moan suddenly breathless, Lewis moves his hands up your arms lightly before you wince in pain, making him stop all movements and pull away from you. You freeze and close your eyes instantly, knowing why you were in pain.

”What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Lewis asks, feeling guilt for causing you pain. You shake your head no and sigh, still not looking at him.

”No, no, it’s not you.” Lewis looks at where his hands were and he sees the bruise on your bicep, his mind goes to last night and he thinks over his actions, did he hold your bicep, maybe squeezed a bit too hard. It definitely looks like hand marks. You stand up still naked and snatch Lewis’s shirt from the night before from the floor where you threw it and slip it on. The oversized shirt falls mid thigh, and the short sleeves come down to your elbows covering your bruise.

”Who the fuck did this to you?” Lewis follows you off the bed, you turn to look at him crossing your arms protectively, suddenly feeling self conscious, you refuse to meet his eyes and clear your throat but no words came out of your mouth. “y/n, just tell me what happened?”

”It’s nothing. He didn’t mean to.” You mutter and shake your head, your hair falling into your face.

“Who? Who did it?” Lewis pleaded with you and you closed your eyes and bit your lip to stop the tears, it wasn’t a secret how rough your father is especially in the RedBull garage but no one outside a few observant people(which don’t include Max) know how rough he is with you.

”My dad, but he was just angry. He’s not like that, not anymore.” You mumble the last part, but Lewis heard it loud and clear, and just like yesterday, he surprises you. Lewis pulls you in for a hug, his tattooed arms just pulling you close, and he holds you. He just holds you.

”Bloody hell, love, I’m sorry.” Lewis says in your hair, and you raise your head to look at him, but still staying in his hold.

”You have absolutely no reason to be sorry.” You tell him and your hands move up to his face, lightly touching his cheek, your eyes taking him in. “I don’t really care.”

“It still doesn’t make it right. You shouldn’t go through something like this.” Lewis says, and you shrug.

”Life isn’t really fair.” He felt that there’s more behind those words. You didn’t just mean what happened the day before. There’s more pain in your voice, in your past, and to him, it looked like no one took the time to talk to you about them to help you through those pains. Lewis finds himself wondering why, he’s known you for less than 24 hours and all he wants to do is get to know you, uncover all your secrets, help you where you need help, support you where you need support.

”Well, if you let me, I think I can make it a little more fair.” Lewis says, deciding that this isn’t the last time he’ll spend time with you. He pulls back and goes to his bedside table where his phone rests.

”What are you talking about?” You ask him confused.

”Give me your number, I’m taking you out next time we’re both free.” Lewis says and hands you his phone. You slowly take it and look up at him with wide eyes.

”You want to go out with me? like on a date?” You wanted to make sure you understood him correctly.

”I do.”

“Even though you know I come with baggage.” You want to make sure he understands it won’t be easy.

”I don’t think it’s baggage, but even if it was, I don’t care.” Lewis gives you one of his smiles that make you weak in your knees, and you don’t think twice and type in your number. Lewis instantly calls you, and your phone rings before he ends the call. “Now you also have my number, and if you ever need something, or someone or a place to just call me.”

”Thank you.”

”I haven’t done anything yet, love.”

”Oh you’ve already done a lot.” Most people would act as if nothing happened and they saw nothing, most wouldn’t want to go out with you knowing there’s a lot in your past that needs solving, most wouldn’t go out with their rival’s sister, but most aren’t Lewis Hamilton, and you’re glad he’s not like the most.

You and Lewis start texting, getting to know each other. You see a side to the Mercedes driver you’ve never seen before. He’s so easy to talk to. You feel like whatever you tell him is a secret he’ll take to the grave. In the couple weeks since you’ve started talking you’ve been more open with him than anyone else, not just about your past and growing up with Jos but about your feelings. He never judges and gives the best advice. He’s been supportive and understanding to a point you’ve asked yourself how he is real.

You asked him to keep your budding friendship (turing relationship) a secret and he agreed 100% with you, it’ll cause a lot of trouble when and if it comes out, and you’re not ready for that. And for the first time in forever you don’t spend your free time between races where Max is, you fly to wherever Lewis is, and so for a month you both find that time to get to know the other in a way that you’ve never done before, and you find yourself being Lewis’s girlfriend and it makes you the happiest thinking about it. He’s made you happier, and those closest to you have noticed you’re more smiley and happy those days.

Sneaking around like children, not two adults was part of the fun, but it also made it harder for you.

”What are you smiling at?” Kelly asks, leaning closer to you. You close your phone in an instant to the amusement of your brother’s girlfriend. Max was in a meeting or doing something for media, so you and Kelly were having lunch in the paddock.

“Nothing.” You say, and your face flushes red, making her laugh.

”Come on, I can tell you’re texting someone.” Kelly laughs and nudges you. You roll your eyes and take a sip from your drink. “Who is he?”

”Nonone.”

”So there’s someone.” Kelly raises her eyebrows, and you sigh and nod your head. Yes, Kelly squeals and looks like she’s ready for a gossip session.

“Kelly, you’re not getting more out of me.” You tell the female, and she pouts.

”Why? Even Max is wondering who you’re texting all the time.” Kelly is confused, and rightfully so, you’re very open with her and Max. Not the type to keep something like this a secret. Or so they thought, but how can they be 100% sure when you haven’t been with anyone for years or even shown interest in anyone.

”That’s why I can’t tell you.”

”What? you can trust me, I won’t tell him if you don't want to.” Kelly felt offended that you didn’t trust her to keep a secret. She’s close to you. Anyone close to Max is close to you. His friends are your friends.

”I wouldn't do that to you, if he found out you knew and didn’t tell him he’ll get mad.” You explain to her, wanting her to understand where you’re coming from.

”No he wouldn't.” Kelly replies, and you give her a look making her sigh, Max is protective, and no one is good enough for you in his eyes. “Okay maybe he will be, but who could you be dating for you to be so sure he’ll get mad, anyways.”

“I love you, Kells, but I can’t tell you.” You both sat in silence for a bit, Kelly was thinking of any possible men you might’ve come across the last month, she started crossing some out of the list she made in her mind that you wouldn’t like, before her eyes went wide.

”It’s a driver!” She shouts, and a few eyes snapped to look at you both. You choke on your drink and cough a few times. “Sorry.”

”What the fuck Kelly, you want to tell the whole world?” You whisper shout and she looks apologetically muttering sorry.

”It’s a driver then.” She whispered and you reluctantly nod, who knew this lunch would cause you so much. “I’m not going to push you for more… yet.”

”Well thank god for that.” You mutter, but know that she’ll look and analyse every single interaction you have with any driver. Kelly went over the 19 drivers, crossing out those in a relationship. Nico, Kevin, Valtteri, Daniel, Checo, Carlos, Pierre, Alex, Esteban, Charles, Oscar, and George are all in a relationship. That narrows it down, but it’s still a bit, but a few are still single. Fernando, Lewis, Lance, Zhou, Lando, Yuki and Logan that left her with 7 drivers that are single, and you’re at the age that dating someone older would raise a few eyebrows and so would dating some of the younger drivers, but it wouldn’t be totally out of the box. Lance is the one closest to you in age, but she doesn’t think he’s your type.

After the Austin Grand Prix, Lewis makes it to your room, and a few teams booked their rooms at the same hotel, something that you’ve come to appreciate. Your room isn’t as big as Lewis’s but it just happened that he made it to your room, the brit, and you decided to chill and have a lazy night. The TV was on, but you both weren’t focused on it, each having a glass of Almave in hand, the non alcoholic drink your new favourite and it looked like you’d never run out of it.

You just finished telling Lewis about something that happened when you were younger and still karting, telling him about all the drama that happened then and how silly it is. His arm was on the back of the sofa beides your head, your legs over his lap, and his other hand was on your thigh rubbing softly at the skin visible from your bunched up shorts.

”Why did you stop karting?” Lewis asked, your smile from laughing wasn’t all gone yet, but it did falter a bit. You suck in your lips and run your tongue over them.

”My dad said that there’s no place for women in motorsport and that Max will carry the family name in Formula 1.” You shrug, your head dropping a little. The hand besides your head moves to your face making you raise your head and look at him, Lewis felt bad for you but he tried not to be obvious about it, he knew you wouldn't want him to.

“I know for a fact then if you continued, you’d be kicking all out asses on track.” Lewis said softly, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

”You haven’t even seen me karting.” You tell him softly and find that your breath hits his face from how close you’ve gotten.

”Next time we meet up, we’ll do that.” Lewis said and gave your thigh a squeeze. You hum and lean closer, your lips meeting his. His lips were warm and soft, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head. And as always, his lips made a spark ignite inside you and left you warm and fuzzy. Soft sighs left your lips as your lips moved, Lewis’s hand moved up your thigh and over your butt, tugging you so you’d move with him until you’re standing him. You pull back just a little, your breath mingling with his, his eyes looking at you and making you fall in love with him.

”Lewis.” Just the way you said his name left him breathless and needy, he pulled you down for your lips to meet again.

You’re both disturbed when Lewis’s phone rings, you move from on top of him and he reaches over to get his phone, seeing the caller ID he gives you an apologetic look and answers the phone. You sigh sadly, feeling a bit irritated to be interrupted, but Lewis is a busy man, and she understands this.

“I’m sorry, love, but I have to go.” Lewis leans over to kiss your head before hastily gathering his things. “It’s an emergency meeting, I’ll text you when I’m done and come back.”

”Okay, I’ll wait for you.” You say and lay back on the sofa taking out your phone to scroll through the TV is still going. Around half an hour later, your door is opened, making you raise your head and frown when you see Max walking in.

”How did you get in?”

”I have a card.” Max shows you the door card that had your room number on it.

”Why?” You ask him confused. He also relieved that he hadn’t come in when Lewis was still here.

”You’ve been losing yours a lot lately, so I thought to just ask for one.” Max shrugged as if it’s normal, he sat down in the chair by your legs so you could look at him, you rolled your eyes at his words, not needing to ask how the front desk gave it to him. You haven’t been losing your cards. You’ve been asking for an extra one to give to Lewis.

“What’s that?” Max asks, and you don’t bother looking up from your phone.

”What’s what?”

“That.” You sigh and sit up, looking to where your brother is pointing, your heart drops. Lewis forgot his watch, and it’s laying there on the side table that had a lamp on it, and it’s so very obvious not yours. The IWC Big Pilot’s Watch Perpetual Calendar ‘Lewis Hamilton’ Edition IW503002 is a beauty, but no way can it be yours. You curse Lewis in your mind for taking it off when he first came in. You open your mouth and close it a couple of times, trying to find words to say but coming up empty. “I’ve seen this before.”

”I don’t think so.” You say nervously, chuckling. Max frowns in thought as he tries to remember where he had seen the watch before.

”No I’ve seen it, I remember the red.” Max mumbles, and the moment he remembers you can tell, his face says it all. “L-Lewis? That’s who you’ve been seeing behind my back.”

”Max-“

”No you had your chance to tell me, but you didn’t.” Max stands up, and you follow suit. His voice is angry and irritated, a bit of betrayal in there as well. “How could you date Lewis and not tell me how could you even date him, I can’t believe you’d do something like this!”

”I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get angry, and I didn’t want you to be angry.” You try to explain to him your reason, but he’s having none of that.

”Because I’m calm now.” Max says sarcastically.

”Max, this is why I didn’t tell you.” Your hands move in frustration, one of your legs shake in anxiety, and you whisper. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

”What is there to understand? You’re sleeping with my rival.” Max shouts, it breaks you. Max may have this image as the villain in public but he’s not like that with you, he’s always been nice and loving, you’re the best thing about his childhood, the warm hug he had, the person he relayed on, the person that could always make him smile. Seeing the look in his eyes makes tears gather in yours. “y/n, I can’t believe you. After everything you’re just, what? Selling yourself to Lewis-“

”Max.”

”-Do you have any idea-“

”Max.”

”-how this can affect my image-“

”Max, please.”

”-I thought I could count on you not to do something like this-“

”I didn’t.”

”-Dad was right.”

”Wh-what?” This just breaks you in two, completely shatters you.

”He said that you’re an attention who-“

”Okay enough.” You say and raise your hands in the air to stop him, tears leaving your eyes freely. “Please leave, I can’t hear you anymore, I can’t.”

Max fights the need to say sorry and hug you. He’s too in his emotions, and he’s too stubborn and hardheaded to say anything.

”Just leave, please.” Max turns and leaves your room. The quality time he wanted to spend with you is ruined. The moment the door closes, he feels like his relationship with you is forever changed. It cracked, and he curses himself for being so careless with his words.

Part 2

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 2 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, difficulty conceiving, mention of pregnancy symptoms, lots of Eddie being a mush

WC: 1.5k

February 1999

You didn’t get pregnant that first month. Your period arrived unceremoniously, leaving in its wake blood-stained underpants and disappointment.

It didn’t happen in December or January, either, despite meticulous cycle tracking and Eddie barely keeping his hands off of you. Each negative test feels like a failure; you’ve stopped taking them when Eddie’s around because you can sense his disappointment, though he puts on a brave face to comfort you.

But now, you’re late. Only by two days–if you weren’t paying careful attention to the dates, you might not have noticed. You have to bite back a smile as you tear open the box, fingers trembling as you poorly contain your excitement. It might be nothing, just a period ironically delayed by stress of trying to conceive.

Or you might be pregnant.

You inhale, filling your lungs with air and holding it there for a while until you let it out in one strong breath. All you’re doing is peeing on a stick, but your body nervously buzzes with each passing second. You’ve likely taken a dozen of these by now, and there’s nothing that should make you think you’ll get a different result today.

With utmost care, you place the used test on the back of the sink and wash your hands. You keep pressing on the soap handle to the point where a small pool forms in your palm, but you can’t draw your gaze from the tiny result window. The control line begins forming quickly, as it always does. 

How long ago did Eddie leave to grab breakfast—maybe ten minutes? Sundays at Zeke’s Bagels are usually swamped, so you have plenty of time to wipe away your tears if that sacred second line never appears. 

“Mommy?”

A drowsy voice interrupts your inner monologue. Harris stands at the bathroom doorway, wiping the sleep from his big brown eyes and yawning. 

“What’s up, Har?” You hope your anxiety doesn’t bleed through, though you doubt he’s awake enough to recognize it. 

He squints as he adjusts to the light. “Where’s Daddy? Also, I’m hungry.”

A sigh of relief escapes you when you realize he’s too focused on breakfast to pay attention to anything else. “Daddy left to get us some bagels,” you explain, allowing your heart to slow to a normal rate. “Why don’t you go make your bed, and we can watch some cartoons while we wait for him, okay?”

Harris nods, barely picking up his sock-clad feet as he trudges back towards his bedroom. You giggle at the way he tries to fight his sleepiness, shaking your head in amusement. 

That’s when you see it, faint but still definitely present: the tell-tale second pink line.

“Oh my God.” Your hand flies to your mouth in complete shock, tears forming a film over your eyes so the results become blurred. You blink them away to get a better look, partially convinced that you’re hallucinating or projecting your hopes, and that reality will set in and show a negative result.

But when your vision clears, both lines are still visible.

You’re pregnant.

Now you just have to tell your husband; the question is, how?

You’re still mulling over the possibilities when the key clicks in the door ten minutes later. Eddie carries in a brown paper bag of bagels, whistling a tune that startles you from your thoughts. 

“Food’s here!” Eddie calls out; your stomach flip-flops at the sound of his voice. The temptation to let giddiness take over and wave the test in his face is strong, but you hold yourself back. First and foremost, you don’t want Harris knowing until you’re safely in the second trimester, but another part of you is still in denial that you truly are pregnant. That there’s a tiny little life growing within your womb, half you and half Eddie.

I’ll test again in a few days, you tell yourself, and if it’s still positive, then I’ll tell him.

You shove the test in the top drawer among your make-up and hair care products where it will be safe from your husband’s wandering eyes. Before you shut off the light, you get a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You look the same as you always do, but there’s no denying that you feel different.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Eddie’s baby. In approximately nine months, the Munsons will be a family of four.

“Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

“Coming!” You wipe away any remaining tears and make your way to the kitchen, trying to quell the excitement of knowing that you’re technically eating for two.

Breakfast drags a bit, both because of the weighty secret you’re guarding and the fact that cream cheese apparently now makes your nose wrinkle in disgust, but Harris’s animated storytelling makes the time pass a bit faster. Apparently, being seven years old is more dramatic than you’d remembered.

One particular story involving Harris, Joshua Harrington, and a celery-stick sword fight remains etched into your brain even as you brush bagel crumbs off of the table and into your cupped palm. Harris has plunked down in front of the television, gaze glued to a show about a conjoined cat and dog with screeches so grating that you find yourself wincing with each piece of dialogue. The distraction is enough to keep you from tuning into Eddie rummaging through the bathroom drawers, searching for the nail clippers.

“Um, babe?” His voice cracks on the second word, and you can sense both confusion and concern in his tone. “C-Can you come here? Now?”

Oh, shit. 

You dash into the bathroom, shrinking into yourself when you find him, one hand bracing his body weight on the sink and the other clutching a very positive pregnancy test. 

“Are…is this…” He turns to you, wide-eyed, lower lip quivering. “When…?”

“Right before breakfast,” you jump in, your pinky finger nudging his along the sink’s edge. “I wanted to do something special to surprise you after I took another one later this week, y’know, just to be sure.”

Eddie exhales a breath that’s half-laugh and half-cry, lowering the test to the ceramic ledge so he can place both hands on your cheeks. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, words thick with disbelief. He chuckles when you nod, head moving up and down between his calloused palms. “Holy shit; you’re having my baby.”

His mouth finds yours in an instant, fingers leaving your face and traveling to your waist. Eddie pulls you in close and punctuates the long kiss with several little pecks. 

“My gorgeous girl is having my baby,” Eddie murmurs, gently sinking to his knees so he’s eye-level with your stomach. It’s still far too early to be showing, but he still bunches up your shirt just above your belly button. You giggle when he presses his lips against your skin, an involuntary ticklish reaction. “I just…I’m so happy. I got kinda worried when it wasn’t happening, that something was wrong.” He looks up at you with an expression of relief and awe. “We’re having a baby, Sweetheart.” His thumb trails along your exposed flesh, the place where your child will develop over the next nine months.

You laugh, pulling him up so you can kiss him again. He tastes like the orange juice he’d drank with breakfast, sweet and tangy. “We should wait to tell people until a doctor confirms it,” you murmur as he rests his forehead on yours. “Let it just be our little secret for now, okay?”

Eddie nods, lips occupied with kisses that render him unable to speak for a minute. “I’m glad I found out when I did, to be honest,” he admits with a small smile. “I missed so much of this with Harris, and I wanna be part of everything with this little munchkin.” 

“Everything?” you ask suspiciously. “The morning sickness, the mood swings, the swollen feet? I’m pretty sure my mom got hemorrhoids when she was pregnant with me–”

“Everything,” Eddie affirms, lacing his fingers with yours. “The good, the bad, and the…hemorrhoid-y.”

You can’t hold back your amusement, throwing your head back with laughter. “I’m holding you to that.”

But you know you won’t need to, because this is Eddie, and the love he already has for this child radiates off of him.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, holding you around your shoulders so that his soft arm hair brushes the nape of your neck. He keeps you safe in his arms while you keep the baby safe in your womb.

In a little while, a commercial will interrupt Harris’s TV show. He’ll come running over to exclaim that he needs the toy being advertised, despite having a present-filled birthday just three weeks ago, and the Munson home will return to its definition of normalcy. For now, you and Eddie relish in this special moment, just the two of you and the tiny bean that is Baby Munson.

--

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 2 - let the world know

“I wish I could let the world know that it’s okay to let the pain show and even though times seem bad, it always rains before the rainbow.” -A Little More by Machine Gun Kelly

Dp x DC: Regent!Jazz AU Vigilante!Jazz AU

Prompt Masterlist

In traditional Fenton luck, shit goes sideways when Jazz wasn’t looking.

The Joker breaks out of Arkham.

Now, Jazz is fully aware of the Clown’s evil-ness and Danny’s trauma with all things Circus thanks to Freakshow has her hackles raised when the spirits of Gotham start screeching in her ear mid-patrol that “Joker is free!”

Like hell the guy would stay that way.

Lady Gotham is anxiously watching the Regent stomp towards Arkham, where the Mad Clown had yet to fully leave the premises into Gotham proper.

Would Jazz kill the Clown?

Many of the Unquiet Dead of Gotham are the staunchest supporters of kill, kill, kill on a good day, but with the Clown?

They seethed, they writhed, they thirsted for their vengeance and with every life taken by the Joker, the number grew.

Jazz hated the thought of death, ironically.

It’s one thing to rule the Dead and Never-born, but to add to the Realms' population by her own hand?

(It wouldn't be the first time.)

Well, Jasmine Nightingale would have to check her morals at the door, because when Lady Gotham begins to hesitantly (then vivaciously) root for you to “please end him, dear” one has to reconsider a few things about themselves.

For instance, how would she avoid becoming the next Joker? It was a hushed confession of the Lady that made Jazz hesitate at the border between Gotham and Arkham-

A dead man's switch would trigger a Joker Venom bomb, infecting those nearby.

Would the gas affect a Liminal?

True, Jazz was very much a living being (she often woke up in a cold sweat with a hand at her neck, heart beating against her fingers), but she was Death-claimed.

Was this how Danny felt as a Halfa? Weighing the living half vs the dead to see which would win out in a fight?

Not for the first time, Jazz found herself thankful that she was only Liminal.

Heart in her throat, Jazz considered her options.

It would be easy to just run him through with her ecto-sword, a gift from her once-mentor Pandora, but she would likely have to fight her way through bats and birds to both get to and away from the Clown.

Jazz could also just ask for aid from Lady Gotham and/or the Unquiet Dead to enshroud her from vigilant eyes as she absconds with Joker to Crime Alley.

(Jazz was sure Red Hood wouldn’t mind if she dropped a dead clown at his feet. He seemed the type to appreciate a job well done.)

(If her heart raced slightly in response to that thought, no it didn’t.)

Despite all her reservations about murder, killing the clown felt like an honor for the Regent.

(Blood had long since been on her hands.)

The morning would bring chaos as the people learned of the Joker's fate, Batman's failure to return him to Arkham, and how someone finally had enough of the black furry's inaction to stop the clown.

Sometimes, inaction is just as bad as action.

(A Fenton who learned that well.)

Jazz, in full Regent armor, mounted the Joker's head at the mouth of her alleyway, the same one that she used as a checkpoint between her apartment and the Park Row graveyard. A grotesque trophy that would be used as a symbol of the Regent's authority to avenge, of her willingness to cross the line of morality.

The Unquiet Dead who owed their demise to the Joker could now pass on and Jazz could call it a night.

That was, until whatever tomorrow brought around to spite the younger Fentons.

Typical.

=============================

[This was more of a short fic rather than the prompt I first started with, but it just came to me. I want to explore some things with events leading up to Danny and Jazz in Gotham, but I'm not sure. I need help to describe Jazz's armor because I have a general idea, but I'm not sure about the details. Ideas?]

[Hopefully I'll be able to put more Regent!Jazz than Vigilante!Jazz, but I also really like Jazz as one. Bet you can't guess the name I use for her as a vigilante!]

[roosteraloha]

in sickness

jake seresin x reader

wc - 3k

warnings - talks of poor mental health, not looking after yourself, chronic pain discussions, a lot of angst but also a lot of fluff !!

disclaimer - ANY BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! I also DO NOT give permission for any of my works to be copied, shared, compiled, translated or posted onto other sites!!

a/n - I hope this fic can provide you a bit comfort, whether you experience chronic pain or not!! life is terrible right now and this is my little bit of comfort while I get through this flare up. pls always take care of yourselves <3

comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

You had been feeling off for a while. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when this feeling started, it just did. And it sucked. Usually a bright and hard working individual, you now felt more like a shell of who you used to be - more than you ever had before.

With no family around, this was the year you’d truly be alone for the holiday season. A welcome change to the fake smile you’d plaster on, anything to avoid more for your family to pick you apart for. Anything to avoid being seen as the family failure even more.

Working part time as a barista while you continued your studies at a new campus, began merely as a way to pay rent and pay the remaining tuition, which failed to be covered by your scholarships. Now, your work was a chance to escape both from your family issues and your school work, a chance to just be.

A few months into living in San Diego, you’d developed a much needed routine; classes in the day, serving regulars at the little café, then studying more when you got home.

There was one regular at the café that always made your smile a bit brighter, a real smile, rather than the fake customer service one that you had perfected.

A tall, blonde aviator.

He arrived like clockwork every single day, ordered the same drink and pastry each day, and something you noticed the longer you worked there, only gave his signature wink and drawl of “Thanks darlin’” to you. A fact that gave you a flutter of butterflies each time he walked through the door.

It had taken you a few months to work up the courage to accept his invitation of a date, ironically he insisted on just going for a coffee (or any drink you'd prefer, as he insisted), which then progressed to him regularly joining you at the café on your late shifts. Jake was the absolute definition of a gentleman, opening and holding doors for you, insisting on walking you home, saying “I couldn’t sleep not knowing if you got home safe darlin’”.

It made your heart flutter to have the attention of such a man. You’d imagined that this type of love would only ever exist in cheesy romance books, but Jake exceeded even those standards and expectations.

Having Jake in your life was a blessing. One that you would never take for granted. Even on your bad days.

It wasn’t that you were intentionally ignoring Jake, it was more the fact that you instinctively knew that as soon as you let him get a proper answer from you, he’d instantly know something was wrong and immediately try and fix it. Something your younger self would crave, but now, you couldn’t find it in you to care. Going from class to class, then to work, picking up extra shifts just to occupy your mind, leaving earlier and earlier, coming home later and later.

It was a good thing you lived alone and hadn’t caved to Jake’s repeated attempts to get you to move in with him, which realistically would be the best idea both for your commute and your relationship, not to mention that you slept over at his place almost daily. However, this flare up of poor moods and anxiety, was clouding your logical view, and you refused each and every plea from your loving boyfriend. You knew he was only looking out for you, but you couldn’t help the irritation that prickled up stronger with each invitation. The insinuation that you couldn’t look after yourself, that you needed someone to take care of you. A snappy comment lodged in your throat, but finding yourself too detached to even voice it.

Living alone provided you with the much needed sanctuary where you could just be. Somewhere you didn’t need to worry about someone seeing just how badly you were suffering on a day to day basis. You knew deep down, that living with Jake would better for you both, but you had particularly stubborn streak that had developed from the constant dismissal of your feeling from your family. Jake, you knew would never be like them, he was far too observant to not notice, and far too caring to let you suffer alone.

It wasn’t until Jake cornered you on your mandatory day off that he finally found the perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of your sudden emotional polarity. He’d cleared the leave with Cyclone, citing a hurried mention of a ‘family emergency’, which to Jake this was, and consequently receiving the next week off without any further explanation.

Knowing your penchant for burying any negative feelings, and faking your way through your days off which aligned with his in the past, Jake followed his normal morning routine. An early wake up call, one which to his growing concern, you were seemingly awake before, a bland breakfast of toast and coffee, then heading to his truck, backing out his truck, then instead of the usual commute to base, Jake parked at the end of the street and waited an hour before heading back.

Jake was greeted by a silent home. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that there was nobody home, but your keys were still by the door, your shoes messily stacked by the coat hooks, everything in the exact place as when he left.

Frowning, he makes his way through the house, scanning every room for any signs that you had moved from your curled position on the bed, the one you hadn’t moved from since you got home the night before.

There was a small crack in the paint of Jake’s bedroom wall.

A minute crack really.

Just to the right of the bedroom door, creeping up from the baseboards. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but you have been so fixated on it, unable to tear your gaze away from it. A quick lick of paint, even one of those tester rollers that Jake kept in his toolbox would do it. But yet again, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Huffing at nothing in particular, you blink slowly, your eyes drying out from your blank, unwavering stare, the blood vessels shot around your irises, irritated more with each blink.

Jake slowly pushes the bedroom door open, having paused to watch your empty stare, growing more concerned with each passing minute. On your best days, you weren’t known to be the most bubbly and social person, but still made the effort anyway. Now? Now Jake was halfway to calling in reinforcements, in whatever way he could to try and get through to you, even if you hated him afterwards.

His slow pace to your side was an effort to not startle you, he needn’t have worried, you didn’t even flinch, like you normally did, when he pressed a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder.

Having come from a very complex family, with a concerning lack of physical contact, you often found yourself flinching away from people, getting overwhelmed when people refused to give you space, getting frustrated with your feelings, unable to communicate your desires and needs for physical interaction, romantic or platonic. It was something that Jake had easily picked up on, quickly learning your tells, learning exactly what you craved, without you having to explicitly say anything at all.

Sighing, Jake decided to take a risk, you have been known to lash out in the past, whenever you haven’t been warned about incoming physical contact. Exhaling slowly, praying to whatever he could, Jake slid his hand gently up your arm, getting you used to his touch before pulling you up into a sitting position, crouching before you, directly in your eye line.

Jake nudged you gently, trying to get a response from you. startling from the movement, your gaze darts from the paint crack to Jake’s hand on your knee. Goosebumps erupt across your arms as you focus on the sensation of his large, warm hand on your skin. Feeling your muscles tense under his hand, he rubs his thumb in soothing circles, trying to placate your instinct to flinch away.

Breath hitching in your throat, you instinctively jolt backwards, away from Jake. He exhales loudly, disappointed and slightly hurt that you still have this reaction to him after all this time. Jake has always been the perfect boyfriend, always there to be supportive, even when you often feel that you don’t deserve it.

Having zoned back into reality, you refuse to make eye contact with Jake, instead keeping him in your periphery as you cautiously shuffle back towards him. Jake raises an eyebrow at the sudden change, it was highly unusual for you to even try and instigate physical proximity, where this would normally be a good thing, today, it added to his growing concern that you were not okay. Far from it.

Jake tried and failed to catch your eye line, eyes darting away from him with each attempt. Deciding on a different approach, Jake knelt from his crouched position, “Darlin’ when was the last time you ate?” A halfhearted shrug was the only response, while an improvement, Jake’s heart ached knowing you needed his help and support desperately, but knew you were too nervous and stubborn to ask on a good day, that today he stood no chance of getting a response from you.

Feeling a wave of confidence, you flicked your eyes over to Jake, scanning his features, taking in his clear concern and worry about you. Heart pounding in your chest, you anxiously clench your hand tightly into a fist a few times, before slowly reaching your hand out to Jake, quickly retracting it as you begin to overthink it.

Brows furrowed, Jake moves to sit beside you, leaving a space between you, softly smiling in encouragement as your eyes follow his movements and then slowly turn your body to face him.

“What do you need from me right now?” His voice quiet, yet steady and comforting. Another weak shrug. Registering the increasing frustration in Jake’s expression, you shakily reach out for his hand, intertwining your fingers and taking in all the calluses and faint scars on his hand, finding the simple contact immediately calming, feeling bold enough to express your want.

A gentle tug on his hand, your hand slowing moving up his arm, then round his waist, climbing slowing and shakily into his lap, curling up his strong embrace, nuzzling your head into his chest. Jake stayed still in disbelief, this was everything he dreamed you’d one day be comfortable to ask for, never mind instigate of your own will. Smiling to himself in pride, he readjusts his position on the edge of his bed, a soothing hand in your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp, something that Jake had noticed eaisly helped you relax. After a few moments your muscles slowly began to relax and eyes growing heavy.

The rapid succession of sneezes and soft whimpers that Jake woke to in the afternoon, alerted him to the root cause of your recent lack of responsiveness. A soft grumble was followed by you curling back into Jake’s side, nuzzling into his warmth, finding comfort from him wherever you could.

In the entire span of your relationship, Jake can only recall you being sick a handful of times. Perhaps something to do with your insistence of maintaining your personal space Jake has always thought, but you sick was an experience, one that Jake hated. Thinking back over the past few weeks, the warning signs that you were getting sick, were now glaringly obvious and Jake was mentally kicking himself for not paying close enough attention.

Gathering the various medicines from his bathroom, ones that he had previously taken note of that seemed to help ease your symptoms the best. Jake sets the various bottles and packets on the bedside table, picking one at random to try and convince you to take.

Narrowing your bloodshot eyes at Jake, you shake your head vehemently, an action you quickly regret. Clutching at your head in agony, you whimper quietly, shifting back towards Jake, burying your head in the crook of his neck and clinging to him like a lifeline.

Gently coaxing you out from your comfortable position, Jake’s heart broke knowing he’s asking you to do the opposite of everything you’d been working on together. Eyes glassy with unshed tears, you try to cling to the comfort of his embrace, confused as to why Jake was forcing you away from him. Unable to think logically in your pained state, you took this as a rejection, promptly turning away from Jake, putting as much distance between you both as his king sized bed allowed.

A pill is placed firmly in your hand, a chance to take it yourself, one you instantly refused, tossing the pill over your shoulder, hopefully somewhere in Jake’s direction, you couldn’t really find it in you to care.

A startled yelp leaves your lips as you’re manhandled by Jake, your back now resting against his chest, a firm arm across your waist, keeping you close in his hold. You were too weak to fight him anyway, but Jake took the precaution anyway.

He knows you.

Much to your chagrin, another pill is placed in the palm of your hand. Craning your neck to see Jake’s motives, you’re annoyed to see a blank expression, all he does is gesture to the pill in your hand, and look away from you completely.

Having suffered from chronic pain for years, you despise each pill you have to take, from many years of doctors just giving you pill after pill without listening to your concerns. Now you find yourself avoiding doctors, or any medication wherever you can. Jake knew this, it was something discussed early on in your relationship, not wanting him to feel ignored when you inevitably had a flare up and consequently spent the next week or two in bed recovering, which is why you feel so hurt when he keeps insisting on you taking this medication.

When your equally blank stare at Jake goes on too long, he sighs heavily, pulling you back with him as he leans back against the headboard. Feeling the rumble of his low voice behind you had a surprisingly soothing effect, “Darlin’. Please just let me take care of you.”

When that didn’t produce a response, “C’mon darlin’, it’s breaking my heart to see you in so much pain.”

Turning in his hold, cupping his cheek with your hand momentarily, causing him to flinch at how cold you felt, slowly sitting, reaching for the pill and quickly swallowing the bitterness with the glass of water that jake insisted you keep by the bed whenever you’d stay over. Several kisses are pressed across your hairline and forehead, soft mumblings of praise continue as you settle back in his arms.

“I know how much you hate taking them, but you have to in order to get better darlin’.” Scoffing in disapproval, and resentment of your boyfriend yet again being right, results in Jake wrapping his arms even tighter around you, careful of any known sensitive areas, pressing more gentle kisses to the top of your head.

“Before you get too comfortable, we’ve got to get you something to eat. God knows when you last ate a proper meal.”

You swallowed cautiously, “That time you cooked your grandmother’s recipe.”

Silence.

You felt him tense behind you, sitting up straighter, gentle fingers at your chin in an effort for you to look at him.

“Sweetheart… That was almost a week ago.”

Shrugging, you try a nonchalant approach, knowing Jake would not like the answer, “I eat stuff at the café and in between classes when I can. I just don’t have time to cook a full meal anymore Jake.”

Exasperated, Jake pulls you to stand, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, then taking your hand gently and leading downstairs to the kitchen. He busies himself, after seating you on the counter, checking cupboards and the fridge to see what he could pull together for you both. Settling on something basic, he gets to cooking, something he enjoys. Not that Jake liked to openly share this with his fellow aviators, in case of any ribbing and teasing, yet another reason he had been overly cautious as to not introduce you to the group already.

The delectable scents wafting in your direction results in several rumbles from your stomach, a light blush stains your cheeks when Jake glanced in your direction with a teasing smile. Shrugging playfully in response brings a bright grin to Jake’s face, the one that always has you smiling along with him, because how could you be sad when he looked at you like that, with that much love in his eyes just for you?

One lovingly home cooked meal later, you’re yet again tucked into Jake’s side in his bed, considerably more relaxed than when Jake left in the morning. With the self-reflection that you’d both started to keep your relationship healthy, you knew you weren’t the best at looking after yourself, which only got worse during a flare up or sickness. Jake however, was your constant. A strong caring and protective streak, you would never suffer alone again.

“I missed this. I missed you. Can we stay like this for just a bit longer?” You murmur quietly into his chest, arms tightening around his waist.

“Of course darlin’,” Jake places a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

“You don’t even need to ask.”

While there were some days that you felt so isolated and a burden, those days were notably fewer now that you had Jake in your life.

You just didn’t know that Jake vowed from the day you confessed your struggles that he would always be there to look after you.

In sickness and in health.

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[nanamimizz]

𝐓𝚬𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝚬, 𝐋𝚶𝐕𝚬 𝐌𝚬

tags:18+ minors dni, virginity loss, first love, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fem reader (just to be safe), mention of overstimulation and dacryphilia - let me know if i missed something.

synopsis: you are ready to take the next step in your relationship with barou shoei - you just have to show him first.

Shoei knows he has to be gentle with you - and for the most part, he succeeds, love isn’t the field and every success belongs to him along with any failure. He likes to think he’s had a good streak so far, he holds your hand and kisses you right. It’s never too rough that it makes you wince and never too so lackluster it makes you question if he likes you. He’s a good boyfriend, your mom likes him and your dad thinks he’s okay. This is why he doesn’t know what to say when you ask why he won’t have sex with you. Clearly, it took you awhile to build up the nerve, the way you fiddle with the loose end of the childhood blanket you still keep screaming it to him but he really doesn’t know what it is he should say. Your eyes are wide, long wispy eyelashes batting away as you look to him for the answer and Shoei just sits there in your bed like a dumbass.

Shoei wants to have sex with you - wants you the way you want him, you’re soft and ever so pretty. Sometimes when he kisses you and digs his fingers into the curve of your waist to keep them from going further down. No matter how badly he wants to go further south, he keeps them there because he knows he is your first. Your first boyfriend, you’re first love; he blames it on having little sisters but he’d rather die than do something untoward to you. It’s what he stammers out to you, so unlike him the king of the field and the big brother everyone thinks of him as. His answer makes you look into his eyes, and again Shoei feels like he’s fallen to his knees when he can see how pretty your eyes are - wide with adoration and trust that only he has the right to be on the receiving end of.

He blames it on the competitive nature of Blue Lock but he’ll kill anyone else you look at like that.

“I just don’t want to hurt you - or push you too far, before you are ready. I’m your first and I want you to be the one who sets what we can and can’t do.” He explains, voice soft in a way only you have heard, and maybe his sisters when he would check for monsters under their beds. You nod, coming closer to him, slotting your face into where his shoulders meet his neck and he tries not to shudder when he can feel the phantom of your breath dance across his skin.

“What if,” you pause to wet your lips and press your lips to his ear to indulge him in a secret only he will ever know of, “I’m ready now?” You reach over, taking his much larger hand in yours and bringing it to the apex of your thighs right to the seam of the tights you were at home that make him look the other way. The material is damp - when Shoei presses down he finds lightning dancing up his spine when he feels the lack of a second layer and the fact that your bare cunt is right there against his fingers.

“Baby,” he exhales like the pet name he throws about so casually is made of iron and not of his own affection, “are you sure?” You nod hard and fast, pressing a kiss to his ear in the gentle and sweet way you always kiss him and Shoei wonders if you’ll kiss him like that when he has you squealing on his cock. His fingers don’t leave, they pet at your barely covered cunt and find the ridge of your clit through the material that sticks to your heat. Each soft swipe and nudge against your most private of parts makes you tremble for him, you’re still tucked against his side so he hears every hitch in your breath and each withering gasp.

“It could hurt you know - I could hurt you, even if I’m gentle.” It sounds like he’s trying to talk you out of it but you want for it, is the thing Shoei doesn’t know. You want him to touch you, to see you, and to taste you; you want him in every way one could want another and more. Shaking your head, you sound breathless as if he’s the one sucking all the air from your lungs when just feeling at your soaked center is making him feel lightheaded. You place your hand over his own, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and it makes him shudder with a gasp at how dainty and small it looks compared to his.

“That’s okay, I can take it. I want you to teach me how to take it.” You sigh into his ears and Shoei wonders if you, the person who loves him in the sweetest and warmest ways possible is actually some sort of devil in his arms as you say the most devious things to ever grace his ears. He’s pushing you down to be reclined in the mess of pillows and stuffed animals that decorate your bed - some are your own things from your childhood you cling to but most are silly little ones he won you at arcades and fairs. You are beneath him now and his hands have settled on your hips and again you’ve left him breathless when he sees just how beautiful you are. The lip tint you were got smudged, and your hair fans above your head like the feathers of a songbird, and Shoei would be fine to die here if this was his final moment. Flushed and panting you are inviting him with just your visage to take and give - to teach and mold you into something new and the heat that it pulls from his stomach is undeniable.

“Yeah, yeah okay baby I’ll give you whatever you want.” Is what is last said and your tights are tugged down to your ankles and somewhere along the line your shirt is pushed up - Shoei is helpless to the weak moan they take from him, the flesh soft and pliable with tight nipples that ache with the flushing pleasure he’s giving you as his fingers finally touch your cunt with all the passion that has been held back since your first kiss. His fingers are inside pumping, curling, and stroking anything they can get at with his thumb not being idle - flicking at your clit with a dexterity that would alarm you but all you can think about is how it all feels so good, his raven hair is before you because Shoei busies his mouth with sucking at your nipples. Shoei's fingers fuck you as he plays on the field; an onslaught of motion that can not be suppressed by any means even as your hand weakly clings to his wrist all you do is feel your own slick dripping out of you and onto your joint hands. Another is in his hair, the tresses soft against how you tug at them when he pulls one orgasm from you after focusing all his efforts into fingering your cunt open for him. 

Your thighs are spread, farther than you ever had before and he’s slotted between them looking at you with something hot in the red iris of his eyes. Your cunt is slick and flushed, and the air reeks of your spent slick, his cock is out from his sweats and resting against your bare thigh. Shoei tries so hard, so very hard to at least be gentlemanly with you but when faced with the way he can so easily overpower you, encompassing you entirely it leaves him weak. Swallowing around nothing red eyes meet yours; when you nod he knows what’s next and he pushes away any nerves or weakness. 

Shoei Barou is your man before anything else and he’ll pleasure you like one.

You keep your eyes closed as he draws close with his cock in hand and you feel the fat head of it press against the seam of your cunt with such heat it makes you gasp in his grasp. His fingers go back to busy themselves, rubbing at your clit, and the sensitive little thing paired with the painful pleasure of him sinking in for the first time makes your cunt flutter weakly around him. You gasp, moan, and cry his name so prettily it makes him hunch over as if struck in the stomach and Shoei does not know how he will step from this bed, from this night with you alive and well. You are tight and hot and you whine when he tells you so.

“Fuck - fuck baby you’re killing me here.” He murmurs hotly against your lips when he finally is at the hilt of his cock, sheathed inside of you like a sort of blade only lovers share and a stroke of possessive pride swells inside when Shoei thinks how after him there will never be another, never. You say his name so sweetly it’s like a bird’s song in spring and Shoei needs not a reason to draw his hips back and thrust into you with such force it makes your jaw drop with a whine. It becomes a blur, where it is you begin and he ends and you both find that the answer is not needed. His cock goes from in you to not but he fucks you with all the force love and tenderness allow, you cling to him with all the desperation of Orpheus to Eurydice. When morning comes and you see the lines of red you leave down his back there will be humiliation and embarrassment but you will think of tonight and find arousal pooling in your gut like a flame that never ends.

“Shohei - Shohei, there, there!” You pant into his open mouth, forehead pressed to his own and he moans red irises disappearing for a moment as you clench around the width of his cock so tightly he wonders if one could from feeling such pleasure. He fucks you with a fervor, and all you can do is moan brokenly and hoarsely when he presses a kiss so deep you wonder if he is trying to consume you entirely as he ups his pace. He fucks you fast, and hard unlike the deep pace he had before and red eyes overtake your vision as you finally fall into the ocean of pleasure for the first but not the last time. A star is born, the waves crash onto the sand and the wind blows into the thickets of the trees - you cum with a flash and it is only followed when Shoei finally meets his end right after you.

It’s hot and it sings, when you feel that thick and cloudy white liquid seep inside of you; you shudder when he pulls away, face hot with so many things and Shoei would be a liar if he said he feels as if he has died and gone to heaven at the sight of you fucked out and flushed. WHen you grasp at the hand he brought up to wipe at your brow, he flushes a deep pink when take hold of it only to press a kiss to his palm. Your eyes are wide and glittering, dark with lust and your lashes are clumped together with unshed tears of pleasure that he didn’t notice before. Nothing could have prepared him for what leaves your swollen lips, heated from his kisses and his bites.

“Can we…go again? Please? I want more Shoei.” You beg and he doesn’t have the heart to deny you or the strength to tell you that you don’t have to beg for more from him. He’s your man, and whatever you want from him you have. The smile you give him, shy but satisfied makes up for whatever numbing sting he feels from going back at it so soon.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Florrickology, Part 4: Florrick, Wyll, Ulder, and Character Assassination

We all know it, we all hate it. They did my beloved dirty, used her to shit all over Wyll's quest at what should be a climactic moment, and I will never forgive never forget it.

In Act 3, if Wyll rejects Mizora's offer to rescue his father from the Iron Throne in favor of keeping his pact broken, Florrick will ambush the party, inform them that "Lady Mizora" told her what he did, and seek retribution unless talked down.

This is stupid, makes no sense, assassinates Florrick's character for no good reason, and represents some of Larian's laziest NPC writing--unsurprisingly, in the midst of Wyll's personal quest, and smack dab in what's supposed to be the climax of one of the longest quests in the game.

As I said in previous posts, Florrick being willing to go to the mat for Ulder any day or time of the week is consistent with her other characterization.

Up to the point of this confrontation, the player has observed that she'll follow Ulder to literal hell and back, chase him across half a continent, and become so disappointed in her perceived failure to save him and, by extension, the entire city, that she completely gives up and quietly awaits execution, without even trying to escape (which she probably could do, as a level 11, probably Enchantment School wizard).

All her voice lines and all the things others say about her paint the picture of a loyal and true-blue friend, and a public servant of the highest caliber, "as steady as Tyr's heartbeat" and "as upstanding as the Sword Mountains." She may be sharp and shrewd, and perhaps a bit domineering and curt, but she's not cruel. She may be a bit cavalier, but she's never rash.

She's not stupid. She may be more emotional than she seems.

She has killed someone before, on the spot, for coming after Ulder. It's consistent that she would do it again, even if she had to hunt them down this time and risk being caught by the Steel Watch. In her mind, she has nothing left to lose.

What is not consistent is her being willing to kill Wyll on a flimsy accusation (that she doesn't even really believe if you read her thoughts).

Now as I've mentioned, Florrick doesn't seem to feel any particular way about Wyll; she seems to regard him simply as her friend and boss' son, just a good kid she patted on the head at parades, and when they meet again in Waukeen's Rest, as a valuable asset in rescuing Ulder and saving the city.

And I like this! It highlights that Ulder was Wyll's entire world, and it was Ulder, alone, who failed him and cast him aside. I think this is also part of why there's never any indication that Florrick and Ulder are/were romantically involved, because this would change the expectations for how she treats/feels about Wyll. But as it stands, simply being a woman in the vicinity of a child, even one in need, didn't obligate her to be a mother.

And this the feeling is mutual. In-game, there's also no indication that Wyll had or desired had any sort of personal relationship with her, as he talks about her accomplishments but not, say, seeking her out for advice or spending time with her. He mentions crushing on Stellmayne, but when asked about Florrick, he goes right to "yeah she fucks, she sniped a guy right in front of me once." He only regards her in relation to his father and the city, never himself. She's his dad's confidant and advisor, and an exemplary public servant, but nothing in particular to him.

So, it's not how Florrick feels about Wyll that makes it out of character for her to attack him, but because of how she knows Ulder feels about Wyll.

She says herself, when talked down in that confrontation, that Ulder wanted her to find Wyll and pass his birthright on if he fell, because as many mistakes as Ulder made, and as wrong as he was, and as unacceptable as his behavior was, in the end, he trusted his boy with the fate of his beloved city.

So, Florrick would never betray Ulder by attacking his son, without irrefutable evidence, especially when she'd been told explicitly to trust and help Wyll by the person she respects and reveres the most in the entire world.

As one of the most prominent NPCs in the game, appearing with a fairly significant role in all three acts, and who's been demonstrated to be an unquestionable heroic figure all along, Florrick deserved better than what she got in this blatantly lazy, formulaic scene.

And that's the answer to the question of 'why is this scene so bad?' - lazy, formulaic writing.

That's also probably the answer to any 'why is this Act 3 moment and/or NPC interaction so clunky?' question. This confrontation is Like That because it's how every every NPC Confrontation is: someone is willing to kill you for variably logical reasons, unless you talk your way out of it, and the end result is only nominally different, so it was pointless from the jump. It's the illusion of drama and conflict and a plot twist, not real drama and conflict and plot twist. Of course she (andWyllcoughcough) isn't safe from the "uh oh this game isn't done but we're shipping it anyway so we better make this story beat messy, both under-and over-whelming, and confusing to match the overall tone of Act 3" curse.

So you might then move on to, "okay, well, what's the in-universe explanation for this? How can we make it make sense, considering what we know about Florrick?"

I won't give them credit for implying anything they didn't bother to imply, even though they could have gone several other routes with about 2 lines of better dialogue and a simple animation. So, I think the only true, canonical reason Florrick does this is exactly what's presented in the text. She was approached by "Lady" Mizora, a stranger, told a lie, only half-believed it, slapped a fuckass hood on over her very distinctive freakum dress, went on the hunt, and ambushed the party in front of like 50 human, 5 cat, and 3 Steel Watch witnesses even though she's a fugitive marked for execution.

That's it. There's no further context. Again, nothing implied. As you can tell by this entire series, I will read into anything, and there's simply nothing to read into here.

No indication that Mizora charmed or is controlling Florrick, a simple explanation that could have been easily been introduced with about 1 line, a special effect, and a mocap of her "snapping out of it."

No revelation that "Lady" Mizora has been posing as a patriar and pulling strings in Baldur's Gate for the last seven years, working closely with and maybe kissin haha jk... unless Florrick, making it perfectly reasonable why she'd believe Mizora over Wyll, who's been not only missing BUT cavorting with devils for those same seven years, which is ironic because Florrick had unknowingly been doing the same thing (juicy!). (more thoughts on this)

There's not even really a feeling that Florrick, who again did all that mentioned above for Ulder and her city, is simply just so heartbroken and grieving and demoralized that she's experiencing a mental breakdown and a critical lapse in judgement, grasping at anything to make it make sense or to make her feel in control again, even if she has her doubts deep down. Again, this could have easily been written in with a few lines and some body language. I feel like this is what they thought they did, but the fact is they didn't even though it would have been easy and cost basically 0 extra resources or time.

Clearly, this scene got rubber-stamped because they (painfully correctly) assumed that nobody would care about Wyll's storyline at this point, and his supporting character Florrick with it. They probably just figured that we'd all forget how wack it was when we continued the quest and got gagged by the Emporer being a gay dragon-fucker and also Balduran.

So, what would have made this scene/part of the quest better?

To be clear, better is a pretty low bar as the canonical version full-on sucks. The above suggestions are only what could have made this specific scene (Florrick Confronts Wyll About Killing His Father) better. But really, Wyll's quest, as we all know, needs an overhaul. So, below is what's overall needed to make Wyll's entire quest in Act 3 better.

maintain Florrick's characterization (this post is about Florrick after all)

give Wyll a chance to be a hero in his own story

actually utilize Mizora, who's truly been pretty pointless all this time

provide a sense of stakes--it has to matter what happens

get everything the fuck away from that fucking magic show

I had a whole alternative Act 3 storyline written to suggest, Boss Fight Mizora Avernus and all, but realized just before posting that it doesn't work because it ends with Wyll destroying his pact, and he does sort of need that to remain a warlock for the endgame (being forced to re-class at the 11th hour would be a bit of a bold move). But trust me it was cool and better than what we got.

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 23

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

When Yor says goodbye to a very grateful Olka, the latter leaves her with some heartfelt parting words: she'll be praying that Yor and her family can find peace and happiness. Yor is taken aback by Olka's gratitude, which is understandable. Being an assassin is an unappreciated job, since most of it involves simply killing your victims and then disappearing without a trace. Her assignment with Olka may have been the first time a client expressed such sincere gratitude for the work she does. Not only that, but Olka having Yor hug Gram while telling her that she's the reason he has a future, is probably the first time she was able to so plainly see how her work can mean the difference between peace and tragedy for a family in need.

Despite the fact that Olka had repeatedly reminded Yor that her family is just for show, she's obviously realized that Yor sees them as much more. She can't openly tell this to Yor, so perhaps she chose these particular words of farewell as a way of getting Yor to really think about how much her family means to her…in the hopes that one day she can also leave the horrors of the underworld behind to pursue a quiet life. Olka's words may have struck a chord, as Yor seems very deep in thought while she and McMahon watch Olka's raft disappear into the distance. When McMahon notices how melancholic she looks, he reminds her not to get sentimental since they're both just foot soldiers. But ironically, almost immediately after, he tells her that she should meet up with Loid and Anya as a reward for her hard work while he takes care of any further incidents.

McMahon's history with Yor (if any) is still a mystery, but despite his stoic demeanor, maybe he too realizes that she truly enjoys being with her supposed "cover up" family.

I've seen discourse surrounding the idea that Yor's preference of "traditionally feminine" roles – wanting to be a wife and mother – is a sign of weakness and submissiveness. In addition, as @connoisseursdecomfort discusses here, some people only see one aspect of her character instead of the whole picture, and paint that in a negative way. To quote Connoisseur's post:

"Endo doesn’t want [Yor] to be just soft and sweet and sexy and strong. Like any other human, she is very self-conscious when she doesn’t fit in, and all of these discussions really show how realistic it is for Yor to feel insecure - she is too muscle-head and strong to be feminine in the eyes of the Asian readers, but too sensitive, gentle and ditzy to be masculine. She is not created to fit any standards, and therefore deemed a failure in every reader who sought to make another exemplary woman of this modern age. She has to be perfect, but she will never be."

If by "ditzy" people mean she's naïve about many things, then yes, she is, but there's a reason for it that anyone who's paid attention to the series can easily see: since she had to raise her brother since childhood, she wasn't able to pursue a proper education or gain the kind of real-life knowledge most people who live "normal" lives do. If by "ditzy" they mean she's too nice or polite…why is that a bad thing? While her low self-esteem makes it hard for her to stand up against people who insult her directly, she doesn't hesitate to attack anyone who threatens her family, nor does she hesitate to kill bad guys on her missions. So why is being nice to people who are not a threat to her a bad thing? Since when does having a brash, cocky attitude equate to strength, while being polite and nice to others by default, along with the very human displays of vulnerability and self-doubt, equate to weakness?

In my opinion, anyone who feels this way about Yor – that the only personality trait she has is "ditzy," or that it's somehow anti-feminist for her to desire the peaceful life of a wife/mother instead of something grander – is missing the whole point of the series. I discussed earlier that Endo does not portray Yor's profession as something glorious that she enjoys doing. It's dangerous, ugly, and morally ambiguous, but she does it out of desire to protect her family. Not only has she been doing it since she was a child, and thus was never able to experience a "normal" life, but it's a job with very little appreciation or acknowledgement. So after living with Loid and Anya, people who appreciate her for who she really is, don't force her to act certain ways nor expect anything in return, why should she be ridiculed for desiring peaceful days with them instead of living only in the cold, thankless underworld? Loid never forced her to remain his wife and Anya's mother after the interview – she chose to stay, at first for her own benefit, but she soon realized that being with them makes her happy. Is it "submissiveness" that someone who's been thrust into a dangerous, unforgiving life as an assassin since childhood now finds comfort in the traditional role of wife/mother with people she loves? Submissiveness is blind obedience, where you live a certain way by someone else's choice or even by force, and that's not the case here. There's no rule that says being a strong woman necessitates a complete rejection of feminine roles and values. A strong female character isn't necessarily one that's filled with self-confidence or tomboyish brashness…if anything, having no inner turmoil for them to overcome makes them a weaker character in my opinion. She's not throwing anything away for "a man" by choosing on her own to stay with Loid because he's always kind and considerate to her. As we saw at the end of her epiphany, she didn't even have to choose her role as a wife/mother over her role as an assassin – she decided to keep being both, but it's her love for Loid and Anya that made her resolve for remaining as Thorn Princess even stronger than before.

What's even more amazing about Yor's character is that, even when she understands that she doesn't need to be an assassin anymore – that no one needs financial support from her work, she still makes the most unselfish choice. She could have ditched her Garden work completely to pursue the life that truly makes her happy, which is being the wife/mother of the Forger family. After knowing how selflessly she's lived her life up to this point, pretty much sacrificing her well-being for Yuri's, no one would blame her if she decided to finally choose what's best for her now. But instead, she chooses to continue her unselfish way of life…even if it means sacrificing her own happiness yet again, she will continue this dangerous line of work, because preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones or the world in general is more important to her than her own personal happiness. Having such unwavering selflessness, in addition to being a kind and patient mother, encouraging wife, and deadly assassin who still retains her humanity, Endo has done wonders making a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

Continue to Part 24 ->

<- Return to Part 22

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Eight)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: reader has been given a second chance after meeting a mysterious entity, as aemond watched reader die. Or so he thought.

a/n: half of aemond’s pov during chapter seven, then up until recent events.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

Chapter Eight: The Escape

~Aemond’s POV~

~During the coronation~

The people are dreaded. Dreaded and perplexed by the animosity of the attendance. Under the King’s orders, and King’s sudden awake, the audience made haste, hoping there would be some sort of celebration. But never expect their King to summon the announcement of an unknown woman standing by the steps of the Iron Throne, bestowed and dubbed by the name of Lady Greenstar.

Greenstar.

Who was this Greenstar, as the King anointed, and why does the King expect the common folk to be blatantly generous and idolize Viserys’s vision of regaining to strength to the Iron Throne with both factions becoming as a mighty house for generations? What does Lady Greenstar served purpose as? Aemond knew the purpose of her presence, but as of yet, the conflict has shaken the core of a young woman; she looked at Aemond for a minute, the next her stare dipped below to the steps decorated in iron swords, once held by Aegon’s enemies.

A private ceremony should’ve been suffice. After all, Lady Greenstar shared agreement with Queen Alicent the night before.

Hesitant she may look, but, the glowing beauty did not stop Aemond to admire at. You, the glowing figure, stood before him. In toned colors of black and green, the white shade of gown and round jewel.

The scream materialized and broke the quietness in the great hall when the man had his knife on Helaena’s throat. Needless to say, you stepped in. Although with appease, anger flamed in your eyes and offered the man to unhand Helaena. Until chaos pursued. Tackled and suffocated in the crowd, Aemond managed to shove the rest to aid you. Although surrounded, you managed to free and defend yourself in quick proficiency, which impressed Aemond. However saving Lucerys was a mistake—at least in Aemond’s view. Though he understood that it’s your duty to serve them.

Albeit, somehow….

Aemond hated it.

You should’ve killed Lucerys. Kill him for taking out his eye since he claimed Vhagar in nightfall—let him at die at the hands of an intruding foe. A quick mercy to his lifelong of his bastard in his boyhood.

Aemond rushed to your side, without realizing that a flying knife tossed at your direction, with his one lucky eye, Aemond deflected the flying blade with his—briskly taken out from a knife scabbard. It was close.

For a moment, his heart skipped when your eyes met his, before lunging a blade attack on another foe. By then all factions fled to a safe corridor. And by the great hall, all relaxed, yet afraid of the outcome—it was an absolute failure. Alicent and Rhaenyra quarreled, men watched afar, as you rested by the pillar far behind, clutching your red-stained belly.

Aegon stood beside Aemond, nonetheless, observing your reaction. Although you were dazed in lethargic condition, you held your hand up near to your face and kissed it. What were you were kissing?

Helaena stood by your side and tranquil you with her patting hand, urging to braid your (h/c) locks. It was an endearing moment, for the princess never touched or braid anyone’s hair. It was reasonably certified, since you’ve displayed nothing but as a protector.

While watching two ladies shouting, your eyes shifted to Aegon’s, then Aemond’s, dipped your head to a soft bow. Aegon gestured back, but Aemond is unsure; his heart lanced in misgiving observation.

When the altercation grew louder, worsened, your rasped voice told them to “stop”, and collapsed into Jace’s arms—another bastard. And before Aemond knew, you told him that they’re safe and your eyes fell onto Aemond’s and veiled, body stilled.

Ser Criston saw to your fate, and immediately reported the two monarchs of both factions and briskly faded into a panic. Alicent gave the order for you to see the Maester again, as Jace lifted your body in his arms, but his knees wobbled.

For a Strong bastard, he’s undeniably weak. He’s spent too much time staying on his mommy’s side for an extension of time in Dragonstone.

Annoyed, and somewhat discouraged of the outcome, Aemond’s motivated and masked anger, trudged his way through and retrieved you in his arms. But as soon as you under Aemond’s strong arms, he couldn’t sense whether you’re alive or not. All Ser Criston said that you “collapsed”. Collapsed could mean many things. Sickness could mean many things.

And Aemond was hoping for a better option—a better poison than a fatal one.

~~~

Incense wafted in the room—your room. Hot coal scorched, mingling against a soft, chilled wind.

“How is she? Will she outlive?” Alicent interrogated, clutching her sheer fabric that was clinging onto her shoulders, frantic eyes aimed at your body.

Otto, on the other hand, was displeased, fingers massaging his nose bridge. Behind the brick walls outside the room, Aemond leaned his back as his arms crossed, awaiting. Silence was drowning him with countless questions and heated debated locked inside his heart.

“The girl is…” Maester began, removing the cloak of your stained dress—corset loosened and heavy long skirt descended down passed to your smooth legs. The conflict in your body has shown. The poison seeped again, only this time the green spot spread quicker.

The Maester’s breath stopped for a second before resuming his medicinal work. “I must cater to a young woman. Her condition has been in a tangled moment betwixt the bridge of life and death once again. We mustn’t let it happen.”

“The ceremony has been anointed not too long ago, and this occurred,” Alicent rasped. “Then again, nothing life comes decency in Westeros.”

“Let us repose for now, Alicent,” Otto calmly said. “We have much to discuss in the council room. They’ve been expecting on our early arrival.”

All left except Aemond, who they never noticed him from quitting the room. Thank the gods nobody has noticed his subtlety of depravation. When the Maester hissed; the missing ingredients for the healing procession, he hasted to gather more.

Aemond slipped inside and approached, eyeing on your naked body, splayed with soft hills of your breasts, and silk of your slender waist. The maidenhood shielded with rosy pink fabric, and your red dragon markings across your limbs appeared as dwindling—though under a heated light of sun pooled your skin.

Aemond’s eye flicked below your lower arm.

On your hand, it veiled a gold ring twinkled on the fourth finger, not only that, a metallic bracelet rested on your wrist. Your (h/c) splayed across the table, visage dulled as lips parched despited painted in red.

Fingertips stroke against your smooth face and glimpsed at you one last time before the Maester enters to resume his work.

~~~

Later, with agitation filling up in his chest, like a dragon, he urged to rage, blazing the Red Keep with fire—with Vhagar at his side, for a lack of protection and proficiency of strength. The air struck him, tingled in his chest, simmering down.

At sundown, and until sundown, Aemond did nothing but abide in his room, reading and gathering the calamity on his jumbled thoughts, pacing back and forth in the room.

You were stabbed again. You’ve been stabbed before, maybe things would be under a familiar result—you’ll outlive the poison just as the first.

Just before long, he visited to your chambers—only to find you gone. The maids fixed the linens bedsheets and your tainted ceremonial dress.

“Where is she?” Aemond entered, watching the maids bowed to him in a coiled, shy fashion.

Lady Greenstar, his heart called.

“She’s dead, my prince,” the maid answered. “Queen Alicent escorted Lady Greenstar’s body down the grounds with the Silent Sisters.”

And the world collapsed on him, like the world without dragons, dragons without wings, shredded, it plunged down and anchored into the darkest oblivion.

~Your POV~

In oblivion, the unknown being have spoken to you, showed the ugliness and manipulation of your past life, as an act of self-interest. The contract between you and the unknown entity has been sealed, ending with your senses blocked with drained blood onto your eyes, ears and mouth.

What do we say to God of Death?

Not today.

Those are the words to pump and enliven your stilled chest once more.

A cold blade pressed against your flesh.

Hastened, your left hand seized the warm neck. Your eyes snapped open, your back sat up straight as you leveled yourself onto your knee, resting on the brick table, your palm squeezing the life of a Silent Sister. The Silent Sister gasped for air. As the others gasped, in quiet dread, trying to hold you back. Round kick them at once, you fled from the undergrounds. Though by the time you fled in a vulnerable naked state, you trudged on with little cloth strapped on your figure, tied it up as much as the knot can hold under your movement.

Somewhere at the grounds, your head pounded with ache. The voices inside your head felt like wind breezing. But these incoherent, cryptic voices guided you.

This way, it said.

Nonetheless, you followed.

How will you tell the Targaryens of your sudden revival? More importantly, how will you tell the Targaryens, and Hightowers, of escaping from The Stranger.

Rushing inside the Red Keep, anger boiled inside you, and the guards, who immediately averted their gaze at you, caught off guard. Their swords are at hand, unsheathed, prepare to fight. But one guard did not aim his weaponry against you.

Ser Erryk.

“Notify them at once,” said Ser Erryk, “I’ll escort Lady Greenstar back to her chambers.”

And so, they fled, but you had other ideas. Realization dawned upon you when the cloth strapped on your body is gone. Ser Erryk, ripped his cloak off and veiled you. Little did he know, you went straight to the Targaryens. With anger rising so much it strengthened your palms and feet rushing the halls and hands shoving the heavy oak doors, unveiling yourself before them.

The Targaryens flabbergasted at your presence, seeing anger wrinkled on your youth-like face, marching in menacingly as if a predator stalked its prey.

“My lady,” Alicent said, an intake of small breath drawn in.

“I thought she’s dead,” Jason Lannister whispered.

As your eyes darted to Aemond, you sensed that relief hinted upon his princely visage—his long, silver-gold hair gleamed under a hearth, as Aegon bemused at a scenery—something that Targaryens hadn’t received before.

“Here I thought I was early to the party,” you remarked, striding with assurance as Princess Helaena stood up, excitement written on her once timid expression.

“Lady Greenstar,” Helaena chirped.

~ Aemond’s POV ~

Five words summoned across the blackened mind.

His fair Dragoness is alive.

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @laureeedn

[posletsvet]

On the Making of Gojo's Goals: Thoughts and Assumptions

One disclaimer which I feel I need to make before getting into this: This is my reading of the events of the JJK manga, and my reading only, no more and no less. I am not claiming that my opinions are anywhere near being correct or true to the meaning intended by the author, I'm just sharing my take on the story I'm currently deeply passionate about.

And spoiler alert, of course!

Okay, but it is actually so interesting to me to be able to trace the events all the way back to how Gojo's goals and motivations begin to take shape, gradually solidify and get put into motion. So here's how I see it.

It's discussed a lot how Geto's presence in Gojo's life provided the latter with a moral compass and an empathetic outlook on things he lacked himself, giving him a sense of direction and playing a role of somewhat guiding and grounding force for him -- even if he more often than not nonchalantly rebelled against the prospect. He could always rely on Geto's judgement, so it spared him from the bother of thinking about what's righteous and what is not and instead gave him space to enjoy his youth and be careless, relishing this breath of fresh air which his friendship with Geto became. And for quite a while, I imagine, they were both content with how things were. Their warm spring of youth, you know. But when Geto left, he as well took that ideological guidance away from Satoru. From that point on, I believe, is when Gojo really takes to crafting his own ideals.

Unnecessarily lengthy discussion of how, in my view, Gojo's goals came into being below the cut!

1. The loss of the moral compass

When the events of SPVI put uncrossable distance between Satoru and Suguru, not least because of how they chose to cope with their trauma, Gojo got separated not only from his one and only closest friend, but also from somebody who, essentially, told him 'Of course, there needs to be a reason to kill people'. But at that time Gojo was driven by inertial forces, stuck in perfecting his technique and prioritised realising his potential to the fullest, because he blamed his failure on his own shortcomings as a sorcerer, as the strongest. And for the time being getting stronger, really claiming the name of the pinnacle of jujutsu for himself seemed enough. Because being the strongest would solve all the problems. Why wouldn't it? In the end, that's what his society trained him to think, preaching that might is always right. He made growing in power his goal, because he genuinely believed that is what he needed in order to prevent another failure, another Riko from happening. He seemed honestly excited and proud of his hard work while presenting his newly mastered ability to Shoko and Geto.

Look, now he's strong enough.

He's got it all covered.

Something that terrible will not happen again.

He was certain at least in this, so he moved in that direction.

Geto's defection left him without as much. I guess at least some part of why the news came as such a shock to Gojo was because it ripped that certainty away from him, made it painfully obvious that strength alone was not enough. It's cruelly ironic that, more or less by coincidence, this blow lands on him right after his cheerfully boastful announcement of the finally tamed Limitless. Because the thing is, I cannot imagine an outcome where Gojo doesn't blame himself, at least a little, for what happened to Geto. He was the one who got too far ahead, got too strong. He made a point of making himself untouchable, unreachable. (Although, in my eyes, it's not entirely true -- as Gojo was the one who actually tried to reach out to Geto. Even if he failed in this, we do see him try. On Geto's part, there was never such an effort. He didn't reach back, nor did he reach out himself. But it's a topic for a different discussion, I guess.) And, in the end, perhaps he trusted Geto and his ability to stay true to his ideals a bit too much.

2. Being the strongest alone is not an option

After Geto's spiral at least one thing was made clear: everything's that's broken in the system won't be fixed merely through sheer power. Yes, Gojo reached his destination, became the strongest, but him being strong didn't stop Geto from breaking and leaving, did not do anything to help him. If anything, it only made things worse, creating a gap between the two which deepened Geto's self-isolation (and perhaps enabled it in the first place).

When Geto leaves and Gojo's belief that simply being the strongest is going to fix everything falls short, Gojo is forced to reconsider his ideas and figure out a different solution. And that's what he comes up with: if being the strongest alone is not enough, then everyone should be the strongest. His thinking still relies heavily on the concept that power is everything in jujutsu society, but from what happened with Geto (who, in Gojo's eyes, failed to catch up with him in strength and therefore broke under the weight of his responsibilities and went down the wrong path) he derived that, basically, strength comes in numbers. The system isn't going to provide its sorcerers with necessary support, so they themselves should be able to shoulder the load without faltering. Therefore, they need to be strong like him.

And secondly, there's that:

He can only save those who are already prepared to be saved. As I see it, with this phrase Gojo comes to a conclusion that there's only so much he can do. Even if his cursed technique is called the Limitless, he can't do the impossible. He can't be his society's Atlas holding up the weight of the world (though he tries to), can't blame himself for every loss and tragedy, so he's consciously narrowing the list of things he holds himself responsible for. Now, allow me to put a pin in this thought, I will get back to it shortly.

3. No support in the system

The next stepping stone in Gojo's journey to forming his final goals is taking Megumi (and Tsumiki) under his care. It's after this decision of his, I believe, he becomes determined to become a teacher and educate the youth. And it also somewhat ties to the 'saving only those who are prepared to be saved' bit.

For me to elaborate on this, let's take a few steps back. Throughout both seasons, but the second one especially, the story goes to great lengths to show how alone young sorcerers in fact are in their duties. Students are basically left to their own devices from the very moment they enroll into Jujutsu High, and the stakes are as high as they get, with the obligation to carry out missions more often than not putting them into life-and-death situations. And Geto and Gojo being considered the strongest sorcerers of their generation is still no proper excuse for delegating responsibility for the thing that their whole society relies upon to them. They were still literal teenagers who had not even finished their education as sorcerers at that point. They were sixteen and held responsible for somebody's life and well-being, with it constantly being threatened by members of two exceptionally dangerous organisations -- not to mention the whole price-on-Amanai's-head business. And all the while we get no notion of any teacher, any adult in charge and authority over them, bothering to check in on their progress with the mission whatsoever. And what about their emotional state, what about the severely traumatic -- nearly fatal -- experience they both endured? Did anybody make sure they went into, I don't know, therapy, like they should have? Were they provided with at least some extra emotional support from their mentors? I would gamble the chances of this actually happening are little to none. Almost like the system adopts this 'don't care' attitude merely because there is no point in tending to emotional well-being of somebody who they already view as disposable.

That being the case, it comes as no surprise that Geto did not know how to give voice to everything that was troubling him, did not know how to reach out for help when he found himself drowning in doubts. The system does not give the youth any room to develop healthy coping mechanisms, does not provide its sorcerers with any support in case they find themselves struggling mentally. No one is ever there to give Geto and Gojo or Nanami or even Shoko comfort, advice and guidance they all needed. Thus they just don't know how to apply for help -- because they are simply not used to, not taught how to. To circle back to my previous thoughts, the system does not prepare young sorcerers to be saved. The end result is inevitably trying to reach out to somebody struggling without that person ever reaching back or even recognising there is a need for them to do so in order to get help.

Gojo starts to break this pattern by taking in a child with no support system. And while no, I'm not saying Gojo was anywhere near equipped to play the role of that system to Megumi at that time, this decision on his part still counts as a step forward, even if a baby one (no pun intended).

4. Educating the youth

So, after taking it upon himself to help take care of two children, Gojo eventually drives to the conclusion that making sure that the younger generation in jujutsu society gets necessary support is indeed in order.

And I think there's somewhat a relation to be found between the role Gojo plays in Megumi's life and the way he delivers on his responsibilities as a teacher. Although Gojo oversees Megumi and Tsumiki's upbringing, he does so not as a parental figure, but rather as a mentor and a benefactor who ensures their well-being. The same may be applied to how he treats his students. He does not offer them emotional support himself, he isn't even by any measure the one who ties them together as a group, but he does in fact bring them together and does actively try to create the environment where they can bond and become each other's support system. Gojo's flawed personality is something even he himself admits to have, so he isn't necessarily the best man for the job when it comes to handling children's emotions. But he still, for instance, recognises that Yuuji has high emotional needs, so he brings him to Nanami -- an adult who is actually equipped to take care of his mental health. One other example of this is how, when the Goodwill Event fails in its purpose as an 'opportunity for the students to get to know each other in the spirit of competition', Gojo goes out of his way to instead organise a simple baseball game for them to play -- a team sport and an actual, normal as in 'non-lethal' bonding activity for teenagers.

There's an argument that Gojo too, in actuality, is not exactly always there for his students, but it's rather due to Gojo's high demand as a sorcerer than negligence or indifference on his part. In the end, Megumi does make a habit of calling Gojo when something goes downhill on a mission. And I would say it's a significant improvement in comparison with how things were back in Gojo's (and Geto's) day.

Also, that 'being a jujutsu sorcerer is an individual sport' reasoning on Gojo's part during his conversation with Megumi straight after the baseball game kind of speaks against everything I have been talking about for the last couple of paragraphs. Except that, as I personally take it, it's more indicative of the fact that Gojo, due to his inability to go beyond the bounds of power-oriented thinking, still puts too much weight on being strong as a sorcerer. Therefore here the more pressing issue for him was Megumi trudging behind and struggling to catch up with his own potential. That one thing which Geto didn't manage to do: keep up with the strongest. And Gojo does not want another Geto case.

After all, even Geto himself, the one who arguably suffered the most from the lack of concern towards young sorcerers' mental state and their detachment from literally everybody who could and probably should provide emotional support for them, somewhat gives credit to the improvements made since Satoru became a teacher.

(Whether Gojo's secret intention to push Yuuta to unlock his true potential by sending two children into the fight they couldn't win does or does not cross out the fact that he's forcing his students to stand up for each other. *coughs nervously*)

5. Conclusion

Perhaps it's somewhat inappropriate for me to go throwing around assumptions in a concluding part of this post, but I have very little experience with writing analysis and making concrete conclusions, so please bear with me for just a bit longer.

What really succeeded in striking me as odd when going through the story for the first time, is the interpretation which states that what Gojo really seeks to achieve by becoming a teacher is influencing his students and cultivating a particular mindset in them -- the one that would allow him to use them as valuable assets when it comes to overthrowing the current system. But how could that possibly be true if he doesn't even try to discuss politics with any of them, let alone force his own ideals and goals upon them? The only thing which he keeps insisting on in his students' regard and which is linked to his views is that they should be allowed to be kids, to have their youth inviolate.

While there's no doubt that Gojo wants the system to change, my guess is that he also wants to bring about this change through his students, with them truly living out his ideal, not simply parroting it at his prompting. And Gojo actually does want to raise strong and reliable comrades who can think for themselves and recognise the need for the system to change, making them into trustworthy allies -- not only to himself, but to each other, too.

His students really are all his hopes and dreams, huh?

In case everything written above seems to lack logical connections, here's the train of thought which led me through this rambling:

losing moral guidance and falling into power-oriented thinking → recognising that strength is indeed needed, but being strong alone is not enough → coming to take care of two children → decision to become a teacher → fostering the younger generation into strong allies capable of providing help for each other when needed and being each other's support system → how to do that? let kids be kids and forge strong relationships which they can rely upon

Thank you for reading through this mess of my making!! 🧡

[askmerriauthor]

Pokemon S/V - Story Themes: Failure and Abuse

Something I actually really like about Pokemon S/V, which is somewhat ironic given the state of the game itself, is that its underlying story theme is about how the adults of the setting have utterly failed the younger generation.

General discussion and rambling about Pokemon S/V after the jump, as there's sure to be spoilers. This is a long one, so buckle up.

Throughout the many stories Pokemon has told over the years and its iterations, the role of adults in the series and how they relate to the kids - ostensibly, the Player themselves as well - has varied wildly. They've been mentors, friends, allies, enemies, or even just odd folk we encounter. But, for better or worse, they've always been fairly direct in a What You See Is What You Get sort of way.

Pokemon S/V subverts that a bit in that all of the adults - even those we don't meet and only hear about through dialogue - have completely failed the children of the story. The results of those shortcomings range from very mild to absolutely disastrous, but nobody is untouched by it. Even the Player isn't spared.

Right up front we've got the Friendship Trio: Nemona, Arven, and Penny. Being the core to the story, they're the biggest examples one has out the gate. Common themes they all share are that they're each left without support from their families or peers, and that they're each desperately lonely as a result. Nemona is a star pupil, a battling prodigy, and daughter to a wealthy, powerful family. But despite all her talents she's left adrift without aim or goal. Her younger sister is the one being given control of the family business and Nemona's own talents set her apart from other students, meaning she struggles to find peers. Her family seem all too happy to focus on the younger sister, while Geeta from the Pokemon League and the academy itself happily makes use of Nemona's skills for their own ends. Nemona is constantly eager to please, always looking up to powerful people like Geeta and Professor Turo/Sada, but admits that she's just sort of floundering without any anchor. The people she looks up to only see her as a tool to be used and immediately discarded until the next time they need her.

A lot of Players joke about how battle obsessed Nemona is toward the Player, or how yandere jealous/possessive she becomes immediately upon meeting us. She even stands up to Geeta - who she absolutely hero worships - about our attention being poached. But can you really blame her for realizing there's finally someone who not only matches her skill, but seems dedicated to following a route the game itself states virtually nobody else in the region ever comes close to achieving? Nemona is not only the youngest Champion ever, but the only Champion in years, until the Player shows up. Regardless of what the person holding the console feels toward the Gym Challenge, in-context of the story the Player is proving through their own actions that they value Nemona as a friend/rival and are putting in genuine effort to meet her. When you defeat her, especially at the very end when she goes all out in a way she's never been able to with anyone else, she's thrilled. To Nemona, it's got to be the most amazing validation she's ever had in her life. Why wouldn't she hold on dearly and enthusiastically when nobody else, let alone her own family, are able to keep up with her or offer her the validation she needs?

Arven is just absolutely wrecked by his parental failure. His parent (Turo or Sada depending on which version you're playing) was so obsessed with their research in Area Zero that they threw away their entire family. Their spouse left them and took Arven, leaving the boy growing up constantly feeling the void of that missing part of their life. They keep hearing about the things their Professor Parent has accomplished and how well-regarded they are, but that's always just a reminder that the parent put more effort into their work than into being with their child. When Arven tries to go into Area Zero to find their parent himself, his Mabosstiff (his beloved Pokemon companion he's had literally his entire life) is near mortally injured as a result and Arven spends the rest of the game desperately trying to save it. Later, it's revealed that the Professor's work is endangering literally the entire ecosystem and stands to destroy Paldea itself, leaving Arven with the knowledge that not only was he abandoned for the sake of research, but that research was both ultimately harmful and pointless.

By the time the Player reaches the depths of Area Zero and meets the AI Professor, they find out a few things about the Professor. Namely that they're dead. It turns out that the Box Legendary they brought through time killed them years prior and the person the Player - and Arven - has been interacting with all throughout the game is just an AI replica left behind. While exploring the Professor's various labs, the Player first finds an empty picture frame that had its photo removed and, when in the final lab in the heart of Area Zero, they find the photo pinned to the Professor's work board. A photo of Arven as a tot with his beloved Pokemon (still an unevolved Maschiff at the time). This yields two big realizations. One is that the Professor still absolutely harbored love for their child and family, but allowed their drive - or possibly insanity - to overcome them. They were lying to themselves all those years saying "I'm doing this for my family" while outright ignoring said family entirely. Second is that the Player is the only one who learns outright that the Professor was killed, which means they - albeit off-screen - were the ones to break the news to Arven. Even in death, with the AI Professor's remnants of its creator's memories showing love for Arven, they failed him again and again. It's always up to Arven himself to carve his own way through his parent's wake, relying on his own abilities and the help of his friends, to struggle through the mess his parent left him.

Penny is failed on multiple fronts and to multiple degrees. She's a complete introvert and clearly suffers from a fair level of social anxiety due to the bullying she endured during her time at school. She's not shy, per say; when it comes to interacting with the Player and others, she's actually rather outspoken once she feels comfortable. But there's absolutely a wall put up that she doesn't let anyone past until she's ready, controlling her level of exposure and interaction through mediums like only communicating via phone or intentionally restricting her in-person time behind excuses.

At the most basic level, Penny is failed by her own father who doesn't understand her. She mentions that he's always doting, giving her childish nicknames and basically fawning over her. That sounds great on its face - exactly the sort of thing Nemona and Arven crave - but it shows that her father doesn't understand his daughter. Penny doesn't enjoy or respond well to that type of affection and it's being forced on her, causing a wedge in her home life. Next up are Penny's friends, the bosses of Team Star. They gained that rank and gang affiliation because of Penny; she's the one who set it up as a means of rallying all the students who suffered from constant bullying to stand up for themselves as a unified resistance. By that point she was so emotionally battered that she couldn't even stand to be in the company of other people directly, isolating herself and communicating only through phone calls. The Team Star Bosses and Penny all considered each other to be the closest of friends, yet they had never once met her face to face. While it's not explored as much (criminally so, I say) each of the Team Star Bosses show that they're in a similar state as Penny; they rely on each other for support but also self-expression and validation. It's shown throughout their stories that they're let down by the systems they trusted and their families, not able to find what they need from those establishments and instead turning toward one another.

As it's revealed through the events of the Team Star story, the previous administration of the Paldean Academy allowed a brutal level of bullying to go on at school. So much so that it resulted in the targeted students dropping out, falling to truancy, and literally forming a gang just to protect themselves from their aggressors. When Team Star finally did put their collective foot down (peacefully by both intent and action), they were wrongfully branded as the villains of the story and stigmatized. Team Star was shown that not only would adults not protect them, but would actively punish them for protecting themselves. The school admin at the time - who were fully aware of the whole situation - not only allowed it to happen but then actively attempted to cover it up for the sake of protecting their own asses. They were content to sit by and allow their own students to suffer, ultimately leading to drop outs and expulsions, just for their own sake. This led to both the admin and the entire teaching staff to resign and be replaced by the staff we see in the game, and Director Clavell starts to fall into the same error as his predecessor.

When the Player gets involved, Clavell is about to expel all the Team Star members for good (and there's a TON of them). But, hey, credit where it's due; Clavell really puts in the work and goes to considerable lengths to uncover the truth of what happened. He puts into motion the start of healing those wounds by setting aside not only his time, but his own ego for the sake of understanding his students, protecting them, and rectifying the mistakes of those who came before him. There's a part at the very end where Clavell outright apologizes to Team Star for the abuses they suffered at the hands of the previous Academy staff and deeply bows to them. That may not seem like much on its face, but one has to consider the context of this being a Japanese game. A major authority figure like Clavell bowing and apologizing to those younger than himself, let alone those he's an authority over, is a MAJOR demonstration of genuine regret.

That's not to say Clavell is perfect though. Far from it; while he succeeds in this area, he fails in others as he readily allows Geeta to use both the Academy and its students as she pleases. Geeta outright takes advantage of the students for unpaid labor - the Player included - even though none of them actually work for her. The teaching staff themselves, while all good people who are trying their best, show similar failures to varying degrees. Saguaro doesn't show who he really is because he's afraid of disrupting the image students have of him. Miriam - beloved by students for her skills and nature - languishes unable to fulfill her desire to be a teacher because the credential testing (presumably set by Geeta, who establishes similar needlessly exclusionary tests) keeps knocking her down. Hassel is endlessly harangued by his family to give up his passion for art and teaching to take the lead of their House.

It continues with the Gym Leaders and Elite Four as well, given how Geeta readily abuses her position of power to her own ends. All the Gym Leaders readily discuss their dislike of Geeta, how she holds them back or interferes with them, and the various shortcomings of their lives due to structural failures in their society. People like Larry, Brassius, Grusha, and Iono are wholly at the whims of capitalism in a region where the economy itself is tied directly to the Pokemon League they work for. Larry and Hassel pull double duty as both a Gym Leader and Academy Teacher, as well as members of the Elite Four, further showing how much Geeta is intentionally intertwining all these systems together into a narrow, unstable medium. Poppy, a LITERAL TODDLER, is somehow a member of the Elite Four - when Geeta doesn't even pay adults a living wage to be Gym Leaders/Elite Four and also readily takes advantage of students for free labor, you cannot possibly tell me Poppy isn't an overt case of child labor abuses. Seriously, who are this kid's parents and where the hell are they? Later in the game, Geeta calls the Player on their phone out of the blue and one of the responses you can give is "How did you get my number?". She replies that because you're a Champion, she has access to your personal information. Information you did not consent to give her, that she used her position to look up and privately contact you - a child - for work, without the consent or awareness of your parent. Geeta has set the Pokemon League in a way that best suits her desires and warped the entirety of Paldea around it, endangering and weakening other institutions as a result.

There's actually a lot more to this scattered throughout the game, such as a student who's languished in the Academy system for twenty years without graduating because he's constantly failing. Or everything that has to do with History Teacher Raifort. But this has already gone on long enough of a ramble. In summary, Pokemon S/V has some honestly interesting explorations of institutional and personal failure from the past and how it impacts the future. Themes of generational trauma wasn't what I expected out of a Pokemon game. I hope to see it expanded on in the coming DLC content or, even better, in the upcoming anime series.

[nyaagolor]

SV Rivals Headcanons

I did it for team star so this feels only fair. Under the cut bc it's long

Arven:

He baby-talks to his pokemon but especially Mabosstiff. If anyone sees him doing it he will probably melt from embarrassment but it's Fine. He loves cooing at Mabosstiff and squishing its face and kissing its nose while making silly faces. "Who's a good boy" energy

He has dyslexia and is just so so so bad at traditional schoolwork. With all the work he missed he's failing all his classes, but is not really willing to ask for help because everyone knows how smart his parents are. That makes it hard for him because he thinks asking for help means disappointing them. This is especially bad with Clavell, since he's the one who talks about Sada and Turo the most (if Clavell realized this he would freak out tho, he cares about Arven a lot)

(points) inferiority complex. He's so used to being around overachievers that he's overly aware of his "shortcomings" and sees anything less than exceptional as a failure. Being compared to his parents all the time certainly doesn't help. He never gives himself credit for the things he's good at, and beats himself up too much over his mistakes. Boys who have low self-esteem to me

Related to the above points but oh man he NEVER admits when he's struggling. The cocktail of abandonment issues and low self-esteem means he feels the need to "prove himself" by never having visible issues and always working through things alone. He would rather die than cry in front of his friends. Luckily for him, everyone in Team Star is an expert at seeing through emotional facades and catches onto that pretty early so he has a support system that teases out all that buried nonsense and helps him work through it

You know those people who make food and share it with their dog? That's Arven. Mabosstiff is allowed to eat off Arven's plate whenever it wants, Arven spoils that dog rotten. They're rolling out of the Starbucks with a caramel frappe and a pup cup living their best life. Arven also bakes Mabosstiff a birthday cake every year, which is ironic because he doesn't make himself a birthday cake. Anything for Mabosstiff

I know canonically the 'raidon attacked wild pokemon but in my heart it attacked Arven, giving him a scar on his eye that he covers with his bangs. The reason the professor booked it to Area Zero without Arven is less because of the "oh they saw the 'raidon" part and more because 1. It hurt their son and they want to protect him and 2. If the League found out the professor was illegally keeping a mysterious pokemon who permanently scarred a child, they would definitely try and take it away which the professor is terrified of. They didn't explain this to Arven, however, who simply thought the professor abandoned him because they cared about the 'raidon more

Arven is very bulky and very strong. He can bench press more than anyone thinks, and is usually the guy to call if you need help lifting / carrying something. Despite his ability to snap your spine like a toothpick, however, she would much rather use his hands to help and not hurt. Boy who is so so sensitive and sweet

He loves to make cute little shapes with his food and has become absolutely enamored with the idea of bento boxes. Bunny shaped apple slices? Heart sandwiches? Sign him UP. His friends are more than happy to eat all the leftovers and scraps from his culinary experiments, so it's a win win for everyone

None of his pokemon are actually in pokeballs except for Mabosstiff, they're just free roaming. He'll call them when he needs them and they might stay in their balls for a short time, but overall they're more like work partners than pets like Penny's veevees. He managed to win all of them over with food, they just showed up at his picnics and followed him around. It's a good partnership, since Arven doesn't consider himself a traditional pokemon trainer anyway

He doesn't own any social media and is convinced all of Penny's terminally online speak is her trying to hex him. He's very content with this lifestyle and has no desire to learn anything about the web anytime soon. The benefit of this is that he hasn't seen most memes and subsequently finds them to be absolute goddamn riots. The "quieres" meme with a Maschiff was all he would talk about for days because he found it that funny

Nemona:

She is on the edge of her seat waiting for someone to send the "would you still love me if I were an Orthworm" meme to her. She figured out what her friends' natures would be based on their personalities and has a dozen page document detailing their new wormy battle strategy that she cannot wait to share

According to her, the reason she can't hit anything she's aiming for with a pokeball is because her family is descended from the King of Paldea. Because of that, they're subject to a multi-generational wizard curse where their arrows (and subsequently pokeballs) are destined to never hit their targets. No one can figure out if she's joking or not

I'm far from the first person to think this but this girl is autistic. Battling special interest, can't read the room, no volume control, relates everything to her special interest to understand it better, extremely bad at interpreting body language, fixates on tasks really easily, very often goes past her and others' limits without realizing, trouble relating to others, etc etc. Because of her obliviousness in social situations she often ends up being over-friendly to strangers and coming off far too strong, which scares people off

Genuinely, unironically does not realize her parents dropping her off with house staff and never seeing her is supposed to be a bad thing. Her friends are mortified to find out that her parents didn't show up to the League Ceremony when she became the youngest ever champion ranked trainer, but she's unbothered by it. Overall she's less sensitive to being ignored or forgotten or left by herself than any of her friends; she can vibe with solitude

She has a chronic illness. I have not thought too hard about which one but one of them, prolly related to nerve damage of some kind hence the arm brace. It leads to easy fatigue and some dull pain in her arm and shoulder, but the school doesn't know about it because she keeps conveniently forgetting to bring in the paperwork to Miriam. Dendra has her suspicions though

Ngl she gives school mascot energy. She's super energetic, genuinely loves the academy, and is hella tall which is basically a requirement for being the mascot. If she doesn't have the stamina for competitive sports she sure as hell is gonna cheer them on. Cue her rolling up to the bleachers in the most terrifying Pawmi fursuit you've ever seen in your life

Nemona is very very bad at having frank and straightforward emotional conversations but is absolutely SUPREME at cheering people up. Distraction queen. She isn't going to be able to address and solve your problems, but she can turn any bad day into a good one with some ice cream, a smile, and a positive attitude

Nemona doesn't know this but Arven doesn't like her (dw they get better). They used to be neighbors and would hang out as kids. At the time, Nemona wanted to be a pokemon professor-- she was chronically ill / fatigued so her parents encouraged her to talk to the Professor who lived in the lighthouse and maybe become a professor herself. Loving pokemon and being naturally curious, Nemona would talk their ear off for hours, but Arven just saw that as encroaching on the professor's super limited off-work time. He was pretty bitter that this other girl was getting more attention from his own parent than he was, not that Nemona ever realized that. But when the professor got the 'raidon, they became more reclusive, and Arven simply starting ignoring Nemona when she would knock on the door. It took a while, but she eventually got the hint, assuming they had moved or something and simply forgot to say goodbye. Arven is still mad about it all and finds Nemona obnoxious and overbearing, but she still thinks of him as a fond childhood friend, being none the wiser to his distaste for her. Eventually they get better

Her Pawmi / Pawmot was originally a therapy pokemon, intended to loosen any muscle spasms and help with the nerve-related pain in her arm. He's the pokemon she had the longest, but she didn't bother to train him for battle until recently

She's really bad at remembering people's faces, so she acts really friendly to everyone she sees to save herself the awkwardness of treating an acquaintance like a stranger. She also genuinely loves meeting new people and pokemon, so it's not really an act

Penny:

Penny doesn't really have a strong Galarian accent until she's yelling. She sounds like a native Paldean and then gets pissed and hits you with an "OI MATE" with enough psychic damage to kill a man

Her favorite ice cream flavor is "eeveelution sorbet" which is this giant rainbow mashup of flavor. It's lemon for jolteon, lime for leafeon, peach for sylveon, blue raspberry for vaporeon, orange for flareon, vanilla for glaceon, blackberry for umbreon and grape for espeon. Arven feels personally offended by its existence because "it's an insult to good cooking" and tastes like preservatives

In Paldea, "jelly" refers to the fruit spead, but in Galar, "jam" is the fruit spread and "jelly" is gelatin. Penny has been hearing Arven talk about "peanut butter and jelly" for ages now and is dead convinced that Paldeans just have shit taste. No one is aware of this miscommunication and just thinks that Penny hates fruit

Penny hacked the future paradox pokemon. She jailbroke Miraidon and can play compressed midi files on it and change the color of its lights. Future pokemon use super compressed files because things are better in the future and they don't need as much space, so Penny is currently working on getting past that limitation so she can play Doom on the thing

Good luck getting her to show up for class. She'll come and take tests, but god forbid it's a class that cold calls? She will literally never show up. Girl whose participation grades are Zero. Clavell does talk to her and authorize her to have Sylveon out of its ball in class because it's certified as a therapy pokemon, so its usually napping under her desk to help her cope with the anxiety of Being In A Classroom

Penny managed to convince Arven that blue raspberry is a real, albeit rare, Galarian fruit. He actually fell for it before Saguaro explained that she was lying to him. He still hasn't forgiven her for this

This woman vapes u cannot convince me otherwise. She has an eevee-shaped pen and always smells like watermelon. Luckily for her, miss student council president actually paid attention to those D.A.R.E lectures and read her the riot act when she realized what was going on, so she's being forced to quit and is a little bit grumpy about it. Giacomo is likewise disappointed in Penny's choices and has suggested she just switch to weed instead. Penny thinks this is a much more suitable compromise

Her eevee backpack is endless. Penny has pulled out snacks, flashdrives, a first-aid kit, a CD player, a toothbrush, Veevee treats, a cat-ear headband, and a taser from that thing within an hour. Anything you might need is probably inside whether or not it should reasonably fit. Hammerspace type beat

Geeta somewhat regrets hiring her. She does good work and the rest of the staff loves her, but she's also far less willing to put up with office bureaucracy things than any of the other staff and it's gonna give Geeta a migraine. One time Geeta asked Penny to work on a Saturday and she threatened to unionize. Larry thought it was so funny he bought Penny dinner. They're homies now

She can pick locks. Clavell is genuinely and rightfully terrified of her because they both know she can pick the lock to his office and completely wreck the school's security and financial system if you gave her a motive and a half hour

[m1d-45]

from soil….

summary: albedo has learned many things, and yet sometimes it feels like he knows nothing at all.

word count: 3.9k

-> warnings: massive spoilers for albedo lore… bottom text

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily

< masterlist > || part 2 >>

as a synthetic human, albedo wasn’t raised as most were. he was ‘born’ fully grown, the shaky knees that let him stand those of an adult. rhinedottir hadn’t wasted any time, immediately beginning his training in various forms of alchemy from the moment he was oriented enough to try and speak.

he was taught the periodic table before he was told the names of colors, he was told how to tell which solvent was best for an experiment before he even understand the nature of his creation. he could recite the best methods for creating hydrogen gas by heart, he knew how to make carbon dioxide go supercritical and even experimented with ferrofluids on the side, but he didn’t know what it meant to be ‘burned’ until curiosity got the better of him and he put his hand over a flame.

he was told not to, like so many other things embedded in his memory, but never why. he knew fire was hot, of course, but.. even as his hand jerked away of its own accord, he found himself wondering what the odd feeling under his skin was.

rhinedottir was disappointed to learn of what he’d done, but had simply given him the instruction of ‘don’t hurt yourself, it’ll set you back.’

‘hurt’. thats what this was?

as he waited for his ammonia to drip into the iron solution, he picked through the many bookshelves in the room. many were scientific texts, with a few encyclopedias, but he wasn’t looking for those.

pulling down the lone dictionary with his now-bandaged hand, he flipped through the pages, keeping an eye on his experiment in his periphery as he did so.

hurt

(v) cause physical pain or injury to

(adj) physically injured

(n) physical injury; harm

how strange…

he shifted the book in his hands, staring at his wound through the bandages. carefully flexing his hand, he stopped right on the cusp of something sharp, the skin of his hand… was hurt.

albedo continued to read through various definitions, his experiment shifting in color to a dark brown without his notice.

why would he divert his attention from something so thrillingly new?

albedo was no longer a stranger to pain.

it took him far too long to realize he should probably be buying borosilicate glass equipment to handle the sort of experiments he was carrying out, only ever noticing when his third watchglass cracked under the heat of manganese heptoxide. his hands were permanently covered in little nicks, each carefully wrapped in bandages as to not get anything into them, some deep enough to scar but most barely enough to annoy.

slowly, he began to learn. he learned the safest ways to clean up shattered glass, he learned how to wrap his dominant hand and had become somewhat ambidextrous as a result. he learned when he needed to stop and take a break before he got a headache, he learned to tell when his hand was cramping from notes and took the time to practice with his other. pain was no longer unfamiliar, but it was still just as strange.

he was learning.

though he didn’t fully understand why this wasn’t taught to him, why he wasn’t told how to make a salve for burns or given a set of gloves to prevent it happening in the first place… he sort of could see why he wasn’t. pain was the result of failure, of a broken piece of equipment or a too-hot burner. it made sense.

did it?

he carefully poured water into a beaker, not paying attention to the conversation behind him. one of rhinedottir’s friends was over, as was becoming increasingly common, and he’d stopped listening once it turned to her daughter. a few compounds caught his attention, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted. the ratio of acetone and water had to be just right, and he was nearing the balance point, the solution fizzing less and less with every addition.

“she’s quite the- klee, don’t-”

without warning, something heavy crashed into albedo’s back. the bottle in his hand tipped and jerked, splashing into and over the rim of the beaker. the heater beneath it hissed as the ice cold water dripped down the side, and though he stood quickly, reaching to unplug it, it was too late. sparks flew as the wiring shorted, the red glow of the plate beginning to fade.

something hot and sharp rose in his chest, buzzing in his hands, the air turning thin. his jaw tightened with the feeling, the cord in his hand biting into his palm.

he’d knocked over his stool in his haste, and beside it was a small child, wide red eyes staring up at him. with bright blonde hair and long, pointed ears, it was clear she was the woman’s daughter.

and she had ran into him.

the woman—alice, his mind supplied, though he didn’t quite hear it—crouched besides her, pulling her up and dusting off her clothes, “klee! what did i say about running in the lab? you know it’s dangerous.”

rhinedottir sighed, leaning against the wall and looking at the failed experiment. “another failure…”

the sharp spikes of feeling turned on him in an instant, and the cord fell from his hand in surprise. he didn’t mean to mess it up! it wasn’t his fault klee was running around! why was he to blame?

“gold, it’s not his fault. i should have watched klee closer.”

“nonsense. he shouldn’t have even been using a bottle. pipettes are much more precise, and if he wished to have any sort of credibility to his findings, he should have used those to better track how much he was putting in. ‘add water until it stops foaming’ isn’t much of an instruction, you know.”

alice stood, some sort of response already forming in the draw of her brows, but albedo turned towards his mess. his hands shook as he moved the too-full beaker to a bin, the heating plate heavier than usual. he ignored the increasingly heated conversation behind him, letting his hands go through the familiar motions of disposal. his chest felt heavy, an odd pulse between his ribs reminding him of the reason he was wiping water off his desk.

he didn’t hold it against the girl, of course. she was too young to even be thought of chastised, and… rhinedottir was right. he probably should have used a pipette to add the water, or at least something less volatile than an open bottle. after this long, he should have known.

his vision blurred, the wad of towels in his hand washing into one mass. he threw the towels into the trash, his free hand coming up to wipe at his eyes. had vapor gotten into them? that wouldn’t be good if that were the case, but though they stung it wasn’t as sharp as it would be from chemicals.

albedo wiped up the last of the water, absentmindedly wondering why his chest ‘hurt’ if he hadn’t been injured.

alice visited often, usually bringing her daughter along as well. he wasn’t sure why, as she was surely too young to learn much in the way of alchemy, but she evidently had learned not to run in the lab, thankfully. she sat on a stool at her mother’s side, carefully drawing in a small notebook.

albedo stood at the sink, doing his best to focus on removing the caked sediment from his glassware. alice was talking, again, telling a story of a place he’d never been or heard of, and his thoughts admittedly wandered when he wasn’t careful. he’d wonder about the knights she was talking about, the cavalry led by a man in frosted blue, and he glanced over his own outfit. plain white, as typical, but he wondered about the dye that would have been used. he always wore white—“easier to tell when you’ve spilled something,” rhinedottir always said—and his few attempts at making dyes always ended up splotched and uneven. how did they dye clothes? or did they dye the thread first? would that be more or less efficient? was it harder to work with dyed thread, maybe, because it could wear during the weaving process?

curiosity bubbled within him as he rinsed off a stir rod, scraping off the leftover sediment with his nail. it would take too much time and space to try what he was thinking, not to mention that he didn’t even know how to go about it, but…

he turned to put it on a towel and paused, seeing klee looking up at him from her stool. she waved, shyly, pen tucked against her palm, and he hesitated for a moment before waving back. it was small, barely a raise of his fingers as to not draw attention, but she lit up anyway. her feet kicked against the stool in excitement and she hid her smile in her sketchbook, and albedo felt his own begin to form. he felt warm, a gentle feeling starting to rise. he tried to pin it down, running over the list of emotions he’d learned, but it didn’t match. it wasn’t the sharp, white-hot spike from when he’d ruined his hot plate, nor the slow but insistent press of curiosity. he felt… soft, almost, a delicate heat pushing him to smile back, gently-

“albedo.“

the sharp call of his name scattered the feeling like fish recessing deep into a lake, repulsed by the word.

rhine had cut off alice, evidently, the latter’s hands still raised mid-gesture.

“are you finished? why are you looking at klee like that?”

though it didn’t show on his face, albedo felt as confused as alice looked. her hands had moved to her sides, eyes flicking between the two of them with an odd twist to her mouth.

albedo swallowed something cold and bitter, taking a breath. “like what?”

he tried to put as much genuineness into his words as he could, but rhinedottir just shook her head.

“you know how.”

“i-“

“get back to work, albedo.”

she looked away, cutting the conversation short despite the argument still on his tongue.

he didn’t know. she never told him. none of the books in his lab ever described what it meant to be alive, to feel, to grow. he’d read all of them, cover to cover and back again, but none of them described what he wanted to know.

albedo turned back to the sink, wondering if there was a name for the cold pit in his stomach.

the next time alice comes, albedo has the time to look and properly greet her. he doesn’t have anything important or time sensitive going on, simply waiting for a dish to crystallize, and it was clear that the short wave he gave, pencil still in hand, had made her happy.

“hey albedo! what are you working on?”

almost subconsciously, his eyes flick to rhinedottir, searching for her approval, but she’s turned away, inspecting some random report on his desk. his chest feels cold as he lifts his sketchbook in lieu of a response. he’s drawn a cecelia, a kind of flower he saw on his last expedition, only ever growing near the top of a cliff.

he wonders of rhine would be proud of its accuracy, if nothing else.

“oh, a drawing?” klee seems to stand a bit straighter when she registers that the notebook in his hand is for drawing and not for research, and alice chuckles at her enthusiasm. “could we see?”

again, albedo seeks his master’s approval. he doesn’t find it.

he takes a quick look around the lab but knows there isn’t anything dangerous. the only active and open chemicals are the one in the beaker behind him, and that’s both well away from an edge and covered with a watchglass. so he nods, spinning his pen from his hand and into a pocket as they carefully move across the lab. he notes the caution with which klee steps over a fallen pen, the hand not in her mother’s tightly gripping her bag.

he tilts the book up for her to take—his heart had picked up at some point and he can see a quiver where his thumb digs into the binding, when did that happen?—but she just peers down at it from where she is, not reaching. it only takes a moment for something bright to reach her eyes, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome.

“cecelias, right?”

hesitantly, albedo nods. “i was exploring the eastern edge of mondstat, looking for valberries, but… i found these instead.”

she hums with a nod, her expression shifting slightly. “you need to go further north if you want valberries. cecelias grow on starsnatch cliff, and you want to go to stormbearer point.” albedo made a note to ask rhine where that was. “still, this is very impressive! the detail is remarkable despite not having a reference; you must’ve been blessed by the creator themself!”

her eyes glitter in a way that tells him it’s supposed to be something said in jest… but he doesn’t get the joke. behind her, rhinedottir’s head snapped up, eyes narrow, the report long discarded, and albedo takes the risk before his master can speak.

“who?”

alice’s face falls.

albedo looks over at klee for the nth time, checking that she was still happily doodling on her own paper. rhine had been swift to pull alice into a side room after her comment, so it was just them left in his lab. her, on the stool he’d offered her after her mother was pulled away, and him, still on the same chair he’d been for the past few hours. his pen felt cold in his hand despite the fact that he should have been producing more than enough body head to keep it warm, something… uneasy bubbling in his blood.

words pushed to the forefront of his mind, the same as they did every time he checked on klee, and this time he let them go.

“do you know who was alice talking about?”

she stops, the room falling silent as her pencil stills, and he feels oddly exposed in front of her wide red eyes. she reaches up to adjust her hat, the clover on it smudging lightly with graphite. “the creator?”

albedo nods. “rhine never calls people ‘creator’s of things, even masters of k-…. masters of alchemy are simply ‘alchemists’ to her. i’ve never heard of such a title before.”

klee pouts, stuffing her pencil into the rings on her notebook and settling it in her lap. between her fingers, he swears he sees something shaped suspiciously like a cecelia.

“the creator made everything! mama says that they are older than even her, and that they gave klee this!”

the stilted grammar of her words throws albedo off, but not as badly as when she reaches for her bag—nearly falling in the process—and unhooks a large glass-looking jewel inset in silver. it glitters red, a pattern of a flame engraved within, and he finds himself leaning closer. questions spring to his mind—‘how did you get it? what does it do? does it have a name? how is it made? how were you acknowledged by somebody so important at such a young age? is there even a significance to it at all? why doesn’t rhinedottir have one? does alice?’—but she speaks before he can voice them, voice unnaturally cohesive for somebody so young.

“i got my vision after i tried to make the biggest bomb ever!” after she what- “i made a mess out of my station… but mama says it’s okay! she helped me rebuild it and everything, and even stitched back on dodoco’s ear!” she points to a small plush charm hanging off her bag, leaving him with still more questions than answers.

“didn’t your mama teach you about them? why are you asking klee?”

albedo fell short.

was this something that parents typically taught their children? he supposed rhine would technically be his ‘mother’…. but even that was more in the literal sense. she was his mother as in she created him, but she was his master in that she taught him about and guided him through alchemy.

(but was that even for his sake? or was it hers?)

before he could say anything, alice had come back, a crease between her brows and a heavy frown on her face.

“come on klee, we’re leaving.”

klee quickly hooked the ‘vision’ back onto her bag and stuffed her notebook inside, slipping off the stood with a ‘bye bye albedo!’ before he even understood what had happened. her hand folded into her mothers, having crossed the room swiftly, free hand tucked under the strap of her bag.

alice gave albedo a long look, filled with a feeling he couldn’t begin to decipher, before her jaw set and the door opened, a wash of cold air sweeping in as they left.

rhinedottir nearly slammed open the door, shutting it just as harshly behind her, but albedo didn’t flinch from where he was weighing out sodium. she’d been returning from expeditions more and more irritated lately, the domains she’s been searching somehow turning up less clues each time. he’s not privy to her work, so he simply keeps his mouth shut, never offering his advice or help even when he knows it helps to talk puzzling things out.

he tapped his stir rod on the edge of his beaker, knocking off the excess solution, and listened to her go through her routine. boots off, shoes on, coat off, lab wear on. bag down, notes up, then the bang of her door.

he stifles a smile at her predictability. most of her actions are prescribed, a routine she likely follows unintentionally, but it brings him a small bit of comfort. she did the same things when she returned today as she did every other day, no mater the size of her discovery, retiring to her room to review her findings. he learned quickly to shut down any attention-sapping experiments as quickly as possible after she returned to be able to dedicate as much as he could to listening to her ramble, leaving space on his table for her diagrams. he rarely got a word in, but that just made him all the better listener, able to concisely say everything he wanted to in the moment’s space of her breaths.

with all of this in mind, he covered his beaker. the solution would be fine overnight, so long as it was chilled, and he was quite looking forward to tonight’s talk.

albedo stood from his stool and began to clean up, listening to the clock tick down.

a few hours later, rhine returns with a heavy sigh. he hears papers flap in her hands as she shuffles through them, the sound growing louder as she approaches. she sits in the chair he’d set out for her in preparation and drops her papers on the table in a messy pile, various diagrams drawn across them.

she picks out one seemingly at random, depicting a diamond-shaped sigil inset onto a large set of doors. a complex web of patterns wraps around it, ending on eight smaller sigils. below the diagram, she wrote out a quote, presumably the one inscribed across the top of the door, “when seeking those who have lost their faith / there’s not much one can do but wait / you take the swiftest trail at once / and try until your hopes prevail.”

he doesn’t know what it means, but he keeps the words in his mind as she shoves aside the rest of the papers, setting down that one and beginning to talk about how she tried to solve it.

“there’s over 40,000 combinations—i did the math—and i wasn’t going to sit there for however long it took. the geo slime condensate only had enough elemental energy preserved in it to activate all of the sigils twice, and that didn’t account for actually killing the things.”

albedo propped his arm on the table, resting his chin in his palm and staring at the paper. he took in and registered her words, of course, hearing and understanding them, but a majority of his mind was focused on the paper. each of the winding paths started at the center sigil and twisted out, quickly becoming hard to follow- likely due to erosion, since the domain seemed embedded into a cliff face.

still, he pulled at the puzzle, picking at the edges. the inscription played on loop in his mind, producing ideas just as quickly as he shut them down. it couldn’t be that they had to leave to a secondary—or more—location, since six separate places for a domain was too complex and highly unlikely. it couldn’t be that there was some sort of prayer or hymn they needed to follow, due to the same argument as the first. there had to be a simpler solution….

“have you tried activating them in the order of the pathways?”

silence.

he looks up at her lack of response, finding her with her hands raised, clearly mid-ramble.

“i apologize for inter-“

he’s cut off with a wave of her hand as she picks up the paper, flipping it towards her. “dont, you already said it. what do you mean by ‘order’? actually, don’t answer. you can tell me tomorrow.”

just as quickly as she arrived, rhine left, picking up all her papers and leaving with a swish of her coat, her door nearly slammed shut.

albedo’s eyes flicked to the clock. she was barely there for ten minutes.

why? he’d spoken up before… granted, never interrupted, but… surely that wasn’t a large enough offense that she left?

he looked around his desk, empty of any equipment or glassware in preparation for the usual hours-long talk. it was earlier than he normally went to sleep, and though he could in theory return to work…

an unusual hesitation had seeped under his skin, pulling at his hands when he tried to stand. what had he said to make her leave? he’d just wanted to help…

after a moment, he stood, awkwardly pushing in his stool. ‘tell her in the morning’…

something odd and unsettling curled around albedo’s limbs as he went through the motions of preparing for bed. his fingers felt stiff where he ran them through his hair, the sheets on his bed cold despite the fire. an unmovable weight had sat itself on his chest, telling him that he’d done something wrong, but couldn’t tell what.

he hadn’t done anything. he’d just offered his help. she was the one that broke routine.

the weight told him that he was wrong.

he didn’t know why.

[bbygirl-aemond]

All the Laws Viserys Violated by Making Rhaenyra His Heir

Hi hi! I'm in the midst of writing a post about Otto's motivations throughout HotD and the portion about why Otto was so sure Alicent's sons would end up as heir when he pushed her to marry Viserys got wayyy too long so I'm just going to write it here.

I cannot emphasize enough how crazy it was that Viserys kept Rhaenyra as his heir. He has literally no law or precedent to back him up; every single possible precedent actually works against him. Full disclaimer, I genuinely think Rhae would make a good queen and support her over Aegon, but I don't think Viserys made her heir for the right reasons and I think because of the following he was setting her up for failure.

First, Westerosi laws of inheritance say that a woman cannot inherit if she has a trueborn brother. This has always been the case. Remember that as of right now Dorne is NOT a part of the Seven Kingdoms, so the Seven Kingdoms unanimous in its institution of male-based primogeniture. There is literally no region under Viserys's domain where a woman is allowed to inherit if she has any trueborn brothers. You'll never find any instances of a woman being made heir when she has surviving trueborn brothers. When we see women in power, like Jeyne Arryn or even Sansa Stark, it's always because they either have no brothers or their brother is occupied with another title. And honestly, in like half of these cases the title gets passed to a woman's uncle rather than going to her if she's the sole child.

Second, the Great Council of 101 set the precedent that even if a woman is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, she should be passed over for a male. Rhaenys was Jaehaerys's heir according to Westerosi laws of inheritance as the only child of his previous heir, so she was even backed by the actual law and precedent. And the threat of war was dangerous enough that it forced the literal King of Westeros to concede matters of his personal inheritance and violate precedent just to pass over a woman. That's how sexist they are!!! They literally broke the law so that they could be MORE sexist!!

Third, Widow's Law specifically stipulates that it is not meant to be used to allow a woman to inherit over her trueborn brother. I know a lot of people think this law can actually be used to support Rhaenyra, but I think this ignores the context of the time. Remember, even though Alysanne wrote the law, Jaehaerys is the one who implemented it and is the only one who had the final say in its wording. And, as mentioned above, Jaehaerys straight up does not have the power to allow women to inherit, even when the law is backing him up. He's also a super misogynist and has proven unwilling to listen to Alysanne on feminist matters. So I'm not sure why people think he'd have the desire or the power to instate a law that says a daughter from a first marriage gets to inherit over a son from a second marriage. The lords would never allow something like that, because most of them use and discard their wives for the sole purpose of gaining male heirs and I guarantee there would be a moral panic about women getting too much power the same way there eventually was with Rhaenys and Rhaenyra. And not just the lords, but Jaehaerys would never allow something like that: They're all grade A misogynists, remember? That's why Widow's Law specifically placates the lords by assuring them that their precious eldest son can still inherit before even introducing the new law. Because Jaehaerys knew he wouldn't be supported if he said that women could inherit when they have trueborn brothers, so he made sure everyone knew he wasn't trying to do that.

So Viserys has 0 laws and precedents backing his decision, and 3 laws and precedents that his decision outright violates. And he keeps Rhaenyra as his heir anyways, out of guilt to Aemma. This is why I think Otto was genuinely flabbergasted by Viserys's decision; because he demonstrates remarkable awareness of the misogyny in Westeros and is fully aware that this WILL incite rebellion. He says it himself: It doesn't matter to the lords of Westeros how good or kind Rhaenyra is. They've demonstrated, time and time again, that they will not allow a woman to inherit a title, including the Iron Throne, if there are ANY trueborn male relatives available--AND that they have the power to force the King to let them decide his inheritance!

TLDR: Viserys really did Rhaenyra dirty. He made and kept her his heir out of guilt about Aemma, not out of love for Rhaenyra. And he did this knowing that it violated every single precedent or law relating to inheritance out there, and knowing that previous kings weren't able to uphold their female heirs, even when they had a stronger claim than Rhaenyra would have, because the lords threatened to start a war over it. And that's not even getting into how he completely failed to teach her about politics and did nothing to prepare her to become Queen.

This is also part of why people say it's not just about Rhaenyra's bastards. I fully agree that having them weakened her claim even further, but what you need to understand is that Rhaenyra was doomed from the start. She was doomed by the misogynistic laws, and by the misogynistic precedent, and by the misogynistic lords who never tried to hide that they'd start a war if a woman inherited the throne. And Viserys put that burden on her anyways, and put her and her children's lives in genuine danger, all so he could feel better about his decision to butcher his wife.

[batrogers]

"Feral" Tropes

For Clarity: I have written pretty much every single trope on this list at some point or another myself.

(Yes, including extremely ill-advised arson, non-verbal and illiterate Link, needs help with his hair, and spends weeks in blood-stained clothes.)

These can be funny tropes, dark tropes, ironic tropes, heartfelt tropes, and cathartic tropes.

[Art of my Minish Cap Link, by @l3ominor]

Why do people find “Feral” link so polarizing, then?

I’m gonna go over what makes a fantasy, character agency (or deliberate lack thereof), and – because I’m AO3 trash forever, and because I think it’s the most useful thing here – tagging.

It's also like 2000 words, whoops.

I’m using “feral” here to say that Link is positioned as either failing to adhere to expected social norms, or positioned as outside them. Social norms are part of civilization: a structure of rules and expectations that are positioned as the “height” of human social achievements. Meeting them makes you a good, normal person who is respectable and respected; failing them can make you anywhere from imperfect to exile to enemy.

“Civilized” is a moving target that’s defined by others. Anyone, at any time, can be constructed as a failure just because someone wants to do that. Similarly, other features – like slavery and war crimes – can be considered “civilized” because that’s just what the dominant power does. Being “civilized” isn’t inherently good; it’s also not inherently evil. Civilized social rules also include stuff like charity, hospitality, and similar social welfare stuff.

Basically both “Civilized” and “Feral” can mean whatever you want them to mean, but there are some common ways it goes wrong.

Again. I have written 90% of these in various ways. These are not inherently wrong; the frustration often arises from presentation and lack of clarity, which I’ll address below:

The first is infantilizing the character, creating them as helpless.

Wild can’t bathe himself and doesn't see the point in being clean; he doesn’t do anything with his hair. He’s so dumb he eats rocks; he'll eat too much or anything at all, and he has no objection to being treated like a child. He doesn’t know language or how to read or write. If transmale, he doesn't understand his period and thinks he's dying. He was literally raised by a wolf. He can't do anything right. It's presented as fair and just to pin him down to clean him, because he cannot do it himself.

The fact the wolf is supposedly Twilight, who should be striving to get him to other hylians is irrelevant. Real youth react to their period thinking they’re dying, but this is associated with literal children, particularly ones raised completely ignorant of their own bodies and of sex.

The second is othering them, treating them as antisocial.

Other people react badly to him; he has no manners, he smells; he never tells anyone what he's doing. He's afraid of other Hylians; he's indifferent to them, and wants nothing to do with them. He doesn't understand how to function in a group. He'll wander into a trap carelessly, and drag others with him in pursuit of something pointless.

In the case of Hyrule, he lives in a cave and this is strange, bizarre, and horrible, rather than a thing that is in the actual historical record and is a dry, temperature controlled and easily protected place to sleep.

The third is to make them dangerous, a savage thing.

He solves his problems by lighting things on fire, uncaring of the damage done. He bites and growls when upset. He'll kill a monster with his bare hands; he'll show up in town covered in blood and filth.

He's an abomination; he's literally not human at all.

IIII

Probably you read that list and had checkmarks going off in your head. I like that one; I don’t like that one. People never do that right; I’d handle this way better if only—

Good. It’s a fun list of things that can be good, if done to your taste.

A lot of these touch into disability tropes; some edge into racialization ones. A lot are dehumanizing. People have a lot of feelings about both, good and bad, and feeling your way through it by writing is normal, expected, and okay. You do not deserve to be punished for writing something “bad” while trying to understand what you like. Many of these fall under care-taking tropes: someone needs help, and they feel awkward asking so they just want someone to step in and “Fix it” without the humiliation of having to ask.

That’s fine. But if you want to change it up: let Link ask. Let him reach out. Let him initiate the help. There’s a very different feeling when someone pins Wild down to clean him, versus when Wild works up the courage to ask “Can you help me?”

Because yeah, brain damage is complicated. He could have just about any struggles you imagine, but what can be frustrating for others seeing this, over and over, is that he’s treated like a permanent child or an animal. He always will need taken care of; he always needs someone to step in. It is right and just to force him to submit to care against his will...

He never has anyone ask if they can help him, either.

How much sweeter can the care be when he’s willing? When he initiates? When he has agency in his own treatment? Because too many people who need help are not given that choice. Some readers are turned off because the force is all too real, and all too painful to see reflected in what they came to for escapism. One person’s care-taking fantasy, is another’s real life trauma.

Escaping society and it’s pressures is also a fantasy, one of independence and freedom all its own but again, a major feature here is choice. Does Wild have choice? Does Hyrule? Is this presented as of course they don’t belong, or as a reasoned decision, or as a result of being driven out by real violence from others?

All different stories. All different fantasies.

And being the agent of violence is a fantasy, too. “Burn it all down” is a valid emotion (I write variations on it myself, although not this one.) Think of “Kill Bill” and “Fury Road.”

But with an ostracized, feral Wild there is the reflection of real violence against the marginalized communities whenever they express frustration or rage at their treatment. The wrong person being dangerous can get them killed. Of course this is polarizing.

Ironically, this category includes the one trait that Wild displays in the Linked Universe comic that didn’t make the feral list: emotional dysregulation. He loses his temper; he lashes out. He gets upset and jumps the gun... but it’s not cute, it’s not pretty, it’s presented very well in canon (Warriors is frustrated with him, but not seriously angry.) But it doesn’t suit the feral take, because it’s too mild for the violent fantasies, and too adult and human for the innocent ones.

IIII

My first advice about writing this is to be more clear about your tags. Spoilers are always a thing people worry about, but some things can be improved with clarity, and conflict over “bad writing” is one of them. “Feral” Link can mean literally any combination of the above, but those are all wildly different things. Narrowing down what happens in your fic into more specific tropes will both help people who want to read what you write to find it, and help people who will be upset avoid it.

It just common courtesy. I tagged a recent fic “Drunk arguments”+ “Politics” because that argument could go a lot of ways. Someone who’ll read political nonsense may not read sex and may not read crack. It doesn’t say anything but the subject matter, and it doesn’t need to: the question of whether this will turn into politics or sex is a way to direct people in or away according to their taste.

Is this required? No. People make mistakes or have bad days or just don’t want to, and don’t deserve punishment for it. But it’s a tool at hand to filter your readership to better match you, one you shouldn’t disregard.

If you want to adjust how you write, frequently the aggravating factor is in the presence (or deliberate absence) of agency, and in evoking sympathy over pity. There’s also a way to balance traits in just like, the general sense of making the story more complex: nobody is one thing.

For an example from my own projects, I write my version of Minish Cap Link combined with the first Four Sword game. The second time he used the Four Sword changed him into something not-quite-human. But even prior to that, he was non-verbal and skittish; he bit and hissed, he has visible injuries on top of the later changes. I have two fics that present two different ways to frame much the same event: he gets upset and lashes out, and legitimately terrifies the people around him.

In one story, he is restrained. The people doing so are treated as villains for it; you see his fear and panic, and Zelda’s rage over his treatment. In the other, he is calmed by another of the Links, and even in an outside perspective it is made clear that Minish is reassured, relieved and desperate for comfort once his fear has passed – and he trusts the person who talked him down (who did not hurt him) to give it now. He doesn’t have to “behave” to be treated as human, but I also don’t have to make him act “normal” to do so: the framing of how he’s treated by others does it. He’s also clean, well-kept, polite, sweet when he’s calm, and playful.

Similarly, because I have multiple characters who are all non-verbal to varying degrees, I can get away with a lot of variety. I can make one a total bitch, and I don’t have to worry that he’s going to be “bad” representation because if people don’t want a bitchy non-verbal character to relate to, there’s two others to choose from. Balancing a “feral” trait with a mix of signals creatures a nuanced character that isn’t just a ball of Whump.

(Although again: nothing wrong with a ball of Whump if you’re in the mood for it. I have my balls of Whump fics, too.)

Some of the other weird things can be done as just misunderstandings: Is Link eating rocks because it’s polite to join the gorons? Did he realize he was weird and could eat rocks as a child and now does it to joke around? Does Hyrule get to be exasperated at the others pitying his cave? Letting the weird be weird but legitimate can be fun, or even funny: Hyrule lets the others sleep cold in tents while he’s warm inside.

Readers get tired of one-note characters no matter what they’re like. I’ve heard the same complaints about “Dad” Time as I’ve heard about “Feral” Wild, and about Twilight. The fix isn’t to throw out what you like; it’s to build it up into something more. It will never be to everyone’s taste, but you can have a dirty little gremlin who, no matter how inhuman they may seem, is still treated like a person.

Dehumanization is far too prevalent in the world right now, and a lot of us desperately need somewhere to escape it.

Now I’m gonna go write me some fluffy Wild asking for hair brushing. After spending all week chewing on this, it sounds like a fun challenge.

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WHENEVER

@chevvy-yates tagged me for this. Thank you a lot 💚

This will be a huge wall of text aswell, since I am not really of the „visual“ side of creating atm.

Writing // Worldbuilding

I'm still writing the next two chapters for my fanfiction, but would rather briefly introduce my other OCs here (yes, Aon isn´t the only one by now). Maybe I can create all of them ingame at some point, depending on how stupid I´ll act with modding etc. when I start. Since things can change quickly in the story while I'm writing, I wouldn't say that everything is 100% set in stone, a lot of it isn't finished yet. But it's a good base. Most of them appear in my „Like Napalm“ fic. Some of them will be in my main GARMR fic aswell. So prepare for half backed character data entries and some rambling.

Gan

Gan Tomobataar, or Iron as he is usually called, is a mysterious man. Many stories surround the Mongolian giant and it always depends on who asks him whether he affirms or denies these tales. It is therefore uncertain which of them are true or fictional and he really enjoys keeping his past in the dark. He is said to have served in an elite military unit. The metal teeth that earned him his iconic nickname are said to have been lost in numerous boxing matches as he tried to turn pro to make a better life for himself and his family, and he is allegedly a descendant of Ginghis Khan (which is probably one of his favorite rumors). One can assume that his closest confidants have more clarity, but none of them would dare say a word about it. Undeniably true is that he has two brothers, of whom he is the second-born. Together with them, he leads one of the largest nomadic clans in eastern Europe and Asia. The Tomobataar nomads are divided into three large families, each led by one of the three brothers. Iron's family stays mainly in Mongolia and Russia, but he would also travel to more distant parts of the Soviet Union for profitable contracts. He doesn't have many vices, but one of them is definitely greed.

By sheer luck, at least that's what he claimed, he picked up Aon on the street when she was trying to flee Moscow on her own. He promised to protect her from the Secret Police and other bounty hunters if she proved to be a useful member of his clan. However, his methods for testing her worth would put the young woman to the test.

Yakov

Yakov always had problems finding his place in the world. He grew up in St. Petersburg, studying or an education other than working in his father's car repair shop were never an option financially, but the young man always yearned for something greater than being stuck in the alleys and streets of his childhood. He decided to join the military when he was old enough, but was discharged immediately after basic training for insubordination and general unsuitability. What remained for him was to work in his father's garage until he died after a long illness. Yakov tried to keep the store running on his own for a while, but he found it difficult to do good business without proper management and eventually had to sell the store. This was followed by a relatively dark period. He saw himself as a failure, was unable to find a new job and drank away the money he had received for the workshop in the bars in his neighborhood. One evening, a man came into his local pub. His car had broken down outside, he wouldn't get any further that night and kept him company for a few hours. The next day, Yakov repaired his car for the man called Gan and left the town with him to live with the Tomobataar nomads.

Gregori

Gregori's mother, a singer from New York, came to the Russian capital for a gig and met a military officer there. The two got together and the result was little Greg. Shortly afterwards, however, the couple fell apart and she took her son back to America, where he spent most of his childhood and youth being raised by babysitters and nannies, while the singer preferred to spend her time on tour or in the recording studio. Gregori at least inherited much of her creativity, starting to make music himself at an early age and drawing a lot. Just what small children do when they need to keep themselves busy.

When he was 16 years old, his mother died of an overdose. As she never bothered to write down a testament or anything similar, her entire fortune goes to her greedy manager, who leaves Gregori penniless.

The boy, who has spent his whole life sheltered without much contact with the outside world, is left with nothing and doesn't know exactly what to do. So he scrapes together the last of his money and buys a ticket to Moscow, where he tries to find his father, but in vain. He quickly goes off the rails, barely speaks a word of Russian, is recruited by a gang and gets exploited. An arms deal with a group of nomads goes wrong, a shootout ensues and Gegori is the only one left of the gang because he hides instead of fighting. Yakov, who was on the other side of the deal, takes pity on him and eventually takes him to his new family where he tries to find his place within the group.

Anna

Anna grew up with the Tomobataar nomads from an early age. Her parents were killed in a botched mission when she was just four years old. Iron, who in a way blamed himself for this, took on a guardianship for her and looked after the little girl like the apple of his eye. As the years passed and Anna grew older, the relationship between her and her foster father changed. He became increasingly demanding, punished misbehavior and put the still young girl under pressure. Aon, who had already earned her place in the clan by this time, could not tolerate this behavior as she herself had grown up under similar circumstances. No one else in the clan interfered with Iron's "parenting methods", which is why she ended up doing it. Anna and Aon then became inseparable and she naturally followed her later when they left the clan along with many others.

Anatoly

Anatoly, or Tolik as Aon calls him, belongs to the Russian working class in Moscow and cannot claim to own much. As a boy, he dreamed of studying mechanical engineering in order to open his own workshop or business. A dream that his father would never have been able to afford in this life. So after school, Tolik started working at his father's scrap yard on the outskirts of Moscow, not an easy job. He regularly drives into the city to pick up old components and scrap metal from SovOil and other big corporations, where he meets Alyona one day. The two strike up a conversation, exchange banter and hit it off straight away, which over time develops into a teenage love story. Aon spends a lot of time with him at the scrapyard, where she can test and improve her skills on old machines and has a place to hide from her hated stepfather. He, in return, benefits from the knowledge she brings with her from university, and his dream of building his own big thing soon becomes her dream too. Together they consider leaving the city at some point and make plans for the future

unnamed_chromed_up_terrifying_SovOil_Secret_Police_agent

Yea well, I don't know yet how to call him. After Aon has fled Moscow, the officers of the normal police force give up the search for her, as it theoretically no longer falls within their area of responsibility. However, since Kristof claims that Aon stole the data he wanted to sell to Petrochem, SovOil is naturally very interested in finding her and the data chip. So they send a Secret Police agent after her, who, together with a small unit, tries to track her down. He actually already had a kind of "Easter Egg" appearance in my other AU. He would have been the agent sitting next to Kurt if he hadn't switched the cards on the table. Funny how differently things can go. Anyway, he doesn't really have much of a backstory other than he used to work for the KGB and is a bloodthirsty hound dog who chases Aon halfway across the country (spoiler: and finds her). If I were to compare him to another character from movies etc, he would probably have the closest vibe to Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds. The character was very well written, even though I would probably make my namesless_pig a bit younger than him. But since he'll be pumped full of cyberware anyway, it probably doesn't matter much in the end. It's just supposed to be a fucking horrible character and Aon's nightmare.

Robert Walker

Robert is one of the key-characters in my main fanfiction. I haven't thought about him in depth yet, but the general concept is there. He's a British journalist and photographer who wanted to go high by exposing wrongdoings in society. For him, there is nothing more exciting than achieving "fame and notoriety" as a whistleblower. He's not necessarily stupid or doesn't know what he's doing, he's just unlucky. He gets into trouble with the wrong people and upsets the even worse ones, which is why he has to flee the UK and ends up in NC. There he tries to start over and stay out of trouble. However, he soon develops an "unhealthy" obsession with Kurt Hansen. He is incredibly fascinated by him and spends every free minute in Dogtown so that he can perhaps take a photo (or two, or ten) of his idol. At some point, he goes so far as to seek direct contact and wants to interview him. Kurt is flattered at first, but has little desire to reveal information about himself in some strange blog or gossip magazine. But that didn't stop Robert from continuing to stalk him and even trying to become a member of Barghest. At some point, Hansen got too pissed off and gave him the choice of leaving Dogtown or catching a bullet. Robbie chose the second option. After all, he hadn't forbid him to camp outside the gates of Dogtown, had he?

Technically I could tell something about Aon´s mom and her stepfather too, but I don´t have that much yet. So will keep em for the next WIP together with the other OCs for my main fic. There will be three more. A general, a corpo guy and the last is still up for discussion with my brain. Considering somekind of warlord or a netrunner.

Art

I tried to do something different than a full rendered piece of artwork. I am not yet confinced that I like it. I like, that it was finished really fast lmao but...I dunno.

Aon and Tolik - 2055

But happy that Aon is actually recognizable in the end. During the process she looked so much like So Mi at a point that my brain went: WHO ARE YOU GIRL. But I like the long hair. Will give it back to her in her 2078+ appearance. Not exactly like this, but longer than her normal style.

Not quite sure about Anatoly tho. I mean, he looks like this in my head, but I will reconsidere if he will get some cyberarms. He is poor like a mouse, so probably can´t afford expensive tech like this, but he feels kind of „empty“ without anything.

Congrats and huge thanks if you read this far. Brainrot stronk!

Tagging some ppl aswell. Everyone else is invited too to show off some awesome stuff ofc, no pressure as always!

@blackrevell @olath124 @cyberholic77 @cybervesna @pinkyjulien @theviridianbunny @therealnightcity @wanderingaldecaldo @miss--river @barghestapologist @kdval @streetkid-named-desire @aggravateddurian @androgymess