#just like I want them longer and a little sturdier

[rainbowpufflez]

Thinking about possibly “redesigning” Lysandre’s bugs in my style

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[maybe-its-5sos]

Dad (All Might Headcanon)

Requested: No Idea: What Toshinori would be like as your dad!

He's the softest sweetest dad!

He just wants to keep you happy and safe

He also wants to make you super proud!

He's absolutely wound around your little finger....what ever his baby wants, his baby gets! "Daddy, I wanna go to the zoo!" Toshinori having just sat down after an exhausting day of fighting crime "Of course dear, get dressed and lets go!" "I want that big bear plushy!" "okay!" he smiles reaching for his wallet.

He'll let you style his hair all you want. The mountain of a man will sit in front of the couch while you climb his back like a jungle gym, putting in cute hair clips and braiding it! "Daddy what do you think?" you cheerfully ask giving him a little hand held mirror. "I look fantastic, you should be my stylist, pumpkin!" He grins proudly, flipping his loose hair.

He'll absolutely play pretend and take part in tea parties, tiara and all... tho he had to have the chairs be made sturdier so he didn't flatten them with the power of them cheeks.

Lets you use his capes as blankets.

He always makes you walk towards the inside of the sidewalk. Tho when you're really young, he wont even let you walk at all and carries you around.

He would hold your hand at every doctors appointment! Knowing that you hate the hospital issued bandages because their industrial strength-, skin removing-, soul ripping-glue, he brings his own to make for a less fussy appointment.

He also does a full monster check in the house before putting you to bed. "Yep, no monsters there!" he says getting up from the floor after looking under you bed. "What about in there?" you ask pointing at the slightly open closet, hiding under your blanket. "Nothing in here either!" he smiles, after shuffling some clothes and looking around. He closes the door.

He'll read you bedtime stories and tucks you in. And yes, he gives all the characters voices.

Absolutely will let you sleep in his bed if you have a nightmare ("don't fear, why? Because I am here!" he says groggily with a smile), or even if you're just super fussy about going to bed.

He'll spoil you without making you a brat. He explains to you that not everyone can afford everything you two have. It absolutely warms his heart when you want to donate a bunch of toys to the less fortunate!

He doesn't expect you to ever become a hero, he just wants you to do whatever you love doing. Plus he doesn't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger.

Kinda gives him a heart attack when you come home from school telling him that you want to be a hero like him. He won't try to change your mind (too hard) tho. He might try to sway you a bit, but gives up when he realizes that you're just as stubborn as him.

If you get hurt, that man is there with a first aid kit before you even realize you got hurt in the first place. "dad it's just a scratch." your roll your eyes as the large man cleans and puts an obnoxious bandage on your wound.

When you get older (teenager and so on) ya'll will absolutely have dinner/movie nights. Toshi loves spending any time with you that he can, especially when he can no longer be in his larger form

He thinks he isn't the cool dad anymore, but you constantly have to remind him that he's the best dad you could've ever ask for, plus now he doesn't take up 90% of the couch, so honestly you prefer it.

You're the light of his life and you'll never know how much your good ol' dad truly loves you.

Masterlist

Ask

With love,

-K

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

The Hashira at the Gym

I just started going to the gym with a friend and now I have a brainworm about the Hashira and what they'd be like at the gym.

Tengen:

Tengen is a gym influencer. He's also the kind of guy who wears the tightest shirt possible every time he goes, and he spends just as much time working out as he does flexing in the mirror and taking selfies with other people. People don't mind though, because the amount of weight he can bench press is impressive. He's almost constantly on the ab machines and doing weights. This man lives off pre-workout and spends all his extra time at the gym. His girlfriends also workout, but mainly are into Pilates.

Rengoku:

This man wears muscle shirts but not because he wants to show off, just because they were on sale when he was getting gym clothes. He never skips leg day. Never. This man's thighs are sturdier than tree trunks. He could crush a watermelon between them without a second thought. Everyone loves him, even if he's a little loud. He drinks protein shakes every day, and will bring Senjuro to the gym sometimes.

Giyu:

He pretty much exclusively does treadmills and stair-steppers, but he also will use dumbbells. He only wears hoodies and basketball shorts. Headphones are in 100% of the time. Will stare at people until they are off the machine he's waiting for. Doesn't drink protein shakes, but will drink preworkout. The caffeine does not seem to affect him in the slightest.

Gyoumei:

He likes the treadmills for walking. They're meditative for him. He teaches yoga, but also does weightlifting. He can both bench-press and squat more than anyone in the gym. He has several of the same exact tracksuit for working out. Has never tried pre-workout and says he never will. He's a vegetarian and only drinks vegan protein shakes if he does drink them at all.

Shinobu:

She's into calisthenics and pilates, but mainly does a lot of running, especially on inclines. She can do the least amount of weights out of all the Hashira, but she makes up for it with endurance and speed. If she sees Giyu at the gym, she'll get on a machine next to him and make sure that she's on it longer than he is, on a harder setting. Giyu doesn't notice most of the time because he's wearing headphones, but occasionally he will and thinks that Shinobu is just being friendly and that she's trying to be his gym buddy. She is not. She's being passive aggressive.

Mitsuri:

Not an influencer, but she always wears cute matching sets in pink, green, black, or white and people assume she is. Everyone at the gym loves her. Mitsuri has a pink water bottle decorated with sakura stickers. She always has snacks on her; protein bars, protein mixes, fruit, and other goodies. She does pilates, yoga, and weightlifting (and gymnastics and ballet). Misturi surprises a lot of the new gym goers with her strength. She is regularly asked to crush watermelons between her thighs, and she loves doing it.

Obanai:

He goes to the gym only because his crush goes. He'll pick up dumbbells here and there, but mainly works out on the stair-steppers and bikes. His clothing of choice is a hoodie and joggers. Always wears a mask no matter the season or if he's sick. This man wipes down every machine and weight before and after he touches it. He has seen Misturi break open watermelons with her thighs no less than six times. He is smitten.

Sanemi:

This man works out at their weirdest hours and is never consistent with when he shows up but does appear almost every day. He does weights and calisthenics, and despite never touching pre-workout, he has incredible stamina. Sanemi wears tank tops to workout in, and half the time they're cut into v-necks because he "can't stand feeling like he's being suffocated". He's brought his brother a few times, but mostly works out alone. He has gotten in trouble for fighting a dude who was recording a girl doing squats without her knowledge.

Muichiro:

This boy does yoga and ellipticals, and not much else. He'll bike occasionally, but he only comes to the gym because his family has a gym pass and he likes to watch shows with his headphones in while he's walking or biking. Wears a t-shirt and basketball shorts, and sneakers with mismatched ankle socks. Doesn't take anything seriously, but enjoys how protein shakes taste.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. x: What a Pity

Chapter Summary: Helaena tells Valeana something she doesn't want to hear. And Floris tells Aemond something that he does.

Word count: 3979

Sneak Peak: “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!” 

Warnings: I'm sorry, y'all are gonna still hate Aemond a little bit longer 😬 don't shoot me. *Fatphobia (forgot to put this in earlier)

T H E   R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana couldn’t remember all the details of the events of the previous night. She knew what had occurred, but her sense of time was off. She didn’t remember how she got to Aegon’s chambers; her first memory was his hands grounding her and his voice pulling her back from the fog. Of all people, Aegon Targaryen was the last person she would have believed to have done that for her. 

Helaena was pulled from her bed, and with a surprising amount of clarity and consciousness, took the reins from her brother. Helaena was gentle as she took Valeana to her bed, tucked her in, and even got her lavender tea. The rest of the night, the princess spent combing through her hair until they both fell asleep. 

It would have probably saved Val a headache had she insisted on being brought back to her bedchambers, but ultimately it was probably the best she remained with Helaena. It was the most peaceful, dreamless sleep she had in a while. Instead of waking up to Shyla’s repetitive singing, or Floris’ shrill yelling for her to get out of bed, it was Helaena’s gentle hums as she plaited her hair, the distant chirps of birds outside and crickets in miniature cages.

Her empty bed sent a wave of panic for her family, which quickly was nipped in the bud when she arrived before their first meal with the princess. Helaena helped her explain what happened, gently, and with very few details and small truths. Valeana confessed she had fallen and it had triggered something in her mind, but she didn’t evoke Aemond’s name, nor had she told them it was Aegon who had found her. Helaena told them that she did, and then brought her back to her quarters, because it was closer. 

“I understand her mind,” the princess told Lord Bartimos. “It is similar to my own. I knew how to take care of her.”

Bartimos and Ursula thanked her from the bottom of their hearts, and Helaena simply nodded and told them it was her pleasure. She didn’t leave as Valeana’s family fretted over her; she sat patiently, head tilted with a gentle smile upon her soft face. 

Valeana’s father fretted over her leg, making sure she wasn’t wounded, then started to make arrangements for a raven to be sent back to Claw Isle to commission a new prosthetic to be promptly made. One made of sturdier wood, with stronger joints and sculpted more elegantly. Clement simply took his sister’s shoulders in his hands and leveled his eyes with hers, asking in earnest if she was truly well. She nodded stiffly, and while he did not truly believe it, he accepted her answer. Shyla’s face was white with concern, and she paced around the room berating herself for not realizing her sister was gone sooner.

“I should have known! No snoring! Oh, how sound a sleep I was…”

Ursula caged her in her arms, hand running through the crown of Valeana’s head as she pressed her cheek to her breast. Her eyes were dewy with worry and the knowledge that she was not there for her. While not her birth mother, Ursula had assumed the duty of being Valeana and Clement’s mother like she was born to do it. It had pained her almost as much as Bartimos when she learned what happened to her through a raven, and it was torturous watching Valeana allow herself to waste away in her room for all those years. 

Then there was Arthor, who lingered in the archway that separated his shared bed chambers with his brother. He remained silent, like an observing crow on a lamppost. Floris was just as quiet, but she was a simmering pot of water in the corner. Her frown aged her, putting lines at the corner of her lips and around her eyes and between her furrowed brow. Her unblinking leer was glued onto her step sister and her mother. 

Her mother.

And Heleana watched her. She watched how her lips disappeared under her teeth, and her fingers stiffly curled into her gown, reminding Helaena of the twitching legs of black widow spiders. 

When Bartimos insisted on having Valeana shadow him that day, to keep an eye on her, Helaena sat straight and asked if she could accompany her instead. Bartimos couldn’t deny the princess of the realm, and Val mouthed words of gratitude towards her. 

The two girls ended up between the protective roots of the Heart Tree in the Godswood. Helaena sat cross legged as she examined a fat green caterpillar that was devouring the tomato in her hand. Valeana was on the other side of a large root, laying flat on her black, her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms behind her head as she stared up at the crooked and bent branches of the the weirwood tree, and how the sun shone through the leaves, creating splotches of red shadows that coloured everything beneath it. 

“This is the one thing I truly missed about King’s Landing,” Valeana spoke, breaking the prolonged comfortable silence they had built. “We don’t have a godswood at Claw Isle, and no weirwoods.”

Helaena hummed, eyes still glued onto the little creature in her hand, “It misses you too, the tree.”

Val craned her neck to look at the princess, allowing a brief pause before she asked: “How do you know?”

“I just do,” the answer came immediately, almost like she had answered that question millions of times before. “I don’t know how I know… I just know things. They come to me in odd ways. Like last night, I dreamt I was running down the corridor outside our apartments, crying in pain. Then I woke up, and Aegon was there telling me that it was you who was running in the corridors in pain.” Helaena pulled her attention away from the caterpillar and regarded Valeana with a neutral stare. “I am sorry for what happened, Valeana. But you must know it was a mistake.”

Val remained on the ground, staring at the princess with a furrow in her brow. She understood why others thought Helaena was mad; she said many things that made little sense. But she was kind-hearted, soft, and Val severely doubted that she would make up stories in order to make herself look mysterious and wise. Even without evidence, Valeana believed her. And without context, Valeana understood who she was referring to. 

But accepting her words was still difficult to swallow. 

“He hates me,” Val stated in a small voice.

“He wants your forgiveness.”

Valeana sat up straight, hands migrating to grip the roots that embrace her body, “He attempted once at the request of the King, and since then he has been nothing but vile to me, and at best he has avoided me, Helaena. If this is his way of vying for my forgiveness, he has a queer way of doing things.”

Helaena doesn’t answer right away, instead she directs her attention back to the tomato in her hand, now a quarter of the way eaten by the finger-sized caterpillar. 

“I know my brothers quite well. Better than they know themselves,” She brought the fruit up to her eye level as she examined the insect’s mouth. “Aemond will never listen to his heart, no matter how much it screams at him. He will shut down before he allows it to win over his mind, because he sees it as a weakness. I had to witness him abandon his heart after what he had done to you back then. The same thing happened again last night.” 

Valeana just stared at her, a lump in her throat and tears glossing her eyes. Her initial fall and her friendship with Aemond was a topic she wished never to think about. For years, it plagued both her mind and heart, sending her into a spiral of darkness that she did not believe she would be able to free herself from. When she got better – when she started to walk – she found that hobbies and work were the best distractions. Keeping her mind busy with other pursuits left no room for Aemond. Eventually she’ll hear his name from a neighbouring conversation and realize she hadn’t thought about it in moons. 

Though all that effort came crumbling down the moment the King’s invitation arrived, and now Valeana had to come to the painful realization that the wound had never actually healed. The betrayal was still fresh, the heartache still there like a crater formed from a violent earthquake. She had tried to mask it through veiled indifference and avoidance, but there he was, reminding her of how much he dislikes her at every turn. Continuously validating her every insecurity, and forcing her to armour herself in hatred for him. 

But the truth… the agonizing truth of it was…

Valeana could never hate him. Not her Aemond; not the boy who had held her hand while they scaled down steep hills, or bandaged her bleeding fingers from needle pricks, or surprised her with gifts and treats in complete spontaneity. No, she loved that Aemond. She mourned for that Aemond. 

As if she could read Val’s thoughts, Helaena broke the silence, “You miss him, I can see it. Your Aemond is still here… He’s the same boy you loved, Valeana. Just older, more scarred, and hidden away.”

Valeana shook her head and quickly wiped a stray tear that escaped and rolled down to her chin, “He’s not the same, Helaena. We’re not the same. I–I do…I do miss him. I miss our friendship, but–” She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head again before directing her eyes onto her laced fingers. Val pulled her knees up to rest her chin on them, “He’s too far away, I do not think I could reach him. Mistake or no, his actions last night was a clear enough display of how much he desires to push me away from him… Like a bad memory.” 

“Valeana…” Helaena’s tone of voice sounded almost reprimanding, even in its softness. “You’ve pushed him away the moment he spoke to you.”

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Val squeezed her eyes shut at the sour memory of their first meal reunited. It felt like so long ago. Now she felt embarrassed by herself and how sour and vindictive she was from day one. It was a bitter tonic to swallow, to realize that had she been civil on that first day, all of this would not have happened. Had she taken Aemond’s olive branch —had she been the better person, instead of consumed by resentment— they might have at least found some sort of cordial co-existence, and perhaps one day they could renew their friendship. While her childhood heartbreak was difficult to forget, she always knew in the deepest pit of her chest that she still longed for him. She wanted nothing more than to feel his hand in hers again. 

Valeana took in a shockingly sharp inhale, “Fuck.” 

She hated having to admit that she was wrong. She hated even more having to admit to herself that she still loved Aemond Targaryen. 

Helaena’s hand found her shoulder, “You know what you have to do.”

She does… But somehow she doubts that it will fix anything. How could she ever get him to open up to her, when his pride and resolve was made out of Valyrian steel? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Floris Grafton was a woman with simple tastes. She was content with floating around the Holdfast or the gardens, conversing with other ladies of the court. Floris loved gossip, or rather craved it more like. She missed King’s Landing purely for the gossip she would overhear the court ladies say when she was a child. Claw Isle was dull when it came to juicy morsels for her to sink her teeth into. In the past there weren’t many young ladies at the Keep outside her own sisters, so Floris sought out the company of the adult women of the court during her childhood. Sure, she spent many an afternoon chasing after the four princes, but during the moments when they were at the Dragon Pit or training or doing what boys do, Floris much preferred sitting with the adults. 

Her presence was often a nuisance to them, since they couldn’t speak on topics not appropriate for youthful ears, but Floris would refuse to leave. With her own mother at Claw Isle for moons at a time, she desperately sought the companionship of the other mothers of court, especially the Queen. When it came to the crown princess, Rhaenyra, she did not have as much of a close relationship as she would have liked. The heir seemed far more aware of her uninvited presence and wanted her away from adult conversations. 

But then Rhaenyra preferred Valeana’s company. Floris bristled at the memory. The Princess always loved her sister’s chubby cheeks and loved to plait her thick ivory hair. Everyone loved Valeana more than her… even her own mother. 

Floris’ face twisted hideously at this thought. She was lucky that the Royal Sept was near empty when she entered it, because Floris was not hiding her expressions in the slightest.

She knelt down in front of an altar filled with melted candles, the image of the Maiden hovering above her. Instead of prayers, she muttered curses and heated insults. She took a match, lit it with the nearest candle and lit another with it, in her own name. 

When Floris left, she did not feel any sense of relief. Her prayers to the Maiden were riddled with sour thoughts and imaginings of Valeana’s hair cut all off, or her peachy stomach bursting out from a tight corset. Generally, these intrusive thoughts were infrequent, but it had picked up a considerable amount when they returned to King’s Landing. Praying to the Maiden and the Mother was her only moment to keep her peace of mind; she would pray for her success in finding a marriage, for love and beauty and all things an unmarried lady longs for. Though that day was different… Her spoiled, attention-seeking step sister just had to occupy more space in her mind. 

Floris gripped her burgundy gown in a vice as she descended down the Serpentine Steps that lead to the lower courtyard. Her head was bowed, watching her feet and trying to keep her step sure footed whilst having fake conversations in her mind. That was her unspoken hobby; she always thought of conversations that never existed, or possibly could exist, where everything she said was witty and unchallenged. Many of them focused on her taking Valeana off her high horse, or putting her parents in their place, or being the center of a party where everyone was hanging off her word as if she spoke the gospel of the Gods. 

She very nearly lost herself in her little day dream, but with the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs her attention was pulled back to reality. Pausing at the half landing, Floris took the moment to curtsey when Prince Aemond crossed her path. 

“My Prince,” she spoke demurely, but her forehead was still stitched with the annoyances of that morn. She seldom crossed paths with Aemond, so she wasted no time in pulling him in small talk. “How is your day fairing?” 

He gives her a curt nod, barely sparing her a look, “Lady Floris. It is fairing as much as any day.”

Her head tilted at the tone he used. She knew Aemond to be a stoic and serious prince, but his voice was always levelled and composed. Now she could hear a hint of frustration in the graininess coming from the back of his throat, much like a growl. 

Floris may be a woman of simple tastes, but she was not simple minded. She was quite intelligent, quite cunning, a skill she seemed to always have but didn’t realize and appreciate until she was a woman grown. She knew she was not a beauty, but her mind more than made up for it. 

“Oh dear,” she said carefully, eyes examining the stiff muscles of his face. “I hope it is not bold of me to ask, my Prince, but does something weigh on your mind?” 

She was treading murky waters, she knew, but the gears behind her eyes were working diligently, meticulously, as she watched Aemond closely. Aemond, the one who maimed her step sister; Aemond, who extended the first branch of peace on their first day, who was promptly rejected foolishly by the same step sister. The greatest point of tension in the Red Keep was the broken and strained relationship between Valeana Celtigar and Prince Aemond. While not much had not happened in the last sinnight, the whispers were hard to ignore. 

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive him? Poor dear, I just see him every day drowning in distractions ever since they got here.”  “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!”  “Neither can Prince Aegon!” “Oh, oh, don’t get me started on that!” “I heard from Lady Perra, who heard from her maid, that she spotted Prince Aegon pull Valeana into a closet with him!” “No! The Scandal! Surely that can’t be true!”  “That must be what that whole show was about in the training yard. My boy was training there that day, and saw the whole thing! They were at each other’s throats. Men only fight that way over the hand of a woman.” “Oh, to be desired by not one, but two Targaryen Princes! What a lucky young lady.”

Oh, what a lucky young lady indeed. Valeana doesn’t even wish to be married, let alone married to a bloody Targaryen prince. And why in all the Realm would they both hold interest in her? Her step sister might have lost 5 stone, but she was still fat. She did well covering it up with all those skirt layers and stiff bodices, but Floris knew what she looked like underneath it all. She was one of the few who did. Large thighs and a pouch stomach that reminded her of an apron, and her heavy breasts and soft biceps were striped with stretch marks. No, her step sister did not have the body of the Maiden. What a disappointment her future betrothed will have once he lies with her.

All this attention for her fat step sister disgusted her. Valeana did not deserve it, and she especially did not deserve two fucking princes fighting over her! 

“What weighs on my mind is not of your concern, Floris,” he still didn’t look at her directly, which irked her. The tick in his jaw and the shuffle of his feet betrayed his need to remove himself from her presence. 

She decided to ignore his statement. Her large doe eyes narrowed a bit as she chose her next words carefully. 

“If it is about Valeana, Prince Aemond, it should please you to know you do not need to worry about her health.” What she said had the desired effect. He looked down at her and a shadow went over his eye, casted by his strong nose. Floris kept her eye contact, “She is well.”

The way his nostrils flared told her she plucked the correct chord. 

“And why would I worry about her health?”

“Apologies. I thought you were aware… Princess Helaena returned her to our apartments earlier this morn, claiming she had a fit and allowed her to stay in her quarters.”

His eyes narrowed at her, and his chin slowly tilted, “You speak as if you do not believe it.”

“Because I don’t.”

Aemond turned to face Floris fully now, “Why wouldn’t you believe it?”

Floris shrugged a single slender shoulder, “I know my sister. She hungers for attention… I do not believe she had any sort of fit in the halls,” she rolled her eyes at the idea. “I’m sure she acted out one, for whatever damned reason.”

His eye narrowed a bit, and she wondered if he was dissecting this interaction as much as she was. It gave her a little thrill at the prospect that he was – she had yet to meet anyone to match her intellect. 

“Valeana does not like attention. She abhors being the center of it.”

Floris raised an eyebrow at him, “You speak as if you are still chums. I’ll have you know, my Prince, she is not the same girl you once knew. When we returned to Claw Isle all those years ago, everyone was at her beck and call. She got carted around on a liter like some spoiled fat Dornish princess. I guess she got addicted to the attention so much it changed her character. She got lazy, forced people to do things for her, and when no one was regarding her for a second, she would pull something childish ploy to ensure everyone was fretting over her. It never changed after all this time – she still pulls stunts like this to get pity.”

Aemond leaned back against the balustrade, crossing his ankles and arms. “And why are you sharing this with me?”

He was assessing her, she knew, trying to piece together her motives. Though she had little doubt that her motives to besmirch her step sister would be any different to his own with Aegon. They were the same in that way. Perhaps that is why she found herself approaching him, a step too close to be proper. 

“Valeana will try to guilt trip you and never offer you the absolution that you need to appease your father’s wishes. It’s her little revenge, I suppose, whilst receiving what she desperately craves from everyone else: pity. Quite childish, if you ask me.” Floris extends her neck, nose pointed in the air as she continues with an overtly formal curtsey. “But as your humble servant, my Prince, I feel it is my duty to warn you about her intentions. And as an old friend, I do not wish to see you painted as a villain or a fool.” 

Aemond pursed his lips and lifted his chin as he gave a soft, “Hm”. His eye was assessing her still, and Floris did her best to keep eye contact, lest she betray her fibs from lack of confidence in them. In her world they were true of course, but she knew in the deepest pit in her chest that she exaggerated and stretched the truth. Oh, her step sister loved getting coddled, but other than being resolute in her bitter resentment, Valeana wasn’t smart enough to concoct an intricate plan of revenge that involved emotional manipulation. That was all Floris’ genius. 

His head tilted the other way, making it obvious that something clicked in his mind. He gave a little nod and stepped off the balustrade, letting his arms fall to his side, “Thank you for sharing this information with me, Lady Floris. It has been… illuminating. And I am grateful.” 

Floris smiled, the ends of her lips twitching, threatening to pull them into an impish grin as she watched her seeds start to take root. 

“It is my pleasure, Prince Aemond.”

He regarded her for a moment, and she felt a heat bloom from her bosom up to her neck and then ears. 

“If it does not impede on your time, Floris, would you care to join me on a walk around the courtyard? I wish to pick your brain.” 

Oh, that just went straight to her cunt. 

Not able to control her grin any longer, she nodded eagerly, “Pick away, my Prince.”

Notes: Please, just let me cook. It's a long story, we aight even halfway done, my loves.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[greyskyflowers]

Let's discuss the headcanon that devil fruit users heal quicker. It's not canon (that we know of) but I think it's a logical and fun thought.

We know devil fruit users are human but I personally love to think that there's benefits that we don't see. Higher stamina, quicker healing, sturdier bones, tougher skin, etc.

The human body is incredibly adaptable and I would think the devil fruits would alter the body in a way that would help the user survive. Plus I feel like it's not going to give you a badass power up without making sure that you can handle it.

So with that thought, how does it feel as a devilfruit user when you heal quickly and your crew does not?

Let's go a little further with the strawhat crew.

Zoro, Usopp, and Nami are human. They're not devil fruit users, they have no genetic advantages, and they have no modifications.

They are human in a way that the rest of the crew is not.

So I like the idea of Zoro, Nami, and Usopp having their own little bond. Taking a little longer to completely heal, more prone to bruises, more likely to scar, the ones that get sick easiest or most frequent, etc.

Like devilfruit users around the sea. It's nothing to be ashamed of, just something to be aware of.

Humanity is something powerful to bond over. Power and weakness are also, both very powerful things to bond over.

I think devilfruit users have an understanding between them all that comes from being a devil fruit user.

The feeling of losing the touch of the sea

The vulnerability of being surrounded by something beyond your control

The knowledge that you are a threat in a way someone without a devil fruit will rarely be

So it makes sense that it goes the opposite way too.

Non devil fruit users also have a understanding between each other.

They hold the promise of safety and of bearing the touch of the sea when devil fruit users cannot

They are familiar with the risk of being discarded.

For example: Luffy could learn how to be a swordsman if he wanted to. He may not have the training or natural talent but he could still be very good if he decided to really commit. Zoro can never learn how to be rubber.

Killer can never learn how to control metal

Penguin can never learn how to manipulate space

Thatch could never have learned how to be a phoenix

Tashigi can never learn how to become smoke

Deuce could never have learned how to become fire

So on like that.

I feel like that would be kind of scary sometimes...How easily you could potentially be replaced. How easily you could become obsolete.

Of course, that doesn't stop anyone. They all work to improve, to be needed and wanted. They all have dreams and motivation to be better. To be the best.

There's also that unrelenting trust between crew members that allows someone the safety net of being able to fail, get back on your feet, and try again.

With the strawhat crew, we know that most of the crew will be the best or is the best at what they do.

However, I think there's always going to be that feeling that someone is right at your heels and getting even closer.

There will be other swordsmen. There will be other navigators. There will be other sharpshooters.

Zoro, Nami and Usopp understand that. And the crew is close enough to know that even when they're old and the world starts to bring forth younger people to replace them, they will always be the best to Luffy and each other.

I just think this would be a fun trio to explore.

[bluebellhairpin]

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; Meeting up with Thorin's Company at Bag End didn't go as smoothly as anyone expected. But as the journey to Erebor begins, eventually everyone settles into a new rhythm of normal - even you and Thorin.

Warnings; Mentions of nightmares/visions of the future. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human.

Listening to; 'Noble Maiden Fair' from Brave - "Sun and moon, guide us, to the hour of our glory and honor."

Part 2

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

This is a re-write of a old series! If you'd like to read the original, you can find it Here.

Waking up in a strange place, with little to no memory of the events of the day before, had sent you into a panic. 

When things started coming back to you like second nature - your name, places, how to do things and live - you figured, maybe, this wasn’t something to be so worried about. 

Maybe it happened often? 

You wandered a lot, and on your wanderings down in a place called the Brown Lands, you met someone. Not a man - a wizard - Gandalf was his name, somehow you knew it without him even telling you. You trusted him easily, as if you did know him already - something deep inside told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, that he was good - so when he gave you a map to the Shire - to Bag End - after a meal you shared, you took it with a nod. 

The place you needed to go wasn’t far away, a few days of swift travel on horseback and you could be there - but you had no horse - and from what Gandalf said, it would be quite the dangerous journey. Weapons that would’ve been needed were not something you had on hand either. So you stayed in that small town working your arse off in order to have enough favours to pull to get you the resources needed - sturdier clothes, a bigger travel pack, food that could last, a sword, and a horse. 

It took you less than two weeks. 

You picked out a study mountain horse, with a dark coat and lighter colored mane. His owner said his name was Phar Lap. He was perfect. 

You soon found your way over the mountain ranges that lead towards Bree, and by the time you'd made it to Bag End on the night Gandalf said you should be there by, you had already quite a journey and story under your coat to tell. 

You’d tied up your horse, and let yourself into the Hobbit-Hole. The door was left cracked open, and no one answered when you lightly rapped against the window. 

Ducking in and making your way through hall into the atrium outside the dining room, the dwarfs in your eyeline went silent. 

You were relieved to see that everyone Gandalf said would be there had arrived already. The hobbit in front of you followed their gazes and looked over at you, as did the dwarf sitting at the table’s head and Gandalf. The other dwarfs moved to try and see you better.

“And who might you be?” The Hobbit - Bilbo, something in your mind whispered - asked, already irritated from his unexpected guests, but by the dwarfs reaction he guessed you were definitely uninvited, and therefore was even less pleased. 

“I invited her, she shall be our number fifteen.” Gandalf said, taking a blow of his pipe. “She’s here to help.” he added and sat back up. 

“To take back the mountain, Erebor. Gandalf told me much about your journey already, I’m more than willing to help you.” You said. Something about being in this situation had you giddy. Like you’d been waiting much longer than you knew to be able to meet them - and help them. 

“Why might we need your help?” The dwarf at the head said. Thorin, that same voice told you. He quickly ruined your pleasant mood and stood to emphasize his protest - even though he just reached your chin when standing at his full height, he was still making you want to shrink in on yourself. “You aren’t a dwarf, and yet you’re too small, too weak. You’re no Hobbit burglar either. What could you possibly do to help us?” You eyed Thorin, weary, but wondering if he could really be so hostile to a stranger who was offering their help. 

“I know things. I see how events play out in dreams.”

“Oh and what use is that exactly?” 

“You’re asking me that? You willingly have a wizard in your company, and you’re asking me how visions of the future would help you?” You were very quick to bite back at him, to match his hostility. “I wouldn’t have travelled all the way from The Brown Lands to help you if I doubted if the visions were true. Gandalf wouldn’t have told me to come if he thought I was too weak or small.” All eyes then turned to Gandalf, of which was pretending he hadn’t quite heard you.

“I already told you she’s here to help. I’ve spoken, if you wish to ignore me that will be your fault.” He said promptly after seeing too many eyes on him. 

“I don’t mind her coming!” A young blond dwarf said, a smile cracking onto his face as he playfully hit the shoulder beside him - his brother, Kili- on the shoulder. “We could use a pretty face among all the ugly mugs here.” 

You looked over at the two younger dwarves bitterly, as the others erupted in laughter. “I’m well aware I’m the only woman here, but I won’t be reduced down to just a pretty face.” A quiet fell into the group as the laughter died down, your stern eyes receiving nods, and mutterings of ‘fair enough’. 

“I don’t wish to sound like I’m doing what you just asked me not to do,” A dwarf who looked much too young to be among his associates stood, “But I want you to know that I think you are really, really pretty.” You took in a deep breath, and sighed with a smile. 

“Thank you, Ori.” you blurted. You hand even covered your own mouth at the surprise you had for knowing his name. The Company themselves went into an uproar - partially out of annoyance that Ori was the first to tell you his thoughts and get away with it - and partially out of confusion as to how you knew Ori’s name even though you just got here. 

“Who are you?” A rough shove to your arm brought your attention back to - Thorin, “And tell me what else can do you, or do we have to still protect you despite your ‘visions’?”

You told him your name. “I can use a sword well, quick thinking - I can hold my own very well in a fight -”

“Fight? Against what? A measly elf?” You felt your eye twitch. He was frustrating you more and more. If he kept this up, your anger would win over how much you wanted to help them. And you wanted that so dearly. You felt anger bubble inside you, ready to burst, but Gandalf interrupted, ducking his head into the conversation. 

“Not elves, but she has had more than her fair share of orcs. Even a troll or two.” he said as you turned away to regain your composure, missing the flash of knowing hurt and regret on Thorin’s face before he spoke. 

“I didn’t know.” He said. 

“You couldn’t have, you don’t know me.” You replied, giving a small smile to let him know it was alright. For now. 

“So is she coming?” Bilbo asked, popping himself into Thorin and your conversation much like the wizard did. “Because I would feel more comfortable coming if there was someone who knows what’s going to happen coming along.” He finished. Thorin took a few more moments to think, looking you up and down as he did so. 

“I suppose so. The worst she can do is die.” And just like that, the anger was back. 

“I can see how grateful you are to my offer of help, Thorin. I shall take my leave instead of staying around and helping the likes of you.” you said and made your way back out of Bilbo’s house and into the crisp night air. Bilbo himself came after you, almost pleading with you to stay a join anyway, or make everyone else leave with you.

“You will need to go after her, Thorin.” Gandalf said, peering down at the dwarf. “You have to bring her back here.” 

“Why should I? She’ll be nothing but trouble, even if she can hold her own in battles.” Thorin said, his stubborn irrationality kicking in again. He just couldn’t see why he needed you. 

“You yourself noted she was neither Hobbit or Dwarf. What business do I have inviting an ordinary human on this journey?” With Gandalf’s question Thorin seemed to slowly understand. “To tell you the truth, unknown to herself, she is not of this world. She was sent from another specifically to help you reclaim Erebor, to keep those close to you safe until then with her visions - memories.” 

Gandalf took a puff of his pipe, and Thorin blinked, letting the words sink in.  

“She’s suffered quite enough at the hands of this world’s darker forces to be able to be here tonight, if that alone isn’t enough reason to let her stay with you then you have a denser skull than I remembered.” Gandalf had a point. Thorin was being unreasonably mean. Even when his own kin were unwilling to help, you were here. 

Thorin looked over at Balin, who was sitting and listening intently to Gandalf's words. He nodded at Thorin to go after you. Thorin clenched his jaw, let out a yell of frustration, then stormed out. He reached past the front door, pushed past Bilbo, and stomped angrily towards where you went.

A call of your name had you turning on your heel. 

“Wait.” Your eyes almost flashed in the darkness under the fur of your hood, daring Thorin to insult you again, but instead they widened at his changed declaration. “You will come with us as Gandalf is advising, and… I’ll try to act more agreeable towards you.”

He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, though. Instead taking a great interest in the hem of your coat. 

“You mean less like a jerk, and more like a king?” your head tilted, trying not to let a smirk reach your lips - though somehow you thought he wouldn’t have seen your expression anyway. 

“I suppose so.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you decide to be nice in turn.” 

“I’m only nice to those who give me reason, your majesty.” you mocked. Thorin felt his frustration rise once more. He sensed you’d be the death of him  - of he of you - if you both kept this up. You smirk widened - although there was no joy behind it - as you started walking past him. “Careful there, you might turn ‘unagreeable’ again.” 

“If you want to keep vexing me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you turned, facing the equally angry dwarf, of which was now eye-level to you from the hills slope. “You’ll let - no - force  me to leave and let your fate, and the fate of the rest of the Company reach the same end that I’ve seen? Trust me - you don’t want what’s coming.” Your voice was quiet, eyes even darker in the night. You watched as his jaw ticked, nose flaring in an effort to keep himself under control. “You do not want more dragon-fire. More lives slain at the hands of orcs. I’ve seen death, blood shed. I see it each and every night when I sleep, Thorin.” 

“Well, what choice do you give me now?” Your eyes locked in a fierce hold. Your words hurt Thorin. Gandalf said you were here to help and keep those of the Company safe - you knew their future. If you were saying these things, saying you were to help keep them away from such a horrible fate - one he’d seen bestowed upon many before him - who was he to keep you away?

That alone made him more lenient. You must’ve seen it in his eyes. 

“Fine.” You said with a huff. “You may be a king but that doesn’t mean you can be pardoned for acting so horrendously. Even so I will strike a deal with you.” 

“Like what?” 

“We try not to speak to each other, not to be near each other. Try to stay as far away from each other as possible so we don’t have to fake being civil.” You started, meeting Thorin’s blue eyes once more. They almost looked like they were glowing in the moonlight.” I think I’d be able to bear you much more if I didn't have to speak to you so often.” 

“I’d have to agree.” He rumbled. 

“We have a deal then?” you asked, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grabbed hold of your hand, holding it a little too tight.

“Deal.”

Days passed, slowly turning into weeks, and for what it’s worth your plan had worked. Mostly. 

You could easily assume Thorin’s temper flared against you just as often as it would’ve if you hadn’t agreed on a deal at all. Honestly yours did too - but only ever to meet his. You tried your best to be civil. But banter turned to bickering, and bickering - when given the chance - would turn to arguments. Tension was building, and often you didn’t know what kind it was exactly. 

The Company had stopped for the night to rest under a rocky crevice. Thorin was set to start on the first watch with Fili and Kili before you took over with Dwalin and Ori. You decided to stay up with them. Balin often told stories, and the story Balin would tell tonight would be one you decided not to miss. 

Tonight was the story of how Thorin gained the name Oakenshield. Balin told it very well. He often had you enraptured with his decade of tales - you soaked them up like a sponge. Instead of staring at the storyteller to take in every word, you watched Thorin, as everyone did, and found yourself standing with the rest of the company out of respect for your leader and king. 

You knew orcs, they'd caused you pain, physical and emotional. Fighting one was enough for you, but an army would take being possessed by the spirits of a thousand warriors. They'd left scars on you - also physical and emotional - and too those wouldn't go away. 

You’d always respect Thorin for what he went through, what he did - even if he chose to act like a jerk to you. 

With the story told, the night lulled. Dwarves curled up to snore each other to sleep, and you rolled up in your blanket to sleep.

Trees framed your dream. 

They peeled back, revealing where you were resting. You knew there were other vantage points where you could see your camp from, you didn’t know how you got there though. 

You moved further back, and beside you were wild, vicious beasts. Wargs. Atop them were Orcs. Their eyes flashed in the dark, speaking in tongues you didn’t understand. They turned away, seething, but pleased.

You shot up, reaching a hand for your aching head. Now awake, you took your eyes over a turn of the group. Everyone was here. The bile that rose in your mouth quickly went away. 

You were safe, for now. 

You looked back at Gandalf, of which had sensed your dream and was keeping a keen eye on you as you woke. Your face had gotten dull, he was worried, but he’d come to understand that some things couldn't be shared.

“My my, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bofur said from a way across the camp. Unlike Gandalf, the Company didn’t yet fully understand the lengths of your visions. You often had to make up reasons as to why you suddenly looked so shocked, or somber. 

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.” 

“Must’ve been something pretty scary. Perhaps you could spin a tale of sorts?” Bofur prodded, some of the other Company soon turned to face you. Apparently less of them were sleeping than you thought. 

“No. No, I’m no good at telling stories.” 

“What about a song? It doesn’t have to be a scary one.” Bofur took a puff of his pipe, smugly pushing his agenda. “We haven’t heard a single tale from you yet, I think it’s about time if I do say so myself.” 

“Maybe another time, Bofur.” He looked at you, watching as you shoved your hands under your blankets, folding your knees to your chest. He seemed to take the hint, and left you alone, instead now humming a tune of his own.

Thorin looked over to watch you as you settled down again. He’d never seen you wake from a vision before. He never realized exactly what they did to you. 

He kept looking between you and the fire to try and make it look like he wasn’t staring. After your waking, it was almost as if he saw you in a new light. Like one switch of many was suddenly turned on inside his mind which enabled him to really see you. 

Sure, he’d seen you before, but only superficially, not like this. 

This was deeper. 

It suddenly occurred to him that - even if you didn’t know it - you had a life back where you came from. A family, friends, maybe even a lover or children. You’d been through hell to get to Bilbo’s that night you first met, only for him to treat you like you were nothing. 

Now, he felt pretty bad about it, regretted it even, and felt the strange need to make it up to you.

The problem was he didn’t really know how. 

He didn’t know what you liked. Mahal by his pride he wasn’t going to apologize - and he figured from your character you wouldn’t think it meant a whole lot anyway. 

He thought about getting you something Dwarrowdam’s liked, pick something up for you on your travels as a gift - but you weren’t a dwarf. The chances of you liking what he’d find you were slim. He then seemed to be hit with an epiphany. Even if you didn’t know where it was, you wanted to go home - a place you’d be sent back to once your purpose was fulfilled. 

You wanted the same as him, to return home. He’d help you fulfil your purpose. He’d help you to go home, and be with those who you’d want to be with the most. 

You’d forgive him after that. Surely. Even without an apology.

[merakiui]

I feel like the Noble Bell Compound is very religious and cult like. It's gotta be rough to be a woman there, like handmaid's tale vibes

Terribly rough. T_T and you are so right. It's extremely cult-like. It's the situation in which the leader (Rollo) comes in to help when all hope seems lost and everyone thinks he's an absolute saint when he builds the compound up with sensibility and sturdier foundations and walls, as well as fostering such crooked ideals. A lot of people within the compound look up to him, treat him like he's some savior or a prophet, and Rollo always seems to know best. His two righthand men are so blindly faithful to him, and Rollo appears so kind and fair with everyone, including those within his close-knit circle. He's just so forgiving, so sweet. How could anyone distrust him? How could he lead anyone astray?

The entire compound feels like a utopia amidst so much dystopia, but the people who reside within don't see what lies beneath the compound in underground dungeons, where misbehaving nuisances are kept and silenced. Anyone who tries to question things, who tries to speak out against the little paradise Rollo has manufactured so dearly, so carefully, so graciously, conveniently vanishes to who-knows-where. No one questions anything because Rollo always has a perfect lie at the ready to keep the masses calm and collected.

Being a woman in the compound is not fun. At all. :( you're treated warmly (at first) just so you'll be tricked into a false sense of security, so you'll be more likely to accept the conditions in which you will be kept (and used). But the longer you spend amidst so many other brides, the clearer it becomes that you are not in equal standing with the others in this compound and Rollo certainly doesn't seem to think you are anything more than livestock meant for reproduction. However terrible his views are, Rollo still ensures the women are given adequate protection and care. After all, he isn't a monster (so he claims). You'll live comfortably (not as comfortably as those who are more privileged, but it's better than nothing), and you're given healthy meals each morning, afternoon, and night. You live like anyone else would, but there are a few rules that permit only to you.

For one, every woman within the compound must remain a virgin. If you don't bleed or feel any pain/discomfort the first time your husband takes you, you're seen as impure, a liar, a filthy slut. And when you're labeled as such, you're treated as such. Rollo conducts pussy inspections to make sure everyone is healthy and oh-so-pure (how he gleans that from running his gloved fingers along your folds or even forcing two inside your tight warmth just to see you squirm, you have no idea. He always spends extra time examining you; the brides gossip over this, eagerly insisting with hushed whispers that the compound leader fancies you. You shudder to think someone like Rollo would ever have his eye on you.)

Additionally, every bride must always wear white. It's a soft color, the symbolism of purity. You're meant to be demure and obedient things, subservient to the men who will choose from the lot of you as if you're nothing more than candy in a jar, eaten as easily as you are discarded. Every morning, it is mandatory that the brides stand before the compound leader and, in unison, list their vows, all of which have been stamped into your memory like a bad tattoo. Every morning, you promise you are pure, insist that your only hopes and dreams are to provide for the compound, to be good mothers, to be good brides, to remain untouched by sin, to remember these vows and hold them close to your heart. Essentially, by participating in this daily routine, you strip away parts of yourself and replace them with the parts the compound wants you to have, and by verbalizing them so often you'll begin to believe them, especially when everyone around you shares the same opinions and feelings on the matter. It is the finest form of brainwashing. And to make matters worse, to cement these ideals that have been practically engraved into you, Rollo always applauds the lot of you, smiles with so much satisfaction, praises everyone for such pleasant mindsets.

Every month his voice seems less like the harshest, grating static and more like a heavenly choir because, for all you've endured and will continue to endure, he is still the only beacon of light in this dark, dismal world.

[skkfujoshi]

Feels like we have matching wounds

“I blame you for all of this…”Chuuya mutteted “Whatever makes it easier for you,little lamb.”“Stop calling me that.”

Ahrahabaki shrugged looking at his nails,well,talons more like.Chuuya had been able to see him for years.Two,to be specific and had,until now,ignored him completely.

Not that the god spoke much.Then again,gods rarely had to speak to get attention.You gave them the time of day if you knew what was good for you.

Chuuya obviously had no clue what was good for him as the fact he killed his father attested.

Seeing Ahrahabaki was the closest he came to dreaming.It would happen at night,when he’d fall asleep and the two would find themselves on a beach.Chuuya recognized it as the one from that picture the Flags gave him.

“Did you pick me because I looked like you?”

The god perked up,blacked out,animal eyes blinking at Chuuya in all too human bewilderment.Chuuya had no idea why he was so bewildered.

It was a fair enough question.He had Chuuya’s face.With blackened irises,corruption marks and much longer unkempt hair but still,Chuuya’s face.

Ahrahabaki flapped his black wings for a moment,adjusting the manacles around his ankles before playing with the chain.

He laughed, though it sounded more like wheezing and sobbing.

“Chuuya,was it?I can look like anyone or anything I want.The only reason I look like this right now is because it’s all your puny human mind can bare.My true form…”

Another laughing wheeze.

“Well…Man much sturdier then you have been driven insane by it.”

Some part of Chuuya wanted to take offense to that.And probably should have.But that wasn’t what his mind clung to.

“Anyone?” “Yes,anyone at all”

He paused turning to Chuuya for a moment.A brief frown pulled at the god’s lips,but he scoffed.Then he turned away.Chuuya did too,figuring that meant the end of the conversation.

After a few,moments though,he felt a ghost of a touch against the top of his head.

He whipped in the direction and regretted it only moments after.

“For what it’s worth,Chuuya,I think you did the right thing.”Dazai’s voice said

Except it wasn’t quite …It had a vague buzzing quality,like barely noticeable static just underneath.The same thing seemed to happen to Chuuya’s own voice when Ahrahabaki took on his form.

And it was,truly,just one of many options.Chuuya realized that as he stared at what was in every aspect a perfect replica of Dazai.Down to the darkness of the eyebags.

“Stop it.”he muttered swatting the hand away

Ahrahabaki sighed,going back to his usual appearance as he stretched his arms above his head.

“I really thought you’d appreciate  that look…Oh well.Still,killing your father can only help us…” “What are you talking about?” “Well,Chuuya,now that he’s dead our power is only ours to use.” “Huh?” “Without him as the boss and you out of the mafia,no one will use it for their own goals anymore.We’re free.”

The word free rang an odd cord.Chuuya wouldn’t necessarily say that he felt trapped by his connection to the mafia but it was…Limiting.

How many normal teenage experiences did he lose out on because of this job?Did he even truly know?

Just because he’d hypothetically leave certainly didn’t mean that he’d have to cut contact did it?He could still call Kōyo whenever he felt like it.

But…He shook his head.Rūynosuke already lost Dazai.He couldn’t lose Chuuya too.

“I’m not leaving.Besides,need I remind you that ‘our power’ has almost killed me on multiple occasions?” “Only because we couldn’t communicate properly.I couldn’t instruct you in how to use or deal with it.” “Convenient,ain’t it?”

Ahrahabaki rolled his eyes,or at least Chuuya assumed that’s what he did.Lack of pupils kinda made it hard to tell.

“Little lamb,you are my vessel.If you die,I die.That’s the truth of the matter.You can choose whether you believe it,but I’ll tell it regardless.”

Chuuya tsked,annoyed and picked at the seam of his pants.

“Think on it,if you must,but I assure you,hearing me out will be for the best.For both of us.”

-

“We’re done.”Kunikida said,just as Dazai was pouring them a drink

He turned to look at his boyfriend,confused,as he put the bottle down.

Then he snorted.It wasn’t the first time Doppo said it.Usually the statement followed a bad joke post coital or Dazai messing with him,causing him to break another pen.

Dazai wasn’t sure what caused it now,but he knew not to pay it much mind.

“Sure we are.And I’m going to become the Agency’s president once Fukuzawa retires.”“Who’s Chuuya?”

Dazai only allowed himself a single blink before he said,in a joking tone and a with a sly smile:”What are you talking about?”

Without missing a beat,Doppo pulled out a picture and handed it to Dazai.

Dazai didn’t have to look at it to know which one it was.

He only brought two photos with him once he left.One of Mori ,stolen from a staff information file and currently hidden under the one loose tile in the bathroom,that he used for stabbing when he got frustrated and the second…

Well,he was looking at it right now.It was a photo of Chuuya on his 18th birthday,sitting on the rooftop,looking at the sunset as he finished off a glass of wine.In the corner of the photo was a small scribble by Dazai

Chuuya’s 18 now yet he’s still travel-sized :)

That photo was stored in-

“Did you rummage through my closet!?” “No,I didn’t.What I did do however is wash that extra bedsheet that you don’t use.And found this under it.At first I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

Dazai scoffed.

“And what inspired you to so bravely speak up?” “The fact I heard the name before.”

Dazai ran his hand over his hair casually,as his heart hammered in his chest.Fuck…Why did him and Chuuya have to be so good at their job and get fucking wanted posters?

And why did he have to be so shit at hiding stuff?

“And where was that?”he asked calmly “You.During sex.Five days ago.”

Dazai’s relief mixed terribly with guilt in his gut.It felt a bit like quick drying cement was poured down his throat and now it was weighing him down,freezing him solid from the inside.

“What?” “You were probably too high on endorphins to realize it at the time.”Kunikida added,wiping his glasses

The slight spite in Kunikida’s voice stung,but Dazai didn’t hold it against him.He’d argue he deserved even more.

It did explain some things he supposed.For example why Kunikida immediately went to bed once they were done.And why he was so curt with Dazai the day after.

Still,he tried to appease.

“It won’t happen again.” “Dazai-“ “I promise it won’t.I swear it won’t.” “Osamu-“ “I’ll never speak his name again,I won’t so much as think it.I’ll throw that photo out and-“ “Osamu!”

Dazai sighed,looking down at his feet.

“Doppo,please…Please don’t.” “It’s not just this.You know it’s not just this.” “I can be better.I’ll stop the suicide attempts,I’ll show up to work on time,I’ll never make fun of your ideals again-“ “You’re just saying that so I won’t do this.”

He hated how gentle Kunikida’s tone had gone.Because that meant he had thought about this and thoroughly.That he prepared himself for everything Dazai could possibly throw at him.That he steeled himself to end things no matter how much Dazai might beg him not to.

“Please…” “Dazai,sit down.” “No.” “Humor me.”

Despite himself Dazai did as asked.

“Look,’Samu…I’m not angry.” “Bullshit.” “Shut up.I’m not angry,I’m just hurt.And I know you didn’t mean to do it.At least I’m pretty sure of that,but…Despite the lack of intention,we’re still better off apart.At least,as a couple.” “I told you I can-“ “I’m not going to make you change everything about yourself to make me happy.And I’m not gonna settle for being sloppy seconds just so you can stay comfortable.”

Dazai buried his face in his hands and sighed,the laugh following after awkward and flimsy.

“Please,please,tell me you’re joking …”

He didn’t even really know why he was trying at that point.But it felt wrong not to at least make one last attempt.

Doppo was good for him.So good for him.He was moral without fail,without compromise.He’d keep Dazai not necessarily on the straight and narrow path,but the right one nonetheless.

And Dazai fucked it up.He didn’t look up to see Kunikida shake his head.

“Think of it this way…It’ll be a lot less painful now then it would have been a year in.I don’t resent you and we haven’t reached the sunk cost part of the sunk cost fallacy yet.” “You really know how to cheer a guy up a guy,Kunikida…You should become a life coach or something…”

Kunikida lightly hit him on the arm.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The sat in silence for a moment,Dazai not knowing what else to say.It was so…anticlimactic and Dazai found himself just a bit disappointed by the lack of explosion.

If it had been Chuuya-

He pinched his cheek hard.How much of an idiot was he?That’s exactly what got him here.

“I always had a feeling you know?” “Sure.” “No,really,there were these…These moments where I seemed to fall short of your expectations.You’d get this distant look in your eyes and then the next second it’d be gone.”

Dazai looked up from his hands at Kunikida who seemed to have a similarly distant look on his face as he recalled it.Though,Dazai suspected,his exe’s thoughts wandered far closer to home than his own ever had.

He took his partner’s hand.

“Kunikida,if there’s anything I can do to make it up…” “Dazai,you don’t have to .” “I dragged you along for two months.I do.”

Kunikida sighed exasperated,pushing up his glasses.

“Show up on time tomorrow and tell me about him right now.That will do.”

-

Mori smelled like antiseptic and ink.Most people hadn’t really appreciated the fragrance,Dazai chief amongst them.

Chuuya wasn’t one of those people though.Oh sure, it stung his nose in an awful way but…It meant his father was close by,so he couldn’t really dislike it.

Or so he thought.Because now he was choking on it,drowning in it.And he loathed every moment.

It was so bad he almost considered moving to his and Dazai’s old room,but snapped himself out of that bad choice quickly enough.

He did the right thing,right?Mori lied to him,to the mafia,he was terrible and manipulative,he had slapped Chuuya for saying the truth…

But he was one of the best bosses the Port Mafia had.Granted,the bar was not set particularly high by his predecessor but still…

If Chuuya came out with the truth,people might be sympathetic to a point but nowhere near as forgiving as those that figured Mori’s secret out were to Mori.

Because his father’s predecessor was a disaster.Someone was bound to do it.Things were going fine with Mori at the helm until Chuuya messed it up.

Still,now he did all he could to help the course smooth itself out.They had allowed him to vote despite having been fired,on the basis that he probably knew ,at least somewhat,who his father would have picked were he still alive.

And Chuuya did know.He knew the whole trajectory.After Chuuya begged to be Akutagawa’s mentor in addition to Dazai,he was no longer in the running as the successor.Something about abusing his privilege and connections.

Then Osamu became the runner up once the Dragon’s head conflict happened.

And once he died,Mori turned his eyes to Kōyo,keeping her closer than he ever had before.

A fair choice.Kōyo was very patient and had an ability both great in offense and defense and unlike Hirotsu,she was quite young.Not that the man was dying,but he had seen three bosses come and go already.

Also,she was quite a bit more sociable than either Chuuya or Osamu combined could’ve ever been.

So,Chuuya had put in his vote for her. 

And his conscience had quieted after he had done it.Not permanently though,much to his chagrin.

He glared at the ceiling and took a deep breath.At least no one was gonna pick Ace.That would just be-

“Chuuya?You up?”Rūynosuke asked from the other side of the door

He got up and put on his best smile before confirming he was in there.

“They already done down there?”he asked,all fake cheeriness

Rūynosuke nodded,not noting Chuuya’s mood even though he probably noticed how odd it was.

“Yes.The moment of truth has come and gone,it seems.” “Great.Who is it?” “You.”

Chuuya blinked.He had to have heard wrong.Rūynosuke had always been rather quiet in regular conversation.Maybe he misspoke.

“What?”

Akutagawa sighed,almost regretfully.

“You,Chuuya.You’re the new boss of the Port mafia.”

Previous fic part <—. Next fic part —>

First overall AU info post

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 38

Cw:dragon egg-laying in the background, toddlers displaying symptoms of trauma

Gif by @targaryensource

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @watercolorskyy @alexandria-millie @darylandbethfanforever9 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @aemondx @sweethoneyblossom1

Aemma with a child on her hip is a sight from which he can never tire.

She plays with two-year-old Viserys who has been clinging to Helaena believing she is Rhaenyra.

Three-year-old Aegon was more withdrawn, preferring Baela over everyone else save for his nurse.

It was no issue for his sister to care for their orphaned nephews, Helaena adored children, and gave her an excuse to make sure they weren’t fostered with people willing to kill them before the sentence is even completed.

Mother hardly saw them; the guilt ate at her when faced with the reality that she played an exceptionally large part in the death of their mother.

Aemma used any moment to visit them, play with them and lie to them when they asked their father.

She has Viserys on her hip as he babbles to her in half-coherent sentences about his new toy dragon.

“Vhagar’s begun laying her eggs.” Aemond greeted her with a kiss just below her ear. An onlooker could mistake it with a kiss on the cheek, a show of affection after greeting his nephew with ruffle of his pin straight fair hair.

Of course, that was as uncharacteristic of him as it was for the sun to rise from the west, but no one truly knew him except for a handful of his kin.

“Do you want to go see the dragons, Vis?” she asked the toddler with that annoying baby talk he refuses to do.

The toddler is effusive in his excitement, Aemond managed to make out a suggestion to invite his brother Eggy and Aena(Helaena) to go with them.

He has her eyes, whatever features they shared with their mother making it look like he might be her own babe.

Would Aenys look like him, he wonders.

He won’t ever admit it, but he wondered to himself how his children with Aemma would look.

Would they have her thick curls or his straight hair? Would they have his nose or hers, would something tracing back to his grandparents shine through in him?

Perhaps Alys is wrong and it’s a daughter, one who looks like little Daenaera or maybe like dead little Ellyn.

Then it hits him that he will only be uncle to them and the whole dream turns sour.

If they manage to secure Harrenhal and its surrounding lands for Aegon, he may be here to meet the babe that is his in all but name.

He could manage that, five moons is more than enough time.

“You should ask him to join us.” Jena whispers as she helped her change Vis and Aeg into clothes more suitable for an outing.

Well, sturdier play clothes and shoes.

“He is his brother, he’d never do it.” Aemma shook her head as Aeg obediently extended his feet so she may fasten his shoes.

“He’s your lover, he’d take out his good eye if you asked.” Jena said in that baby talk as if she were a toddler too. “Besides, he’d get to be king and never live under his brother’s shadow again.”

Strange how having been intimate with the same men brought people together.

It was fuckin bizarre that she’d find a friend in Jena after their tumultuous beginning.

“No, but hell would have to freeze over before the realm comes to accept a female ruler and I doubt Aemond would like to live under my shadow even if we had a joint monarchy.” Aemma countered her point.

Aemond was proud to the point of arrogance, he’d never accept that he would be her second. She would sit on the throne, and he’d wield Blackfyre.

Well, he already wields Blackfyre because Aegon can no longer fight, but he would function much like a second Hand and general.

He’d live under someone’s shadow, and Aemma is not sure he���d be alright with her casting it being a woman. After all this war was started because men cannot stop thinking their cocks make them superior.

“It could happen. Especially now that Aegon’s dragon no longer flies,” the dark-haired woman said with cunning smile.

“He’s infertile not impotent, Jena.” The queen corrected thinking she mixed it up.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Your darling grandmother, may she rest in peace, broke his little dragon and now he can’t even get it up.”

This was definitely news to her.

If Aemma could ever get an annulment, she’d get it in seconds.

House Targaryen couldn’t hope for the best with one singular heir, for fuck’s sake, Jaehaerys and Alysanne had thirteen children and yet had to call for a great council because they all fucking died.

“Fu-fork!” Aemma gasped amending her word at the last minute, Viserys had recently started picking up words he heard the adults use. In one instance he had exclaimed the word shit when his toy dragon fell out the window.

Aegon gave him a magnificently carved rocking horse made to look like a dragon as a reward.

Now it was up to Aemma, Helaena and Baela to un-teach him those words.

But that is a problem for another day.

Today was going to be the best fucking day ever, so her little brothers have some fucking joy in this gilded prison.

“Just make sure to give my suggestion some thought, your grace.” Jena whispers as she takes her stepchildren back to her manse.

And she does.

Would he be up to it?

Vhagar roars and Aeg covered his ears. He’s been afraid of dragons since mother died.

“I want muña.” He cried before running to his nurse in fear.

“I will take him back to Princess Helaena, your grace.” The nurse said quietly as she held him, and he cried harder into her shoulder because Helaena is not mother.

But Aemma thanked her nonetheless while Aemond called for a guard to return to the keep with them.

Dangerous place this was, anyone here would be willing to hurt the children for something they do not even understand.

Someone would kill them to ingratiate themselves to Aemond and Aegon, others because Targaryens are inbred abominations.

Aemma’s lost count how many times she’s been called an inbred whore now that she’s allowed to leave the keep.

Of course, she shuts them up by doing charity work and letting the Prince Regent deal with it however he likes, but two toddlers alone with no guards invited trouble.

“I apologize, he’s been scared of dragons since mother died and Stormcloud died of sadness soon after when Syrax went feral.” Aemma apologized as the nurse and the guards took both toddlers. Viserys couldn’t cope with being separated from his brother fearing he’d never come back like mother and Daemon, so he chose to leave too.

“Perhaps if he were to be given an egg, he may overcome it. I think Vhagar’s clutch will be quite large. Enough for everyone.” He suggests trying his hardest to pretend there isn’t anything going on beyond friendship between them.

But his words also betray how isolated he felt when everyone had a dragon and he didn’t.

Aemma had a little hatchling that never grew and eventually died when her wedding date was announced, Elēnar had been more loyal than a dog and more trouble than anything in creation.

I would rather have one like him than have none at all, he had once said the day before Joffrey was born and he was humiliated by Aegon’s cruel prank at the Dragon Pit.

Mother had been livid, Harwin and father as well.

The boys had no sweets for a month, were barred from the Dragon Pit unless an adult was with them, and all three of them were to have a very special lesson from Teora about why bullying is bad and why good children do not do it.

It had been so long since then. Nearly seven fucking years.

She had only been six and ten when she arrived here and now, she is just a week or so away from her eight and tenth nameday. Aemond’s nine and tenth had been just before the war, they had snuck off during the hunt in his honor and fucked like animals against a tree until they came looking for him.

“What are you thinking about, dearest?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough to send a shiver through her.

“My name day, and whether your gift to me will be as great as the one I gave you for yours.” She flirts with him knowing he still gets tongue tied like when he was two and ten and blushed every time anyone called him handsome.

“I thought the orange blossoms would have been to your liking.” He defends the flowers he had hidden in a book of hours made of the finest quality. “Perhaps a tourney crown would move you, my queen. Or dragon’s egg, you did famously have two dragons.”

“I already have a second dragon, three would be too many.” She teased him forgetting they aren’t alone. Although no one would dare speak it, and she can always be vague and have them believe she meant her husbands.

“And where do you keep this second dragon of yours, your grace? Silverwing is chained like a criminal in her nest.” He takes the bait with a smile while Vhagar’s gives out a final huff as she delivers the searing hot and fleshy egg case containing her progeny.

“Why, in my bed, your highness.”

He cannot know what she and Jena are plotting.

He loves her, but not enough to usurp his brother and that is a fault she cannot ignore.

[limerence-17]

Can i request a Steddie x read where they go mattress shopping and the sales guy is coming on way to hard on read and the boys get really defensive. Then there is smut to be had breaking in said new mattress. Also like to think that they broke the old one lol

this is so crafty and i'm such a sucker for anything steddie related PLUS i can totally see the doing this. hope you enjoy!!

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THE LAST FIRST MATTRESS

not intended for minors. do NOT read if you are not 18+!

–pairing: steddie x fem reader

–word count: 2.8k words

–summary: After forcing your roommates Steve and Eddie to go mattress shopping with you after a little mishap, they can't waste to test it out a week later.

–warnings: p in v unprotected sex, oral sex f receiving and m receiving, fingering, blowjobs, handjobs, kissing, explicit words and context. read at your own disclosure!

A/N: this story is set where everyone is 21/22.

The salesman walks ahead of you, he's leading you over to the next mattress. It's the seventh one he's shown the three of you so far, but you can't help it that you've always been indecisive. I mean hell, maybe this was why you couldn't choose between Steve or Eddie.

It had been that way since you'd decided to move in with your high schools acquaintances after high school. With your struggling love lives it surprisingly brought the three of you together, in more than just three ways. But it never disappointed that the two of them wanted you as well. You never really saw yourself as greedy, not when your two best friends were happy to share you equally- no strings attached of course.

Once the salesman was a bit further ahead of you, you felt a hand grab onto the top half of your arm, squeezing so tight that you turned around the slap it playfully off.

"What, Eddie?" Eddie asked a pouty look painted out all across his face. He looked like a child at the carpet store, begging his parents to go home.

"Seriously, Steve and I already talked about it- we promise we'll buy you a new mattress," Eddie said, turning to Steve for validation, who began to nod very quickly up and down.

"We won't be much longer guys I promise, there has to be one here- besides I can't wait up to a week for a new one. In case you guys forgot or something, I need someplace to sleep tonight, not tomorrow." You say, widening your eyes in a sarcastic kind of way.

"But we're so tired, please. I mean c'mon you could come crash at mine!" Eddie pleads, gripping your shoulders in desperation. It's a little funny seeing how much control you have over the boys and granted you're only shopping.

"Yeah, so... tired..." Steve says in between yawns, covering his mouth to exaggerate it.

"Jesus! I'll go grab my mattress and drag it to my house even if that's what it'll-"

The salesman interrupts Eddie quickly, coughing a little to gain his attention which he notices, releasing your shoulders from his grip quickly. There's 80s music playing softly on the muffled speakers in the store, you can pick up on the soft hum of Into The Groove by Madonna playing and the busy footsteps of other customers walking around.

"So this one is half off, but it is actually quite the steal for its price. A lot of people don't like it for it's sturdier firm, but if you ask me it's perfect if you're planning on doing some more uh... rigorous exercises." The salesman has a small smirk that appears on his face and he's giving you a look that you can't help but feel a certain funny feeling in your stomach. Is he... no he can't be. Wait, is he flirting with you?

"Half off you say? Is it good for uh.. sleeping at least?" You croak out, feeling your throat get a little dry. You can feel Eddie and Steve growing a little impatient, and this time they notice how the salesman has moved his gaze to the cleavage on your chest.

"Oh trust me darling it's perfect for sleeping. After a busy evening, you'll be grateful you own this mattress," He says. And with that, Steve pipes up.

"So say if she wanted to share this bed with... I don't know maybe me for example, do you think it would be a good fit?" Steve asks, clearly gritting through his teeth.

The salesman met Steve's gaze and noticed his glare, which was clearly focused in jealously, perhaps a little competition. You'd be lying if you'd said it didn't make you feel a little giddy inside.

The salesman coughed a bit, clearly his throat and shifting his footing.

"Uh- yes, yes I believe it would." Steve took a step back, crossing his arms.

"We'll take it! Thank you!" Eddie said, stepping in in front of Steve. Steve could be a little unpredictable at times when it came to the woman he cared for in his life.

"Alright well er, I'll go get the papers and I'll check you out- sorry er- I'll get you checked out." The salesman made awkward contact with Steve, Eddie and you as well before he walked away.

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ONE WEEK LATER

It was a late Saturday evening, you'd decided to have a couple drinks at your guys' place with Eddie, while waiting for Steve. You were standing in the kitchen, sipping gently on your wine as Eddie leaned back against the kitchen counter sipping on his beer.

"So, guess what arrived while you were out with the band?" Eddie's eyebrows raised, a little bit confused as to where you were going with this.

"Steve's sense of direction and time management," Eddie said a little sarcastically.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, Eddie could be so infuriating while so fucking handsome at the same time.

"The mattress dickwad, it finally came in and I even set it up on the bed frame all by myself this time," You said, playfully pushing on Eddie's shoulders.

"You know all by yourself doesn't count if you're inviting the movers in to do it for you y'know?"

"Oh shove it Munson," You say, meeting his gaze and pulling him for a quick kiss. He gently pushes in further to deepen the kiss and you can feel his tongue gently grant access into your mouth until suddenly he's pulling away.

"Wha- Eddie?" You ask, whining a little bit. It'd been too long since you'd had sex and you were starting to feel a little more needy than usual. How could you not be anyway? You had two perfect guys who were completely open to a friends with benefits three way.

"Don't you think we should wait for Harrington? Now that you and I are already two drinks in?" Eddie says, still tracing small circles against your arm as you're still pushed up against him. You can feel the outline of his cock against your waist the more you adjust yourself against him.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we got a head start, plus it's kind of his fault for never being on time," You say, running yours hands through Eddie's hair as he's looking at you with lust filled in his eyes.

Just as Eddie starts to give in, placing soft kisses against your neck, there's a knock at the door.

"Jesus!" Eddie shouts, trying to pull himself together. You look down and it's clear he was beginning to have a boner.

"Oh my god Eds pull yourself together," You say, scoffing a bit as you tug your hair behind your ears. You make your way over to the door and look outside the peephole. Outside the door is Steve, standing a little awkwardly tucking his car keys into his wallet. You open the door, with a hand on your hip which makes Steve scoff a bit.

"So I'm gonna assume that you've already started drinking and uh..." Steve leans his head in, starting to walk a bit slowly into your guys' apartment. From behind you he spots Eddie, whose attempted to compose himself on the couch.

You look down for a moment and notice that your tank top strap is down your shoulder. Steve follows your gaze and notices that you've noticed this as well.

"The two of you are so sneaky," he says pretty nonchalantly, smirking a bit as he puts his belongings down as heads into the kitchen, opening a beer as he takes a couple of sips.

"I'm sorry Steve, but you know I'll make it up to you later," you say as you walk over to the counter, pulling your tank top strap up again.

"You know we both will!" Eddie says, lifting his beer up in agreement from the couch. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Oh shove it Munson," he says, taking another swig. You can tell Steve's had a long day at work, and you know the perfect way to get this night started. Besides, that quick make out sesh with Eddie had your dirty thoughts already spiralling out of control, and the messiness of Steve's hair and slight droopy look in his eyes was driving you insane.

"So I already told Eddie, but my mattress arrived today," you say, cracking a small smile. Steve swallows his sip from his drink slowly and looks at you with wide eyes.

"Oh really?" You nod very fast, pretty proud of yourself for doing it in the first place.

"Apparently she did it all herself too Harrington," Eddie says, now standing up from the couch. He's hit play on the stereo beside the couch. Your 60s tape was left in it, so to Eddie and your own surprise Lonely Sea by The Beach Boys.

"Really, Beach Boys?" Eddie asks.

"I was studying, give me a break it's calming," you notice as Steve has moved closer to you and placed his hand on your waist and almost as a reflex, you place your wine glass on the kitchen island.

You turn around so that now you're facing Eddie, whose begun to walk closer to you, his eyes glaring across you and Steve, who's now begun to place gentle kisses across your neck. It's taking everything in you to keep your composure even with the feeling of Steve's lips on your neck.

"You know- I'm starting to think we should give that mattress a little test y'know, whaddya think Harrington?" Eddie asks, now extremely close to the two of you, starting to place kisses on the other side of your neck.

You find yourself running both of your hands through both of their heads of hair, the feeling of their lips on you driving you mental.

"That-sounds-incredible-" Steve says in between his sloppy neck kisses.

"Follow me," you say, finally managing to pull away, strutting slowly into your bedroom and sitting down on the bed, jumping a bit on the mattress.

"Looks a shit ton better than the shitty disaster we made of the last one," Eddie says, nudging Steve a bit who lets out a scornful laugh.

Steve's already started to take off his shirt, and feeling as if you should comply you've started to take yours off as well.

"You guys are too fast seriously," Eddie says, unbuckling his pants and shirt as he scrambles over to you.

"Let me have her for a moment first Munson, Steve's had a long day and could really use some assistance," Steve says now leaning on top of you, causing you to fall backwards onto the mattress. Before you know it, his lips are on you and your hands are running through his bouncy brown hair.

"Fuck," Steve says, as he's suddenly aware of your hands scratching up and down his back. "Yes keep doing that babe, that feels so good god," Steve says, now slowly planting kisses across your chest and stomach as you quickly unclip your bra.

As Steve is working on pulling your pants down, you've lost your focus as Eddie's begun to kiss you, a longing kiss as his tongue begins to dance with yours. Naturally, you find yourself gravitating to his boxers, where you finally place your hand around a most longing boner.

"All this for me?" You ask, looking at Eddie with siren eyes.

In the living room, you hear Lost in Your Eyes by Tommy James start to play on the stereo.

"God you make me fucking feral baby," Eddie says, as you manage to pull out his cock, stroking it slowly watching as he lets out a low gasp and his eyes roll back for a moment. You're pumping your hand up and down just at the speed you've grown to know that Eddie goes mental for.

"Just like that baby, yeah stroke my dick just like that mmm," Eddie grunts lowly.

You're so focused on pumping Eddie, and his shaky breath and sloppy kisses on your lips that you haven't even noticed that Steve's already pulled your panties to your ankles. Steve plants kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are cold to touch to you and you feel goosebumps grow against your legs and shivers through your spine.

He slowly gravitates towards the upper end of your inner thighs and you want to grip at his hair so bad, give him all the praise imaginable but you're so consumed with the feeling of Eddie's dick in your hands, pre cum running across your fingertips.

With a few kisses, Steve now moves on your clit, placing small but excruciatingly incredible kisses on your heat.

"Oh god," you say, moving your gaze a bit to see Steve now sucking and grunting against your clit. His tongue is moving up and down so quickly you can't help but pull away from Eddie for a moment. What you see in front of you is so fucking hot you can't help it. Steve is now eating you out as if he's been starved for too long, and you even catch a glimpse of him running his hand through his long hair before he gets back to tongue fucking you as hard as he possibly can.

You don't get to look for much longer though however because Eddie's gripped his hand tightly on your cheeks, redirecting you to him.

"No baby, you keep your eyes on me." Eddie says, and suddenly your focus is redirected to stroking Eddie once more. You can hear his orgasm building as his grunts gets louder. After a few more pumps, Eddie pulls your hand away.

"Jesus Christ baby you're gonna make me cum, not yet, not until I'm inside you," he says, now kissing you once more. He pulls away to look at Steve, who's still eating you out.

"Look at Steve, eating you out like that, you're such a good girl you know you deserve it," he says, his eyes widening with infatuation and lust as he watches him going down on you. As you feel your heat rising and climax building up, Steve pulls away quickly.

"Munson I mean- Fuck you gotta come see how wet she is, I mean it's as if she's been thinking about this all day," Steve says, a little exasperated and flushed from the heat in between your legs.

"Oh really huh?" Eddie says, moving from the bed to the front of the bed where he's now kneeling beside Steve. Eddie pulls your legs closer so that his fingers now line up perfectly with your now obviously soaking wet pussy. All it takes is for Eddie to run one slow finger across your slit and you're already throwing your head back, desperate for more.

Steve's now moved back up to you, kissing you gently. "See how fucking incredible you taste?" God that was so fucking hot, you think to yourself, grabbing Steve's neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Suddenly Eddie's got one finger inside you, pumping inside you slowly, then it's two and you can feel yourself starting to see stars.

"You gonna let Munson fuck you now?" Steve asks, although you and him already both know the answer to it.

"Yes, please Eddie you know I need your cock inside me," you practically beg through muffled gasps.

Eddie obliges and stands above you, pulling your hips closer to him to adjust himself. With the grip of his hands on you, he turns you around so that now you're facing Steve's dick.

With a few adjustments, Eddie slowly inserts his full length inside you, pumping slowly at first and you both let out moans of need and lust.

"C'mon baby I need your mouth on me," Steve says, and you follow his direction, placing the tip of his length across your tongue, moving it in a circle and watch as he puts his hands up and rolls his head backwards mumbling obscenities.

"That's it baby, take Steve's dick, take it all in that pretty mouth of yours," Eddie says between grunts as he pumps himself harder inside you. After a few minutes of grunts, low moans you find that both of the guys have come to their orgasms and the three of you let out gasps and exhales and lay back down on the bed. You find yourself in the middle and Steve has now laid his head on your chest.

"At least we didn't break this mattress this time," Eddie says, scoffing a bit raising his arm.

"Yeah god I mean- that is the last first mattress we ever buy for my room again," you say, laughing.

"Anyway, I think it's Steve's turn now," you say, sitting back up two face the two boys in front of you, a small smile on your face.

[cy-cyborg]

hi! I'm (planning on) writing a fantasy book and I want my world to have accommodations for disabled people (blind, deaf, wheelchairs, etc.) and I was wondering if you could give me some tips/things you think people would appreciate please? I want to get it right :]

This post I wrote a few weeks ago in response to an anon question is a good place to start! It has some stuff for amputees and other related disabilities (e.g. wheelchair users/crutch users) specifically.

One of the best things though is to remember that things don't have to be a specific way, just because that's how it was in the real world. e.g. Castles in the real world don't tend to be very accessible, but stairs don't have to be the default method of travel between floors in your setting. especially if magic is involved.

Changes you make to make a society more accessible will also have run-on effects so things will end up looking quite different on a surface level. For example, written language and books will probably look really different to English if they were made with tactile elements built-in for blind people. Some things will also have positive impacts on non-disabled people too, which could cause a run-on-effect to something seemingly random. A city built with wheelchair access in mind (no stairs, wider streets, sturdier paving, less hills) is more likely to also be more accessible to people using horse (or monster) drawn carriages inside the city itself. This could result in more stables throughout the city because people no longer have to leave them outside the gates anymore. That also means more people would probably need to be hired to pick up the animal poo left behind which would quickly cause accessibility issues, so the cities would be probably be cleaner - it also creates more jobs too. A lot of little things like that would end up having rather large run-on effects.

This doesn't mean you have to change the entire aesthetic though! You can still have your stone castles and overall medieval aesthetic (or whatever other fantasy aesthetic you're going for) just be mindful of what elements you're using and why you're using them,

As for stuff specific to other disabilities, I'm not really the best person to answer that. Most of what I could give you would be pretty generic, like the book thing. Best to find content creators that talk about their disabilities (folks who talk about being blind, deaf etc) and pay attention to the tools they use and what they say they would like to see more often and try to figure out how to incorporate those things into your work in a setting-appropriate way. Just be sure you listen to what they actually want, not just what people make for them. This is especially important for Deaf folks in particular since a lot of devices made for them are not things the community actually wants or needs, it's just to make hearing people more comfortable around them. Of course, if you want to ask questions about your book specifically, find content creators who talk about writing characters with the disability specifically, not every disabled content creator is open to this kind of question since a lot have bad experiences of working with authors or just don't feel comfortable answering them in general.

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 349

ok so i rambled a little in the tags on my arafef post and a few of yall expressed interest in a headcanon chart SO. here it is.

like i said in the tags, i placed karkat (and limebloods if you want to extend it to that) at average human height: 5'6" not accounting for gender differences. everybody below that point on the spectrum is progressively a little smaller, and everyone above it is progressively taller.

I don't exactly subscribe to the "trolls are constantly growing like lobsters so if they live long enough they just get HUGE" headcanon, but I do think that having an extended lifespan allows highbloods to like... space their growth out over a longer period of time, so they can afford to do more of it without experiencing wild growing pains.

Also, I don't think fuschiabloods can grow literally forever. I think there's probably a point at which they max out, similar to humans with gigantism. At a certain height, we just start collapsing under our own weight, which leads to health concerns if you are significantly taller than average. I just imagine that upper limit to be higher for trolls, since i feel like they're implied to be a little sturdier than humans are.

And speaking of averages, that's all this chart is showing. There's obviously wiggle room within each caste, and some of them overlap with each other. Like, a tall rustblood and a short jadeblood could totally be the same height, or the rustblood could even outgrow the jadeblood. just kinda depends on the individual.

[esotericjerks]

Absolution

Zepar has trauma and no healthy coping mechanisms. Sitri steps in to provide some tough love. It’s romantic, I swear.

If you want the soundtrack for this drabble, please go listen to Hypnosis by Sleep Token.

TW for violence/gore/general demon fucked uppedness.

Sitri is not often overtly cruel because there is something to be said about honey and flies, but when they are, it is always for a purpose. Brutality wielded as a scalpel, not a blunt object. Zepar needs cruelty, on occasion, Sitri has come to understand. Not the playful kind either; something truly egregious. It’s some byproduct of Falling: an unconscious drive to pay penance or daddy issues of literally cosmic proportions. The two of them are the same sort of creature, now, yes, but origin matters– Sitri was born in Hell. Zepar was not. It makes all the difference. 

The Prince recognizes the need asserting itself long before Zepar does. Little things, at first. A detail forgotten. A hair out of place. He gets listless. Unmoored. 

“You’re distracted,” Sitri comments, not for the first time in recent days. They stroll down a hallway of the palace together, having left a meeting in which, quite uncharacteristically, Zepar had needed information repeated. More than once. 

“I am no such thing.” 

Even his protest sounds far away. Sitri halts, looks down at him. “Liar. Your head’s in the clouds again.” 

His silence speaks volumes. 

“Oh, Birdy,” they say, chiding, acerbic. “Still missing the nest?”  

That gets a reaction. The Duke’s lips peel back in a snarl. “Fuck off.” 

So they backhand him. Hard. 

It’s not enough to really damage him, not yet; Zepar is nowhere near their level, but he’s still a demon of rank and sturdier than he looks. But the blow catches him off guard, and he raises a hand to his split lip in surprise. Sitri bends toward him to hiss, “We've entertained this foolishness long enough.” They grab one of his horns, and as they drag the smaller demon closer, the space around them shifts, air flexing, until they’re in Sitri’s own quarters. No need for anyone else to accidentally bear witness. This is a private moment– it’s reconditioning, not humiliation. 

They haul him up, lifting his feet off the ground. Zepar’s nails tear at their hand, trying to pry free of their grip. He always fights them when he gets like this. At first. Normally he is so keen to please that he submits to their will with a single-minded determination that would unnerve most. But the poor dear is off kilter. He is too proud for self-flagellation, and the effect is most profound when punishment is meted out by an authority figure anyway. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it, or can’t. That’s alright; Sitri will give it to him anyway. 

His feet kick out, aiming at their middle. In a flash, Sitri flings him across the room into the far wall. His head cracks against the stone. They are on him before he can try to escape, pressing their advantage with extreme prejudice. They grab a fistful of his scarlet hair while Zepar claws at their eyes; he manages to gouge one of four before Sitri ducks, maw opening wide, and gets their teeth around his shoulder. Their jaw clamps down, crushing the appendage into inoperability. 

He curses them in just about every language known to man and several others that are not.

One hand keeps him drawn up against the wall; their tail wraps around his still-working arm to hold it down. “Do you still hear them? Does the Host still sing when you close your eyes?” Their free hand works at peeling open the armor he wears like a carapace, digging for the sweet meat underneath. 

He does not want to say it. But their grip on his hair tightens and smashes his skull into the wall again. Answering is non-negotiable. “Yes.” Acknowledging this makes him feel shame in a way he no longer thought possible. The loss of Heaven looms over him even after millennia. It is a sorrow that Sitri is existentially incapable of understanding. Bottomless and exquisite. They can only fish around the depths and hope to drag up something useful. 

“They abandoned you. Your father turned his back on you. And yet you pine away–” they mock, all the overlapping harmonics of their voice dripping with sheer fucking disappointment. “For what? Forgiveness? It is pathetic.” They rip away the meager scale covering the front of him. “As if they would recognize you now. Have you even a sliver of grace left? Let’s find out–” 

The points of their claws easily penetrate his abdomen, sinking in as smoothly as any other part of their body into any other part of his. Zepar howls and thrashes, but Sitri holds him fast. Ichor flows free and dark, staining the alabaster of his skin as they rend through muscle.

Sitri hums, digging. Searching. “Interesting! I don’t see any. Not a single shred of the divine–” The hand in his hair releases, drops down to grip his pretty face. “Just a wretched, prurient creature like the rest of us.” Their claws twist, pressing further into his innards. Even in this, their touch is masterful; their carnage somehow still a delight to him. And Sitri knows it. The Duke can writhe and scream and spit at them, but they know. “An infernal whore who begs for Hellspawn cock and cunt and tongue. You’d take it happily right now if I wanted to give it to you. Wouldn’t you, Zethariel?” 

The name is the turning point. The one he left at the bottom of the Pit. It is necessary to remind him. He must be brought low to be built back up.

Zepar’s breath catches at the sound of it and he stills, going limp. It crosses a line. “–Stop.” 

“No.” They are long past boundaries. “They do not deserve your sorrow or your shame. You are more. More here than you ever were there. Stronger. More beautiful. Terrible and extraordinary. You. Are. Perfect.” Each word punctuated by the tearing of flesh, the wonderful squelching of impalement. “Just like this.” 

He begins to sob then, and it is the most beautiful thing Sitri has ever heard.

They lean in close, whispering fiercely into his ear. “I will not allow you to lower yourself by thinking otherwise– not in my presence. I, who lifts you up. I, who loves your wickedness. I, who holds your dreadful heart in my hands–” Symbolic and literal, with their hand buried so deep in his chest cavity. They grip the equivalent organ, squeeze lightly, and he chokes on the sensation. 

“Please- my Prince! I can’t–” 

“Pray for mercy, then.” He gurgles something; Sitri prods his viscera. “Louder, Birdy.” 

He sputters, sprays blood, but chants the words to Sitri’s demonic enn. Again and again, as they press soft kisses to his face, their claws wrapped tightly around the pulsating core of him until his voice gives out and he is a wheezing mess in their arms.

Satisfied, Sitri withdraws their hands and lets him slide wetly to the floor, gutted. They lift the blood-soaked hand to their mouth to taste him, the other set of claws toward their own abdomen to tear free a hunk of their soft tissue. Funny the way both sides get this part– the significance of consumption. A sacrifice of self; adoration in feasting and feeding. An exchange in energies. Sitri presses the meat to his lips where he kneels weakly at their feet, and Zepar takes it, swallows it down greedily and sucks at their fingers. Sitri can feel it: the draw on their vitality as he devours what they offer. They will always give him what he needs.

“Thank you,” he says, when finally curled into Sitri’s lap, both of them on the floor now and heedless of the gore. There is catharsis in reopening old wounds. Breaking up scar tissue, cutting away what is putrid, exposing the truth. Once so expertly flayed, he is shiny and new. His body has already begun to knit back together. Sitri pours their own essence into the work of making him whole again. 

“Anytime, darling.” 

They are a loving god, after all.

[randomnameless]

I was wondering if you ever made a post talking about ladle's idea of meritocracy?

I don't think I did?

Watch out, it will be long lol

Let's take the Flayn'n'Ferdie ending - of course unavailable on Tru Piss, because Flayn is a Nabatean :

Assuming people are extra horny and start to breed like rabbits, because Flayn and Ferdie are extra “loving” and all, a nabatean blooded baby pops up (half or quarter nabatean, it depends on your hc about Flayn herself) from their "extra loving" shenanigans : that baby will obviously have a crest, since it is a nabatean (or part nabatean).

Assuming that baby will have his mom’s crest, baby will still be able to heal “better” than seasoned healers or trained ones, because of the power-up the crest gives them + baby, with their nabatean genes, might have a longer lifespan and be sturdier than a “regular human”.

So, if someone should become a healer, baby will obviously be picked, because baby can heal better than anyone else (save for their mom) in that situation.

Which makes me think about the Holst’n’Goneril house issue :

Thanks to Nopes, we have the hard confirmation Holst has no crest, and is so OP that he still manages to defend the border because he’s just that awesome. So yes, potentially, someone can do the work a crested dude can do, if that someone is exceptionnally good at doing what he does - Holst is a strong warrior, so he can protect the border, even if he doesn’t have a crest - meaning Hilda is free to live the life of leisure she wants even if she has a crest and can use Freikugel.

But 2 points :

First, iirc, from their supports, in Nopes, Holst actually says Hilda is amazing, and might be even stronger than him, she just doesn’t realise it yet. Is it because Hilda is also super strong on her own, or because Hilda… has a crest?

Second, checking weapon ranks again - Relics have a E rank. Meaning a crested person, without even having to train, can use them to unlease mighty artes and destroy people. To say it better, base Marianne, with her shit E-rank in swords and laughable physical attack stat, can kill people just as fine as Holst - a seasoned warrior - if she picks up Blutgang.

And it’s kind of sad because realising this, no matter how awesome Holst is - to be able to defend the border when it was usually thought only a person with a crest could do so - if a crested random comes with a relic, even without any prior training, they can kick ass as much, if not even more, as Holst, who graduated from a military academy and most likely spent the last 5 years of his life on a battlefield.

That’s not fair!

But that’s precisely the point - Relics and Crests are cheat codes! They make a few “ones” better at some things than others.

Randolph wants to be “successful” in battle to show how useful he is to guarantee his position? Sure, but when Sylvain, by flexing with his shiny lance, can do everything Randolph does in battle, but better, how can Randolph be successful? How can he guarantee his position? Why shouldn’t Sylvain’s achievements be rewarded with, say, the position Randolph was eyeing?

Back to Flayn’n’Ferdie’s kid Baby is a Nabatean hybrid.

If they have their mom’s crest, fine, Baby can heal better than anyone else on the continent, save for mom. If they have dad’s crest, they can be inherently better fighters than Randolph, due to that crest, but also to their Nabatean body (Rhea can eat 3 nukes and still be alive, a quarter nabatean hybrid might be able to tank 1 when a human, uh, is not be able to tank any!).

Even for governance, Baby will be long lived, they will have +100 years of experience and wisdom, compared to John the random human who might also want to become a governor.

Battle wise? Governance wise? Baby will always have more “facilities” and boons than “regular humans”.

I developed it a little in one of the “Lycaon the half-nabatean AU post” - no matter what angle you look from, Baby will have opportunities and chances to be “better” than any human around. 

So if positions of power, or jobs, or whatever, are given to the most “competent” people, Baby will obviously be given all those jobs offers, positions and whatnot.

Does it automatically mean doom’n’gloom for the crestless humans out there? No, because there are things being a Nabatean or having a crest or being able to use a relic doesn’t impact, like, say, Bernie’s dad’s job, or being in charge of foreign affairs, or trying to develop new tech (even if Constance’s gift for magic is implied to be due to her familial crest), or being in charge of engineering bridges, cities, canals, etc etc…

But in the other domains, like fighting and healing and whatnot (performing magic)?

If everyone should rise and fall by their own talents and merit, then what about the ones born with cheat codes, who rise through the ranks by snapping their fingers?

They will of course parasite the “rise and fall by their own talent”, since no one else, no matter how hard they work, will be able to match them.

Which is why the solution is either to remove crests from crested people (and erase nabateans from Fodlan because I don’t think they can survive exsanguination), or to get rid of that “by their own merits” system - but what system should be put in place then?

Good question!

We know the original noble “someone who knows, seek knowledge, leads and protects people” definition ended up being distorted in the current Adrestia, so, again, what should be put in place?

The game… doesn’t answer.

Bar a milquetoast “everyone should accept each other with or without crests” it’s radio silence. 

Only in some endings we have clues, Hanneman making tools to make crests obsolete (but it would just move the debate from who has magic blood to who has enough money to get those kick ass tools), or Sylvain wanting to find a way to stop fighting at the border.

And yet, the main issue remains : Nabateans. 

They are people who can, without tools, do superhuman stuff (at least lore wise!). Why should Jack pay for an automatic lamp 100 gold if Rhea can lit hers by snapping her fingers, for free?

Ultimately, given how the main character - Billy - is the reincarnation of the Goddess herself, and part nabatean, I don’t think the game wanted us to reach the solution that one day everyone will have the same lifespan and be able to use magic normally and everyone will one day stand on the same starting line.

Just like I don’t think Tolkien wanted to give a… message, when he designed Numénoreans - the most Noble of all Men - and the Lesser Men who lived in Middle Earth. Some people have magic powers, and some don’t and that’s the setting. 

Is it annoying because it’s again a story of a chosen one?

Maybe. 

Is it kind of a downer because it means the most basic random will never be able to swing a sword like Aragorn does, or in FE16, emulate Billy’s prowesses and be able to go back in time too?

Maybe.

What does it mean then, if a character’s leitmotiv is to change the world so all should “rise and fall by their own merits”?

The game tries to give an answer to this riddle - having the main hub being an orphanage and a place to shelter “those who have no status in the world” or the ones who fell, and with the “parley” - some people cannot rise on their own, they need support. If a name or a family line should dictate whether someone is going to be great or if they’re going to suck, ditto for their “merits or achievements”, it’s not because someone fumbled at life that they should just die and be “weak”.

It’s like an exam, if you’re first, yay good for you, you are received, but if you are last? What are you going to do? Re-sit? And if you’re last again, then what? Is it just the end of the road for you?

Sure it’s kind of cliché “together we can be stronger and survive” or “the strong must protect the weak, and the weak make the strong strong” but I feel like this was the kind of answer the game - that is a game that purposedly is left vague to make the world “feel larger” - wanted to give.

Nakama power, power of friendship, you name it! But imo, it’s always the same message in the series : it’s not the king that makes the country, but the country that makes (and can unmake!) the King.

It’s not the answer you’d like if you are looking at real life history or to make real life parallels but…

No matter how many “real life parallels” you might be tempted to make regarding FE16′s system of ruling/social system, FE16 and the world of Fodlan is still a world where some people have magical dragon blood that gives them superpowers.

It’s not supposed to be a mirror of the real world. It’s a fantasy setting - with interesting questions - but ultimately questions raised in that fantasy setting.

....

i don't even know if i replied to your question lol

[merakiui]

What if there's a different ending for Azul thought 2?!!??! Like Princess darling decides she doesn't wanna get married and escapes with Azul to somewhere faraway? maybe in a quiet part of a forest leading to a beach? She can use the logs and use them to construct something like a small shelter near the beach so he can't dry out.

If that was the case, I think the ending would be much happier for both Azul and Reader! Perhaps you had a different reaction to his confession that night when you visited to tell him of your plans to release him back into the ocean. Maybe when he offered for you to accompany him you agreed. Then there would never be any broken hearts or misery. Azul wouldn't have had his breakdown in the pool the morning of your wedding, he wouldn't have yanked you into the water to prove a point, and he wouldn't have forced you to endure his twisted version of love. (And the sequel I'm writing for it would never exist. :o)

I like to imagine that if you willingly ran away with him he'd find a way to turn you into a mer like him so that the two of you could live happily under the sea. <3 then he could give you many, many eggs and you would spend your days raising a family of fry, no longer worrying about the duties that come with your now-abandoned princess title. Azul would eventually introduce you to the twins and they would adore you! Life under the sea is much more freeing than life on land. You'll come to learn that the way of life is so very unique and exciting and refreshing!

Before you became a mer, you probably spent a lot of time isolated on the beach or maybe in an underwater cove while Azul worked to perfect the transformation potion. But once you've become a mer, he's ten times happier. He can embrace you and he won't have to worry about crushing you or breaking any bones because you're much sturdier in this form than you were as a human. And bonds work differently under the sea than they do on land. Once he's mated with you, the both of you are a pair forever. He finds that so romantically binding, and I think this is where more of his suppressed yandere tendencies begin to show. It's not that Azul doesn't want you to enjoy life under the sea. You just have to enjoy it with him. All the time. Never separating. Together forever. He accompanies you everywhere and, similarly, you accompany him wherever he goes. The both of you are nearly inseparable.

He introduces you to his family and they fall for you and your human-like charms. You're welcomed into the Ashengrotto family so warmly! It's really so wonderful. A lovely, little happily ever after for Azul and his princess. :D and the both of you have a beautiful wedding and an enjoyable honeymoon!!!!