#just being cold and detached and uncaring

[sga-owns-my-soul]

John stared at Wallace, the man responsible for all of this. The man who kidnapped McKay's sister, the man who kidnapped McKay, the man who risked Jeannie's life to fix his own selfish mistake.

He felt no sympathy.

[sp4ceboo]

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Devious Forgiveness 

Synopsis: Ser Aemond is faced with your stubborn ignorance of him and plots to earn your forgiveness and attention. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond being devious, ¿infatuation?, Slight Jealousy PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART

Weeks passed, and a notable shift had turned into the castle. The once lively princess, who always had a myriad of words spewing from her tongue and a kind smile on her lips, had gone each time she was alone in the presence of her sworn protector. Aemond would clench his jaw and feel his stomach pit every time he saw you conversing with anyone— there was a pitch of excitement in your voice, a gleam in your eyes, and a smile on your lips that were gone in a flash the moment they would step away and leave you alone with him. 

He had been trying to speak with you these past few days. He tried earnestly to remove the cold and biting tone in his voice when he addressed you—always greeting you in the morning and bidding you good night. He would even try to make small comments about the weather when the two of you were in the gardens, but you would only ignore his words, just as he did you. Aemond was starting to entertain the possibility that perhaps he should give up. This is what he wanted when he had first taken his post— you detached and uncaring, quiet and not one to meddle in his life. However, you had accustomed him too much with your kindness, more than he’d care to admit— you had lured him in with your concern and sweetness to the point in which he could no longer stomach you being aloof and bitter towards him. 

“Good morning, princess,” Aemond bowed as you exited your chambers, and just like the past days, you did not say a word. Aemond bit his tongue; you truly could hold a grudge. He did not know if he should find that annoying or admirable. 

“Good morrow, Gertrude,” You smiled as you passed your chambermaid on her way to your rooms to tidy them. “Good day, princess,” she said lowly. She paused and curtsied as you passed. Aemond rolled his eye at the way you ignored his greeting but still greeted your chambermaid. Your knight followed you down the halls, passing by a multitude of court members, squires, maids, and knights who you all greeted and smiled at. 

You and Aemond were nearing the end of a hall, and there he saw another knight standing in guard— a knight he did not quite like, a knight who as well noticed your neglect of your sworn protector. “Princess,” He bowed as you passed, Aemond’s hold at the hilt of his sword tightening as you paused in the halls with the goal of chatting with the knight. “Good morrow, Ser Adam,” You smiled. “And I believe greetings are in order,” You added quickly as he raised his head. 

“My brother says it is your name day today.” You smiled as you saw quiet shock on his face, as he did not account for you to know such details. “It is, Your Highness,” He smiled. “Happy name day, then, Ser Adam.” Aemond felt his eye twitch as the knight’s gaze turned to him, a tease in his eyes before it quickly disappeared as he turned to you. “Thank you, princess,” He smiled charmingly before bowing as you went on your way, Aemond throwing him a glare before following behind you.

Aemond tried to calm himself, but with every breath he took, all he could smell was your scent. He watched steely-eyed as you walked in front of him, your hair swaying with every step you took. He stared at the back of your head, willing you to turn to him just like days before, but not once had you met his gaze. 

“Sister, just in time, come, breakfast is served!” Your brother greeted you as you entered the royal apartments, a change of scenery as you were growing quite tired of your mundane routines. Aemond moved to assist you to your chair, but a footman stepped in front of him. There was an odd look on his face as Aemond tried to do his job for him. Aemond pursed his lips and stood by your side, ignoring the questioning look on your brother’s face. He did not take his leave, but why should he? His rightful place was by your side. 

“You may take your leave, Ser Aemond— so you may break your fast,” Your brother dismissed. Aemond knew he should not go against the orders of the prince, but his stubbornness showed through. “I am not hungry, Your Highness,” He said curtly. You caught the eyes of your brothers, imploring you to dismiss your stubborn knight. You shrugged your shoulders as you, too, were stubborn-headed, and you had a sword to yourself not to speak with him. “There is no danger here, Ser Aemond. Please, I insist that you find rest. Ser Adam could take the watch.” Your brother insisted, but Aemond did not reply. You sighed; he does love toeing the line of impertinence. 

“You may take your leave, Ser Aemond; you can return after our meal.” You said, a tone of icyness in your voice that no one was accustomed to. Aemond swallowed thickly. Those were the first words you’d said to him in weeks, and though he was disheartened by the tone of your voice, he felt satisfied that you finally addressed him. “My princess— my prince,” He bowed and reluctantly left his post. 

“Is something the matter with your knight?” Your brother asked as he was not all oblivious to the rather odd dynamic you had with your sworn protector. “Not particularly; he does his duties.” You say blankly, not wishing to discuss Ser Aemond. “It’s just odd to see you be so… reserved when in his presence. You usually talk the ear of your knight… it’s just not like you to be so quiet,” Your brother mumbled as he took a bite of his meal. You shrugged, not wanting to admit that you were harboring rather ill feelings for your sworn protector. 

“Are you not getting along with him?” Your brother asked after a moment. You thought he had forgotten about the subject after the prolonged silence. “It doesn’t matter if we get along or not, does it? He does his duty; that is sufficient.” Your brother’s eyebrows raised as you said such words; he was not used to you speaking as such or so coldly. “Do— do you wish for me to remove him from your station?” He suggested. Not wanting his dearest sister to be uncomfortable or act as such. 

You blinked at the plate in front of you, not expecting the offer. It was tempting. Even you yourself were growing tired of having to push down your true self in fear of annoying your knight and trying not to take offense by his blatant dislike of you. However, if he were removed from your station, it would further put the image of you being spoiled and unaccustomed to not getting your way— that you were too sensitive and could not take criticism and having someone not liking you—a true enough statement, but you’d rather not give him tangible evidence of it. “Do what you wish, brother; I am fine either way,” You say civilly and stand, flashing him a small smile before leaving and heading toward your solarium. 

Aemond eventually found you after scouring the whole castle. After his hasty breakfast, he felt his stomach pit ever so slightly as he could not account for your presence in the royal apartments, leading him to run through the halls and search the usual places you frequented. Aemond sighed as he reached the closed doors of your solarium, the distant sound of you humming escaping through the crevices of the door. 

He glanced towards the stained glass window and saw the sun nearing its peak, as well as the distant sound of a squire approaching the halls with your morning tea. Aemond bit his lip, rested his heavy sword against the wall, and met the squire in the middle of the hallway. “I shall take this; the princess does not wish to be disturbed.” He lied as he was plotting out his scheme. The squire looked at him with apprehension but eventually nodded and handed him the tray, fearing that he would be scolded or, worse, be beaten by the knight if he did not comply with his orders. 

Aemond felt his erratic heartbeat in his ears as he carried your tea to your solarium. He wanted to roll his eye at himself. Why was he so nervous? He had faced countless battles with other knights and miscreants and even bravely faced the day his eye was taken, but never once had he felt this nervous. The rattle of the silverware against the tray and the sound of your humming and your deep concentration masked the presence of Aemond, who placed down the tray on a nearby table and prepared your tea for you. Two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk; he had memorized the specificity of how you took your tea. He tried to control his heavy breathing as he approached you, who was facing the window and painting the landscape. 

You saw from your peripheral vision as a cup of steaming tea was presented, mindlessly taking it without even letting go of the paintbrush in your hands. “Thank you, Ge—“ The words and the small smile died on your lips as you turned to your side and saw your knight presenting you with your beverage. His eye watching every reaction of yours closely. You bit your tongue and still took the cup of tea but faced forward once more, going back to ignoring the presence of Ser Aemond. It was peculiar of him to do such a job that was certainly below his pay grade. 

Aemond gritted his teeth and felt his hold on the delicate saucer tighten to a point he was certain he could break it. He stood there for a few more moments, watching as you silently sipped your tea to completion before placing it back on the saucer without a word or even a glance toward him. Aemond parted his lips to speak. Even though he did not know what to say, you, however, spoke first. “Close the door behind you; I do not wish to be disturbed until sundown,” You say coldly, and Aemond felt his nostrils flare in anger. 

He stomped out of the room and rudely slammed the door behind him, making you jump in your stool and turn towards the door with a displeased face; he really was toeing the line of impertinence, and if you had just an ounce less of patience, you would not hesitate to report such dealing to your brother and have him removed from your service. And as much as you wanted to be free from his rather rude behavior, you could not bring yourself to be rid of him. 

When evening came, you were subjected to your chambers with a supper for one. Your brother decided to retire early, and your parents were in business in the south, leaving you alone. You sighed as you had no appetite, feeling quite lonely. You looked around your chamber, and only then did it occur to you that a presence was missing: your kitten, Theodore. 

You frowned and looked toward his assigned corner, but he was not there, and the milk you had ordered for him earlier in the afternoon seemed untouched. “Theo?” You called and looked under your feathered bed. You tore away your sheets and tossed the plethora of pillows onto the floor as you were growing frantic in your search. You checked your wardrobe and messily riffled through your dress. You then went to the wet room and the sitting room, leaving a trail of mess in your wake. “Theo!” You cried and resorted to opening the various chests in your chambers as well as behind the books on your bookshelves. 

Aemond bit his lip as he heard your desperate cries for your pet. It was devious of him, possibly even cruel, but he had hidden your kitten in hopes that through your desperation, you would ask for his help. It was a last resort; he had no idea how to be in your good graces once more, so he resorted to such acts rather than actually asking for forgiveness. 

Aemond straightened his back as he heard you unbar your chamber doors and peek your head out, “Ser Aemond,” You called breathlessly and frantically. “Have— have you seen Theodore? I think I may have lost him.” Aemond felt guilt wrack through him at the sight of your tear-filled eyes and overly concerned face. “No, princess,” He answered, and that severed the fear in you. 

You bit your lip and got ready to resume your search. You tried to close the door, but your knight hindered you in doing so. “I… I can help you search for him,” he offered, and you nodded fervently, forgetting your oath not to speak to your sworn protector. 

You resumed your search, looking through the mess you had made in fear your little kitten was buried in the pile of your dresses or books. Aemond bit his lip as he, too, pretended to search for your pet when he already knew where he hid him. He disappeared into the wet room and pretended to search there. He returned to your main room after a moment and saw you seated on the floor, close to tears, as you still could not find your pet, who, through your tireless efforts, had just begun to trust you, and now you had lost him due to your ignorance.

You breathed out heavily and dejectedly, and Aemond made cautious steps towards you. “We shall find your pet, princess,” He tried to console you, not knowing you would react in such a way. “But what if we don’t? I’ve always wanted a cat, even when I was still a little girl, but I do not believe they were quite keen on me— it is a miracle Theodore came into my possession,” You sighed and tried to stand, and your knight was quick to assist you, offering his arm and placing his hand on your waist to stable you onto your feet. 

Aemond bit his lip and did not remove his hold on you; your eyes were distractedly searching through the room once again. He then turned to your balcony. “Did you leave your balcony door open, princess?” He asked, only pretending to notice how the small gap on your balcony door he had left earlier that day. You looked up toward your knight, finally staring into his unique lilac orb after nearly a fortnite. 

You did not answer his reply and hastenedly went to your balcony in hopes of finding your kitten. “Theo?” You called out once more, and through the silent night, you heard the ever-so-silent yet distinct sound of him calling out for you. You peered over the balcony, half of your body dangling over the edge as you saw him shivering and placed in the mouth of a gargoyle. “Princess, you might fall,” Ser Aemond said in great concern. He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you off the balcony. 

You pointed towards the gargoyle and urged your knight to retrieve your pet. No coherent word left your lips in fear as Theodore might fall. “Princess, breathe,” Aemond said, absentmindedly cupping your cheeks and caressing them to urge you to calm down and breathe. You shook your head and stared at him wide-eyed, pointing furiously towards the ledge. Aemond sighed and only now regained his sensibilities about your close proximity, stepping away and removing his hold from you to retrieve your cat that he placed in the mouth of the gargoyle. You really shouldn’t worry that much; he secured the cat in a place he made certain he would not fall, no matter the height of the statue.

“Oh, you’re okay, you’re fine,” You say soothingly as Ser Aemond placed your kitten into your grasp and you held it close to your chest. Aemond observed as the moon bathed you in its glow setting your frame breathtakingly alight. You carresed the fur of your kitten and sighed, vocing to yourself to never let him out of your sight again. “Th-thank you, Ser Aemond,” You  said geniunly and finally flashed him a small smile, the goal Aemond had been working for the past days. He bowed and assisted you back into your chambers, gently nudging you inside, his hand at the small of your back. 

Aemond assisted you into your settee as you still clutch tightly onto your pet. “Good night, princess,” He said lowly, not quite certain if he would recieve a reply. When he heard none after a moment, he sighed and his mind concted a few more plans for the both of you to retrun to how it was. As he stepped out into the hall, he heard teh faintest sound of your voice that made his knees weak and a stupid flush on his cheeks appear. “Good night, Ser Aemond.” 

[ayamago]

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Pairing: Qimir x Female Reader

Summary: He keeps to himself and avoids others, yet he takes a strong interest in you. Stranded as a disillusioned Padawan on a mysterious island, you meet Qimir, a dark sider who begins to intrigue you deeply. Spending time together, you find yourself drawn to Qimir in ways that make you question your morals.

Back to 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 & 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒?

𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄-𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃, save for your lone figure seated gracefully upon the wet sand. Rain cascaded down from the somber sky, draping the scene in a veil of mist and melancholy. You sat cross-legged, your hands clenched in your lap, shoulders hunched forward against the downpour. The storm of emotions from your argument with Qimir still raged within you, leaving you uncaring of the cold seeping through your drenched clothes.

You had heard many unsettling tales about the dark side of the Force, stories that left you questioning its nature. Why, you wondered, did they preach detachment from emotions that made them human — emotions so raw and beautiful? It was Qimir, the stranger, who stirred these doubts within you. His words hinted at a different perspective, one where passion and power were not condemned but celebrated. Could it be, you pondered, that there was truth in what he said? That perhaps the path to understanding the Force wasn't through suppression but through embracing all aspects of oneself, even those that others feared?

You cursed your mind for entertaining such thoughts, fearing that questioning the Jedi teachings could lead to your exile. No, you knew it undoubtedly would. Yet despite the looming threat of ostracism, you couldn't suppress your curiosity. The stranger's unsettling words continued to echo in your mind, challenging everything you had been taught about the Force. The storm's relentless downpour mirrored the turmoil within you as you sat on the desolate beach. You dared to seek out the truth, not through the Jedi's strict rules of detachment, but through embracing the emotions that made you human — raw and beautiful, yet forbidden.

Lost in deep thought, you hadn’t noticed Qimir’s quiet approach. The rain enveloped you in its chaotic embrace, and he observed you with a concerned expression. He had approached silently, concerned that you might fall ill from running out into the downpour. Mixed with this worry was a feeling of guilt for pushing you to the point where escaping him seemed necessary. His unexpected presence startled you, disrupting the solitude of the beach and the turmoil within. You wondered if your hasty departure had stirred concern in him, if his coming to find you meant he cared for you in his own way. Despite feeling uneasy, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long, especially since you were both stranded together on the island.

"I knew I'd find you here," he whispered quietly, his words not lost on you as you heard him.

"I wasn't attempting to hide from you, I just needed space," you say, matter-of-factly. Though your tone is calm, there's a hint of lingering frustration. "Being close to you wasn't helping clear my head."

You could tell by the way he was staring at you that he was lost in thought. Was it your beauty that captivated him, or was he considering broaching the very topic that had driven you away? You suspected it was the former. He chewed the inside of his cheek, a habit you had noticed whenever he was uncertain. The two of you had been stranded on this island for three weeks now. While it might seem like a short time to him, it felt like a lifetime to you. During your time together, he had discovered many things about you. One of the most notable traits being your determination to explore every corner of the island, searching for a way off. It was clear to him that your eagerness to find an escape route stemmed not just from a desire to leave the island, but also from a growing discomfort with being near him, almost as if you harbored a deep resentment toward him.

"Do you hate me, [Your Name]?" He asked, sitting down next to you on the wet sand, unconcerned about getting wet from the downpour. "Sometimes it seems like you do."

The question caught you off guard, and as you began to speak to formulate a response, he cut you off again. "I know we don't always see eye to eye, or ever, on our beliefs. But I didn't come out here to discuss the Jedi Order or anything related to it. I came because I was genuinely worried about you getting sick."

As you looked at him, your heart beat rapidly, its rhythm drowning out the sound of the pouring rain. You wondered if he could hear it too, if perhaps even the gods could hear it. You felt like a jerk; despite being stuck on the island together for so long, you had never made an effort to truly understand him. Often, you kept your distance not out of hatred, but because you couldn't comprehend his choices. Why the dark side, you pondered, yet at the same time, you found yourself understanding aspects of his perspective. It was all so confusing.

"I don't hate you, Qimir," you said softly, turning your gaze back to the ocean ahead. Your cheeks warmed, and you felt a rush of heat through your body. "I just. . . I don't understand you, and that scares me."

"I want an Acolyte, the power of two: a master and his pupil," he stated. "To be free, to live as I see fit. The Jedi Order doesn’t agree with that," he explained, as if seeking to bridge the gap between you two, helping you understand him better.

“Maybe there’s more to the Force than what the Jedi teach,” you pondered aloud, cautiously testing the waters. “Could you show me? Teach me how you see it?”

"Yes, I would like that, [Your Name]," he said softly, his words flowing like honey wine. Standing up, he brushed off his soaked clothes. Looking down at you, a faint blush painted his cheeks as he extended his hand. "Come on, I don't want you catching a cold."

As you take his hand, he draws you close to his chest, leaning in so his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "And earlier, you said being close to me wasn’t helping clear your head. I didn’t realize I had that much of an affect on you, my flower."

“In your dreams, Qimir,” you say, trying to pull away from his grasp. But before you can, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Qi. . . Qimir, what are you doing?”

"I just wanted you to know that I cherish you, [Your Name], so please give me a chance. Love someone who's willing to go as deeply as you can.”

[general-sleepy]

The thing that really gets me about the cigarette-switching gambit in Saw is that it's near-objectively the correct answer to the trap.

They've been placed in a painful, terrifying near-death experience. John's thesis is that a brush with mortality causes a person to better appreciate how lucky they are to be alive, which then leads them to have a better quality of life. Lawrence and Adam have met the criteria of this situation.

Adam and Lawrence are both being punished for being emotionally detached. Adam is an apathetic voyeur. Lawrence isn't properly emotionally affected by his work (and implicitly doesn't appreciate his family). In the cigarette gambit they work together and, importantly, trust each other.

Adam, especially, knows that Lawrence has strong motivation to kill him. He knows that there is a poisoned cigarette and a non-poisoned cigarette. He trusts that Lawrence is going to keep to his word and give him the safe cigarette. This isn't the action of an angry, apathetic person ("pathetic," as John calls him, is just a personal insult). He's risking his life based on a belief in the goodness of a stranger. He's proven that the situation has changed him from the person that John judged him to be.

Lawrence has been presented with two choices: one coldly logical and one based on selflessness and empathy. If he was the cold, uncaring machine that John accuses him of being, he should just give Adam the poisoned cigarette, actually killing him, as he's been instructed. This is the least risky option, with the greatest chance of saving himself and his family. (Even ignoring that these are people he loves, it's, from a purely utilitarian, trolley-problem perspective, the option that has the greater chance of saving the greatest number of lives, which must be appealing to John).

Trying to pull off the ruse with the cigarettes puts himself and his family at risk, with the potential reward of protecting the life of a stranger. It's the empathetic, emotionally-driven choice.

But, with the false cigarette solution, no one dies. Suffering is as minimal as it can be. It doesn't adhere to the brutal, survival-of-the-fittest approach that John has toward survival. Life must be bought with blood and sacrifice or otherwise it's cheapened. For you to properly appreciate life, you have to have won it, either by mortification of the flesh or, in this case, because someone else has lost.

So, a peaceful solution based on mutual trust, which places a value more on genuine love than a fetishization of animal survival, is unacceptable. Altruism isn't acceptable. You're not supposed to be courageous enough to throw yourself on a grenade; you're supposed to be determined enough to throw someone else on it. Because, then you'll be alive, and you'll (or at least you should) be grateful.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Aegon Targaryen would include:

He's clingy, obsessive, possessive, and protective. His love is violent and possessive, but it's pure and utterly unshakeable. He's fiercely devoted, and that devotion is sometimes violent and disturbing, but it's unshakable and constant. He's a loyal and obsessive lover who will fight for his object of affection - and will destroy anyone who gets in his way.

Well, he's usually very aloof and doesn't care about others at all. But then you came along, he doesn't know how or why, but he starts caring immensely about you, and he became obsessed. He doesn't really care whether it's unhealthy for him or you, he just wants you. He wants to be with you.

He can also be quite cruel and obsessive. He'd be very jealous of any other relationship (friends or family) and would do anything to sabotage any relationship you have with others. He will stop at nothing to get his way and keep you for himself. He'll take any means necessary, even if it means hurting or even killing others to have you all to himself.

He would also be highly possessive and controlling. He would tell you what to do and who to spend time with. He would force you to be with him and not allow you to have any independence or freedom. He would also be very jealous and angry if you tried to do anything without him.

Yes, he's obsessed with his object of affection - He doesn't understand the difference much between right and wrong when it comes to you. His love often leads him to some dark places - his actions are often frightening and disturbing, but it's the product of an obsessive and overwhelming devotion, not a lack of morals. He believes he's not a monster, he's just a lover pushed to the very edge. His devotion is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. He cares with every ounce of his being - and he will hurt everyone that he sees as a threat to who he loves.

He loves to make you feel special. He will shower you with gifts, affection, and acts of kindness - and he can be the sweetest, most charming lover in the world - when he wishes to be. He uses his charm to keep you interested and to keep you from straying. But he can also be frightening, and jealous. He's intense, and his emotions run very hot. He can be vicious and even violent - and he is not the most stable person when pushed over the edge.

He will become obsessive over the object of his desire to an absolutely unhealthy degree. Everything else in his life will crumble just so he can be at your side. If you reject him, he will become violently possessive. He will fight and even kill to keep you close. He's a romantic in a way that's dark and twisted. Everything he does is in the name of his twisted concept of "love."

He wants you by his side forevermore, to rule at his side - forever. He does not want anyone else in your life; everything he does is to keep you to himself. He will not allow you to see anyone else, to be with anyone else; to do so would be… unacceptable. You are his and his only, and he will kill anyone who attempts to steal you away.

He has a very complicated relationship with his family. He loves them, but he resents them for forcing him into this position of power and responsibility that he doesn't want. He sees them as distant and uncaring, and he doesn't feel loved by them. He feels neglected by them, and it drives him to a state of despair and anguish. When his obsession takes over for you, he becomes distant, angry, and isolated. He doesn't care about anything other than being with the object of his obsession. When he's around you more, he shows more compassion for his family. He feels guilty about his resentment for them and does his best to make amends mainly because of you. The two states alternate - he's either detached and cold, or caring and warm. He goes back and forth between them, depending on how he feels at the moment.

I'd say, he'd still go to the Street of Silk to relieve his stress, but he'd have his eyes on you at all times, waiting until he can be with you again. You're his absolute priority and obsession, but after enough time He has no need for the Silk Street any longer, he has no need for anyone but you anymore.

People can try to stop him - but they will fail. Because he thinks he's doing what is best for you. He will take anyone who gets in his way down. He will take them down mercilessly, without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. No one will stand in his way. No one.

It depends on how you disobey, of course. He will get jealous and angry if you so much as speak to another person. So you will be punished with jealousy and anger. If you talk to another person he'll find ways to hurt or scare away your friends, so he can have you all to himself. If you disobey his rules about what you can or can't do, it could turn violent. He'll control you as much as he can. He will control the way you dress, the way you spend your time, and the way you behave around others. He will do this so that he knows you are his and his alone. He will do anything to have you to himself, and will not let anything or anyone get in the way of your "perfect" relationship.

He spoils you with love. He gives you all of his attention and affection, making you feel like the most special person in his life. He showers you with gifts, compliments, and anything that will make you happy. He will give you anything you want. He will make you feel like no one else in the world matters because he's here to give you exactly what you want.

He gets incredibly jealous. He expects complete devotion and views anyone else who comes even remotely close to the object of his affection as a threat. He will become violent, and lash out. He'll hurt and even kill those he feels are getting between him and you. It's very, incredibly unhealthy. He's not just jealous he's possessive.

If you tried to leave he'd do whatever it takes to make sure you don't leave. He'd try his damnedest to make sure you're never unhappy in this relationship. But if, despite all that, if you still tried to leave him... I can say with absolute certainty that you'll regret it. He'd do anything and everything to keep that from happening. He couldn't handle it if you ever wanted to leave. That would be he wouldn't let it happen.

To use his power as king to control and bind you to him? To make sure you couldn’t leave him no matter what? Of course. He has no problem using whatever means necessary, to ensure that you are his, and he is yours.

He thinks of you so highly, you are perfect to him. There is nothing more that he could ask for. he sees no flaws. You are the epitome of all that is good and right in the world, and you are his to keep. Forever. He would do anything for you. For your love.

If he ever found himself in a position where he must share you with another, then he would go to great lengths in order to ensure that they were removed from the picture. He has done this several times already. He has eliminated any competition with an iron will and an iron fist. No one will steal what is his.

He prefers receiving rather than giving and isn’t particularly concerned with your pleasure; at least when it doesn’t directly benefit him. He is himself after all. Don’t be surprised when he asks for head and asks for it often.

Foreplay really isn’t common and when it is used, it’s typically very rushed. He just does whatever he can to jump your bones as quickly as possible unless he chooses to go to Slik Street.

He’s definitely a dom. He likes being in charge and dishing out whatever he feels like at the moment. He also very much likes having you underneath him; he thinks it’s cute how pathetic you are when needy enough.

Edging/orgasm denial. He likes seeing you get all frustrated and having you beg for him; getting you all worked up before ripping it away from you. Don’t worry about going against his wishes too much though, he likes getting to punish you afterwards.

He definitely has a praise kink. He’s got a lot of trauma so having you compliment him when nobody else really ever took much time too especially after he’s taken a hit to his ego, will get him going like nothing else. 

[cosmicmordecai]

I'm really sick of fandom and narrative alike moving towards treating Mace Windu's character in some bad light whenever he gets any focus as of late.

Tales of the Jedi showcases a fallout between Mace/Dooku from the latter's perspective and it's kind of stupid: Mace does his actual job but the narrative and fans don't exactly paint it in a good light; he is treated as very stoic and cold for wanting to follow protocol and the rules even though it was the right call anyway given the context of the sitation. Just because he wasn't instantly wanting to play detective and stuck to the mission doesn't make him less caring or compassionate.

First off, I'm tried of acting like Windu's willingness to stick to following the Council is seen as something bad: they have to deal with the consequences of unsanctioned actions that creates additional headaches and problems. Wanting to follow protocol and rules shouldn't be a bad thing and is a fucking courtesy to not constantly throw your colleagues in leadership under the bus to pursue your version of doing what's "right".

Secondly, fandom really plays a double standard on Windu. When he follows the rules and protocol, he's uncaring and detached. When he decides more decisive action in a manner even Anakin is on board, all of a sudden, he's terrible for not sticking to his guns and in both things, is regarded as the "embodiment of the problems of the Jedi Order" and it's stupid considering this episode shows how he got promoted. Like pick a fucking point and stick to it. Fandom will find anyway to make him look bad regardless if it isn't even that deep.

Third, I'm so tired of the narrative never giving Mace some consideration. While fandom compeltely exaggerates the narrative being against him, it doesn't help he's often used to contrast to Anakin/Dooku's character. Put him against people who he actually has no problems with. Obi-Wan. Yoda. Depa. And suddenly, you get all the content other blogs have to defend Mace's character. That's what happen when he's there to be a real character with agency, not there to prop Anakin/Dooku's idealism of doing whatever the fuck they think is "right" without any regard to who has to deal with their mess after the fact.

It's so telling Dooku gets validation for his views by even Yaddle despite the fact he is explicitly part of the "coming darkness" he "warned" the Council about even before the Phantom Menace thereby killing all his points to start with while Mace never gets treated as being RIGHT when he is right.

[bastart13]

Your designs are

✨✨✨

✨✨ magical ✨✨

✨✨✨

My faves have never looked better!

Since you're talking all your thoughts about the Love & Legends characters, what do you think of Iseul the Elven Prince?

Iseul's one of my favourite characters... outside his route. Outside his route, he's incredibly charming and one of the funniest characters in the game. He has a great dynamic with the other retainers and he comes of surprisingly wise in many scenes where conflict would otherwise escalate. I think his backstory is a fairly interesting one in terms of motivation coupled with the war, his family serve as great support in all routes, and he does come off as long-lived but still relatively young in a great subversion of the hauty elf stereotype.

Unfortunately, a lot of that charm wasn't really in his route itself? They had a lot more focus on Iseul being detached and uncaring, especially in the first seasons. While I would describe Iseul as relaxed, he's also openly loving and motivated to protect people rather than cold. It makes sense that he'd be resistant to responsibility or the thought that war could restart, but they don't adequately explain why he wouldn't tell Jinhai, a murderous war criminal he's actively fought fr years, "no" to joining him. That and making Reiner and the other retainers secondary antagonists detracts from the sense of friendship and comradery they maintain everywhere else, leaving you with the impression that Iseul's not particularly close with them. Especially Reiner. The fact he's more open and forgiving in Alain and Helena's routes than Iseul's feels... off.

I do get that the theme of Iseul's route is how he doesn't feel motivated to accept a duty or situation he had no choice in, but idk, maybe it's just early writing, because I think they play it off way better elsewhere.

[everpresent-neverending]

just noticed cinna is the girlie i talk about the least of the 3 . . forgive me everyone . . i shall share some info i made about her just now . .

cinna is a very . . pessimistic individual to say the least .

when she first arrived at the garden, she was extremely detached and disassociated from her classmates and surroundings, and often avoided everyone at all costs possible .

the best you could at least see of her, would be her either just sitting silently under a tree, or her aimlessly trailing away to wherever .

she’s introverted and timid, negative, shy, and always anxious and stressed about something, whether it be about someone or something . this heightened a lot when she was around others . ( and still does now sometimes ) when she deems she can’t deal with something, she shuts down entirely .

she can also go on morbid rambles about disturbing topics if she feels comfortable enough with you : D !

she also has lapses of time where she can just be straight up cruel and inconsiderate of others, taking the sad reality of things and stretching it, surrounding someone with it until it swallows them up .

all of these traits mainly come from her “ home “ life . although she is the oldest of cas’s children, she was put to sale quite later then her siblings, and was left as the last one left of her father’s “ litters “ .

sonii gave her to a pet human modifier shortly after this as a gift of a new “ lab rat “ . cinna’s guardian is named guardian arcaro by the way .

arcaro is a bit like urak, but more . . uncaring for his “ pets “ ? ( who he deems as “ lab rats “ instead ) he often experiments carelessly with them, so much that it’d probably be assumed he doesn’t even know the limit of what a human can take .

cinna is deemed one of the more fortunate pets of arcaro, “ only “ having a vast amount of trauma emotionally and physically from being cruelly experimented since she was a child so far, while most of her other less fortunate siblings, ended up tortured physically for the most part before their untimely deaths .

because of this as well, she does not view herself as human, but more as a underserving burden, who should have never been born . her worldview is muddled and cold . why are we here if not only to suffer ?

this all starts to change when she meets yuna, who through time brightens her world, and gives her a reason and want to live, to keep going and become a better person . although i won’t ramble on that too much though since this post is already pretty long,

cinna does become a better person with yuna around her now ! ! she becomes much more involved with her classmates, and is overall viewed as a shy and quaint, sometimes a bit creepy but cute girl !

though, for her thoughts on cas ( which i really haven’t mentioned until now im so sorry blue i honestly thought you didn’t care 😭 ), in very short and simplified terms, she naively thought that he could save her ( when she was both younger and started being experimented on ) at first, but now honestly doesnt care for him in the slightest .

nothing like bottling up your feelings of betrayal and sadness until they’re gone ( they not they’re just lodged even deeper into you now ) am i right ?

( also to add to the angst she does view her younger self as a “ stupid and immature little girl . “ )

( yuna belongs to @starry-skiez, and cas belongs to @bluemoonscape ! by the way blue, thoughts on my depressed little cinnamonroll : 3 ? )

[sourcoded]

Okay alt timeline kenshi has been spinning around in my head like a microwave soo here's my personal take on his childhood and back story etc.

( most of this is stuff i've posted on twitter but i doubt half of you follow me on there LOL and no one really saw it anyways... sooo ill put it here to, also no character limit so i get to explain shit in detail yippie!)

tw for child abuse mention under-cut

* He was isolated and secluded for most of his childhood due to his family's general paranoia about outsiders and there family linage etc which from that point on made it tremendously difficult for him to connect with his peers. He was home schooled, only ever allowed to mingle with the few children among his extend family ( but unfortunately most of them were already older teens so he barely got much fun out of hanging around them any how.) * But at the same time he grew up way to fast due to the irresponsibility of the adults around him and eventually was forced into the world at a young age. His mother had rather poor health and was horrifically codependent, his father was mostly uncaring of this, neglectful to both her and kenshi's needs but especially controlling, and saw kenshi as nothing more but a tool to orchestrate his vision of the future for there clan and practically worked him to death whenever it came to training. * This endless cycle went on from the age's of 7-16, up until his mother finally succumbed to her poor health and passed. grief stricken and traumatized kenshi finally made the decision to run away, but not without his father putting up a fight. after a tireless battle that almost ended his life, still kenshi came out on top and ironically beating his father with everything he's ingrained in him for all his life, but whether or not his father survived is unknown, kenshi presumed he died from his injuries and kept on his way immediately after. * kenshi picked up any work he could to support himself afterwards, moving place to place, and for the longest time not really sure on what he's searching for exactly, his past still weighing on him heavy. though he found genuine connections through proving his skills and finding worthy opponents and such, he still had a tendency of keeping most ppl at arms length.. more intricate hc's: - due to his mom's codependency and his fathers neglect he is CHRONICALLY independent and tends to bite off way more than he can chew. - He's super avoidant of big emotions and reactions, almost having a sort of flat effect. which can make him appear rather detached, cold and brief, or when in better moods he puts up a front that's rather witty, dry and even a little bit of a mischievous sense of humor. - he is vry autistic if this wasn't already obvious! ( all kenshi's are fight me..) he lives on a rather strict routine for himself and again due to the abuse this made the chronic independence even worse. - guilt and grief eat him up a lot, its super hard for him to navigate either, with suchin's death, he had a tremendously difficult time confronting these things with takeda and finding closure in a healthy manner, so imo this is why he chose not to visit ..i truly believe he wanted nothing but the absolute best for takeda, but again with his circumstances things were just to much (but esp in the moment with red dragon on his tail lmao..?) ( and i esp feel like he didn't want to hinder takeda's growth in anyway either)...big believer in sometimes the parent being there is WORSE! so imo i think this is along the lines of what kenshi was dealing with all those years he left takeda with hanzo. ( i'm super passionate abt this can you tell ...sorry this got so wordy LOL) - last but not least i believe suchin was among the vry few people he let in and became THAT close with, prior to that he's only been with like a few men here and there but only 1 of them were sort of long term.

[cvbullshit]

Just had a random thought that kinda got inspired by Dogs Of Future Past (by @lynxgriffin)

So like, what if Chara was a "player" per say. I don't think they'd be an anomaly, but maybe a Player sort of. And that's why they can kinda control Frisk in some points.

There would be two ways this could possibly go. Either there's the player/the anomaly and Chara existing at the same time or Chara "took the role" of player.

For the first concept, both the player and Chara are "players" with THE player having a bit more control in some things, mainly their vessel aka Frisk. Chara counts as a player but is overshadowed by the player being more of connectable entity, the player didn't have a previous code in the game and so could easily connect with a vessel while Chara was/is coded into the game so that holds some drawbacks. But when given enough power/strength, or if the player is slowly losing connection, Chara can swoop in to take control.

For example, let's say Genocide is a situation where either of those things happen. No I am not a believer of "Chara is the one killing the monsters" but I am a believer in Chara doing the things the player didn't do. All of it goes to Chara anyway, as they tell the player. So either Chara got strong enough to start controlling Frisk.. Or the Genocide route is actually breaking connection between Frisk and the player. How exactly? Idk maybe the whole concept of a person growing more cold and uncaring of other's pain could be that reason. The more Frisk finds it easier to hurt and kill, the more they gain LV, the more the Player is disconnecting slowly. Frisk becoming more detached is making The Player detach a bit.

For the second concept, it would have to be set in a world where the Player doesn't exist, they actually never existed. Chara just took charge, they became what is known as The Player. Everything they do is aiming to helping monster kind however they can never truly give up and keep resetting. The reason as to why could be boiled down to three possibilities: It's like UnderPlayer and Chara is trying to figure out a way to get the absolute best outcome but nothing is perfect for them, it's like Crimson (made by @liliallowed) where they just get disconnected after the "game" ends and is stuck being alone, or it's a mixture of both. Either way, something is wrong that makes them unable to just move on after they did their job. They can't just give up and be happy with what they got.

In my opinion, for the concept of Player Chara, I kinda like the second concept more because then it doesn't conflict with the player's existence too much. Yeah you'd have to take away the player but ultimately for this kind of concept, it may be better than to create huge plot holes. Though either concept is interesting.

Idk it was just a random thought I had

[greedbent]

one another thing i'm supremely feral about when it comes to this crowman edgelord mcshadypants is that he legit can be so blindsided by people being legitimately heartless and uncaring

. . . allow me to explain— awnjgoha

yes, he himself is ruthless because the life he lives and the environment he lives in forces him to be. because he cannot risk having any softness or attachments that can be exploited because that's the thing !!!

everyone has a weakness no matter how typically cold and detached you are, there's always at least one thing (and oftentimes one person) that is a . . . shall we say pressure point that can be used against you

and the most interesting thing to me is that kaz often uses people's families and other similar attachments as his leverage. he basically banks on the reality that "hey, this guy cares about his wife, so if she's threatened, he'll do what i ask" or "this woman's love for her children is stronger than anything in the world; she'd bend over backwards to protect them, so let's do something with that"

kaz himself grew up with a good family he had a brother he adored he had a great dad he cannot fathom the dysfunctional families where a parent legitimately despises their kid or vice versa, so when he does come across that reality . . . ?

cough Wylan and Jan cough

it honestly always throws him off similarly to coming across someone who has zero attachments or genuine affection for anyone else; it's wildly outlandish to him and honestly disturbing if he just cannot find anything to them

[clergy-archives]

Prologue; pt.1

CW: thoughts of harming a child, dehumanising language

Nihil could barely cast his eyes upon the fragile thing gazing up at him from the makeshift crib in which it lay. It disgusted him, in concept alone. His, they called it, with a tone indicating that he should be happy with its existence. What an absurd notion. 

But there was, undeniably, some part of himself within the child. The eye was unmistakable. His eye. His father's eye. Damned be the being which cursed their bloodline with such a trait. 

Silence extended throughout the room, Nihil's own heart beating a deafening rhythm through his veins. There were others present, complicating his thoughts with their presence. His two younger brothers, watching over his shoulder with a hardened gaze, eyes boring in to the back of his neck. They must hate him for what he's done; cutting them off from the line of succession in something as careless as a mistake. And he didn't blame them. 

There were voices now: someone was speaking. He didn't care who, not right now. He didn't care to listen, to engage. He just wanted to leave, and forget about the whole encounter. But the firm grasp on his shoulder shook him out of his fragile peace within an instant. 

"What?" The word seemed to leave his lips with a hiss, a bitterness lingering on his tongue. He turned in a sharp motion, eyes locking with those of his brother, who stared at him with an apathy that looked foreign upon his usually joyful face. 

"What are you going to do with it?" He repeated, sharpness punctuating each word. Nihil couldn't recognise his brothers like this; their relationship was severed the moment they laid eyes upon the infant. 

"What am I supposed to say to that, Cardinal?" He spat back, pinching his temples in frustration. "It's a child, what do you want me to do with it?" 

The cold disengagement within his sibling’s eyes told him all he needed to know. 

"No," was the simple response he gave. That solution - if you could even call it that - would only cause more problems. "And will you stop looking at me like that? You can't blame me for this, I didn't even want the damn thing! Blame the bitch that left him here - didn't even stop to say a word before running off again." 

He doubted that was true, even as he said it; she had been a kind woman when they met. But her carelessness in approaching the clergy with the new heir cradled in her arms required her immediate detachment from the child, and had subsequently condemned the child to a life raised in misery. She was the one to blame for this, and she'd know it if he ever got the chance to see her again.  She'd do well to pray to whatever God there is for that day to never come. 

"It is yours, though," the cardinal persisted, remaining uncaring towards the child, even as his eyes trailed down to look at it. It hadn't uttered a sound, as though knowing they were talking about him. Nihil wanted to argue that, without the eye, it looked nothing like him. The beginnings of blonde locks flowing from his scalp instead of dark, his right eye a pale Hazel colour rather than the deep nut brown it should be. 

Nihil wandered over to the crib, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. The child gazed at him, with large, searching eyes, as though it were lost. Or more likely, distressed. Nihil reached towards it hesitantly, and snatched his hand away when it made a small sound of distress. Understandable, he thought. Surrounded by strangers, no sign of your mother… let's hope, by some mercy, he forgets about her soon.

"I know. I'll… I'll work something out. I swear, I will." He began again, shaking his head. He turned back to his two brothers, who continued to look sceptical. "I will. But it needs to be done right. We're supposed to be fixing this family. Let's not ruin it now." 

__________

Discussions ended on a sour, but stable note. The tour dates had been postponed, at least for the next few months, to allow for familial bonding. How he was supposed to do that with something that could barely make sounds, Nihil didn't know. He didn't know if he cared to know either. What use was he supposed to be as a father?

But, he was trying. Unsuccessfully trying, but trying nevertheless. He could still hear the child through the walls, still wailing from their brief encounter. He wasn't cut out for this, clearly. He'd interacted with the thing for no more than five minutes, and he'd already upset the poor soul.

He hadn't done it on purpose; he didn't think so, at least. He'd asked the nuns how he was supposed to hold it, they said he was doing it right. Perhaps his hands were shaking, or he was too firm with it. Whatever he did had the wretched thing crying after only a few minutes.

He'd almost dropped it when the pitchy wail reached his ears, and the fragile thing began to squirm. Perhaps he should have. He wouldn't, he couldn't. But it would save them all so much trouble if he did. 

He'd retreated to his office after that, thrusting it into the arms of the nuns to take care of. He claimed that there was work to be done, as if he could concentrate with the incessant screaming of a distraught child. 

The portrait of his father hung proud on his left, never fully leaving his peripheral sight. He'd wanted it gone the moment he took his place; still wanted it gone. He wanted to watch it burn. But that was forbidden. Some twisted tradition that the ministry was certainly only informing to keep him miserable. He despised them. 

Even in death, the man was mocking him. Sneering down at him with his painted face, always looming over his shoulder. He could practically hear his voice, tainting him with some phantasmal knowledge of just how awful he'll be to this boy. 

Nihil was determined to prove him wrong: to be good, to be better than the man before him. He'd do it, he told himself. 

He had to. 

[2oosterr]

i love orca so much i could actually write a novel about her | wc: 0.7k

ryan got her anger issues from her mother.

she didn't inherit it, no, her mother always had a sort of apathetic calmness about her, but the rage that's always just under the surface of ryan's skin was born from that indifference.

there were times, when ryan was still young and still lived under that roof, where she used to lay awake at night and pray to whatever god was up there for her mother to scream at her, yell, throw things, do something – hell, she even wished she would hit her sometimes, however wrong that was. anything would've been better than the coldness she'd get from who was supposed to be her caregiver.

every purposeful attempt to invoke some sort of anger in her mother would be met with an eye roll and a turned back. an offhanded 'go bother somebody else' if she was lucky. she never got the reaction she wanted, but she never stopped trying, either. she would observe, analyse, pinpoint an insecurity or shortcoming and sink her teeth in as hard as she could, but still, no matter how calculating she became, nothing.

when she eventually left home it came as a surprise to her how easy it was to get under people's skin. it was oddly satisfying to pull at one thread and watch them completely unravel with so little effort. it became addictive – fun, even. it was cruel, and she knew that well, but it filled her with a sadistic sense of power that went straight to her head after so many years of feeling inconsequential and insignificant.

predictably, she didn't make a lot of friends. she was mean and vindictive, taking advantage of the rare kindness of others for her own sick entertainment until they gave up entirely on getting close to her. it was better that way, she would always justify, she would make it on her own, just like she always had. that, and it really was like a game to her, toying with others until either of them got bored and moved on.

it came as a shock to her when berlin, and later eric, stuck around her despite how awful she was. she insulted them and tried desperately to get them to give up on her, but the just never did. not only that, but they actually seemed to enjoy her icy attitude. it was endlessly confusing, how two people so different to her could end up being so similar, but somehow they came to mean a great deal to her.

joining the osod was the step backwards she'd feared. when things go too well for too long, there was always that feeling in the back of her mind that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. serving under colonel ellis and facing that all too familiar detached calmness, it brought back those long dormant feelings she thought she'd buried. the nights of one sided arguments and broken things that got swept under the rug before they even had a chance to stain the carpet.

ryan hated colonel ellis. she was a constant reminder of something she wanted to leave behind. everything she taught her ryan would never forget, but in the back of her mind ellis's death brought with it some sort of catharsis. closure for something ellis emulated, but never was.

these days, now she's older and slightly mellowed with her age, she sees a piece of herself in her soldiers when they push her buttons. they jab and laugh, but unlike her, they're not malicious. they joke about her insecurities to prove how much they care, that they notice the little things. it bothers her, but not in the way it used to. it stirs up feelings of companionship she thought berlin took with him.

ryan always gives them the reaction they're looking for. she yells and laughs and bears her teeth and meets them halfway. they're never left wondering why she won't care enough for them to absorb their words, and they'd never have to become as cynical as her just to survive an uncaring authority, and in every way, ryan is nothing like her mother.

[pastel-rights]

Both!

ooo... that's a good one... my sonas and my friends... it got kind of long and rambley, sorry.

well... among my own sonas... I think I'd have to say Rabuka for several reasons!

I'm a really big fan of his animalistic features (his wings and his tail! he technically has animal ears too but I didn't feel like drawing it.) and the black, white, and red color scheme with the yellow eyes. I have always been a big fan of characters with yellow eyes because it lends to an aura of mystery and divine origin,,, and because Rabuka is a demon who's got features based on a chimera, it works in his favour.!

Of course, there's also his lore and personality I like a lot too, as well as his interactions/relationships with other sonas.

See, Rabuka (which also means frilled shark in Japanese!) has a more. blunt and serious personality, he's very detached from those around him, so he doesn't have many close relationships. And because he's in technical hell, most of the relationships he has aren't deep or intimate either. Of course, this man is a little (extremely) out of pocket and it just adds to his charm I think.

He's a bartender and a gambler at heart, in the overworld at least. He appears at the casino that Pins' mafia boss sona runs, and he acts as her right-hand man. He almost softens up around Miss Vampire because he doesn't perceive her as a threat. He thinks she's kind of cute, to be honest.

In hell, he is the technical bodyguard of the princess. Miss Char... well, see. She isn't the sharpest knife in the shed. She does stupid things and gets herself into situations and it's up to him to save her. He thinks she's a dumbass, but she's his dumbass and he'll be damned if anything happens to her while he's there.

He wants to have a heart of stone. To be cold and uncaring and emotionless. And he is, for the most part, yes. But there's a tiny sliver of him that is *almost like human* that no amount of being a powerful demon in hell can really override.

Of course, there is his lore, which adds to his personality and relationships a lot.

Rabu wasn't always in hell, after all. He wasn't human, of course, but he wasn't always a demon either.

I think what I like most about Rabu is his duality. He isn't black and white, but rather all the different shades of grey in between. There's not one correct way to see the world, morality isn't just one or the other.

Everything is a spectrum. Rabu included.

And I think I just really vibe with that.

as for friends' sonas...

for starters, miss fashion designer is by far my favorite Pins' sona. I mean. Just look at her. She's gonna go jump the k-pop idol and her brother and do it in STYLE /j (and probably lose /lh)

I also just really enjoy the vibe and relationship she has with miss florist. they just have a really enjoyable dynamic together and I really love the way they mesh together! women <33

for klai, i kind of. really vibe with Zaiaku??? there's something about the other sister who tries so hard to fix everything that she falls apart. that I just really like. I also really do like their design! It's giving off like. elegant older sister vibes... I can trust her with my worries!!

i probably shouldn't but hey! saki's colorblind so there /j

and then for Sam. well.

White Devil.

I have a bias for puppet/doll aesthetics and they just. hit it so well....... I just. I also have a personal bias towards their design and color palette. Something about them is offputting but in a /pos way and I do think the eldritch horror doctor motif fits Sam perfectly???

And there's the matching Nerissa.

And the way they interact with one another and in the setting of the story is just. really nice. The way they assist one another and care so deeply.

There's something about two monsters learning to love each other that's really heartwarming for these two.

...

okay so you might be wondering if Tazai is my favorite Tae sona. to which.

uhm.

narratively speaking, yeah? I think the character development they go through and the struggles they've gone through have made them an overall favorite sona of all time for me, and the way they express love towards their girlfriend/future wife and the lengths and pain they're willing to go through is enough to make any stone cold bitch swoon but.

i have another favorite above them.

now i KNOW you are ALL RUSHING towards me with your fire and pitchforks /j because who the FUCK would I like more than TAZAI who I drew so FUCKING much to which.

hear me out hear me out

okay so like. hey hey wait no hear me OUt.

tatum is my favorite tae sona purely because of how. silly she actually is. she's just a fun sona to draw and she's a fun sona to shitpost with.

tatum isn't SUPPOSED to be taken seriously and that's. why I love her.

okay thanks for coming to my tedtalk please don't kill me over my choices of favoritism /j

[snekverse]

Concepts for the DW

This is a continuation from an ask I got and it was just,,, so long i didn’t want to put all of it under the ask lmao so here’s pt2!

Irene's powers were split between the Divine for the most part, each getting a complimentary set of powers that sort of shaped their personas

Esmund was the Protector or Defender, patron of guards, the innocent, trust, etc. His physical body was almost indestructible and he could summon powerful shields/forcefields at will. He had incredibly heightened senses. He was loyal, steadfast, and headstrong. He only ever had one partner, and his sole bloodline became the Ro'Meave bloodline.

Many guards wear Esmund's symbol, often as jewelry, tattoos, or armor adornment

Kulzak was the Wanderer, patron of travelers, merchants, wanderlust, etc. He had an incredible sense of direction and was incapable of getting lost. He was very in touch with nature and himself, and could somewhat communicate with animals. He was quiet, aloof, and unpredictable. He had many hookups but no long-term partners, and as a result he had many bloodlines, his most notable descendant being Vylad

Many people carve Kulzak's symbol into the sides of their boats/carts as a form of protection 

Enki was the Scholar or Teacher, patron of students, bookkeepers, wisdom, etc. retains all knowledge they’ve ever consumed, borderline omnipotent, oracle in the sense that bc they have so much accumulated knowledge they can predict patterns/behavior/events/etc with extreme accuracy, can read minds and project thoughts. They were level-headed, fair, and cautious. Had neither long-term nor short-term relationships and as such has no bloodlines. Instead, they passed their relic down to a chosen student of theirs, which ultimately got passed down to Enki (Travis’s mother)

Books, schools, and courthouses were often devoted to Enki

Menphia was the Victor or Fury, patron of soldiers, athletes, righteousness, etc. had immense strength, immense speed, was known for bursting into flame, could summon weapons at will. She was hot-headed, excitable, and stubborn. She did have many relations and did have children, but she didn’t pass her relic on to her bloodline. Instead, she held a tournament, the winner of which won her relic. This became a tradition that also became less and less about Menphia’s relic and more just for the sport.

All victories are dedicated to Menphia, no matter how small, trivial, or otherwise unimportant

Irene was the Matron, Mother, and sometimes the True Divinity, patron of healing, families, and life itself. She could create life from nothing and heal almost any wound, everything seemed vitalized in her mere prescence. She was very detached from the mortal world, and her attitude tended to come off as cold and uncaring. Only had the one relationship and the one kid. After the war with Shad she shut down, became depressed and despondent, and she decided she didn’t want to continue existing. Being a god, even as weakened as she was, she couldn’t do it the way mortals did, so she hid her relic in her dimension and turned to a trusted friend (Hyria) who encased her body in a staff. When she respawned she was so weakened by the separation from her relic she was little more than a mortal body (Aphmau)

Irene was the most beloved of all the Divine, and her worship was the most widespread. People praised her for everything from good harvest and warm weather, to one’s very health and happiness

Shad was the Destroyer, Reaper, and sometimes the Firebrand, and not considered one of the Divine by the vast majority of people. His powers were meant to be similar to Irene’s own, but they were corrupted from a combination of his artificial relic, said relic’s partially human origin, and Shad’s own divine rage. He couldn’t heal, but he could hurt. Anything he touched or interacted with rotted from the inside out. Instead of being able to give new life, he could only recreate what once was (shadow knights). When he was human he was kind and gentle, but after centuries of festering grief and anger, he became unstable, selfish, and cruel. 

Speaking his name was taboo, many people believed it would bring bad luck but it was argued whether or not that was because hearing his name pained Irene or because they were afraid Shad hearing his own name would enrage him