#there is no such thing as common knowledge in this household

[rottmnt-brainrot-hours]

You know how the Mad Dogs vaguely guess at what Mayhem is during the first episode? And Donnie specifically thinks he’s “some kind of nuclear St. Bernard”?

I just looked it up and... Donnie. Have you ever seen a St. Bernard. Why would you namedrop a breed you can’t recognize??

For reference:

This is a St. Bernard.

[swaqcenix]

The Devil was an Angel First | N. Romanoff

Natasha Romanoff x fem!stripper reader

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Summary: It was a risk and a job worth taking, simply use your ability to seduce to earn enough money to get you your university degree. Yet you didn't anticipate the owner of the strip-club to take a significant interest in you, but what can she do? As soon as Natasha saw you, you were hers.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x!fem stripper reader, employee x boss, forbidden romance

Warnings: 18+, slight dark!natasha romanoff, manipulation, strip-teasing, lap-dancing, pole-dancing, fingering, semi-public sex, oral (n to r), mommy kink, strap-on, choking,degrading, over-stimulation, handcuffs and toys, reader is easily manipulated!

Word Count: 9K

AN: This is heavily inspired by the song Pray by Xana, you could listen to it while reading this to get an extra bit of the atmosphere ;)) Also I wil be taking small requests or drabbles for this specific fic/pairing as I'm secretly addicted to this concept.. (not so secretly.)

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Slipping amongst the crowds, your eyes dart around the room as the sounds of the club itself echo through your body. The lighting was illuminating each corner of the room, but stopping in certain bleak shadow's contrasting well with those who put on a performance.

The smell of slick sweat and hot bodies mingling through the room made your nose twitch through instinct and it was around this time your mind was wondering whether this was the right call.

University had been always your major goal in life, pass through High-school get your qualifications and your grades, just don't fuck up. For most of your life you'd remained hidden in the shadows, contempt to live life remaining hidden away while the flashlight of beams hit the sky's ground touching everything but yourself.

Yet apparently life deemed it not apparent that this was the case for you. Instead when your family collided into debuts and the household becoming a simply standing memory of what once was and never could be's you knew the longing for snatching your degree's up in higher education was slipping like fog and air through your fingers.

Would that be a common knowledge concept and reality to turn towards darker paths? Well, darker in regards to your family's eye-line anyway. You simply saw it as an opportunity for people who enjoyed doing things their own way, their own style and didn't wish to follow into the lights of the sky like others we're unique.

Your family wouldn't be appreciating your actions but it didn't matter. It realistically couldn't no matter how much they perhaps frowned at the idea. You could perhaps go into depth of how it wasn't selling your body but allowing it to be seen, allowing others to get a taste of the salt and the the aroma of flavours their hearts desire, but never fully satisfied.

Pole-Dancing wasn't something you'd be opposed to doing by any means. Watching the way they drift through the air, holding onto the bar with such pristine confidence and high agility hit your stomach in all the right ways. Nimble and soft fingers holding onto the pole with such grace their body's dancing into the fire of the night, other's moving with grace and affirmation.

The men and women watching their every action their every step with such a wide eye their lustful thoughts screaming with such a power your own ears rang. Black stiletto's clinging to the poles with a strength that made you doubt your own abilities despite having the darkest of secrets lingering on thoughts.

Quiet girls always tend to have the deepest of desires, the fieriest of personality. The set determination on being quiet, being forgotten and not wanting to be seen always portrays just how difficult life could dance around in a sea of wonder and mystery.

The air smelt so much of blood sweat and tears, the smoke driving the fuel into everyone's body, an ignition lighting up. You turned towards the bar deciding to opt on a drink, probably a hardcore whiskey if you wanted to get through this alive and sane, the burning feeling would ground you heavily to reality.

Turning on your heels, your contrasting deep-blood heels clacked heavily on the floor, treading with a walk that helped you do the one thing you'd avoided doing. Being seen.

Eyes watched, heads tilted and words of whisper drifted across the room as you brought the attention away from the other worker's sensing some hard glares and other longing looks. It was no secret you had the looks, it was just never in your cards, not your line of sight, but the devil didn't always play with fire until pushed within the flames.

"Whiskey neat please," your voice was firm and held no conversation for an argument.

The barman glanced at you and you simply watched as his eyes glanced at you, looking you up and down. You could practically feel the budge in his pants grow from here and the self-refraining you were doing from rolling your eyes was repulsing.

You weren't about to start off your first time in this place by pissing off the men you could encounter more often in telling them you not into indulging in their acts. Explaining to men who couldn't understand the word no when it comes to simply not being interested in them was not a path you cared to go down for the time being, instead settling on biting your tongue.

Sure, it didn't mean you couldn't make some impressions around here though. You'd already made a rather splendid entrance by sauntering around capturing lingering eyes of the men and women which allowed your red tinted lips to tilt upwards.

The barman worked nimbly, his hands being heavy but not without meaning as he flipped bottles around like he was performing an act. Normally this would entice most women to jump for joy and use some ogle eyes towards him. However, you were in fact not most women, you simply walked through the world of shadows until you decided to finally allow the light to kiss your skin in all the right areas.

He slowly slid the drink down to you as you tossed him the dollar bills owed and sauntered off in means to find the owner of this establishment. The music moved above you like puppet's on a string as you did your best to try and move through the blinding strobe lights and bodies mingling into one.

Guessing that the owner would find you before you found them, your body decided to make it's way over to a table waiting for them to arrive with introductions, you crossed your legs simply playing with the bottom of the whiskey glass, swirling it around for play as you chucked it down your throat.

The feeling of the burn hit you instantly and you squinted for a moment before a heavy sigh escaped the opening of your lips leaning back in the chair once again becoming one with the shadows. Besides the demons in everyone else's heads seemed to be having their own rituals one of which you weren't enticed on indulging in such acts.

The approaching sound of heels made your body almost churn with anxiety for reasons currently unknown to you.

The approaching sound of heels made your body almost churn with anxiety for reasons currently unknown to you. Doing well to not attract attention you glanced through your glass trying to picture who was approaching and a flash of red curls took through the reflection.

Your lips tilted upwards in a mischievous smirk as you leaned back in your seat, a feeling of excitement coursing through your veins. Your mind wandered as you presumed the mystery woman was approaching ready to allure you into sinful acts of seduction and dance through desire into the night.

Instead, what was not predicted was the black stiletto heels coming to a stand still right behind your table, a hot and heavy breath lingering in your ear. Your body tensed and you felt the smirk dripping from the woman behind you as you tilted your head turning around to be met with someone who should be the devil in disguise, one to lure you entirely out of the shadows and touch the fires to ignite you entirely.

"You must be Y/N. Y/LN. I am Natasha Romanoff, Miss Romanoff to you. Owner of Desiring ignition. I will interview you in the back rooms if you don't mind?" her voice asking a question but orders slipping from the sinful tongue.

Your body moved before your lips did and you found yourself following after the redhead like an obedient dog, for a minute forgetting yourself entirely and not thinking, just acting like a string was tugging you along.

Her red hair was distinctive even against the darkened tone of the room, the lights dimming in and out didn't affect it as it shone like fire and ash, the devil reincarnated you knew. Her hips swayed with an intent to drive a man wild but in a way she didn't wish for any of them, simply alluding to her own intoxicating beauty, poison and toxic.

The eyes followed you both and you scampered after her down a neon-purple hallway, the colour's almost blinding you within a trance. Finding your bearings you knew you'd need to pull yourself together if you wanted this job so decided to play in the same game, the same chess board. Play with the devil.

Her hands clasped tightly around the handle as Miss Romanoff lead you into what you presumed to be her office before shutting the door behind her. The noise seemed to almost be drowned out now, as though she'd installed noise cancellation into her office.

Your eyes scanned the room trying to analyse and get anything you could on this woman. You'd always liked to get to know someone through their surroundings and what that said person associates themselves with, especially if it works in your favour.

The office itself was dimly lit but well cleaned and decorated minimally. To your left there was a desk, mahogany coloured with 2 chairs on ether side, the desk holding files that your eyes couldn't capture from the distance you stood. A solemn picture held itself strongly on the desk of what you could make out to be a younger blonde woman, perhaps the same age as you or a couple years older.

The redhead nodded her head towards the chair on the other side of her desk, before sitting down on a black leather one herself. Even sat down in the dimly lit office you could tell she was a woman of business, not one to be meddled with nor to cross without paying the price which for yourself was bad given your track record of loving to stir the pot.

Her eyes lingered over your own for a while examining you, looking you up and down in a way your body almost jolted at the sheer intensity of her gaze. Not wanting to keep the older woman wanting any longer, your feet moved on the own accord sitting down on the chair opposite of her. Her posture was still up straight, impossibly held and elegant opposite of your own.

"So," she began by looking through your files as though you'd be arrested under a warrant issued for the most wanted criminal.

"You've got good grades from schools, a track record of not seeming to show herself within public eye and even held debates and meetings within clubs. Your jobs previously consist of coffee shops and waiting so what exactly is it you have to offer here," she stated her voice was laced with disdain and annoyance.

"Well that's correct yes, but I have goals in life and things I need to achieve. I can't get there without doing this first, trust me it's a last resort," you replied cringing inwardly at your response.

It was a stupid mistake you'd created by saying this job was a last resort. That would be the last thing this goddess of a pain was waiting to hear, especially when wanting to employ you. You'd fucked up royally but like she stated, you had a tendency for debate clubs and there was nothing better you were good at than worming you way into or out of situations.

Her eyebrows shot upwards at your response and you watched with fear as the redhead perused her lips together eyeing you once again with a look of utter irritation.

"So you see us as a last resort?" She asked stiffly.

"No, nothing like that-" you tried to reason but her hand waved in the air dismissing your comment before you'd began.

"Y/L/N. Do you know how many people come here asking for jobs hm?" Her head titled to the side lips twitching while watching you squirm.

"No..."

"Over 200. How many do you reckon we employ exactly?"

The venom and toxic poison in her voice almost sent you spiralling you couldn't help but feel entirely hooked on it. Yet the feeling in your mind told you to run, leave before you headed down the road of embarrassment and utter danger.

"I'm not sure, Miss Romanoff," you voice was surprisingly even for someone being scolded in a private office room.

"The answer is 4% out of those 200 get employed. Yet, a silly girl like you walks along struts in like she owns the fucking place and says it's a last resort," she taps her finger on the side of her face mockingly.

"No.. I can dance and I'm incredibly talented on a pole," you tried to reason but she once again shushed you in a dismissive tone.

"You're dismissed off you go," she shooed you off and your legs stood by themselves your mind no longer in control of your body.

As your body walked towards the door head daring not to look back your hands went towards the door handle, before lingering on the metal for a moment. Your mind danced away thinking of thoughts and how you couldn't give up so easily. You came in this bar, this strip-club looking for a job and you'd be damned to go without one. Sure the woman behind you was a stole cold bitch, but she came with fire. You had the gasoline to set this place alight.

Turning on your heels, you faced the older woman who went from looking down at her files with disinterest to whipping her head up. Miss Romanoff tilted her head to the side as you approached with a surge of confidence that you didn't know you had running through your veins setting your blood alight. Your body leaning over her desk you smirked as she watched and you could sense her tense beneath you.

"Let me show you what I can do," your voice was whispered with sultry and laced with such confidence that was missing moments ago.

The redhead thought for a moment, her lips twitching ever so slightly at the sides before tilting up. She removed herself from her chair carrying her composure elegantly as ever before entering your personal space.

"Be my guest, show me what you can do," she smirked.

Before you could even blink, Miss Romanoff snatched your hand and lead you out of her office towards one of the unoccupied rooms. The sparks you felt when her hand clasped your hand and rising towards your wrist jolted your stomach giving you somersault's.

She on the other hand, snatched her hand away as quickly as she took it and you weren't sure why that caused such a sting within you. The older woman wasn't required to touch you in any way, but her response was as though she'd been burnt in opposition to your own body's reaction wanting to feel her touch ignite you more.

Suddenly the vast realisation of reality crashed down on you and your stomach churned in thought. Your mindset couldn't be thinking this type of way in any shape or form towards someone who could perhaps be your boss. This wasn't about to become some cliche film style where you fuck your boss, you couldn't give her that style of power.

Yet, as you let your mind indulge further in thoughts, she wasn't your boss. Not yet and not now, besides if you wanted this job a thirst to prove yourself to the flames of hell as she was, you were going to have to join the game.

Heading further down the hall, Natasha stopped at the door to her left and you titled your head in anticipation. The feeling of not knowing what you could possibly find was always thrilling yet had an edge of dread that filled your lungs and ran through your veins.

Observing her silently, you watched the redhead slip out a singular key from her pocket before slipping it with ease into the lock and turning it. Her hand which you tried definitely too hard to not focus on wrapped around the handle turning it before standing to the side awaiting you to head inside.

Silently entering the room, you found yourself coming to a sudden halt at the sight that stood before you. A singular pole stood in the middle of the room, tall and with a bolden look about it almost calling to you begging you to dance upon it. Towards the corner of the room lay what you predicted to be a lot of BDSM toys ranging from handcuffs and blindfolds to nipple clamps and leg spreaders.

Your cheeks flushed heavily at the sight as heat ran through your body and you found yourself turning away from the toys, eyes instead landing on a chaise lounge. The furniture was a deep red, crimson in fact darkened like the blood flushing heavily through your veins, perhaps darker than Ms Romanoff's hair. Turning your head in her direction you realised she'd been watching your reaction as you absorbed and gawked at the room, causing you to flush even further.

The older woman simply smirked at you before making her way over to the chaise lounge, looking you up and down in what you originally thought was a judgmental look now seemed otherwise, before sitting with determination down onto the chair.

For a moment it was silence as she only stared at you examining you for a mere moments that felt like hours before rolling her eyes and scoffing. Her hand raised upwards as her index finger- that looked incredible you might add- came out and directed at the pole giving you a pointed look. Realisation hit your face and you realised what the redhead was asking of you, which caused all sorts of emotions to run through your head.

She was asking you to to give a full example of how you'd dance within her club, within her line of work and show yourself. Normally this wouldn't be a bother as you'd come to a damn strip-club for god sake, but it was the idea of dancing alone with her that sent your nerves spiralling and your body shaking beneath you.

Still, there was no point in arguments, you'd been the one to suggest showing her, but in hopes of a more lively atmosphere. Instead Miss. Romanoff had lead you to a secluded room one of which held what you predicted secrets hiding within the 4 walls for you to dance in.

Sucking in a tight breath you closed your eyes tightly shut counting to 3 before opening them once more. Getting your bearings around you, you strutted to the pole making sure to remove the jacket that clung tightly to your skin hugging you in all the right places. The jacket was placed to the side of Natasha and you tried not to smirk too much at the feeling of her eyes travelling over your form.

Her body stood up, walking over to a speaker in the corner causing you body to tense up slightly. If it was too loud it was sure to cause an uproar of attention that in this current moment you didn't want. Your mind was too focused on earning the approval and the full attention of the redhead selfishly to yourself despite wishing that you didn't indulge in such sinful acts.

You removed your pants, leaving yourself in only your polo shirt and underwear, trying your best not to make any sort of contact with her. You could have done pole-dancing in your pants but it wasn't a risk worth taking if you didn't want any slip ups and needed the grip. Instead you walked over to the pole closing your eyes tightly before opening them and glancing over at Miss Romanoff.

Her head was tilted to the side and you were almost convinced her eyes that you noticed earlier were the shade of emerald green like the piercing ground of earth were almost charcoal now, luring you into the mist of hazing sinful creatures and touching the igniting flame. Instead of contemplating thoughts any longer you let out a mere nod towards the older woman and she smirked turning on a song that widened your eyes as, girls girls girls by FLETCHER began to echo through the room.

Trying to once again ignore the intriguing implications behind the song you stepped forward flexing your hand back and forth continuously before gripping onto the pole tightly with your left hand. Your fingers curled instinctively around the metal bar and you cleared your mind. One of the first things you'd learnt about dancing and when understanding how to use the effective ways of pole-dancing was don't think just act.

You let your mind carry through the music eliciting the illusions of thoughts and song's as your body carried you through. You started off smoothly, swinging your way seductively around the pole keeping your outside leg straight before pivoting your inside foot at the same time.

Your mind carried through song as the beat's began to pick up, your outside foot worked through muscle memory hooking around the pole before your other joined gripping tightly.

As soon as you felt your body securely fitted on the pole your hips moved in ways of wonder as though art itself couldn't touch through paintings of masterpieces. Your back arched and your hip swayed in beat swinging yourself around the pole before your body flipped itself in ways of wonder, dancing and spinning with everything it had.

The song slowly began to draw to a close and it was then your eyes chose to linger from being shut as you made your distinctive signature move, swinging yourself around with a grace you didn't know was within you. Your body swung from the top to the bottom of the pole in the most seductive way possible as your fingers crossed over, before your eyes drifted to the red head.

It took everything within you not to let out a shit-eating grin when you noticed the gawking from Miss Romanoff who looked like she was ready to eat you up whole. Given any other circumstances you would have flushed or felt self-conscious, but instead you embraced the feeling of confidence as you gently slithered off the pole a laugh almost sliding past your lips.

You sauntered over to the older woman, teasing leaning over her body to grab your jacket only to be yanked down onto the couch. You felt the blood run course through your body you heart pounding so loudly you'd not be surprised if she could hear it herself. The room came to a heated silence, the tension thick and easily cut with a knife. Natasha's hand came up to cup your jaw tilting it to the side almost as though she wanted to judge that part of you too, or better yet distract herself from what she was initially going to do.

"Tomorrow, 8:30pm your shift will begin. I recommend not arriving late, or better yet arrive earlier to prepare yourself. You work hours will differ but tomorrow you'll be finishing at 3:30am. Understand sweetheart?" Her voice husked out and you were almost putty in her hands once more.

Your head nodded unconsciously, the primal instinct in you roaring to obey your now boss's instructions. The feeling of disgust ran through your body at the realisation of what you'd just performed despite it being your job area now. It wasn't the fact you'd pole-danced it was the secluded room and the song that made your body squirm.

The redhead seemed to thrive in amusement on that power and you weren't sure whether the heat that ran to your core was feelings you wished you didn't have or anger that turned into the feeling of lust, perhaps both. Her hand tightened on your chip ever so slightly to the point you thought her nails may cause intends within your skin, marking like a hot poker within it.

"Oh no, none of that. You use words to me okay? So do you understand dorogaya?" her tone showed no time from you for disagreement.

"Yes, I understand Miss. Romanoff," your voice was strong and assertive despite inside your body was a mess of sweat and utter chaos.

Natasha leaned back, stretching her arms across the couch staring at you for a moment before taking her lip between her teeth, clamping down hard. The sight was enough to send a hot gush of wetness between your legs and your mind screamed at you in retaliation, she was your boss. Her teeth gently let her lips go with a pop before standing up and walking up to the door, swinging it open with ease staring back at you with an expected look.

"Good girl," she whispered out her lips tilting up dangerously as your fixed your tousled hair that had become slightly damaged from dancing.

Your body reacted once more to the words almost jolting in response, but you did well to keep yourself refrained and intact. Instead you simply grabbed your belongings nodding towards the woman and headed straight for the main exit. Perhaps the acts you were prepared to partake in was deemed as sinful and immoral, you wouldn't give so much as a glance if they were. It felt like the devil was standing their glaring into your soul and you didn't care for anything else other than entering the gates and feeling the flames wrap around your body.

The next evening went as smooth as it could, the blasting of the music as your body danced in between of time to the tunes. Your personal favourite was the one's that went sensual before picking pace as it allowed you to do your signature moved before flaunting around people in a seductive manner. You'd thrived on how the men and women gawked at your, eyes popping out of their heads, drooling from the mouth like you were a treat they had to have.

Fellow colleague's had taken up on asking advice, specifically your new favourite Wanda who you added on further inspection was quite a looker. The way she'd bounce her brunette curls around her face as she danced into the night like nobody was watching always had you admiring her.

She herself had wanted tips from you, always seemingly interested by your dancing to the way you move on a pole, her eyes always lingering in sheer awe and amazement as though you personally had placed each star drifting through the sky. Yet, you always felt another pair of eyes, heavy and dark lingering in the shadows.

It was the type of shadow you'd spent your whole life hiding within but this aspect was dangerous. It felt cold mixed with fire alike, bonding in ways it shouldn't mix. The soul being ice and chilled to the bone with fire in the centre waiting to burn itself from the ground up. You constantly sensed the lingering eyes on your body but chose to ignore it, for you knew the consequences of the danger, you knew who those eyes belonged to you just couldn't face them to admit it.

It continued for the next week until Saturday came faster than anticipated. Your legs carried you through the building with ease and a sense of calm now almost as though you'd been there for years. In reality you'd become rather content with the building of Desiring ignition. You'd scarcely interacted with Natasha though, (thank god.)

It wasn't the exact concept of fearing the woman, no it wasn't that. It was the way she made you feel. It was like feeling towards the devil, it's forbidden you see red with anger, lust the picture painted of danger and intoxicating aroma.

You'd done well in avoiding the older woman but she did appear to be making it easer than anticipated, despite knowing the one hiding in the shadows, lingering not wishing to be seen but knowing you felt her presence seemed to enough for the older woman.

You had settled on something different this time, usually not opting for dresses preferring to dress loose but certainly stylish all the same. However this time, you'd decided to rock the boat and you weren't sure why.

Instead you'd settled on a deep emerald green, darkened than usual but curved around your body clinging in all the right ways. The anticipation and adrenaline of the reactions you'd receive left your mind racing, despite not wanting to show anything off entirely. Definitely not for her..

Directing yourself towards the bar, you walked over greeting who you'd now become accustomed to know as Bucky. He actually was opposing to what you expected after your encounter on the first night, he was just hesitant of newcomers. Instead now you'd become close to the man always offering a term of greeting.

"Same as usual?" He questioned winking as you both knew it was wrong to drink on the job.

Albeit it was hardly your fault, when it came to this job and work environment you'd hardly be faulted for having the odd drink to get by. Most days we're enjoyable, the women ogling over you and many wanting to touch what their desired hearts couldn't reach, like seeing a pebble in the ocean before the sea carries it out, perfectly sculpted but not yours to own.

Your lips curved up into a smirk filled with fire and mischief, the look of mystery plastered all over your face. Not a word spoken, your head nodded into his direction and Bucky nodded once in return. His body moved swiftly, preparing a small yet rather what the average person would deem an intoxicating strong drink for yourself as he slid it over.

Taking your drink you sipped away at it as you made your way onto the floor, seemingly into the sea of people. It was busy & you only knew it was going to get busier. Besides; you had an hour to kill before even remotely starting your shift so you might as well busy yourself.

It started simple, sitting down mingling with guests, eyeing up who was necessarily your desire for the night. All you needed was the money, even with the weighing guilt that sometimes poured over your head you needed to make your way into the world.

God only knows how you'd found yourself onto the dance floor, one moment you were sipping on your drink waiting for the beginning of your shift the next you were dragged onto the dance floor by a taller and seemingly older brunette. Her hands were dragging across your waist causing your face to flush.

Were you sure you were entirely within protocols here? Not at all, yet there was no rules you couldn't dance with the paying guests before your own night began. Though you were indeed certain Miss. Romanoff may cause some issues with this.

Alcohol wasn't even the reason for your confidence, it felt like something was drawing you to push boundaries that night to tempt yourself into desired that you shouldn't cross. You could say you don't bring your guests into the bedsheets like you do your demons but as the brunette's hands grazed across your stomach for a moment you short circuited.

You found your head tilting an angle towards Bucky's direction who was eyeing you with a concerned expression painted upon his face. His frown that narrowed through his forehead, eyes giving a dangerous tone, almost trying to warn you.

Still, you shrugged it off instead allowing the touch of another burn your skin though whether it was a burn of desire or the burn of hell you weren't sure. You were playing with the fires of lucifer here & partially enjoying yourself. Lips grazed slightly over your neck, almost allowing you to loose yourself instantly without a sudden care or thought.

People were silencing around you within beats of the music, like a chill had passed down from a frost bite. They were parting like royalty had arrived themselves, but you were completely unaware in your own mindset in your own thoughts.

Lips grazed your neck sloppily, yet it burnt like an ignition hell fire in your skin. Yet your mind was dancing somewhere else or better yet, someone else. It was like someone snapped a finger, as within a second like you'd blinked an eye and the warmth from behind you disappeared.

Widening your eyes, you opened them but a hand snatched you spinning you straight into a body. You stumbled forward legs like jelly, hands still shaking with adrenaline as their perfume invaded your senses. It was a sexy perfume smell no doubt, the aroma making it's way into your nose poisoning you. You'd almost breathed in, wanting more of the intoxicating taste of it, yet that wouldn't be ve-

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

If your suspicions were correct, which you were highly convinced they were then the perfume and the person you'd been dragged into was someone you dreaded finding you in that compromising position. A whisper drew you from the dread in the pit of your stomach and your stressing mindset as they leaned towards you.

"Enjoying yourself darling?" The voice carried the familiar edge you dreaded.

The feeling of bile rose in your throat from sheer anxiety and you gulped hard to keep yourself at bay. Slowly looking up, your eyes met the all too familiar green ones.. One's you could get lost in and fantasise about consi-

No, not to be thought of right now.

Her eyebrows were arched consistently and the familiar look of a stern facial expression was painted on your Boss's, Miss. Romanoff's face. Her lips were painted a blood deep red and the blush on her cheeks were making your legs like jelly, let alone your stomach's feeling of somersaults.

"I..." Stuttering voices was all you could muster right now.

A swift finger placed on your lips was all it took for your cheeks to hear up and you were certainly an embarrassing jumble of mess in front of her and everyone around you.

"Shh," her voice carried an authoritative tone but you were almost certain you could sense a lace of.. jealousy?

Surely that was an impossibility; she had nothing to be jealous about besides she was your boss, albeit a damn sexy one. Reality hitting back to you slowly you sensed the tension in the room could be cut with a knife and wanted in that moment for the ground to swallow you whole.

Gone was that confident attitude you easily found yourself mustering up to her, instead replaced with a timid jealous woman wanting nothing more but to run for your life. Your eyes didn't dare leave hers despite their sea of pure intensity and fire, though you didn't think you were capable of looking away even if you tried to.

A quick flick of her hand could be seen from your peripheral vision and as if someone had press play on a remote, the crowds resumed. Colleagues danced on laps, poles and bar stools while the noise resumed like they'd been frozen in time.

Before you even had the chance to speak, you were spun back around rather forcefully. However rather than letting you go, her hands yanked you flush against her chest, allowing you to feel her radiant body heat and the heat to come back to your cheeks once more.

Hands roamed over your body while her lips moved to your ear, a sultry almost lustful voice following suite.

"Well well, what was that little stunt hm? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for private shows not giving a full on public display of borderline sex," she snapped though her hands still cupped your hips.

"I.. I can explain..."

Her hands cupped your clothed cunt causing you to cut your sentence off and gasp out. Embarrassingly, your body jerked forward into her hand showing how putty you were, easily giving into your boss.

"No, no I don't think so. You wanted a public stunt like that hm? Who's breasts are these?"

Her hand moved up to cup them, needing them through your dress causing you to almost cry out. You couldn't lie, you were grateful for the atmosphere being so loud and disoriented otherwise you'd have cried out from sheer embarrassment.

"M-Mine," you whispered through a half gasp earning you to feel her knee rub you subtly once more in your lower region.

"Wrong answer, don't get it wrong again hm?" She said through semi-gritted teeth and your body melted back into her.

Unsure of the adrenaline you had coursing through your veins you spun around and found some form of confidence in you to cup her own lower region.

"Yours," you whisper-shouted back due to the strength of the music, though your voice partially wavered.

It was obvious she was caught off guard through the sheer surprise that danced like the force of nature the wind dancing with the trees on a stormy night. Miss.Romanoff's lips tilted upwards into a smirk and without a word or a warning her hand clasped onto yours and you were being pulled swiftly down corridors.

Everything seemed to pass you buy in a blur as you had no recollection of one door to the next, nor did you dare to look at any faces glancing and gawking your way. Simply you decided to be an obedient little thing and follow Miss. Romanoff towards wherever she was leading you.

Suddenly, you came to a halt in front of a locked door slowly coming to the realisation this was Miss.Romanoff's personal room; no one was ever allowed to enter. A surge of some sort of excitement flooded the course of your veins in some way as she led you through.

Locking it behind her she pointed to her own personal chaise lounge and you obediently followed her instructions like a lost puppy, almost falling over your own feet to get to it. A low chuckle left her lips sending chills upon chills down your spine and embarrassingly hitting your core (that was probably now soaked.)

"Miss Romanoff I don't know if this is-"

"Natasha," she cut you off instantly smirking at you.

You gawked at the older woman like she'd just spoken in a foreign language. However she brushed it off, slowly approaching you like an animal would it's prey. Lifting your chin up she grinned down at you like a cheshire cat before huskily speaking.

"Call me Natasha. Though I'd also prefer to be called a different name, can your pretty little brain think of what that is?" She asked lustfully.

Gulping you had a smart idea, but didn't want to ask a stupid question. So you kept your mouth shut but apparently Natasha had other idea's towards your 'misbehaviour.'

"Colour," her voice was softer for a moment only by a slight tone but you sensed it.

It almost made you crack for a moment and come to your senses. An employee couldn't- shouldn't sleep with their boss. Yet, as you believed earlier the devil was technically an angel first and you wanted to touch the fire, you wanted her to touch you. However, it was evidence you were taking too long as you'd received an arched eyebrow and she grabbed you firmly by the chin awaiting her answer.

"Green but.. this is wrong you're my.."

A gasp cut you off as she placed her lips instantly on your neck biting down hard before sucking. You felt Natasha's lips trail up and down biting an area she could, knowing instantly it was going to leave a mark. Moans elicited past your lips as you found your head slowly adjusting to give more access.

She sucked and nipped at your skin like her life depended on it, it was intoxicating. She was starting a fire within you no one else could ever ignite. Natasha kissed her way back up to your face before whispering sultry into your earlobe.

"Now you want to keep your job don't you, you want to be a good girl for me?"

"Y-Yes I do Natasha," you went to move your hands in her hair when you felt something restrict you.

A deep blood red-handcuffs the same shade as her hair was holding you back and your eyes widened in realisation. The demon's in your head were fighting with each other as you felt her clamber her way into your lap.

"Now.. you're going to behave for mommy aren't you?"

She grinned at you arching an eyebrow while her plump red lips glistened under the dim lights. You couldn't bring yourself to respond to Natasha, you felt your stomach twisting in knots at the word and your brain go fuzzy.

Restriction on your neck caused your airways to tighten slightly, not too much but the pressure sent a heat to your core you didn't know could happen. She frowned at you sternly, a small crease of annoyance in between her forehead that you found dangerously hot and cute at once.

"Don't make ask twice detka, you should know in the time you've worked for me I hate repeating myself. Now be a good slut and respond."

Not wanting to face the consequences of hell knows what she'd do you nodded instantly a feeling of nervousness that was fuelled by desire and lust rising within you.

"Yes mommy, I'll behave. I promise!"

Your response pleased her, yet your brain didn't have much time to respond as a loud groan escaped your lips. The buzzing sensation pressed against your panties sent you spiralling into oblivion. Natasha captured your lips with her own, red lipstick smearing your own with a kiss, sealing your fate. Signing your soul to the devil seemed like a fate that could send anyone into a panic, but when it was Natasha Romanoff, it was pure bliss.

"Your moans are a delight to my ear sweet girl," her whispers against your lips only spurred you on further.

You found your hips grinding down against the toy your bottom lip become broken and bruised from how hard you were biting it. A small slap to the thigh sent you jolting as you looked up to see Natasha's stern look.

"You move when I tell you to move slut," she slurred out high on lust and desire and you felt a spiral of wetness shoot down to your glistening pussy that was most definitely dripping with desire.

You felt the pressure of the toy increase levels and it took you everything not to cry out in absolute ecstasy but the overwhelming stimulation, it was so intense your toes could curl.

"You're already coming undone are you for your mommy?" Natasha bit down slightly on your ear lobe her fingers trailing up to your throat once more as she whispers into your ear.

"When you lay down on the chaise lounge you'll be screaming my name tonight darling. Yet, did you honestly think that you could get away with that game Y/N?" Her voice dragged down your body as quickly as possible.

Teeth sunk into your skin, nipping sucking and licking into the depths of every single area Natasha could reach. You hands tried to fling over your mouth to muffle your moans, yet your restraining handcuffs brought you back to reality.

"They'll hear Na- Mommy," Your slip-up didn't go unnoticed as a slap to your thigh and a hard bite on your chest caused a cry out from your lips.

"Let them hear you. You wanted a show, I have every intention of giving you one."

Before your thoughts could catch up to your lips a rip echoed through the room as a strength had come from the redhead herself. Gasping as she put some pressure on your clit the intense feeling driving your body into an overwhelming feeling.

As her fingers pressed against your puffy lips you knew instantly you were getting addicted to the feeling; the ignition pushing you towards Natasha's capture. She was easily trying to capture her pray within you and you'd stupidly let her.

"Please.. I need more," You pleaded your brain foggy with lust and utter craving for Natasha in every way possible.

With a single flick of a switch you felt her turn the toy to maximum levels before her fingers were swiftly replaced with a lapping tongue. The cuffs that felt like chains kept to a wall yanked down as you tried to touch.

She spat on your clit and you felt the shit eating grin pass her lips as Natasha heard the familiar sound of tugging from them. Instead she tutted and her eyes grazed up connecting with your own, purposely dragging her tongue up your slit making you cry out from the intensity.

"You're a good girl aren't you hm? Taking your boss so well. Imagine if I got to do a public show with you.. God the way the crowds would go wild as I fucked you over and over again," Natasha lulled against your pussy.

The images dancing through your brain was sinful, absolutely disgusting to others but for some reason like you were trapped in a cage of sex you didn't care. Magic was a dangerous power and a dangerous curse yet she wheeled it all within this room, your body and your mind, your essence and soul.

As she shoved her tongue into your entrance another cry of intense joy, you weren't sure lust most definitely past your lips. Her free hand moved up to your breasts massaging the buds between her tips, sending you without permission releasing your juices all over her tongue.

Ms. Romanoff pulled back and the look on her face was not one of an impressed look, though that didn't stop her tongue swirling around her mouth getting the remaining taste left. That action alone sent another wave to your core despite the overwhelming feeling and you felt your legs like jelly simply from one round.

"Did I say you could cum?" Her voice was stern, boomed against the contrasting atmosphere of what the stench danced with sex, and sweat, desire and fire.

"I.. I didn't me-"

"Did. I. Say. You. Could. Cum?" She repeated her voice was filled with such an authoritative tone sending your mind back to your original meeting.

Had it not been for the handcuffs and the familiar stern look and not wanting any more disapproval from Natasha, you'd have coward away from embarrassment. Instead you shook your head wondering what on earth you'd gotten yourself into it wasn't like you were bound together but.. part of you lived from the excitement; she was a devil, demon of angel and hell with the need to feel her touch.

"No.. No Miss.Romanoff, you did not." Your voice rasped out exhausted from screaming already.

She stood up no word uttered and she disappeared around the back, leaving you to your thoughts for a moment. It felt like you were fucking with the goddess herself, but was it sanity? Was it safe to be sharing sheets and secrets behind closed doors? Possibly not, but her blood-red lips and curves of her body made it impossible not to fall into. A trap of love or lust, it wasn't even known to you within that sight, just the devil herself you'd taste it every-time.

A song brought you from your dancing curious thoughts, one that sent your body ice-cold and your eyes widening instantly. A song called 'Pray' You'd become one to recognise. It was a favourite with your regulars at the club. Except you hadn't quite realised Natasha herself had noticed, but you'd been proven quite wrong.

On the contrary, Natasha walked in with a thick deep red strap-on, one that was already wet ether with her spit or something else it was unknown. But, she knew and had seen it caused a rage in her she hated herself for. Yet, she had to have her way with you.

"Sit back," she ordered pleased instantly you'd complied with no sudden refusals or hesitation.

Without a warning she flung one leg over your body joined by the other leg, until she was sat in your lap straddling you. Instantly, a gut feeling surged through your veins flying through every pulse point sending a fire and ice in one through your very skin. Your suspicions were confirmed when she slowly started to move her hips on you with the strap on.

A lap-dance. A lap dance by Natasha Romanoff, your boss the fucking owner of Desiring ignition. Better yet it was with a strap on.

Her hips moved in a motion not even the most poisonous temptations of the world could, but Natasha out-beat them all. Her hands moved down her body over her hips and you watched in amazement as she began to thrust onto your leg while dancing like a majestic queen. Her moans spilled past her throat, giving you everything you desired sipping her up.

Your hands begged to move and your pussy pulsated allowing some juices to spill out. Your eye's pleaded with her to undo the cuffs but all you'd received in return, was a tut and a small pressure to your throat.

"You can touch soon detka. I'd like to have my fun now. Do you know how long I've waited to have my way with you?" She whispered her hips shaking and thrusting to the beat of the music.

"N-No," you answered honestly to mesmerised by her movements to figure out an answer.

"Since you first walked into that door. I needed you away so I didn't tempt myself with the cup of sinfulness, one that I shouldn't lead by. Yet, when I saw you dance.. Oh my sweet little slut. You were perfect. I needed to ruin all of you," she husked out shaking her strap slightly.

You almost came right from the scene in front of you, gaining your own kind of friction from her strap. However while the music beat sped up one lyric spurred her over the edge and caused her to break the chains of control, fly up from hell and take her prize.

'When she lays down to pray at night.. She'll be screaming my name.'

Something about that song lyric sent Natasha spurring forward and her hips bucked against your lap causing her to cry out in ecstasy. Her hands reached up undoing the cuffs breaking the barrier as your hands finally touched her hips, her olive silky skin feeling beautiful under your finger tips.

Her fingers suddenly managed to make their way underneath her body with a precision that seemed impossible to you and slammed themselves into your now over-stimulated pussy. You cried out in part-pain and mainly bliss the coil in your stomach building up.

She worked you like wonders themselves couldn't work the song blaring in the background. Natasha still continued to give you a lap-dance of sorts but mainly focused on getting the two of you off and fingered you hard and fast, her hips meeting some sort of thrust.

"Scream my name," left her lips and that's all it took.

The coil in your stomach snapped and you came once more all over her fingers, legs shaking and your eyes pooled with tears of joy from how incredible it felt. Natasha followed suite from the sight and the friction cumming all down her strap and some spilling onto your lap causing yourself to groan.

However, she had an ungodly amount of adrenaline pounding through her system as she clambered of your body leaning over your lips and throat demanding one thing of you.

"Suck."

Her voice was raspy sending a pool of wetness shooting down once more and you felt yourself let out some dripping juices by accident. You instantly took the strap on gagging on it as she shoved it deeply in your throat. Looking down, the sight was enough for Natasha to cum right there and then but she held it.

She wanted you to gag on her strap, shut your pretty little mouth up as she took in the sight of what was hers. Her sinful prize, her desired need was sucking her cock so well it was a bliss to see. Hearing you gag she rubbed your pussy once again causing you to cry out the stimulation being too much, yet Natasha ignored you.

She ignored you until your hips jerked up once more being greedy and desperate for her fingers or strap-on and she smirked in sheer delight. She'd made you putty in her hands. You didn't care anymore the manipulation of her job had worked wonders in your mind making it hazed with fuel of her touch and knowing only she could make you like this.

Clambering down, no warning was given as her cock suddenly found your puffy and over-stimulated entrance and her eyes drifted down. Natasha groaned at the sight, how ruined and how messy you were, wetness seeping down your thighs.

Not wanting to waist another minute, her cock slammed into you thrusting hard not giving you any time to adjust. Her lips moved fast and at a ferocious pace causing animalistic like grunts to leave your lips. Your mind danced with her and only her, it was like she'd made her mark engraved her and only her within it and you'd take it all, drink all of her and whatever she'd give you.

Sloppy slapping sounds hit the four walls of the room and her lips slammed into yours as she bit on your bottom lip. Your now free hands, moved into her hair tugging lightly causing a growl fit from an animal that could kill within seconds. Natasha kissed harder, hips slamming down without a single care and you felt yourself becoming close.

"Please.."

She grinned against your lips and you knew what was going to happen then and there. Your boss had won the game of the life time, her prize possession and puppet.

"Cum on mommy's cock like a good little stripper hmm? Let me take all of you," she husked out giving a particular hard thrust.

With that your juices hit her strap-on hard, flowing out of you like a river itself your mouth screaming her name while your body shivered. Hands clawing at her back now the sight was enough to send her spiralling, leaving you just enough time to recover to see the sight.

Her back arched, releasing her own as she had her eyes closed lips partially opened and skin slick with sweat and cum mixed from both of your spots.

Your eyes shut themselves sheer exhaustion taking in and all that could be heard was panting breaths in the room. It was as she leaned down you'd known how badly caught in the trap of lust you were with your own boss, her whispers filling the room.

"I've caught my own trap now, the devil got her prize. And I am far from finished with you yet, mommy's little stripper slut."

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[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[blueparadis]

❝VOID❞ + JING YUAN.

+. CWs —» established relationship, arrange marriage, husband!jing yuan x wife!fem!reader, slowburn, a little worldbuilding, mutual pinning, smut, oral acts, he is so lovesick here it makes me cry. word count-3.5k (I'm in misery)

+. PRECIS —» Jing Yuan has picked up a new hobby ever since he married you and brought you to Xianzhou. He riles you up because of two reasons; one: he loves seeing your reactions and two: he relishes the thrill of appeasing you in various ways.

+. NOTES —» This is for @8kh. I've been wanting to write something for you for a long time and after reading your jing yuan i knew i he was the chosen one. I hope you really like this huntie. finding you on this hellsite is one of the best thing that has happened to me and i'm so grateful for you godly writing.

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Lately, Jing Yuan has been spending most of his time with Yanqing. Training him in fighting, teaching him about the history of lands and management, and sometimes tutoring him in case the official pedagogue was absent. Yanquing has been an integral part of his life. Ever since he brought you to his homeland by marrying you; you never complained just learned to get used to it. It was not like he was not giving you time, he was but more than you needed, more than you wanted. Jing Yuan just wanted to give you space because arrange marriages are not a match made in heaven. So, in his head, he was just being a patient husband. 

The first few months were wasted due to too many rituals and traditions. Then, the night arrived that he was waiting for, like a hungry lion watching his prey grow bigger with each passing day. It was one of the best nights he had, both in terms of consummating the marriage and sleep. He is no master at things like this but he tried his best within his knowledge. He knew it bits and pieces. He was inexperienced. He was modest. He was gentle.

But lately, all he can think about is how he wants to pleasure you, be near you, and make you happy. He is relieved that he has Yanqing to occupy his time when he is away from you otherwise he would become someone you would definitely dislike. He has noticed how easily you blended in his household, with the workers, staff, commoners, and especially with Yanqing. No doubt he has grown fond of you. Sometimes when Jing Yuan was busy with wars and meetings he would occasionally spot Yanqing with you. It would make his chest tighten but at the same time lighten his heart seeing you are slowly adjusting, trying to fill the gap left by your homeland— which means you are trying to work this marriage out just like he wants, which means he can keep you, which means he can own you.

When he feels his chest contort in pain he while seeing you smile avoids you. For days. He does not know why and he is not bothered about it as long as you are happy, as long as your smile is intact. He thinks it must be the guilt of snatching you off from your home. You must miss your home, if not the people then the climate, the food, and so on. It pains him. 

It really vexed you when he kept Yanqing busy during evenings with books and games when he should spend time with you to show you the ropes of palace management. And, late at night, when he comes crawling to you exhausted from his worldly affairs he becomes a little handsy, not that you mind but you wish he would rather tell you before showing you. At dawn you find yourself curling into his chest with one of his arms underneath your head as a pillow.

Tonight would be no exception. Yanqing was buried in books while the general was in his inner chambers. The sun has just bid goodbye to the sky. It is time for you to retire from your work too. You entered his room and found him nowhere so you strolled towards his bath lounge witnessing an odd thing. The general was soaking himself in the bathtub, the steam of hot water filling the room and a maid was applying soap in his shoulders.

It instantly made you sick to your stomach. The thing that was happening in front of your eyes seemed oddly familiar yet this is the first time you have ever witnessed him in such a poor display of taste. Oh! That's right. You have heard stories from your mother and read some too when you were young when you were not married.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes as the approaching footsteps came to a halt. “Well, this is a surprise.” He exclaims waving his hand towards the maid. But even before that she already stopped herself when she saw you and was ready to leave even before her master ordered to. Your husband did not fail to notice the gravity of your presence that affected her, and almost made her leave without her master's permission. As the maid left the bath lounge closing the door behind, Jing Yuan let out a short-lived soft chuckle. “It seems that my little sparrow is angry at me.” leaning his head at the edge of the tub closing his eyes.

Half a minute passed yet there was no response from you. When he opened his eyes again he could not see you. His eyes scanned the room and it stopped where you were fidgeting inside a cabinet. “Sorry to interrupt your bath, your Highness. I just came to take some of the bathrobes that I left last time.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. He hates it when you address him by those petty titles. Master, general, highness — he hates all of them. with a heap of silky robes in your hands you proceeded towards the exit.

“You could have asked some maid to do that.” His words made you pause. You turned around trying your best to keep up the poker face inhaling the stabbing sadness in your ribs. “I apologize my ... master. I'll keep that in mind. You will not be disappointed next time.” As those words escaped your mouth you could slowly come to terms with the reality, of what was happening. You have seen your mother shed enough tears to be aware of what feelings can do. It is common for a high-ranking male like your husband to own one or two, or maybe more concubines so it is best not to get too attached to him.

“Hmmm.” Jing Yuan speaks again, “Since you scared her away help me to clean.” There was no hint of kindness, just straightforward orders which was the only thing you had a hard time adjusting to since in you came here. His orders. His fucking annoying habit of barking orders. In your hometown, no one dared to bark orders like that but you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps, it was just his force of habit.

“Yes. My ma—”

“Lion.” Jing Yuan corrected quirking one of his brows as your eyes snapped at him. “I prefer Lion.” He held your gaze. You sauntered towards his back breaking the eye contact, keeping those robes on the nearest shelf and picking up the soap to apply on his shoulders. Scrunching up your nose in disgust you hesitated before touching him. The memories of your mother crying and your father shouting at her were too frequent in your mind for you to focus on him. You closed your eyes before finally touching him but he grabbed your hands and when you opened your eyes by hearing splashes of water, he was already standing, naked, dripping with water. 

The steam in the room had long faded.You felt your ears burn, cheeks heat up seeing him naked. You have seen him naked before during your first night but this is still embarrassing. When you finally looked at your husband he said, “You know what . . . I changed my mind.” with an upcurve at the corner of his lips. He stepped out of the tub.

“God! You’re so soaked. Let me grab you a towel otherwise, you’ll catch cold” Great. No honorifics. No modesty. Things did not go as Jing Yuan planned. Moreover, you are so sly at avoiding him. Maybe he really hit your nerves hard this time. You were about to turn with a towel in your hand but wet, toned muscular arms wrapped around your upper body.

“you looked like you were jealous.” He stated cooingly resting his chin on the crook of your neck, his member nudging the apex of your hips. Even through the fabric, you could feel your skin igniting with goosebumps.  “She is just an ordinary maid. Don't fire her or punish her, okay love ?” He sounded apologetic and regretful, flawlessly hidden underneath his husky voice. You exhaled. You do not need his explanation nor he is obligated to give you one. With his position and wealth, he could have anything at any moment. Your title is nothing in front of his orders. The perpetual tapping sound broke you from the trance. He just undid the chain of buttons of the gown that you were wearing. You could see your reflection in the mirror and his amber eyes glued on you as started to slide his hand through the innerwear.

“I was not jealous.” You babbled feeling his fingers playing with the straps of your innerwear.  Turning around you sat at his feat hoping to avoid his eyes and whatever he thought he could do by unbuttoning your dress. “I was just surprised, my lord. If you had told me about this, I would not have acted the way I did. I would not have embarrassed you. I would not dare. I am really sorry — Jing Yuan chinned up your face. Seeing tears settle at the corner of his eyes he cursed himself

Fuck! He really should not have played a prank on you like this. He thought you would get jealous just like other girls, and he would have handled you in his own way like men generally do. But seeing those tears was somehow satisfactory since he never thought he would mean so much to you; rather than being jealous you are hurt at the thought of losing him or having any woman by his side. He had stopped taking baths in the presence of others since he became a man and doing it just to get a reaction out of you was definitely not a good idea. You swayed your face jerking away from his hold embarrassment hitting your body in all proportions but he was strong, a lot stronger than you could ever imagine. 

“Wow, my lion is sensitive today.” You stated as he stood hovering above you. Jing Yuan's mind is so quick to wander from those eyes that were trying their best to hold back the tears to your trembling lips. He runs his thumb on your bottom lip holding your chin as he kept up with your gaze. You do not move. You do not avert his gaze. You let him grow comfortable in the silence. 

“And my little sparrow is so wounded today.” He swallows as he enjoys the view of you. His beautiful innocent wife sitting at his feet. It makes him want to ruin you in ways that he even can not seem to fathom yet. 

“General,” two loud bangs followed. “The meeting is ready. And you promised you would let me join tonight.” It would definitely be Yanqing. Jing Yuan pressed the bridge of his nose letting out a frustrated groan. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon. You carry—Taking this golden opportunity you stood and walked away towards the door. On your way out you grabbed a serape that Jing Yuan generally uses. He ruined those buttons anyways. You have to get it fixed by a tailor.

“Are you not forgetting something? Hmmm, my little sparrow,” You paused and looked sideways. From your peripheral vision you could tell he was wrapping a night robe. You just nodded in denial. The moment you took another step he grabbed you from behind. This time his grip was harder. You winced a little and he turned you around keeping his firm grip on your forearms. “I will see you in our room tonight.” He smiled before leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t lock the room like last time.”

As soon as he released you, you ran like a bird without looking back. Jing Yuan could hear the sound of your anklets accompanied by hurried footsteps. When it stopped he could hear Yanqing's voice and your smooth melody of laughter. “She is lively as ever,” Jing Yuan painfully groaned looking at his rock-hard cock.

The assembly was going smoothly. Several warlords were present today. Xianzhou has been at peace for centuries but not Jing Yuan’s mind. His mind was always busy weaving something. Evenings never go empty. Even though he eradicated all the threats, he still makes schemes for battles because that is what he is made for, that is all his mind can do— predict and prepare for battles, eradicate or kill any possible threats, train or recruit potential candidates for the next general after him. His life has become an experiment, and he himself a weapon. He is an inspiring legend to many. People aspire to be like him. 

But Oh! How he wished he could throw it all away sometimes. But he can not. His hands are tied. He is born to lead and protect. Any slight deviation in the system might collapse it from the roots and that is what he feared most: changing and mellowing because of life. And it happened so quickly and so vividly that he had no choice but to embrace it. Marriage was not the part of plan and he had no manual on ‘how to run a marriage so by nature he is bound to experiment and go through the ups and downs.

Like right now, all he can think of when this meeting is going to end and he is to retire in your chambers. Generally, you are to wait for him in the master bedroom only after he sends the message to see you but he has broken many rules and traditions to the point that some are deemed null and void for him. He could dismiss all the warlords and commissioners at ease but Yanquing is so invested that it makes him change his decision. In the end, he was too conflicted between Yanqing and you that he ended up going by his schedule. Finished the meeting, had supper, and retired to his chambers. So, to distract himself he carved an eagle out of a piece of wood during the meeting till it came to an end. He would have given it to Yanquig but he rather felt comfortable keeping it to himself.

Staring at the heavily embellished ceiling he thinks if he could still visit you, if you would still keep the door open or deliberately lock it even after his polite reminder. But a certain locked door would not keep you apart from him. He would still visit you if he wanted like he did that one time. Around midnight when you were tossing and turning he was standing right behind the door. He was still hesitating because of the cold war he had with you this evening. He did not mean to hurt you. He just wanted a reaction, a mechanical reaction that he could match with otherworldly things and tend to it.

Exhaling strongly he knocked once. No answer. Twice. Still, no answer. Thrice. “Alright. That’s it. I’m coming in” he murmured with annoyance before swinging the door open only to find you sleeping at one side of the bed peacefully. He smiled to himself at the sight. So, you were expecting him despite the hurt he caused you. He sat by the edge of the bed as soundlessly as possible trying not to wake you up. Something nudged his hips and when he checked his pockets he found the carved eagle. Keeping it to a side bed table his eyes landed on you again. You released a soft moan as you turned around and he could feel his cock twitch. He wished he could fuck you witless right now but at the same time, he did not want to disturb your sleep, especially after hurting you this evening so badly; though unintentionally but he did. He keeps reminding himself of that.

Jing Yuan kept staring at your face for a while until he finally gave in. As he brushed the back of his fingers along your cheek you jerked wide awake. Nice reflexes. You curled at the corner of the bed in an instant like a coiled spring pulling the duvet up to your neck. Now that he thinks about it, you were wearing such a flimsy dress that he could see your breasts. But his eyes were solely focused on your face. He blinks before locking eyes with you as he speaks. “Do you find me that appalling? Are you scared of me that much?” 

“No. I could never. Please do not misunderstand. I’m—-

“Sorry?” he finishes your sentence. 

“Ugh. not scared.” You bit the inner flesh of your bottom lip. ”And not appalled.” Jing Yuan blinked in surprise a few times cocking his head at you. Of course. He could never see eye to eye with him. You have to oppose him, prove him wrong, say something entirely different from what he expected of you, do something anything remotely related he had thought you could do. His lips tug up in delight as he crawls towards you. “Not bothered either?” he slides the duvet away from your grips. You do not respond. There is no point in it. He would catch your lie anyways.  

Jing Yuan closes his eyes before grazing his nose against your cheeks very lightly making you grip the silk bedsheets. “your heart is beating so fast right now.” He rasps. His hot breath tickles your nerves. 

“Yours too, my lion.” you whispered back. He recoils looking at you with a surprise. He is now hovering over you being all on his fours while you were underneath him, on your knees touching his chest. As you straightened your legs as a gesture to invite him he grew more surprised by you. He could do two things. Either he can talk it out with you or he can fuck your brains out. He chose the second. 

Jing Yuan's lips landed on yours disrupting your balance. His weight forced you to lie on the bed. His arms slide underneath your waist scooping you up as if you were not close enough to him. His kiss grew hungrier eliciting slow soft moans and shaky breaths from you. Your hands flew back to the back of his nape and then slides upon his chest. Unable to take him any longer you pressed on to his chest slightly. He retreated, huffing and panting savoring the hungry look in your eyes. “Hold this for me,” he muttered bunching up your nightgown up to your waist. He could ask you to take it off or hold it above your chest displaying your breasts for him but he did not do that. He wanted you to do that, voluntarily. He wanted to remove the veil of modesty you have once and for all. It will take time and he is a patient hunter.

As he brought his mouth towards your entrance you gulped and the moment his mouth latched on to your vagina it felt like he was tasting the forbidden fruit of heaven for the first time. This is not the first time he has gone down on you but something was different. He was earnest and hungry, his tongue was swiftly licking your folds, his lips sucking onto your bud. It felt like he was about to devour your soul out of your astral body. Your hand reached onto his head, diving into his silver strands. He sucked at your bud hard before pausing to speak.  “you keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up.”

You were so out of breath to fabricate a reply but inhaling deeply you exclaimed softly, “Like this.” bunching up your garment up to your neck and then discarding it. 

“you're such a fucking tease, you know that?” he mused merrily before diving back his mouth into your cunt. He kept sucking and licking as your moans kept rising, your body squirming, and his grip on your hips grew stronger. You shut your eyes closed, feeling a knot forming at the pit of your stomach. His teeth sank into your inner thigh as he managed to push his fingers into your hole. With a few erratic strokes along with sucking and biting your lips and you came into his palm, soaking the bed sheets. 

When he sat upright with glistened nose and lips, and disheveled hair you were buck naked while he was still clothed. “This going to be a long night.” He teased seeing you tugging with the sash of his robe. He leaned towards you giving you a taste of your juices. “Don’t you just taste divine?” he says breaking the kiss. 

“I couldn’t tell, my lion.” You hinted asking for more. Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes flash on the wooden eagle he kept at the bedside table. He smirked before kissing you back fervently. 

Yeah. It can wait. The baby talk can definitely wait.

[burst-of-iridescent]

South Asian and Hindu Influences in ATLA (Part 2)

disclaimer: i was raised culturally and religiously hindu, and though i've tried to do my research for this post and pair it with my own cultural knowledge, i'm not an expert on hinduism by any means. should i mess up, please let me know.

please also be aware that many of the concepts discussed in this post overlap heavily with religions such as buddhism and jainism, which might have different interpretations and representations. as i'm not from those religions or cultures, i don't want to speak on them, but if anyone with that knowledge wishes to add on, please feel free.

Part 1

In the previous post, I discussed some of the things ATLA got right in its depictions of desi and hindu cultures. unfortunately, they also got plenty of things wrong - often in ways that leaned towards racist caricatures - so let's break them down, starting with...

Guru Pathik

both the word "guru" and name "pathik" come from sanskrit. pathik means "traveler" or "he who knows the way" while guru is a term for a guide or mentor, similar to a teacher.

gurus were responsible for the very first education systems in ancient india, setting up institutions called gurukuls. students, referred to as disciples, would often spend years living with and learning from their gurus in these gurukuls, studying vedic and buddhist texts, philosophy, music and even martial arts.

however, their learning was not limited merely to academic study, as gurus were also responsible for guiding the spiritual evolution of their disciples. it was common for disciples to meditate, practice yoga, fast for days or weeks, and complete mundane household chores every day in order to instill them with self-discipline and help them achieve enlightenment and spiritual awareness. the relationship between a guru and his disciple was considered a sacred, holy bond, far exceeding that of a mere teacher and student.

aang's training with guru pathik mirrors some of these elements. similar to real gurus, pathik takes on the role of aang's spiritual mentor. he guides aang in unblocking his chakras and mastering the avatar state through meditation, fasting, and self-reflection - all of which are practices that would have likely been encouraged in disciples by their gurus.

pathik's design also takes inspiration from sadhus, holy men who renounced their worldly ties to follow a path of spiritual discipline. the guru's simple, nondescript clothing and hair are reflective of the ascetic lifestyle sadhus are expected to lead, giving up material belongings and desires in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and, ultimately, liberation from the reincarnation cycle.

unfortunately, this is where the respectful references end because everything else about guru pathik was insensitive at best and stereotypical at worst.

it is extremely distasteful that the guru speaks with an overexaggerated indian accent, even though the iranian-indian actor who plays him has a naturally british accent. why not just hire an actual indian voice actor if the intention was to make pathik sound authentic? besides, i doubt authenticity was the sole intention, given that the purposeful distortion of indian accents was a common racist trope played for comedy in early 2000s children's media (see: phineas and ferb, diary of a wimpy kid, jessie... the list goes on).

furthermore, while pathik is presented a wise and respected figure within this episode, his next (and last) appearance in the show is entirely the opposite.

in the episode nightmares and daydreams, pathik appears in aang's nightmare with six hands, holding what appears to be a veena (a classical indian music instrument). this references the iconography of the hindu deity Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge. the embodiment of divine enlightenment, learning, insight and truth, Saraswati is a member of the Tridevi (the female version of the Trimurti), one of the most respected and revered goddesses in the Hindu pantheon... and her likeness is used for a cheap laugh on a character who's already treated as a caricature.

that's bad enough on its own, but when you consider that guru pathik is the only explicitly south asian coded character in the entire show, it's downright insulting. for a show that took so many of its foundational concepts from south asia and hinduism and yet provided almost no desi representation in return, this is just rubbing salt in the wound.

Chakras

"chakra", meaning "circle" or "wheel of life" in sanskrit, refers to sources of energy found in the human body. chakra points are aligned along the spine, with energy flowing from the lowest to the highest point. the energy pooled at the lowest chakra is called kundalini, and the aim is to release this energy to the highest chakra in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and consciousness.

the number of chakras varies in different religions, with buddhism referencing five chakras while hinduism has seven. atla draws from the latter influence, so let's take a look at the seven chakras:

Muladhara (the Root Chakra). located at the base of the spine, this chakra deals with our basest instincts and is linked to the element of earth.

Swadhisthana (the Sacral Chakra). located just below the navel, this chakra deals with emotional intensity and pleasure and is linked to the element of water.

Manipura (the Solar Plexus Chakra). located in the stomach, this chakra deals with willpower and self-acceptance and is linked to the element of fire.

Anahata (the Heart Chakra). located in the heart, this chakra deals with love, compassion and forgiveness and is linked to the element of air. in the show, this chakra is blocked by aang's grief over the loss of the air nomads, which is a nice elemental allusion.

Vishudda (the Throat Chakra). located at the base of the throat, this chakra deals with communication and honesty and is linked to the fifth classical element of space. the show calls this the Sound Chakra, though i'm unsure where they got that from.

Ajna (the Third Eye Chakra). located in the centre of the forehead, this chakra deals with spirituality and insight and is also linked to the element of space. the show calls it the Light Chakra, which is fairly close.

Sahasrara (the Crown Chakra). located at the very top of the head, this chakra deals with pure cosmic consciousness and is also linked to the element of space. it makes perfect sense that this would be the final chakra aang has to unblock in order to connect with the avatar spirit, since the crown chakra is meant to be the point of communion with one's deepest, truest self.

the show follows these associations and descriptions almost verbatim, and does a good job linking the individual chakras to their associated struggles in aang's arc.

Cosmic Energy

the idea of chakras is associated with the concept of shakti, which refers to the life-giving energy that flows throughout the universe and within every individual.

the idea of shakti is a fundamentally unifying one, stating that all living beings are connected to one another and the universe through the cosmic energy that flows through us all. this philosophy is referenced both in the swamp episode and in guru pathik telling aang that the greatest illusion in the world is that of separation - after all, how can there be any real separation when every life is sustained by the same force?

this is also why aang needing to let go of katara did not, as he mistakenly assumed, mean he had to stop loving her. rather, the point of shedding earthly attachment is to allow one to become more attuned to shakti, both within oneself and others. ironically, in letting go of katara and allowing himself to commune with the divine energy of the universe instead, aang would have been more connected to her - not less.

The Avatar State

according to hinduism, there are five classical elements known as pancha bhuta that form the foundations of all creation: air, water, earth, fire, and space/atmosphere.

obviously, atla borrows this concept in making a world entirely based on the four classical elements. but looking at how the avatar spirit is portrayed as a giant version of aang suspended in mid-air, far above the earth, it's possible that this could reference the fifth liminal element of space as well.

admittedly this might be a bit of a reach, but personally i find it a neat piece of worldbuilding that could further explain the power of the avatar. compared to anyone else who might be able to master only one element, mastering all five means having control of every building block of the world. this would allow the avatar to be far more attuned to the spiritual energy within the universe - and themselves - as a result, setting in motion the endless cycle of death and rebirth that would connect their soul even across lifetimes.

[mysoullanguage]

#0017 your relationship with your mother, based on your moon sign

aries moon: your mother could’ve been an example of independence and freedom. she could’ve been a highly confident person with great ambitions and determination. for you, you would’ve always had your personal space and independence respected. now, you would be a confidently independent person with respect for others’ boundaries. your mother would build you up instead of seeing you as competition. another side to this placement could be a mother who was controlling or superstitious of what you were doing. obsessiveness or severe possessiveness could’ve led you to have a lot of anxiety with others in your personal space. therefore, you’ve become a hyper independent person who sees other people’s company as a threat. because you worked so hard to gain your own independence from having your independence, privacy, and boundaries violated as a child, you tend to build up emotional walls around yourself. your mother could’ve been a temperamental type with an unpredictable attitude in the house. commitment issues or issues with emotions are a common theme with this placement as any sort of tension or problem = a threat to you. this, as a result, causes you to resent your mother as someone who has hurt your self-esteem, confidence, and as someone who never respected your privacy and boundaries. the mother could've acted the father or have bad relations with the father or may have competed with him. mommy issues are common here.

taurus moon: this is a comforting moon placement, as your mother was likely a very caring and hardworking person. the only negative really about this placement could've been a highly materialistic view on life or a person overly protective with low self-esteem; someone who focused on work too much to the point of neglect. generally, however, this is a very reliable person who taught you a lot when it came to self-worth. she could've taught you how to build it yourself through her own insecurities or she could've helped you build it by supporting you. she may have taught you that material things = happiness. you are traditional and have very strong morals. she may have been overly traditional however; she may have had strict rules or may have been rigid with her upbringing of you. generally, she was an anchor to you because of her ability to teach you patience and resistance. this isn't a hugely emotional placement (for you or the mother) but there is great wait and patience when feeling things. impulses are not rushed and neither is sadness but they are felt. you have been taught to take life slowly and to take partnerships seriously rather than treating them like they only come once in a lifetime. your mother could’ve projected her ideal version of you and tried to make you do things to fit a “perfect” picture — she expected too much of you.

gemini moon: your mother could’ve been someone who gossiped or spoke in public. for you, emotions are either a silent topic or are actually very well expressed. if your mother was someone who projected onto you or provided a turbulent household (constantly moving, etc.) then you could’ve learned that, really, nowhere is your home. this is a very depressing placement to those who want a family as they feel it hard setting down roots or even connecting to their own previous roots. verbal abuse or a mother who was very emotionally distant OR unstable and could’ve caused you to be unsure of your true feelings. if your mother was in and out of your childhood, you were probably on your own and therefore became very used to your own company. as a result, you’ve become hyper-independent. curious and versatile with others, your versatility came from your imaginative childhood and forced use of skills and knowledge. on the other hand however, you could’ve just had a dynamic household in which travel and sport was emphasised. your creativity, curiosity, and passions were fuelled by a mother who was the same as you. so, she could’ve been great inspiration to you on how to use your words or thinking in a way that benefits you or the reason you are emotionally fickle. the stereotype that air moons are emotionally cold or unavailable stems from the fact that their mothers never really let them explore their feelings and, as a result, see them more of a chore than an actual element of humanity.

cancer moon: family is a strongly potent memory to you, in whatever context that may mean for you. your mother may have been a deeply compassionate person with a lot of care for the home and family. because this is in its natural placement, it indicates more peace than turbulence. you share a strong connection with your mother. your mother and household will have a big impact on your life, ultimately helping you decide what type of family you want, and what type of mother you want to be. on the one hand, your mother may have been incredibly patient, humble, caring, and loving. on the other, she may have been overly protective and overly possessive over you, sheltering you away from life's harsh realities and, as a result, causing you isolation and boredom. emotions are deeply felt and nostalgia/sentimentality are strong feelings in your life. the result of loneliness in your household may have caused you to be overly dependent in relationships or forces you to over-indulge in emotions in relationships. alternatively, emotions may set you off altogether and you may deal with things on your own. abandonment issues may be a prominent observation with this placement. mommy issues are also prominent here.

leo moon: your mother was the source of your self-esteem issues or your radiant confidence. on the one hand, your mother could’ve been a confident and artistic person with a great attitude towards life. she could’ve been a fashionable and intelligent person with great optimism. this would’ve caused you to develop a healthy self-esteem with a love of self-love and dignity. for you, you are highly dignified and never seek for others’ approval. on the other hand, your mother could’ve seen you as competition or as someone who challenged her authority. she could’ve seen you as an extension of herself, ultimately using you as a project, projecting her insecurities and feelings onto you. you may have, therefore, become heavily burdened with doubts of your own self-esteem and value. so, you tend to look for value through others. you cannot self-validate yourself so you look for validation and approval through others. this toxic pattern leads to many vain and dangerous relationships in which your insecurities must be overcome by appearances and material things. you may have become a bad people pleaser as a result of your mother’s demanding nature or someone who had a strong self-image.

virgo moon: this placement is very popular with vain or insecure people as their mother could’ve been a highly critical and difficult person. for you, you could’ve had a hardworking mother or a mother who was insecure… or even very sick in general. either way, diet may have been important in her life or your life as either may have struggled from sort of diet restriction or disorder. your mother could’ve been a great public speaker who used her voice to help others and was, in general, a very caring person with a loving heart. she could’ve shown you the true meaning of healing and helping others, or she could’ve turned you into an absolute people-pleaser with little to no boundaries. your experiences are often self-sabotaged. for example, relationships are often manifested to challenge your self-perception. you may have a strong work ethic or you may be someone so emotionally out of tune you rarely let others see how you feel. you could be a very gentle and strong person otherwise. your personality can either be magnetic and gentle, or insecure and tense. lack of boundaries and lack of self-esteem and confidence could’ve forced you to let others abuse and hurt you because you have no sense of right or wrong. there could be very high expectations upon you or your mother was just very critical. virgo is a perfectionist; they typically despise anything or anyone that does not fit a specific ideal.

libra moon: your relationship with your mother could’ve been very vain or superficial. on the one hand, your mother could’ve been very feminine and beautiful. as a result of her presence and influence, you’ve become feminine and very beautiful too. if your mother was the type with high standards, her influence could’ve made you into someone who has high standards too, or at least someone who has a strong self-image. regardless however, your mother’s “looseness” or “unseriousness” and general optimism would’ve encouraged you to be the same. your flirtatious attitude and charming personality heavily reflects her buoyant personality. if your mother was the insecure type, she may have used relationships as an escape from reality or used relationships/men as a way to gain validation and value. in some aspects, she may have married the man for money. in general however, this is a very vain placement where appearances are heavily depended on. external validation reassures internal insecurities and reinforces a broken relationship you have with yourself. superficiality is a key observation as you tend to live life and relationships on the surface instead of reaching below.

scorpio moon: there is a greatly intuitive or psychic relationship with the mother. she may have been the source of great paranoia and emotional pain. manipulation, gaslighting, and invasiveness was probably a popular theme in your early childhood and present life. your mother was either very distant or very emotionally demanding with you. she would've expected you to understand life at a profoundly deep level and, oftentimes, she had a negative view of life and people, ultimately projecting it on you. thus you feel as though you were forced to understand too much at a very young age. in some instances, this placement could indicate a family with many secrets, with your birth being a reminder of certain secrets. your strained relationship with your mother causes you to actually have distrust with others and to have a hard time opening up to others. this is oftentimes the source of scorpio moon's "scared to open up unless it's with someone they love" stereotype. many people say scorpio moons are deeply emotional with caring and compassionate hearts but fail to mention it's because their mother has forced them to feel so much when they were young as a result of the mother's "need" to constantly probe into their lives.

sagittarius moon: for you, independence and spontaneity were a big theme in your childhood, and still are. your mother could've been the type of person who saw your potential from a very young age. she could've been overly protective over you or controlling to the point you felt restricted and burdened by her paranoia. alternatively, this could point to a mother who was very adventurous and spontaneous and was a great inspiration to you and helped you shape your view on your own life. she could've been a traditional person with strong morals, with you ultimately having them too. your need for independence stems from the likelihood you were very unique as a child and didn't fit in many places. there is mutual love and understanding of one another but there is also a tendency to be stubborn with one another. oftentimes, your philosophical way of living is actually opposite to your mother's; therefore, you learn to live opposite to what your mother has taught you. so, your mother becomes an important anchor in your way of living this way. personal observation: these people may be foreigners in another country OR have a foreign mother

capricorn moon: one issue with this placement is the material and cold emphasis typical with almost any capricorn placement. on the one hand, your mother could’ve been a highly skilled worker who was very hardworking and determined in the home. she could’ve been a very material person with great success and status to her name. her being family-oriented may have caused you to be the same. you may have traditional values that reflect your mother’s. on the other hand, you may have had a mother who was overly possessive and controlling. she was probably the type to worry too much or have too much control over your boundaries and self-esteem. her micro-managing you could’ve made you resent her care. emotional unpredictability could’ve been a strong theme but also the fact that emotional coldness from her would’ve turned you into someone who rarely focuses on the emotional, but instead, on the rational. you are a rational feeler with little regard to actual feelings like sadness. if this moon is positively aspected, you could have a very strong work ethic with great boundaries and good self-esteem. you are powerful in everything you do; you do not let your feelings and short-felt impulses lead you astray from your ultimate goal. for others, however, the lack of emotional support and comfort or constant smothering could’ve caused you to either become overly independent in fear of vulnerability and in fear of losing yourself in other people. you may have matured early. she was probably very serious and you may have always felt a silent disapproval from her. she expected you to follow the dogma or the rules of the book which, inevitably, has made you want to go against them…

aquarius moon: you are versatile, curious, and emotionally detached. this doesn't mean you don't feel emotions or aren't connected to them; rather, you think logically than emotionally. in your childhood, your mother could have been a highly inquisitive person, but one to let you to your own devices. this means you may have grown up very early or may have matured very early. your relationship with your mother may be very hot and cold or just very cold because the independence acquired in your childhood has caused you to be, inevitably, independent and self-reliant as an adult. there's little to no need for anyone really, even relationships. however, there is still a deeper yearning for connection and understanding between you and others. on a general level, you are a very mental person who prioritizes mental synchronicity. this is the key to ultimately unlocking your heart. your lack of emotional connection with your mother and her unpredictable emotions or attitudes would've ultimately led you to use problem-solving skills rather than compassion in many scenarios. additionally, you may have forgiven yourself for trying to rely on your mother for emotional support. simply put, she couldn’t offer you the emotional security you required. you may have had little to no friend groups as a child; you may have felt left out a lot.

pisces moon: there is often a sad disconnect with the mother as a child, whether the mother was absent/distant or actually dead. you may have a very intuitive bond with your mother but you may have also taken her burdens upon yourself as a child. you may have been lonely. on the one hand, she could have been a highly intuitive and caring person with a deep personality and an admirative perspective on life and people. mental illness, addiction, or neglect may run through the family whether your mother suffered from this or you. with this placement, you have learned compassion and patience and have learned understanding of other people's suffering. she may have been an artistic person with a loose approach to life and she could've been a genuinely compassionate inspiration to you. if not, she may have been an overly smothering person with little regard for your own individuality; she may have been insecure or may have had her head too far in the clouds at all times. she may have found it difficult to truly connect with life. there could’ve been more than one mother figure here. your relationship with your mother has caused you to become hyper aware of other people’s moods and reactions — you tend to “just know” how people feel.

[ash-says]

Things to be aware of as a Hopeless Romantic:

We all have been there daydreaming about the perfect man, the perfect life, the perfect whatever,etc. Still life is not full of roses and thorns are inevitable.

So here are some aspects to look out for according to me so that you won't fall in the delulu is the only solulu trap.

Remember if you follow me, we don't do regrets here. We accept, take accountability and move on. We don't soak ourselves in problems. We solve them effectively.

1) Drop those rose-colored glasses. Crush them under your feet and now look at the world again. Learn to accept reality. It is what it is. Not what you make it out to be. Learn to become an observer of your life from time to time. It will give you the real picture.

2) Potential is useless if you are not leveraging it. It's a trap both for yourself and others. You see potential in him of changing and being a good guy?? Girl, he *IS* not a good guy. It's not your job to raise a man. It's embarrassing. Stop babysitting grown men.

3) Standards are important but ensure they are not rooted in fantasy. Let's be honest finding a man who is rich, dark, tall, sexy and talks in the way you read in your romance novels is difficult. I am not saying it's impossible but don't be too rigid. All I will say is make sure you are also on the level where if you come across such a man he should be ready to date you.

4) Men view sex differently than us women. I know many of you will get triggered after reading this but the majority of men really view women as sex dolls. Blame the porn industry maybe. Good men exist but not every other man who talks sweetly is good.

5) A person in your life treats you nicely. Always talk sweetly, tells you that you matter to them but their actions don't match it. Chances are you are being breadcrumbed. Plans being cancelled? Messages being unseen? But when confronted all you get is,"Sorry love, I was busy. I was going to do it. You matter a lot,etc etc." Breadcrumbing. Be smart it can happen even in friendships too. I understand people get busier with time and things do happen. Use your discernment to see who really is busy and who is faking to be busy.

6) That uncle was so kind to me. He talked to me sweetly and always tried to help me out. Now, that's really sweet of him. Next he calls you home to help out with the household chores and he is alone at home because his wife is out of town for some work. Would you go and help? Yes. Will you go alone? No. That's unsafe.

No matter how much a gentleman a man appears to be you are not allowed to be in a situation where he could potentially take advantage of you. You always bring along a friend or deny it. I know it's wrong to not help someone but at your own risk. No. Never. It's common knowledge in our society.

7) Dreaming of a Prince Charming to whisk you away from all your troubles??? Dream on. The idea that a soulmate or one person will magically solve all our issues is dumb. We as human beings add to each other's happiness rather than becoming the core of it.

8) One of the biggest mistakes I have seen girls around me make is of being fully invested in a relationship to the point one small fight makes them depressed. That's codependency. It's unhealthy.

9) Never make your relationship your identity. You should always have a separate identity out of it. Stop curating yourself for your partners. Morphing yourself according to their likes and dislikes. That's one way ticket to an identity crisis after breakup. Compromises are essential but changing your core self??? Crazy shit.

10) Your relationship should not be the reason for your downfall. It happens especially with my intense girlies we invest so much of ourselves in the relationship to the point it becomes our focal point and when it faces upheavals we are devastated. The mental distress starts flowing in other areas of your life and suddenly your grades are falling, your career seems unstable, etc. Develop the emotional strength to compartmentalize your emotions and not allow them to overflow in other areas and affect them.

Imagination is fertile but being delusional is being stuck in a swamp.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

[valtsv]

obviously the answer to this is to be curious and proactive now that i have greater access to the world around me, but i do feel a kind of bitter grief whenever i'm confronted by evidence of how much of popular culture and just general knowledge about the world around me i missed out on growing up by being near-isolated in a household where my information intake was fairly strictly monitored, and most of what i accessed had to be done secretly, and in fear, for my entire childhood. i had no friends, no role models except my parents and their close friends - few of whom were particularly inspiring or diverse in their behaviours or views - and my education was fine, but it was all pretty standard by-the-book stuff that didn't encourage much independent thought on its own. if it hadn't been for the internet and the local library, i would have been even more cut off from the outside world. and now i find myself constantly confronted with things that people assume are common knowledge, but for me are brand new never-before-seen revelations. it's embarrassing. it's not like i grew up in a sterile white room cut off from society, i just didn't know that there was more available to me until i left home. and now i'm stuck playing catch-up on things most people are already familiar with, knowing that isolation and neglect may be reasonable excuses for ignorance, but they won't change the fact that i am ignorant, and small-minded, and naive.

[amirasainz]

hi!! i love this series sm and can u please write baby!sainz crushing on lando and carlos noticed it ++ lando and baby!sainz cute moments. thank you! have a good day 🫶🏻

Hey loves. I'm always so happy when I receive new requests. My requests are open and feedback is always welcome. Enjoy reading! -XoXo

Three times when...

The cooking fiasco

It was common knowledge in the Sainz household that Amira Sainz did not like cooking. In fact, it was a task she despised. When the Sainz children were younger, the chores were so divided that Amira never had to cook. She would go shopping for the ingredients or clean up the kitchen afterward. But she never lifted one pretty, manicured finger to prepare a meal.

So one could understand the shock when Carlos came down to the kitchen this morning and saw his baby sister cooking. And not just something easy like instant noodles—Senorita Sainz had prepared Croquetas de Jamón, a dish that required time and patience. Two things his little sister usually did not have.

However, Carlos had to admit they smelled amazing. When he tried to take a piece, his sister slapped his hand away. “Amira, what—” “Carlitos, they are not for hermano. It took me hours to prepare them, and I will not let you eat them all just because you’re hungry,” she informed her brother with a playful smile. “Come on, hermanita. Just one tiny piece. They look delicious.” She shook her head again, packed the Croquetas away, and told her brother they needed to leave.

The Sainz siblings, armed with their bags and a little plastic box filled with those delectable Croquetas de Jamón, entered the paddock. But it was Amira’s bold move that stole the show—skipping over to Lando and presenting him with her carefully prepared culinary masterpiece. Carlos, caught off guard, stood in the middle of the entrance, his jaw practically hitting the floor.

And then came Lando’s reaction: “Darling, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Amira blushed, and Carlos was left utterly dumbfounded.

Little did he know that his bewildered expression would soon become an internet sensation—a meme capturing the moment when Carlos’s brain seemingly took a vacation for a solid 40 minutes.

2. The hat

Oh, how he hated this hat. This stupid childish hat, that Lando wore for his first home GP. Carlos’s disdain for that neon green/yellow-ish hat was legendary, and it seemed to be etched into his very soul. But when he saw his sister, Amira, wearing the same hat, panic set in. His protective instincts kicked into high gear, and he bombarded her with questions: “Amira, what happened? Were you forced to wear this? Did Lando force you? Do you owe him money? Mi preciada hermana, you know I’ll lend you all the money I have. I will—”

And then, Amira’s interruption: “Don’t you think I look pretty?” Carlos was left speechless. Of course, she looked beautiful, but why this… thing on her head? Amira explained that it was Lando’s hat—the very same one he wore during his first home Grand Prix. She wanted to show her support for him, even though her loyalty to Carlos was unwavering.

Carlos grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, his sister’s gesture was sweet, even if the hat was an eyesore. On the other hand, why did it have to be that hat? His sister looked always lovely, but this neon monstrosity…

Before he could articulate his thoughts, Lando himself appeared. “Looking good, Mira,” he praised, and Amira blushed. Then, Lando turned to Carlos. “Hey, you good, man?”

And there it was—the unspoken tension between past teammates, siblings, and that ridiculous hat. Carlos managed a half-hearted nod. “Yeah, just… processing,” he mumbled. But deep down, he wondered if this whole situation would become another meme—one where Carlos stared into space, contemplating the mysteries of life, love, and questionable headwear.

3.The cut

It was racing weekend after a two week break. Carlos couldn’t help but tease Lando about that minuscule cut—the one that had everyone talking after his wild party weekend in the Netherlands.

“Cabrón, how did you even manage to cut yourself open? I mean, you were on a boat. A boat, Lando.” The banter flowed between them like old times, and Carlos secretly acknowledged that while Charles felt like a little brother, Lando was his true confidant. Amidst the tough competition at Ferrari, Lando was the one who knew all his inner struggles and insecurities—the person he could share everything with. Lando, who knew that Carlos didn't have any offers from other teams. Lando, who knew that the offer from Audi was taken back. He just couldn't tell Charles those things. Not because he couldn't trust him as well. But he always felt the need to protect the young Monegasque and didn't want to make him feel worse about his leave.

But then, the unexpected happened. Carlos’s attention shifted from Lando’s escapades to a quick blur of pink. The exact shade his sister had worn just days ago. And there they were: Amira and Lando, arms around each other. Concern etched on her face, she asked Lando if he was feeling alright, if she could do anything for him. His response—teasing yet sincere—sent a shiver down Carlos’s spine. Those stars in Lando’s eyes, the whispered words in Spanish from her: “Oh Lando, estoy tan feliz de que estés bien”, Lando rubbing her back for comfort.

Those two friends, caught in a moment that felt both intimate and confusing. Carlos’s mind raced. Did his sister have a crush on Lando? It couldn’t be, right?

Or could it?

[taotaoirl]

toji malewife headcanons

this is my take on the malewife headcanons (written months ago)

tags: fluff, gender neutral reader, you guys are living together/married

i like to think that toji is the #1 malewife (even though it is likely just my delusions speaking!)

first and foremost, he is a great cook

just imagine toji in a white apron (tied around his slutty waist ofc)

he would wake up super early every morning just to make the both of you (and the kids) breakfast, which would likely be a traditional japanese breakfast (consisting of fish, rice, miso soup, and pickled vegetables)

on sundays, he would make you guys an english breakfast (consisting of eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms, toast and no baked beans bcs fuck baked beans)

reiterating the toji would-do-anything-for-you fushiguro agenda because he would even *attempt to make you all kinds of baked goods even though he always overbakes everything. and ofc you gotta gobble that burnt shit up telling him it was the best thing you've ever had

once again reiterating the toji would-do-anything-for-you fushiguro agenda: when he's not running from his responsibilities, he likes to cook you an elaborate meal at the end of the day and yes he does the dishes as well

after a long day of work, there is nothing better than coming home to a table set for two and a three-course meal prepared by toji fushiguro.

the set up is nothing too fancy, no decorations whatsoever, but the food is top notch

toji likes to sit at the end of the table, head slightly tilted on his hand, watching you eat the food he has carefully prepared for you. he doesn't say much, but you notice the way his eyes soften the moment you pick up your chopsticks and start eating

if you compliment his cooking, he will likely get flustered (though he doesn't show it). he will simply raise his eyebrows, look away and say that the kids helped too (the kids, in fact, did not help)

it is well-established that toji probably has pretty nasty hygiene, but it is also common knowledge that megumi's mom helped him get his shit together. so i like to think that as long as he has someone to depend on, he starts taking care of himself too. especially when he is handed the responsibility of taking care of his family- he will do everything he can to avoid falling back into his old habits (of ass hygiene)

if you are away for long hours/working/too tired, toji will step up and do all the cleaning for you- vacuuming, dusting, deep cleaning every room- whatever it is, you name it, he'll do it

he'll do it but it's gonna be a mediocre job at best. it's better than nothing though!

needless to say he's also quite good at fixing household items (basically a staple repairman husband)

once he's done will allat (he will speedrun that shit) he'll get back on the couch/bed, put an arm around your shoulder and enjoy his silence with you

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | A Maia Reader is Interested in Them (Pre-Darkening)

Request: Hey Mina! If you’re ok with it, could you write your headcanons for the house of Feanor having a Maiar interested in them romantically? Pre or Post darkening is fine, whichever is most interesting to you. I know canonically it’s basically unheard of for a Maia to marry an Elf but I think about it frequently because the Ainur fascinate me 💀 - Anon

A/N: I wanted to do post-darkening, but then I realised how angsty I would have made that, so I bailed, plus I was in the mood for fluff. Enjoy!!

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Feanor

Feanor being the ever so passionate and intriguing figure is more interested in you than you are in him. Furthermore, it wasn’t shocking for him when he discovered that a Maia was interested in him.

He’s literally spending all his time in Aule’s forges, what else to expect? His presence would have you hooked from the very start. The charm, the charisma, his voice, features, everything about him.

The only thing you and he would clash on numerous occasions for, is your love and appreciation towards the Valar, considering them beings who can do no wrong, and his pride and impulsiveness.

Apart from that, you and Feanor spend hours engaging in deep, philosophical discussions about the nature of the world and the secrets of creation. You would even extend your knowledge in creating towards his crafting.

The one thing you would constantly have to put up with (just like Nerdanel) is his fiery temper and hatred towards the rest of his family and Indis. You will forever have to temper his harshness and vocalisation, but also prepare yourself for being shown off and rubbed in his brothers’ faces.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Maedhros

When the both of you are together, walking about and basking in the joys of each other’s presence, no one can tell the difference between who is elf and Maia. You both appear as two Maiar due to the ethereal beauty and grace you exert.

He does find solace in your calm and serene presence, given his elder brother’s duties being too much at times and dwelling in a noisy household. With you, he is able to drop his guard and be himself without the need to be on edge.

Most of the time, you spend moments getting to know each other better and explore the realms of emotion and touch since it may be uncommon for you. Maedhros finds joy in teach you how to hold hands or fingers and express your elation, the same way you teach him.

At the same time, you would offer him knowledge, support, and guidance on taking the role of being a leader and role model to his younger brothers. Though, it would take a copious amount of time before you ever get introduced to his family.

He finds your ethereal and otherworldly presence not worth being among his family yet, wants to be a bit selfish and have you to himself for the great part of learning you. Plus, he knows it will be a huge talk around Valinor and his father would talk everyone’s ear off.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Maglor

It would only be fair that you and Maglor became interested in one another due to your common love for the arts, your poetry or storytelling and the music. The perfect duo, matchmade in heaven Valinor.

You have been interested in hearing his voice up close and in person which triggered a plethora of emotions, urging you to pursue the minstrel. And now, you both spend your time singing tales and writing stories in your free time, teaching him how to incorporate more magic into his songs.

Being around him means being his inspiration in his art and encouraging him to express his deepest emotions. His household has never known peace since the day you met him and became a frequent visitor.

Maglor holds a deep respect for you as his muse and person of interest, though, he can be partially nervous around you because of your differences and the breath-taking voice you emit which surpasses him. You got a little grumbly Maglor sulking in a corner.

At the same time, he is proud to call you his and dies on the inside with you call him yours. Due to your interactions with him, you are quickly able to navigate emotional and physical intimacy with him, smoothly transitioning into your relationship.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Celegorm

He’s loud and hollering that a Maia is interested in him. “Like have you not seen me? I’m the hottest thing since the light of the two trees. Of course they’d fall for someone with irresistible charm like me.”

Seriously, Tyelko is smug at the realisation that he managed to not only be an apprentice of a Vala and have a Maia as an animal companion, but also managed to impress one to have them like him.

It’s hard for him to shut up about how ecstatic he is about you liking him and wanting to be with him. Most of the time you and Tyelko would be alone, which means Huan would also depart, so he can impress you with his charm and knowledge while he takes you on hunts.

This doesn’t mean that he’s going ignore the fact that you are more intelligent than him. Tyelko will drink up every word that pours from your lips like sweet nectar. He will value all the lessons you give him and all the magic you teach him.

At the same time, be prepared to hear him complain about you and Huan always spending time together and ignoring him because he forgets that Huan and you are similar.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Caranthir

Initially, he is aloof before he slowly opens up to your patient and understands the nature of wanting to get to know him better. Moryo is stunned that you managed to notice him among the crowd of six other brothers, thus it makes him more appreciative.

With his desire for peace and tranquillity, he would easily find himself in your presence more often than he expected as time graduates. It’s quite an adorable sight to witness you and Moryo navigating with expressing your emotions.

He is grateful your for peaceful presence being about stability due to his love for quiet support. Most of your time spent will be away from his home and more among nature where he can observe you in your element, likewise the same with him.

With his love for fabrics, he would love when you show your interest by accompanying him to shop or gathering unique patterned clothes for him to work with, even expressing an interest to learn.

The most you would have to deal with are his quick outbursts when displeasure kicks in. As a Maia, you would have seen the Valar distraught before, but witnessing it with someone you were interested in brought new waves of emotions. At least you were gentle to guide him to relief.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Curufin

You’re probably a Maia of crafts or one that surrounds the elements of this world capable of being moulding into tangible objects. Hence your fascination with Curufin the moment you laid eyes on him.

Like his father, he too is fascinated by the nature of you and your knowledge of lore and craft, seeing a potential ally in his pursuits. Your presence would be of great assistance when it comes to offering insights that would enhance his skills.

Many occasions you two can be found working together on projects as you continue to learn more about each other. And you would come to realise that when engrossed in his craft, you can barely squeeze a response out of him.

He too, has his cold temperament that you would come face to face with on numerous occasions, as well as his ruthless ambitions, which would require you to guide him towards a more balanced goal.

One thing to note is his pride when it comes towards your interest in him; he takes it seriously and prays that what you two have develops into something more. It’s not often he opens up to people, so you coming along like the sunshine in his life is something he would cherish, silently.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Amrod and Amras

Let’s say you’re a Maia of adventure, one whose spirit is wild and yearns for tales of far-off places. Amrod and Amras are going to love your presence more than ever, each tailing behind you with eyes and hearts yearning for more.

Together, you and Amrod or Amras would embark on adventures across Valinor into the deep woods and over the mountains, under the hills and around the river bends, telling tales as you go, and teaching them magic tricks (which makes their pranks all the more daring).

Whichever of the twins you are dating, you still get the opportunity to teach them about independence and being their individual, helping them find their identity and take a stand against those who only view them as the same.

There will be lots of fun and playful moments shared between the two of you, while they teach you how to be mischievous so you can play pranks on your fellow Maiar when you return to your sanctuary.

All your time spent around Amrod or Amras will be filled with experiences and endless days of learning new forms of fun. Your relationship will be as though you are two peas in a pod.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Celebrimbor

Like his father and grandfather (because let’s pretend that another Maia wasn’t also interested in him) Tyelpe would be profoundly grateful to learn that a Maia was interested in him and his craftsmanship, wanting to teach and learn alongside him.

You both would spend hours and even days locked up in the forge tinkering to create new majestic pieces of art (please don’t go making the Silmarils 2.0 or the rings, enough people died for those). Plus, you would have the opportunity to bless the objects.

He is deeply grateful that such a divine entity like you would find great interest in him and is willing to openly spend time with him, apart from crafting, to get to know him better. He probably died and was reborn in that moment.

You will be a massive foundation in his life, driving him to pursues his passions and dreams, providing support and respect. Though, as much as you’re a rock in his life, he would probably hide you from his father, wanting to silently be with you.

During those moment, your vast knowledge would be shared and generously absorbed like a sponge because Tyelpe isn’t missing the free opportunity to learn about the world before and around him.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @addaigio @ladyenchanted @hermaeuswhora @mcwentfandomtraveling @elficially-done-with-life @lamemaster @eunoiaastralwings

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link to join!

[localcuttlefish]

A Theoretical Lore Bible of Caesar’s Legion as a Nation

Hello good citizens of Tumblr! I’ve been on a Fallout: New Vegas kick lately, and I recently graduated college with a bachelors degree (major illustration, minor history of art and western civilization). So now that I’m certified to draw dick AND talk about Ancient Rome, I have things to yap about.

Have you ever looked at Caesar’s Legion and wondered how the more intricate aspects of their society model after the Roman Empire? Because I have! And because of those very musings, I have come up with a little dumb idiot theoretical lore Bible on how The Legion might function as a more developed nation, using my back knowledge of western civ and Roman art and culture. Nomenclature, societal structure, industries, imports and exports, the whole nine yards!

DISCLAIMERS: I have not looked through the writers’/directors’ social media accounts thoroughly enough yet to confirm if any of the information I’m bringing to the table is already solidly canonical or solidly non-canonical in the lore of Fallout: New Vegas. There is a nonzero chance I may say something that someone in charge has already said, or something that’s already been disproven or denied. If you catch something I don’t, let me know! I like worldbuilding for fun like this, and I want to keep everything as lore-cohesive as possible to challenge myself. I’ll come back to edit this every now and then if I come up with more cohesive lore pieces, or if you guys have any suggestions that would tie in the lore better. In addition, Caesar’s Legion is an inherently totalitarian nation that supports itself on some pretty sexist and bigoted social structures. There is no universe in which I support, condone, or otherwise encourage any of the ideologies of Caesar’s Legion in real life. Don’t become a tyrant dictator of a military slave nation, kids!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of slavery, sexism, physical and verbal violence, unsafe medical practices, brainwashing/psychological abuse, and death.

Without further ado, the absolute wall of text that is the theoretical lore Bible of Caesar’s Legion. Enjoyyyyy!!

CHAPTERS:

I: Citizenship

- How To Become a Citizen

- Social Castes

- Names

II: Everyday Life

- Common Social Customs

- Household Structure

- Settlement/Town Structure

- Clothing, Hair, and Accessories

- Languages

III: Industry

- Jobs

- Imports and Exports

IV: Politics, Education, and Religion

- What Senate?

- In The Unlikely Event of a Transfer of Power

- Common Political Beliefs

- Male vs Female Education Standards

Walk and talk with me about the ways The Legion mirrors, juxtaposes, and takes inspiration from Ancient Roman society in a post-apocalyptic setting.

The first time I encountered Caesar’s Legion in game, my initial thought was “What about the American West makes these people think this is the perfect spot to reinvent Italy?” it’s a barren, land-locked desert with only one or two significant water access points. Italy is a peninsula in a temperate climate with high mountain ranges and verdant forests. Most of this was a jokey thought, but then it struck me that a phalanx would actually be an insanely powerful force in a flat landscape. It all started coming together from there in a most dreadful shape

I: Citizenship

- How to Become a Citizen

Caesar’s Legion is a colonialist nation. They gain land through conquest, typically, and have a tendency to try and homogenize the culture to their liking. Generally speaking, after a town has been conquered, people who willingly surrender or submit to The Legion are given an opportunity for citizenship. Any survivors of conquest that aren’t willing to surrender are either executed or sold into slavery. Slaves are not considered citizens, because the rights and freedoms of a slave do not reflect the rights and freedoms that The Legion offers to those who can be put to better use or are complacent with the mission of The Legion.

Once one is offered a chance for citizenship, the highest ranking general in whatever battalion just took over that person’s land will evaluate if the person can be put to work, put on the battlefield, or is generally useless. Remember, an offer isn’t a guarantee. There is a chance someone who is offered citizenship may be evaluated as useless and sold into slavery regardless of their complacency. Protesting the verdict typically increases the chance of spontaneously being executed, or, if one doesn’t like their proposed role of worker or soldier, being demoted from potential citizen to slave.

If the general regards one as fit to work or fit for the battlefield, these “half-citizens” (media populi for plural, and media persona for singular) will be assigned a new legal name after a record of all new media populi is sent from the general to the regional Vilicus (overseer ;) we’ll elaborate more on this in chapter II), and given the task of minimum 400 hours of what we would understand as “community service” before the Vilicus confirms their citizenship. This “community service” is called pentimento, or repentance. It’s a form of brainwashing in which The Legion is in a position to repeatedly reaffirm that the media persona has more value here helping The Legion than they ever did as a free settler in New Vegas before, and instills dynamics that empower and encourage violence against people of “lower status” (slaves and women, usually). Kinda like a Stanford Prison Experiment that’s purposely designed to cause power dynamics instead of accidentally stumbling to the conclusion. Pentimento may include anything from helping re-pave and clear trade routes in Legion territory, to catching runaway slaves. Each media persona is given a number of tasks to complete per month, and each failed task results in more hours being added onto the total pentimento before citizenship is granted. The number of initial hours of pentimento a media persona needs to do may vary depending on the whims of the Vilicus, how much they resisted Legion control in the past, how many tasks of pentimento they leave incomplete per month, and whether they are masculine or feminine presenting, but is never less than 400 to start. Most media populi end up with starting numbers in the 600s or 700s.

Once the pentimento hours are complete and approved by the Vilicus, the media persona becomes a citizen and is expected to continue the service to the growing empire through either the trade they work in, or through service in the army. However, there is a several-month-long window of time in which spies occasionally visit the new citizens’ homes to monitor them for suspicious activity. In this window of time, spies may be looking for signs that indicate the new citizen is an agent from a rival faction sent to infiltrate The Legion. Only high-ranking officials know about this window. One can lose their citizenship and be returned back to status of media persona if they show suspicious behavior during this time, or worse, be demoted from citizen to slave. In cases where there is undeniable evidence that a new citizen is an agent for a rival faction, the citizen is immediately put to death, and their citizenship is revoked (though revoking the citizenship of someone being put to death is a little redundant).

A baby born into a family of two Legion citizens is automatically also a citizen, and must be given a name in line with Legion naming conventions (which will be discussed next segment). A baby born into a family in which the mother is not a citizen and the father is a citizen will also be considered a citizen. A baby born into a family in which the mother is a citizen and the father is not a citizen will not be considered a citizen at birth. A baby born to a family of two media populi or two slaves will not be considered a citizen at birth.

A person who willingly enters Legion territory and requests citizenship will follow the same steps as how a person from a conquered land would be evaluated for citizenship.

- Social Castes

Social Castes in Caesar’s Legion are determined by how useful one is to the empire, and whether one is male or female. The more sexist aspects of the caste system stem from the fact that women in The Legion can’t serve in the military, and the military is a notably higher status than most other castes since Caesar’s Legion is a military state.

Of course, Caesar is the highest on the social pyramid, followed by his chosen officials (take Lanius for example), then chosen guards (praetorian guard). The military comes next, with the social hierarchy of the military following that which was established in the Roman Empire in the early establishment of Caligula’s reign. After that, religious officials (which act as pseudo-indoctrinators into The Legion, and therefore are pretty essential to brainwashing the next generation of Legionnaires). Then, the Vilici, the overseers of each region/settlement. Next, the average male citizen and then, the average female citizen. Media populi come next, and following that social caste is performers (which serve very little purpose in the eyes of Caesar and the goal of conquest), with male performers having marginally more respect among the populous than female performers. Second to last is slaves, once again with males being just a little more respected than females, but what does that matter when both are going to be abused by the upper castes anyways. At the very bottom of the social ladder is outsiders and criminals, which need to be broken before earning even a sliver of humanity in the eyes of The Legion.

Caesar > Chosen Officials > Chosen Guard > Military (with sub-hierarchy of Ancient Roman military) > Religious Officials > Vilici > Average Citizen > Media Populi > Performers > Slaves > Outsiders and Criminals

- Names

The average citizen in Legion territory wouldn’t need to immediately use their new assigned name (since there’s not enough force immediately available to actually push that, the nation is still growing), but The Legion will give them a “legal” name that they’ll be addressed by formally, and in the best case scenario, the original name will be effectively waned out because it simply doesn’t matter in comparison to the new one.

A praenomen acts effectively as a first name one uses around close friends and family, while a nomen (while acting as a last name) becomes what one is more commonly known by in public. The average citizen will usually have a nomen at least, and a male citizen will have a praenomen and nomen.

- MASCULINE: A classical Latin praenomen will be assigned equivalent to the meaning or phonetics of the new citizen’s first name. The nomen will be determined based on either phonetic/meaning equivalent of the last name, or based on the new citizen’s occupation.

- FEMININE: No praenomen will be assigned. The citizen’s title will be a feminized variation of their father’s nomen, differentiated in generation by number nomenclature (Major, Minor, Tertia, etc). If they have no father, they will assume the feminized nomen of a living male partner that is already a Legion citizen. If they have no living Legion family, they will be assigned the name “Romana” and likely be either sold into slavery or auctioned to a bachelor to gain a proper nomen.

For example: Marcus Gaius has two daughters. The eldest daughter is Gaia Major. The youngest daughter is Gaia Minor. Gaia Minor meets Decimus Junius, and they get married. Now Gaia Minor is named Junia. Gaia Major remains unchanged.

Legion soldiers have more dignity in society, and therefore have all the previous conventions, plus a cognomen. Since all Legion soldiers are masculine, differentiation between masc and fem naming conventions is irrelevant from this point forward. The nomen of a soldier may be akin to the structure of how an average citizen’s would be given, or if the soldier shows exceptional prestige and has no remaining male family, a nomen referencing warfare or combat will be assigned to them (Marcus, Augustus, Drusus, etc.).

A Legion cognomen acts effectively as a Roman military callsign. Cognomens follow classical Roman conventions. The cognomen will be used most frequently in a military setting.

II: Everyday Life

- Common Social Customs

Many Roman social customs are adopted into Legion life. For example, the entertainment at the colosseum is mimicked in the tourneys in the various arenas scattered throughout Legion territory. However, because of the key difference in that The Legion isn’t even pretending not to be a totalitarian dictatorship, there are a number of drastic differences between Roman social customs and Legion social customs.

Because of how respected the military is in Legion society, it is commonplace to show soldiers with utmost reverence. It’s customary to allow soldiers to stay in a citizen’s place of residence if the soldier requests it, and it’s customary to refer to the soldier by their military rank, not their nomen or cognomen (especially if the soldier in question is on duty). It’s considered rude or inappropriate to question the motives of a soldier, or prevent a soldier from accessing areas of a citizen’s property. Such transgressions can potentially be met with violence.

One may frequently see slaves struggling to keep up with workloads. It’s taboo, but not punishable to help them, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the productivity of one’s own work. After all, The Legion gains nothing from incomplete work. If helping a slave means increasing efficiency, then it’s appropriate, but a citizen may get strange looks from others for doing so.

Utilitarianism is the ideal philosophy under which everyone should function in an ideal Legion society, but this is clearly not the case nor the environment to foster it. Social norms are based strongly on class, and in most cases, selfishness prevails because selflessness can be seen as weak (or worse, suspicious) by trigger-happy soldiers and spies.

But hey, at least sex isn’t considered a super taboo topic or activity in Legion society. Got that much going for them. Granted, it’s seen more like a conquest, but at least it’s not seen as a sin. Woohoo? Lets go? Kinda? One step forward two steps back.

- Household Structure

A household in Legion territory for a citizen of average means will likely be similar to any other household in New Vegas (with the addition of slaves in wealthier households). Where things start to get confusing is the aforementioned situation of soldiers being allowed to invade households at will. Psychologically, these soldiers are deprived of a lot of comforts the average citizen may have. There is a decidedly nonzero chance that soldiers can show up like stray cats and keep coming back in the event that a citizen is interesting enough to them. Soldiers sometimes “claim” houses or small patches of territory they frequent as a substitute for the emotional interaction they lack. Humans are social creatures. The soldiers might not know why they want to keep coming back, but they do keep coming back. Parasocial.

Generally, a woman’s domain is the household in Legion territory. While the society is by no means matriarchal, it’s customary for a woman to maintain control over most happenings within a household. This often means a woman will need to interact with stray soldiers more frequently. Among female citizens in Legion territory, these soldiers are called catuli (singular catulus) for their presence and tendencies, though this is always in secret due to the harsh punishment of misrepresenting a soldier’s status to his face. A household can sometimes have up to three catuli claim it before fights start to break out among them about perceived territory.

It is expected for a couple in a household to have children. Cultivating multiple generations of soldiers is part of how The Legion grows most efficiently, because children are impressionable enough to instill Legion values without struggle. If a household does not have a child after several years of partnership, it is considered suspicious and the male of the partnership is encouraged to be unfaithful or open the relationship. While there are no consequences for not having children, there is intense pressure to do so.

- Settlement/Town Structure

As mentioned before, the equivalent of a mayor in each region is called a Vilicus, or an overseer. The Vilicus is responsible for tallying the census, assigning names to media populi, approving the pentimento of media populi, keeping track of production rates of resources from citizens, keeping a lookout for disease outbreak so a region can be quarantined if needed, and monitoring the citizens in each region for minor suspicious activity to report to those higher in status. Each town is also occupied by a heavy military presence, to intimidate citizens into productivity and complacency.

Most of the time, Legion towns are made of the previously conquered settlements now added to Legion territories. Building more houses is an avoidable expenditure if they just repurpose the structures already there with a few modifications. Despite the multiple depictions in-game of Caesar’s Legion showing little to no care about what damage they cause, it would make sense that the depictions in the gameplay are actually the outliers in the situation, since it’s far more efficient to leave the settlements intact and just gut and reconfigure the purpose.

There are also multitudes of mobile scout settlements, mostly made of fabric, tarp, and hide tents that can be easily condensed and moved in the event that the camp is compromised. In many cases, these camps are set up as a base to return to in order to stage an invasion of new territories. If possible, The Legion sets them up close to large landmasses like plateaus or mountains for additional cover in the event of an ambush. If that’s not available, The Legion makes settlements like this close to preexisting towns in order to make the wordless threat of “push us back, and innocents die”. Generally, very few citizens are taken on these excursions, but if the plan is to stay out longer, citizens who are medics may be involuntarily drafted into going with the scout team.

- Clothing, Hair, and Accessories

The Legion isn’t a necessarily materialistic society that allows a lot of room for personal expression. Since the goal is to create a homogenous society and culture, self expression through visual cues is often muted at best and absent at normal. Makeup, perfumes, and hair styling products are prohibited if they have any synthetic qualities or materials. In many cases, beauty products are exclusively reserved for performers, and even still, only natural pigments and materials would be permitted. Think the same pigments Ancient Egyptians would make for their makeup.

Protective updo hairstyles are common for long hair, both for practical purposes and for purposes of keeping hair out of reach and harder to pull. Efficiency is key, so in the event of a raid or a threat, everyone is expected to be able to hold their own to some extent. Part of that standard is remaining on guard, so keeping hair up while out of the house is customary.

In the military, hair is expected to be cut short, again, for efficiency. Any soldiers with long hair are expected to keep it in tight braids or cornrows to maintain the same level of efficiency. As long as it stays out of the face.

Most clothing is dull, salvaged from the wastelands. The only exception is clothing reserved for high ranking officials and Caesar, which is quite literally dyed in blood of enemies. Because blood fades to a blackish-red hue over time, high ranking officials will often appear to be wearing darker colors, when in actuality they’re wearing clothes that were soaked in blood as a symbol of power and debt paid to the gods (namely Mars).

Widows are permitted to wear part of their fallen husband’s bloodsoaked clothes through the mourning process, if The Legion can recover and identity the body. With this in mind, as soon as the widow finds a new husband, the bloodsoaked garment piece is burned.

Slaves are deprived of all aspects of individuality, given rags or scraps to wear and marked with red paint. A citizen may give finer clothes to a slave voluntarily, but those clothes must also be marked with red paint.

Jewelry, while rare, is often made of scrap metal salvaged and re-forged from battlefields or old weapons without any further use. Which is why jewelry is so rare. There is seldom ever an instance in which metal can’t become a weapon, so making jewelry is a waste of time and energy.

- Languages

Basically any language can be spoken in Legion territory as it stands, because as The Legion is currently, it doesn’t have enough power or force to totally instill a whole new language system. With that in mind, the groundwork is being laid for an eventual push to make Latin the official language of Caesar’s Legion. Between the commonly used Latin terminology to address people and the Roman theming of The Legion, it’s primed to eventually enforce Latin as the primary language. Highly educated citizens may be fluent in Latin, and most soldiers know commands and codes in Latin.

III: Industry

- Jobs

There are two types of jobs in The Legion, excluding military and slavery. One can either be a worker or a performer. Medics and nurses are highly valued, both on the battlefield and off, since chemical substances are prohibited in The Legion. Carpenters, metalworkers and blacksmiths, engineers, and tanners are some of the more important standard worker jobs, since all of them play directly into expanding the empire more efficiently, making more weapons and armor, or repurposing old material to make new. Tailors, glassworkers, weavers, technicians, and chemists are less valuable to The Legion to some extent because they either involve industries less geared towards conquest, or involve industries beyond the scope of what The Legion finds socially acceptable. Despite the amount of emphasis Roman polytheism puts on naturalistic sculpture, The Legion actually doesn’t find the arts very useful in the immediate future of the empire. What’s most important is conquest, not expression.

On the topic of the arts, performers were seen in a very poor light in The Legion, often oversexualized into objectification or framed as clowns. Most performance art is often seen as a waste of time or an avoidable expense, but it does keep soldier morale up since it gives them something to target that isn’t their fellow man. Being a performer in The Legion is marginally better than slavery, because one can at least have a house as a performer, but the physical and verbal abuse is often daily and unrelenting.

- Imports and Exports

The Legion is definitely not known for being friendly to neighboring factions, so any concept of import and export is often very loosely based in barter (namely, The Legion demanding tithe to barter for leaving a region alone, similar to how some mafias demand payment in exchange for protection from themselves). The Legion has a semi-steady stream of imports from their commonwealths which they pressure into helping them in trade for leaving their towns unburned and their people free from enslavement. However, this is decidedly not a permanent arrangement. This is a way to bide time to grow the nation a bit more before making moves on settlements and regions with more useful resources.

They export nothing unless it’s a strategic play. They pressure neighboring regions into paying them, even though they honestly don’t need it as much as they want the general population of other factions to think they do. Middle school bully nation.

IV: Politics, Education, and Religion

- What Senate?

The big difference between Rome and The Legion is that The Legion doesn’t try to pretend it’s not a dictatorship. There is no senate, there is no board of people to vote, no forum. The only voice that matters is Caesar’s, and it shows in every aspect of how the society is structured, from the strict rules on self expression, to the patriarchal hierarchy of Legion society. Ultimately, this makes the nation weaker, because in the event of Caesar’s death, it creates a power vacuum. No, I don’t think there’s a secret senate. No, I don’t think there is a solid backup plan. I think the closest thing there was to a senate was the two-man power-team that was Edward Sallow and Joshua Graham. We all know how well that worked out. And I think Caesar’s been running on fumes ever since that point, taking this as a sign to expand the nation faster before anyone sees him bleed. Hubristic in nature.

The closest thing there is to a senate are higher officials (such as Lanius) that Caesar hand-picked from Legion ranks to be his personal cabinet that all agrees with him. There is a distinct instability of power when recreating Rome without a senate, and there is the distinct air of trying to hide that open wound.

- In the Unlikely Event of a Transfer of Power

Let’s say, hypothetically, Caesar, the praetorian guard, and all his higher officials suddenly died. The role of Caesar would be up for grabs. In the event that there is no clear successor to Caesar, there is no real backup plan aside from an arena battle between the generals that could potentially succeed Caesar. A simple solution that will clearly show who can spill the most blood for Mars without hesitation or question.

With this in mind, there is one thing distinctly Roman about the potential of a transfer of power. There is always a nonzero chance that Caesar’s killer, be they foreigner or Legion, could become the next emperor. All that matters is who can devote themself to Mars in a way that would honor the fallen Caesar.

- Common Political Beliefs

Politics and religion go hand in hand for Caesar’s Legion because of the cultish way Caesar built the nation. The idea of Mars being the patron deity of The Legion instills a level of gratuitous and overzealous love of warfare among the people. Military expenditures are met with great support, and very little infrastructure on public service is supported as adamantly because of the instilled value of “we are all independent cogs working in a well oiled machine, we don’t need help”. Then again, it’s not like any other voice mattered anyways, since Caesar is the be all end all of political power.

There is a generally nationwide extremism when it comes to dealing with criminals, however. Criminal activity in The Legion is more often than not punished by torture and death, and nobody seems to really protest it to the degree that other factions do. As many of the travelers and traders in Fallout: New Vegas have said, the roads in Legion territories are incredibly safe. There is a level of patriotism in The Legion specifically regarding how safe their lands are, but in exchange, those lands also have an active military presence.

Conquest is also a pretty intrinsic pillar of Legion political beliefs, since the motivation to create a homogeneous society and usher in a new era of perceived piece may make some people accept the totalitarian power for what it is and hope it pans out right.

- Male vs Female Education Standards

Due to the intrinsic divide between male and female Legion citizens, the education of male and female Legion children is vastly different with the only exception being the uniform brainwashing. Male and female children are not only educated on different topics, they are also educated in different locations.

Similar to Spartan men, most male children (even including orphans from freshly raided towns) are give combat training just about as soon as they can hold a stick and swing it. The male children that show combat proficiency continue to become soldiers, and the male children who aren’t strong, but are intelligent are instead divided into training as either spies or medics, depending on the specifics of their skill sets. Male children who aren’t good at any of that end up becoming armigeri (singular armiger), the people who sharpen weapons and tend to the needs of more proficient soldiers. It’s a social tragedy to become what is essentially a pathetic sidekick to some far better soldier. Thankfully, since most of these children are trained from an incredibly young age to be strong, cunning, fast, and durable, very few people end up becoming armigeri. Generally speaking, no boy in The Legion goes without military training. The Legion can capture their blacksmiths and carpenters, there’s no need to train them in-house.

Female Legion children are not given formal education. They are expected to grow up to be housekeepers and produce the next generation of warlords. However, a family still has the liberty to educate a daughter at home with a tutor so long as it doesn’t interfere with the family’s productivity. Usually, female children are given medical teachings more oriented towards patching the injuries of their future husbands. However, girls aren’t left entirely defenseless. Girls are taught how to use ranged weapons and how to escape grapples in the event of an emergency. In addition, girls are given more of an education on finances and practical skills that tie into long-term survival, such as how to use every part of a killed animal for resources, how to patch clothes, and how to cultivate plants.

A Thank You And Some Concluding Comments

Hello hello to anyone who’s made it this far through my ludicrous ramblings! Thank you for reading! This is really just me throwing nonsense in the air and seeing what floats, and most of what I’ve written here will probably be subject to edits every now and then to keep building up what I’ve already put down.

Feel free to use this lore for any fan fictions, fan art, original characters, or whatever else! Please keep building on it!

I hope y’all enjoyed my insane chattering!

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Where do you find all your neat little trinkets and such? Is it just accumulated over the years, or do you use marketplace, or antique malls, commissioning stuff? I want to add more to my home, but I don't really know where to look outside of hyper specific ebay searches.

I guess, more succinctly, how do you Find Things?

Heya! Finding cool stuff is a lot about doing just enough research. I'll show you how my mind works.

Let's say I saw this cute cat in the wild. I want to buy it, maybe see if it's something fun to collect.

If I use Google lens on the photo, I get some promising results - this is something that was mass-produced!

Let's click on a result.

I've learned something! This ceramic is called "redware" and the figure is from the 1950s. So, off to another web search.

Oh! A maker name! "Shafford." This will make future searches easier. And look - there are other related cats - it looks like as various household items! (If you further researched the original cat, you'd also learn it is a tape measure and was made in Japan.)

Now, let's say you don't have a photo to start with, or just a vague idea of something you might want. Let's hop to Facebook marketplace and see if anyone is selling cute ceramic black cats.

All of these results could go down their own research paths, but again, I'm using the example of the Shafford cats.

Armed with some knowledge, it takes just a few searches to find an impressive haul. Honestly, if that wasn't 5 hrs away from me, I'd buy that lot in a heartbeat, selling/gifting what I don't want.

For future searches, you now have two paths:

Search for things using basic terminology to find sellers who aren't super knowledgeable. So, something like "vintage kitchen cabinet". You might luck out and find a seller who just wants the thing gone, they don't know its value, and it might be a steal for you!

Search again using the specific terms you have picked up from your research. So, "jelly cabinet." This will get you in front of listing from experts, where you are likely to find a better quality item at the current market price.

That is how I found this for my kitchen, btw.

Learn the common synonyms and mispellings. Bookcase, bookshelf. Captain's desk, secretary desk.

Click on seller stores and profiles to see related items. As you research, you will start to stumble across other items and figure out your sense of taste. You will find cool shit you never knew existed. You will learn new search terms as you pick up bits of history. You will also start stumbling across online speciality sites, or local resources, like antique shops and vintage fairs. You might learn what estate sales are, or about auctions open to the public. You start developing a habit of scouting out shops and sales when you're in a new town. You put big fairs and small swap meets on your calendar. You build relationships with contemporary artists who make things you like.

My sense of style is something I've actively been refining for decades now, and it isn't just vintage tchotchkes. I do this for clothing, for the crafting I'm into, etc. Curiosity and style go hand in hand and the best part is that your eye and research chops will only improve, even if you're just window shopping.

I hope this helps!

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

63 - Laws of Gods and Men

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, child harm/abuse, descriptions of gore and violence, past traumas

Notes: Next week either you can have the Jon flashback chapter, or modern!au part 4, so let me know if you have a preference which comes first. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Lord Petyr Baelish, step forward.”

The silence through the hall felt staggering. Not even whispers were given thought as men and women alike only stared at the man in question with a narrowed glare matching nearly to every one of them. As if only then as Jon spoke, did Littlefinger realize the degree of guard surrounding the court. Up at the main table behind where you sat with Benjen beside you, was five members of what had become known as the Queen’s personal guard, all fully equipped with weaponry and behind you specifically was Theon, fully armoured. Behind Jon and downward to Sansa, Arya, and then Bran as Meera stood just off to the side away from main view but enough she could get to him if need be, did equally as armoured and ready members of the Stark household guard also remain firmly present. One of the same household guard seemed to be stood at the walls adjacent of each end of the table and more were placed throughout the room both behind the crowd and in front of it.

If somehow even more intimidating, when normally the witnesses of the smallfolk of Winter Town normally come stand and watch the proceedings of the Northern Court at the helm of their new King, were instead, men and women all dressed in only one way to interpret. Where the common people normally stood to watch, instead all around were the arrivals whom could be found in and around Winterfell or by Tormunds side. The Free Folk most involved in their new affiliation with the Northern people on a daily basis, stood as their own witness as well, if not to present a unity against what was to come.

Were you to wager, you would put gold that the front of Starks before him were all matching in their stern solidarity to the degree he did not expect. He always assumed he was the smartest man in the room, but his advantages were running thinner and thinner as the world around him seemed to twist and turn into something entirely beyond any one persons control. Things all bearing down on the real which one singular man could not always manipulate to his benefit, but it would not be an easy task to change that, nor reveal to the man himself that his house of cards had begun to fall without his knowledge.

Yet the look in his eye as he spoke presented that of a man whom begun to put the pieces together that he had walked into something he knew nothing of. “May I inquire your Grace, what this is about?”

Jon looked at him with eyes dark and yet a steady calm in his voice as it projected with unquestionable authority throughout the room. “Lord Baelish, you’ve been involved with my family for many years. Through my blood in the Starks, of my brothers and sisters to House Tully, and to my wife’s b birth, House Baratheon. Most recently, you were the reason my sister Sansa could be returned home to Winterfell safely, and for that I thank you.”

“It was my honour truly-”

Cutting him off, there was but a flash in the mans eyes which could clearly be read as something almost in an anger at being interrupted, yet blind sighted to the words coming from Jon as he continued. “But that’s not all you’ve done. And it’s those reasons you’ve been summoned to court. To answer for your crimes.” The silence in the room, one could hear near anything had a single person broke that stern quiet. In a steady tone, Littlefinger asked what crimes it was he was here to supposedly answer for, but the moment your name, in it’s entirety came out did the realization in him grow. “To answer for the crime of conspiring to murder the Queen in the North.”

He said nothing, which was smart. His eyes flickered to you, but you did not blink, breathe nor move one single bit. Biting down on your tongue as if to not even allow a twitch of your muscles peek through, he read nothing from you which gave away the nerves flowing through you. You didn’t wish for this to have come around to you, but you could not change that and you would stay at Jons side no matter how much you wished the eyes around looked anywhere else.

You had not often seen a trial within your time in Kings Landing, but in contrast, this looked far different. Taking place in the throne room, so always something grand and decorated with light shining through the windows would peek through. Two sides of seating built up like the stands of a crowd for a tourney, and in the middle of the space up by the steps was the podium. One could sit or stand, but chains were placed on their wrists attaching them to the spot. Robert would sit as judge in one seat, and one on either side always consisting of the same judges. His Hand of the King Jon Arryn on his right, and his brother, Stannis on the other. Any relevant parties to the matter would always sit off to either side of them as well, creating a sense of organization and almost ease in the way the room looked and sat.

This was not the same. He stood freely without chains in the middle of the clearing as the Northerners around sat and stood and watched with guards posted to keep him from acting out any. Not just a King and two judges, but the family remaining to Jon sat at either of his side as a symbol of a strength, or a unity not seen much in the capitol. The darker walls of Winterfell as snow and clouds surrounded made the sunlight dripping in more doused in a blueish tone, almost imposing in contrast to the brightness of the Red Keep.

Addressing both the man and room, Jon laid out the details of the charge before any questions could even be asked as if the story was brand new to him. You forced your eyes forward without room to see the nerves behind as Jon again brought up your name. “Some months ago, while attending to personal matters in Barrowton, she was kidnapped and put up in a trail of outlaws against impossible charges she had no way to defend herself against. This was part of an elaborate plan meant to result in her being found guilty, and executed by these outlaws. You’ve been brought here today, Lord Baelish, to answer to the accusation that this was an attempt to assassinate the Queen in the North, created and planned by you.”

Littlefinger looked to you, peeling them back to Jon as if he could again use that lightness in his voice as a shield where one no longer existed. “I was in the Vale for many years, your Grace. And in Kings Landing for much longer before that. How could I be responsible for an attempted murder thousands of miles away?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, my Lord.”

A smaller stand just off to the side door by the top of the hall was the only new addition. Positioned to be seen and heard by judge, accused, and witnesses alike. Being told he would be given the chance to speak, you knew out bursting was not going to be what he did. Littlefinger wasn’t so stupid to say anything at anytime and you knew he would save it all for the worst moment. Your eyes did catch however, the glance to where your mother sat with Gendry enough to the side and back that it appeared as if they were just part of the watching crowd. The moment his eyes went from Gendry, back up to you did your breathing hitch in your chest, but you refused to allow it to exhale with any shake. Sensing Arya’s watchful gaze taking in the entire scene, you dared not think what she would feel when realizing how long you hid it from her, but it would come out eventually.

Jon was smart though, where he started off. The crime to be slowly connected and revealed through almost a recounting of events until it built and built, the first to speak was, to Littlefinger no doubt, one he saw no reason to put any fear into having him speak. Seldom would such a thought occur to you, but you could not find reason to dismiss it once it found its way into your head. More on the quiet side compared to men of the North, and more well spoken but also in a kinder way he appeared without any threat, and his size would be scrutinized by those whom cared.

Littlefinger was a man whose work was deeply rooted in how things and people looked around him, so of course you saw not a scrap of worry as the first entered the hall. Asking him to state his name, you also knew Jons time as Lord Commander likely long since prepared him for this side of the man as good as his brother, turned King. “Samwell Tarly.”

Jon asked with an even tone, if he was there the night of your kidnapping, and thus Sam was let loose with Jons full trust to say what needed to be said and nothing more. It was not a coincidence that Jon had chosen Sam to relay the events start to finish, rather then Gendry. Keep him out of the focus of attention, and giving a well spoken highborn within the Nights Watch the chance to establish a trusting basis. “I was, your grace. I had met her earlier in the day before it all happened.”

Explaining the simple facts of the story, you knew you gave nothing away to him that he could read but you felt Sam just barley meeting your eyes as he talked around the details regarding the lies and mess your presence caused right away, a smoothness which none else would pick up on whom was not there to witness the hostility. Jon took advantage of the lull in Sams recounting of meeting you, knowing to establish Sams credibility, though to Sams amusement not that you nor Jon picked up on, was he asked it the same way you asked him. “What would a man of the Nights Watch be doing in Barrowton?”

Sam sensed it likely, his attention more towards the room away from Jon knowing both were aware of such details already. “Before being crowned King in the North, I first knew Jon Snow in the Nights Watch. He had been elected Lord Commander, after avenging the mutiny and murder of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.” Your eyes flickered to spot not just Maege you realized, but two familiar figures watching as well. One a mirror of her mother, and the other still just as small but just as feirce as her older sister and mother beside her. Clever too you thought, appeal even moreso your side to the North. “And after leading the Nights Watch through the night Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black with an army of wildlings.”

Again your eyes flickered, that time to the other side of the room. A situation you felt you knew nothing about, battle in and of itself fought and won by Jon and somewhere in there your father had a place. The event which led to the only reason any true salvation of your relationship with your father was made, the strange yet respecting dynamic between Stannis and Jon. Looking at the wild yet harsh gaze of Tormund, you could only wonder the life lived leaving to being on separate sides of a violent battle to being as close friends as could be, between he and Jon.

Sam continued regardless. “Our Maester had fallen ill sometime after that, and I was sent with him to the Citadel in Oldtown to both possibly begin studies to return as a replacement for Maester Aemon, and to see if I could find any helpful information on the Others and the Long Night.” The crowd was silent and serious while Littlefinger raised an eyebrow as if thinking he was surrounded by fools. “It was when I had discovered information I thought Jon should know when I learned he had become King. So I made my way into the North through Barrowton to make my way to Winterfell, when I had met the Queen. Who was there on personal business.”

Your eyes found Littlefingers as Sam continued, the details of what happened, the fires, the fight, the confrontation as you both stared at one another. He knew. He had to of always known. The way he almost raised one eyebrow in knowing, saying what was going wholey unsaid. Your eyes dared not leave his and risk flickering to Gendry, it would give it away, it would give him more fuel to add to his fire building to burn you with. You were well aware, you were not exactly a person whom lended themselves to being painted in the best of lights at times.

“She didn’t have a chance. They threw accusation after accusation that only made her look like a traitor to the memory of her late husband. They blamed her, saying she had conspired to take the King in the Norths crown from it’s rightful heir, and give it to a bastard with no claim but it was only her word against theirs. They had a story in their minds they thought was true, and there was nowhere it could go but finding her guilty.”

You hated thinking of it, the thought of it all. How much that falsehood of a creature wanted you to pay for what her demonic, twisted memories of Catelyn Stark claimed against you. It had never been about rights or crowns, it had all been a ruse to punish you for the son that never came back. It had all been to make you pay for her hatred of Jon, with your life. And worse too, you had been willing to do so then and you still would now. This plan against you alone still managed to taunt Jon with the things he grew up knowing he would never have nor be. Every freedom granted to him now, was still always being painted against him for being a bastard. It still refused to go away, even now.

“How do you know the accused?”

In truth, you were not even sure you had once appeared as if you moved in the slightest. Hidden more by the table before you, your hands were all but begging to dig into your palms. Instead tightening in the fabric of your dress almost as it to tear a whole into it just to alleviate some of this feeling. You knew why this all had to be dragged back out once more, but that did not change the fact that you hated it was about you.

Speaking with more of a passiveness you were used to from the man, it had struck you the thought if being sober made Thoros of Myr more or less insufferable. But too you sat there, thinking strikingly of what he had said. That there were no words in any language to describe the feeling existing within both of you wit what you had been able to do, and it made you somehow more uncomfortable. How much worse did you come off as you wondered, if not sober did this appear to be the form of most tolerable he could be. “He was on the small council of King Robert, I was a member of his court. Our paths crossed from time to time.”

You dared not ask yourself to which degree brothels were included in such endeavours. Beside you, Jon had not even the slightest bit of inclination towards that question appearing in his own head as he indicated to you. “How did you go from part of the Kings court to the Brotherhood Without Banners, involved in her kidnapping?”

Thoros at the least, was an honest man to an insufferable fault. Telling the same story Beric Dondarrion had told Jon, but without the ghastly slight of a man littered all over with memories of previous deaths to distract. Ned Stark, the Mountain, the Riverlands, all circling around to fighting supposedly for the people as part of you felt the bite to point out the people, the common people they claimed to fight for were included in those that night they lured you out. But what was worse, was her. The talk of whom had led them to the North and in your direction.

The memory of a woman whom died a mother to you, but whose pale eyes stared down into yours and hissed with a vitriol that she wished she had never preyed Jon survived the pox as an infant. That she wishes Robbs son had been cut out of you before you died with him, because wouldn’t that be so much easier. A living son and heir, and this fight of whom claims for what would never exist and yet you dared not trace where under your layers, a scar told the story of an unborn son whom did not survive.

A dark, growing weight in your stomach rising up your chest. The pressure placed on your lings acting as something to suffocate as the thoughts increased, as did the force within you to tell such memories to stay away. Worse still, the three Starks beside Jon having to hear of the memory of their own mother torn to shreds in an impossible magic which made her monstrous. The worst which you could imagine they would think of her final fate and yet there was no hiding from that truth.

That hateful thing walking in her visage was a lie you and her children would remember as her final part of your lives, but at least for them, their final memory of their mother wasn’t drenched in horror. They mother they parted from was alive, and loving. The one you parted from had her throat slit after watching all she had left, lay dead on the ground before her, and the anguish of that night, or the demon whom came for you, were your only options.

Lady Stoneheart was all that remained to Catelyn Stark and yet you knew hearing of her was a better final image then the true one you shared not with people. You hardly remembered a thing, you could hear voices and cries and blurs of Robb by you but nothing a memory that had any weight. But Thoros of Myr stood there recounting it all.

That time you dared not look at Littlefinger, what he felt about her you did not care. He had not the right to care, not now, not after what would happen here.

Jons voice almost startled you back into the present, your mind having drifted so far you could’ve forgotten you sat in that hall. “How did you know all this?”

He need not point the finger, more would come. Jon wanted his basis covered, no stone left unturned, as he let the vauge answer be unchallenged as it truly was honest. “I have no idea. We were told what we were told, that she got her information from someone close to her. Who that was, we didn’t know and she wasn’t a woman who gave us much room to question that. But one thing was clear, it wasn’t yourself her mind was really set on.” Commenting with a confidence that it was indeed, a violent inclination towards you, you again said nothing, nor moved. You had been a statue for this entire trial thus far, and you had not a clue when anything else would return.

You just wished for this part to be all over, you didn’t want to sit there and let Jon find justice for you, it didn’t matter. What happened then did not matter compared to the things Jon was fighting now, you knew dealing with Littlefinger had to be done, but you hated his best way was to go through you first. You wanted to leave everything of those nights, the memories they caused, the images and sounds they conjured back up, you wanted all of those to go away forever. To be picked up by the cold winds and blown so far from reach never to be seen again.

Jon had never forgotten nor forgiven almost losing you in those nights, considering how you both had found yourself parting ways, but you hated it. You wanted him to care more about things that weren’t you, but with the advantage of knowing saying it to him as such would not go over well. So you stayed still as a statue, and as silent. This was his Kingdom, he could handle attacks on those within his Kingdom as he saw fit.

The slime dripping from his voice, as Littlefinger had the audacity to speak up. “Your Grace, if I may ask the witness one question?” Formal and polite, he played it well, thus Jon gave only one rigid nod with darker watchful eyes drift from him, right over to you before jumping to Thoros. “Was this leader of yours after her death, or simply justice in whatever form that would’ve come in?”

You felt Thoros looking to you, but your eyes casted downward to the nothing of the table before you. What truly was even left of your life you ever wanted to revisit? How little of who you were wasn’t painted over by something you still felt a heavy guilt for? How much of your failures since being with him again, did Jon have to take care of in the aftermath?

Smooth was the way it was answered though, eyes flickering towards you again as Thoros spoke. “We were after justice, but in the eyes of the Lord of Light, there is no punishment for the guilty but death. In our eyes there is no half way. If half an onion is black with rot, then it’s a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil.”

Hours ticked by in your mind, in place of the minutes it truly was. You had the final nail to hammer in for what this was leading up to, but you wished you could disappear until needed and let it play out without you bearing witness to defending your honour. Perhaps you could’ve been up where you had Gilly watch the baby. Sam had grown to a boy of three and much more he was learning to talk, you could help her with him, see how well she’s done with reading on her own. You could simply hold little Eddard in your arms as he slept and focus away from what was too much about you.

You wished there was another way to seek out your defence then this, you wished there was anything else as strong that had nothing to do with you.

He hadn’t seen it coming, the things to come as the next witness was called. So far up North Littlefinger likely assumed Jons reach was limited, he assumed what information Jon had was based on what he only could guess on his own. He very distinctly, had not guessed the sheer idea that not only would he be betrayed by the people he manipulated around him, but that he had not seen coming that those he simply looked down on as lesser then could ever see through the facade he put up for himself.

Thin cloak and tunic both matching, the colours stood out more then most would have been seen wearing in this area. The fabric, the designs all looking like one whom would stand most days in the sun high in the sky rather then any style of dress and colour looking to keep what little warmth existed, tight against their person. The clasp holding together their cloak being worn like robes was in the shape of a shield. Bronze in colour and black iron studs sitting within the middle. Were one to look closer, the markings surrounding the edges could be seen in the shape of runes.

Yet what stood out most was not the man himself, but the hardly concealed look crawling upon Littlefingers face as he approached the stand. As all were within formalities, he was asked to state his name. “Ser Yohn Royce of the Vale, Lord of Runestone.”

They acted with nothing but stern formality, as if this winding mystery had not started with him. Jon asking with his head gesturing somewhat towards the middle of the hall. “Do you know this man?”

The look shared between Ser Royce and Littlefinger was what you could call unique. A knowing on one yet the confusion of the other, the situations had flipped and the confused was now with no understanding when he once thought he surely held all of the cards. But Ser Royce did not linger, losing back towards Jon. “I do. Lord Petyr Baelish, widower of the late Lysa Arryn.”

Jons face remained neutral, nothing smug or condescending or even holding a single hint that Jon knew far more about what he was to say then any other. “And what do you know of his crimes?”

If you were to glance beyond Jons person to Sansa, you would’ve seen her blue eyes unblinking as she stared at him. Her final parting times from the man she had still been masquerading as Alyane Stone and was told to see him as little more then a useful fool to hide her away in the Vale once she let the truth be known. In what had been told of her the eve before, the details of how Jon came to any of these conclusions were not explained.

He rightfully knew, letting her sit in on this trial, learning most of the how and what for herself would be good enough to allow her the freedom to choose what to believe. And as Ser Royce spoke, you and Jon both knew that this was not nearly the worst of the truth. “I cannot speak in absolutes of his guilt, but I can relay the details of what’s led me to my suspicions.”

It was interesting as he spoke, at least to you. The simple fact that he had not given the identity of the confidant whose raven accidentally was brought to him and not Littlefinger. You wondered why not, if he was here to give the details of what he found, why not speak it. Why keep it in the shadows, and the moment your eyes flickered to Littlefinger, it seemed he sensed the same thing.

Ser Royce was nothing if not a well spoken man, a bit on the blunt side at times but never rude nor abrasive over the subjects. A squire gave him a raven meant for Lord Baelish, with the speakings of rumours far North written as the whispering of a spy. Speaking that Jon had married you the night returning from Dragonstone, and that there had been no time for interference on that matter. That Littlefinger seemed to hold an interest in the King and Queen in the North yes, but more specifically, the interest was held greatly in discussing you but he at the time did not know why.

Seeking more information, he had uncovered a great deal of twisting and turnings of people within the North and Winterfell which were all connected to this web of spies tying back to Littlefinger, and much of it, was about you. What you did, where you were, who you spoke to, but that it did not last long. Soon after that was he looked into what he had stumbled across, had Littlefinger left ever so briefly on what he called business matters.

It needn’t be said that the timeline already the North both knew and had been established here today, that the time Littlefinger had briefly left the Vale did it soon align up with the incident in Barrowton. Sansa’s eyes caught Littlefinger, whom failed at any imploring looks to get her to have faith. Her eyes flickered from himself, over to your still yet watchful eyes on Ser Royce, did more of something angering and unsettled filter within her blood.

Turning now more towards the crowd before him, did the story shift slightly, shifting into territory that Jon knew, Littlefinger wished for him to think was his only conclusion for this trial. “After that, I had begun correspondence with the King in the North as to attempt to uncover this suspicious plot surrounding Lord Baelish.”

Speaking up suddenly, Arya had asked the pressing question which she knew the crowd would wonder themselves. To Jon and Sansa both that answer was easy, but you knew he was quick enough to sense not everyone could make that connection right on their own. “Why? You didn’t know him at all, or his wife. Why risk helping him?”

Ser Royce kept eye contact with her, and almost a flicker of familiarity came across his face of memories long since passed. “I knew your father, Lord Eddard Stark. He was sent to the Vale as a young lad to serve as a ward to the late Jon Arryn, along with Robert Baratheon. Half of his life they were raised within the walls of the Eyrie, and I watched both grow from boys before going off to live their lives as men. Now both are gone, and what sort of man would I be if I didn’t do whatever I could do help those they left behind.”

All three of you he looked towards, yourself, Jon and Sansa but said little on the matter of specifics. It spoke for itself, at least the general idea of it spoke for itself. Those details, like much in this trial, Jon knew not to throw out all at once and overwhelm with too much. Too much he had said the night before to you, meant that he could only defend himself against so much at once and lies or not, Littlefinger had every right to defend against what he was accused of.

“There was little reason the King could find on his own for why such events in Barrowton would have occurred, but little I could do from so far while on my own. All we could know for sure, was that Lord Baelish found interest in any instability to be found and exploited between the King and Queen.” Looking with a distaste seen only within the shining of his eyes did Lord Royce state almost to the man directly. “His interest in her specifically, seemed to be only matched by his interest in Lady Sansa.”

Whispers spoke through out without any doubt that time, and the peeling of eyes from Ser Royce to Sansa herself finally settled on Jon, but found something only giving the man unease. A darker look sat in Jons eyes as his face was both seething yet appearing as calm as he could be. As your eyes drifted enough to catch Sansa’s, you recognized the look. A shame not hers yet with nowhere to go but feel as if she was responsible for a grown mans ill desires. But he was not done, and the guilt she felt you realized would only be matched once more by the implication about to be relayed.

“I only have my word of what I speak of his character, and yet I strongly believe there is reason to not doubt his intentions are not honourable.”

You had last seen him a small boy in Kings Landing. Always kept by the close watch of Lysa and an uncanny lack of independence for even a boy of eight. She sheltered Robin from the world, and thus he held no idea how to behave in the real one. His septa must have had been blessed with the power of patience to handle him as much as she did with not a hint of fuss.

But he was a troubled boy. Ill and sickly but always with tantrums and outbursts. Not a clue how to behave and Lysa only seemed to make it worse. There had been days you would walk into the small council chambers to see Lord Arryn there exceptionally early and you could hardly blame him. Sometimes if one wandered close to the tower of the Hand, Robins yelling could be heard and Lysa would do nothing to make him stop. Working in such an environment must have been grating on the poor man.

Some days you would assist in his work, just to give him company that did not shout or cry insistently throughout the day. But this, was something not even your most frustrated thoughts on the petulant boy had come close to. “Lord Baelish had begun giving the boy sweetmilk to sleep. Every night given to him to calm his outbursts, but when the Maester had brought it up to me he seemed concerned. Telling me that when he had questioned Lord Baelish on the matter, he had begun sending another to request it for him, as if to avoid what he was not willing to answer.”

Before anything could be said, Jon had looked to the crowd with much more distinct of a distrust on his face to what he seemed to understand was coming. “Maester Wolkan, do you know why this would be concerning?”

The answer was unsettled to most in the room, despite how little Littlefinger reacted in anyway with dark eyes now looking up towards Jon, whom only stared back with something hardly one could lie and say was not a glare as Wolkan spoke. “Adding drops of sweetwine to milk can replicate the effects of essence of nightshade, help soothe the nerves and give the drinker an easy dreamless sleep. But adding too much of it, or using it everyday over time will cause it to build up in a mans blood. Act almost as a poison, giving the user a very slow death which to many, would appear as a natural illness.”

You knew what such a thing implied, but part of you desperately did not wish too. Someone who could look at a child and only see it as something in their way, as something to be disposed of once it was an inconvenience to their plans. Desperate you suddenly felt as it flipped in your stomach, to stay seated and remain at Jons side.

Growing however was something boiling up inside of you, as if the simple fact that he was not within your sights worried you. As if Littlefingers presence within Winterfell, knowing what he wanted and would try to do to get what he wants, you felt what you refused to yet acknowledge was panic. He was fine, you had seen him not long ago and he was fine. But wouldn’t it be easier of course to get rid of you, if you didn’t have a son any longer to fight for-

Your heart almost stopped and started as fast as it pounded now. Hands tensed further and further without your notice did your nails dig enough into their wrappings that the fabric begun to slowly seep into a red covering the usual white tints. It was harder afterall to separate a man and wife when they had a child between them. But you sat, ignoring the ever so brief look of Jon towards you with a narrowing expression of worry towards your unusually stiff demeanour.

But the thoughts refused to go away, you couldn’t even hear what was being said in the court. What if it was you it was being given too, and your son fed from you and- your blink nearly allowed the tears you didn’t notice were forming to come out. Watering behind your eyes that few could see from where you sat. As soon as the words passed through your mind you felt that guilt as if you did it yourself. If something happened to the baby, that Jon would blame you.

Robin would be thirteen by now, only a year younger then-

“They were boys.”

No one but you could hear, the echo of Robbs voice through the halls in Riverrun as Willem and Martyn Lannister were laid out on a sheet before you both in the middle of the night. It did not matter what age or innocence those boys held, men with enough hate or evil in their hearts would be willing to do anything to those whom they could not see as worthy of their life.

The bright green eyes your son held, the same green eyes that were seen the day you finally met your baby sister, the same which looked up to you with a little smile held by a young girl whom did not understand her baby girl would never get the life she dreamed for her. The girl whom stood there watching the gold cloaks murder that little baby right in the middle of-

It was nothing proper of you, but you could not care to think how it looked as whispers were spoken amongst the crowd the second you pushed from your seat. The guard by the door into the corridor opening and closed it swiftly without any fuss as the halls remained rather empty, those whom could spare their work to watch the spectacle did so.

But one way, then another, then the steps and up through the door almost throwing it open before you realized your lungs ached as they heaved for air. Gillys head shot up in a startle along with little Sam in her lap, your naming coming from her in a breathless worry, “Is everything alright?”

You didn’t answer, your eyes found the little bassinet closer to the fire and dropped to you knees to seek out his level sat down on the chair. Eyes not yet open but a slumbering face now twisting as he slowly woke up with a grumble and small hints of cries for someone having done so. One hand reaching up to run over his head with a gentle shush, he seemed to recognize your voice but the upset cries still creeped out. As soon as his little arms fought from his swaddle out to you did you gently pick him up, moving to stand as you held him close against you.

Turning to press your lips to the top of his head with soothing words meaning very little as you eased him from being upset into recognizing it was only you, and everything was alright. Only then, did you notice your surroundings, everything was alright. He moved to hide in your neck with a now muffled cry in distress as he no doubt had picked up on yours. But he was alright, nothing looked wrong nothing was wrong but yet you stood with your head dizzy at the whirlwind around you.

Gilly had gently put little Sam down, telling him to go play as she slowly approached you from behind, your name coming from her quiet tone, but your eyes closed you had not the energy yet willing to acknowledge any that was not him. The noise in your head too loud, and the warmth behind your face stung at your eyes without the ability to hide them when you inevitably opened them to the room once more.

Slowly her voice finally reached your hearing as she called to your name once more. “Is it over? What happened?” You appreciated her concern, but gentle rocking to ease calm into little Eddard as you needed it to return to you, you shook your head.

Turning only to press your lips against his head, did you whisper, keeping him cradled close against you. “I-” Do you lie? What explanation could make sense of such unbecoming and erratic behaviour? It did not come up as smooth as some lies go down, but you forced it out in a strained mutter all the same. “I just needed to check on him is all. I shouldn’t be away from him for so long.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you felt thankful at Gilly’s lack of hesitation to rest a comforting hand on your back, leaning more to try and speak closer to you directly then from behind, but without pushing you. The change of subject almost seemed odd at first to what of you could hear her through the blood rushing rapidly in your veins. “I’ve never been away from Sam before.” Your head barley tilted to the side to indicate you heard her. “From the day he was born, I’ve never been without him. I’ve never been away from his side for more then a few minutes, really. I couldn’t imagine having to be away from my son for so long right after he was born.”

The sensation of racing in your heart begun to settle, the realization that not every facet of your life was dictated by others, that not everything would be lost to you the way it once was in such blood. Muttering as you looked down at little Eddard, now awake but snuggling into where he lay at your neck and shoulders, a warmth only then coming through you to feel any manner of rational again. “I was apart from him for hours after he was born.”

Slowly moving to sit in the seat, Gilly had quickly moved the bassinet to the ground as she held the back of the chair. Shifting the baby to rest down in your arms, leaning over to keep his bright eyes looking up at you as you murmured to continue. “I only had him for three hours, I had only fed him once when..” Gilly nodded from what you could see from the side of your vision, she didn’t force you to say it. “I was away from him for hours right after he was born. I was terrified by the time I’d get back to him it would be too late.”

Hands trying to reach up to grasp at either yours or what he could catch of strands of your hair did a little laugh crack out, along with the smile matching on his which no doubt would grow up to look exactly like Jons. “He adores you, I don’t think you have to worry about not protecting him just because you sometimes can’t be with him all day.”

Shaking your head, your smile melted into something tender, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to look away from him as you could continue to see he was as healthy has he was this morning, as he was the day before and the day before that. Everywhere in your life you felt as if you could see the bodies of dead children follow you, their memories haunting you just like the blood soaking Robbs hand that was the last of a son you’d never know was within your sights.

Already things would come for you, for all of you when the winter storms breached the Wall, but as you sat there part of you could only consider, if his plan here worked, whatever it truly was, would he have hurt your son? Would he have harmed Jon? Your life was one thing, theirs was far more precious to you. Little hands drew your attention, a laugh leaving you despite the thoughts swimming in your head. Looking up, you nodded over to a shall sitting across a chair belong to Gilly, “Would you mind? He needs to be fed and-”

A small smile came over her, a knowing you rarely felt in mothers around you it seemed. “Of course.” Coming back over as soon as she grabbed it, you had already undid the easy laces to the front of your dress, a surprised noise leaving you as she made herself comfortable wrapping it around you. “I was out there for months with little Sam, I got used to covering the two of us quick.”

Finding a seat as you muttered a thank you, and an internal one to the Mother for gracing you with a son that had not a single issue with latching, you almost felt a relaxing come across your bones. The paranoia slowly leaving you, knowing you fed him with nothing but your milk and monsters like Littlefinger had not tainted that. Glancing up, Gilly had taken a seat opposite of you by the fire, something on her mind. “You can say whatever it is you want to say, Gilly.”

“Sorry, sometimes I remember who you are and that I’m supposed to be proper around you.” A smile crossed your lips as you glanced up to her and back down to the baby telling her that you much preferred she not treat you that way it seemed to put her more comfortably at ease. “He’s doing all this to protect you.” Your brow raised in question. “Jon. I mean he wants to protect his whole family, but he’s doing this mostly to protect you. When he and Sam think they’re alone, all Jon does is talk about you, that hes angry you came back and the world won’t leave you and him be.”

In your heart you knew that, but something flipped in your chest at hearing someone else say it with ease, the way people with ease would comment on how Robb felt about you. If you looked closer, you might be able to see traces of a scar haunting you of a son that never was, but before that was the small sight of the real one feeding from your breast. How much you’d do anything to protect him and Jon, but sometimes it was easy to forget. That Jon didn’t just want to protect his son, that people wanted to protect you.

Benjen had looked for you himself to protect you, he chose that on his own. Jon risked everything with a newborn with him to find you before you were taken away from him. And then he comes home, and watches as a plan unfolds around his brother and sisters that means to separate you from him, and put your life in danger once more.

Your voice was quiet as you all but murmured in the air between you and Gilly. “All I started to think of down there was how painful it would be for Jon to lose all of this now, the way it hurt me to lose Robb that night. I couldn’t sit there and relive all of that for the sake of justice because all suddenly could think was how it would feel to put Jon through what I went though.” Eyes glancing to the fire, your tone lowered just a pinch. “While I’m worried about it, he’s the one actually trying to stop it, trying to prevent it. It’s just...not easy accepting that.”

Gilly only commented that it wasn’t easy accepting that Sam sent her away once trying to protect her. “When the other wildlings came, Sam thought I was dead. It took me days to get back to Castle Black and once I saw him again all I cared about was that we were together. It didn’t matter why I was upset before, or he was angry with himself for it.” Asking gently when you got there, her answer almost took you by surprise. “The night the Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black. Part of me still wonders if Sam would’ve stood and fought as much as he did that night if he still thought we were dead. That protecting me gave him a reason to fight even though he always tried to claim he wasn’t good at it.”

“Well, he’s gotten you this far.” Gilly only came back saying that Jon had done the same for you. It almost felt nice, a mutual understanding of having such a strange and difficult to explain love for someone that doesn’t always look like the right thing to others. Sam did the things he did to protect her and you didn’t look at him as if he was wrong for it.

But Jon was doing this for you, and you had every faith in him he could. But as you sat there, allowing the time to pass not focusing on what could possibly be said down in the hall, you considered one more thing. Sam had sent Gilly away to protect her and she made her way back to him, Jon wanted to protect you from Littlefinger, but maybe it was your turn to make your way back to Jon.

Though, you had moreso it seemed, meant that in a metaphorical sense.

The guilt had been established. No trial needed, no public proceedings. Barbrey Dustin had sat in that room and confessed every single detail without holding back. But sitting there now, it was obvious to Jon even moreso then that day, the shame which had grown within her for such actions. He did not wish to condemn her as an evil woman, and now more then ever she had begun to prove him right. It did not take away what she already did, but she had been upfront.

Littlefinger had any and every chance to speak for himself the truth, and he took not one of such opportunities. Already he had betrayal in Ser Royce long before now, and to thus sit here and be stripped down by a woman whom had spied for him the horrific details of what she knew.

Once Jon gave her the freedom to speak, off she had went. As if the moment her mouth opened the air never run out. Rarely needing to interject, Jon had only asked her why it was she never had any instructions from him during the year after the night at the Twins regarding you, if she had known you were alive. And it only served to add onto the falling image he still stood with. “Until Roose had made the move to Winterfell, only a small garrison of his men knew she was alive. I never informed Lord Baelish of the information.”

“Why?”

Glancing back to Jon then the crowd, she avoided Littlefingers narrowed gaze as if she cared not to implore herself to him but people of her own kind, that perhaps all was not lost for her. Thinking to herself only a moment or two, did she find something solemn in her tone. “I was shown the extent of her wounds, then Roose informed me she was alive. I have seen my fair share of blood in my life, but..nothing ever quite like that. Most of you can imagine I am not a woman easily shocked, but that sight.” Looking away for a moment before continuing, Jon knew the feeling of seeing it. Very few had.

He could at any point imagine it perfectly, as in front of his eyes as the feverish dream showed him the blood you laid and died in. Not his men, his sisters, nor anyone could imagine what looking at such a sight felt inside. For as many as littered his own chest, the wounds of knives in Jon were clean. One stab then the next. You had been cut open all it had reminded Jon of was that day they found the direwolves, and seeing the dead stag laying out with its stomach pooled out onto the rotting ground.

“It isn’t an easy thing. Seeing that sort of violence on the woman you, yourself had called a Queen. Had I told Lord Baelish, well I could not imagine what sort of death would come to follow after what she had already returned from. Despite everything I had and would go on to do, still I knew that not even she deserved whatever that would be. So I withheld it from him.”

It was the first she had spoken, and the first Jon sensed any amount of rising troubled emotion in his little sister as Sansa spoke up. A doubt in her tone, but eyes set centre on Littlefinger whom was doing what Jon assumed, was his best to pretend he was not losing faith. “Lady Barbrey, I have a question for you.” Turning a little in suprise, but she gave every ounce of respect if somehow more then previous as she faced the crowd. An act of playing along or not Jon knew it was convincing to watch. “Why go through him? If you were to tell someone she was alive, by then the North was under Roose Boltons control, and he answered to Tywin Lannister. Why would you fear going through Lord Baelish when all he would do is bring that information to the Lannisters?”

Littlefinger ever so slightly tilted his head at Sansa, a curiosity in the question but the moment they slid to the right, landing on Jon did that curiosity once more die. Going through all of these events, telling a story Jon knew you didn’t wish to be public all for your saftey, and the pain of reliving such things and fears having driven you from the hall itself as Jon knew he couldn’t go after you. Theon had silently left, only to return with the whisper of where you had gone and were with, being the only thing letting Jon even somewhat relax.

But to add onto all of that, the last thing he was willing to tolerate was Littlefinger still looking at Sansa as if he had the right to expect her on his side. As if planning once more how to use his advantage as a grown man to manipulate a teenage girl back onto his side. He had wanted to treat her as a woman when he had been forcing her closer and closer to that since she was only a girl of thirteen. But as eyes met, Jon knew Littlefinger likely still felt the sensation of being slammed against the wall and the pressure around his throat the only thing sparing him being Jons own self control.

Barbrey Dustin however, answered Sansa’s question with more fuel to throw onto the fire that was his losing battle of having a single Stark left on his side. “Lord Tywins instructions to Roose detailed the murder of the King and Queen in the North. When Lord Baelish had used me to facilitate this arrangement between the Crown and the North, he was the one who insisted on the importance of her death in particular. That if all else failed there was still the chance to defeat King Robb in battle, but that under no circumstances, could the Queen be allowed to live.” Head rose high now, she kept her eyes on Jon and the Starks beside him. “He had painted the situation as if her death was more important then King Robb’s himself. Learning she was alive when I first saw her, I couldn’t grasp why it was so important to him. But something of the situation felt strange to me, so I kept it to myself.”

Interrupting before any could continue, Jons voice projected throughout the hall. “My lady, you told me he never gave you any orders until after I reclaimed Winterfell. What had occurred which made you decide to listen to him if you already didn’t think you could trust him?”

The truth she told was as she confessed to him. That the act of refusing to give up to the Lannisters that you were alive, had in turn been the act which forced Barbrey Dustin back into Littlefingers control. Now he had leverage over her knowing she kept that from him, and finding out that you were alive and once again within a position of relative power, meant that instead of having her killed for keeping that information from him, she was going to help him instead.

Spy for him on you, on Jon by proxy. And she followed his every instruction which led you to Moat Cailin. Where Littlefinger had been relying on the perceived bloodlust of the new leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners to kill you in a manner which left little trace back to him.

If the story wasn’t damning enough, there was nothing but a rising wave of anger once more through the watchers in the hall as she read out one by one each copy of the ravens sent between she and Littlefinger. It had not been a bluff when Jon told her that he had already seen every letter sent and received by her from within his walls.

Sparing a glance to his side, Jon found Brans gaze drifting towards him. A raise of his little brothers eyebrow, he knew the question, but Jon wouldn’t act yet. He had enough to say Littlefinger was guilty of the attempt on your life and Jon knew he would need no more justification to take his head for it in his people’s eyes. Not the whole tale, but there was something he had to do first.

You had run off, and Jon needed to check on you, he needed to make sure you were alright, and he needed to tell you that you didn’t have to do this, you did not have to say what you knew and he and Bran would understand. Standing from his seat all eyes turned to Jon without hesitation as his voice projected through the hall. “We’ll stop here for now. Give us,” Gesturing to his siblings beside him first then to Littlefinger. “And Lord Baelish time to consider the evidence so far. We’ll continue when I return.”

People everyone stood up, moving about and out the hall as the guards surrounding Littlefinger indicted he was to stay right where he was, and a failure Jon noticed, to catch Sansa’s eye as she stood as well. “Jon-”

Turning to her, Jons voice was set and firm in more of something akin to a whisper towards her. “You don’t need to make your mind up right now, the trial isn’t over.” Looking to Arya he nodded for her to come over. “I don’t want you, any of you alone in the room with you. Take Bran, and go somewhere else for a while, all of you. Until this is over I won’t have any of you anywhere near him.”

A glare came easy from Arya as she looked over to him, a mutter matching Jons low one. “What do you think he’s going to do?” But Jon knew the answer.

“He’s not going to do anything. It’s what he’ll say I’m worried about.”

Some time had passed as the baby was fed. You now resting him back down, a hand still on him watching his bright eyes finally lull asleep when the door opened. A much more wild and on edge Jon firmly closed the door behind him, either ignoring or more likely not even seeing Gilly in the room did Jon come over to you.

The second your body turned in his direction, Jon grabbed you and pulled you into his front. A hand holding at your hip while the other cupped your cheek, thumb running over the skin as he leaned down with his eyes dark and yet urgent. “Are you alright?” Nodding yes, Jon leaned in more narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

Again you nodded, your hands resting high on his chest and by his shoulders more. “I am. I’m sorry I ran out that way, I couldn’t-”

Cutting you off, Jon let the hand on your cheek drift to rake through your hair. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you sit through all that.” Gently muttering his name, Jon pressed onward anyways. “I didn’t want to hide you away, I wanted him to see you, see the woman he tried to take from me-”

“Jon.” Hands reaching up, you cupped both sides of his face, the scratching of the facial hair against the wrappings of your hands would’ve felt soothing were they bare palms against the coarseness. “I just came to check on him, he needed to be fed anyways.” He knew you were downplaying it, but too could Jon sense the tension had been gone for at least a little while in your muscles. “You know I’m starting to wonder how you put up with this.” Asking with what, your answer pulled a laugh from him immediately. “Put up with me, I mean.”

Nudging your nose with his, he muttered close that you felt his warm breath dance across your skin. “Someone has to.” Cupping the back of your neck, Jon tilted your head down to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands slipping to his shoulders as he allowed you to pull back enough to meet his eyes. “He betrayed you and my father once, he tried to have you killed, and now he’s trying to tear you away from me to do who knows what. I know you don’t like it, but I have to do this. I won’t let him take you from me, in any way. Neither of us will.”

His head gesturing down to the now slumbering bundle, did you smile. A handsome one once more graced Jons face watching you. “I’m ready.” Brows narrowing, you both knew he meant to ask for a certain. “I promise. You’re doing what you need to to protect your family, but you’re all my family now too. I have to do the same.”

Murmuring your name, Jon ran a hand soothingly down your hair at the back of your head, “You don’t have to do this, darling. I have enough on him without putting you in the middle of it like that.”

Nodding, your eyes did not have a single flash of anything which was not a certainty. “I’m sure. You’re protecting me, let me help you. He won’t be able to even attempt talking his way out of this, you know he won’t. Let me do this, and we finish this together.” Asking gently why the sudden change of heart, you felt a melting in your bones almost compel you to sink into his warmth, forcing yourself to stay at a distance, meeting his eyes so he knew you were no longer in doubt. “The damage was already done, I may as well put it to good use.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jon pulled your hands from him to hold in front of you both, the wrappings more red then before. As if switching from night and day did the softness leave Jons eyes, as they darkened with a concern. “What happened?” He didn’t even let a second pass before he came to the answer on his own. “I’ll clean and wrap them, but you’re wearing gloves this time.”

You didn’t argue, Jon sitting you back down in the seat as he kneeled on the ground to get a better level to work at your hands. Palms facing up on your knees, for such large and rough hands in feeling, Jon always worked away on yours with such a feather light touch. “Do Arya and Sansa know?” Shaking his head, you let out a deep sigh. “Not an easy way to learn about it.”

Jon didn’t waver in his work, nor even allow himself to be distracted. “I never knew until the night you saw it. I was at Castle Black, and all I had was a letter from Robb saying Bran woke up. Told me he’d never walk again, but nothing about what happened.”

Perhaps in another life you wouldn’t have been so confident speaking for him, but it came out as natural as the image in your head appeared. “He knew you’d come back. Taken your vows or not, he knew you’d come back if he told you what happened.” Affirming he would’ve, you knew that made three times he had tried to do so. “I’m starting to think the gods were trying to tell you something.” Asking what, you had made him pause his work at the gentle way you said it. “That you didn’t deserve to think you didn’t have a place here anymore.”

Only a moment in waiting did Jon let a beat pass, before a small huff left him, returning to now wrapping the left hand first. Low he rasped, “My place is here with you.” Flickering his eyes up, the wide grey shined at you in a boyish sort of charm. If a tease existed on your tongue, Jon watched you swallow it back down. Not even needing to look as he wrapped your right hand, “I’m protecting them too. My sisters, my brother, my son, but I’m here because I need to protect you. Because you won’t do it yourself. Why I never should’ve left, I’ve always been the one to stop you from getting into trouble.”

Honestly, you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, a true jest dry in nature. “So why have I been in more trouble since marrying you?”

It was unfair, he was so much quicker then you were at this sort of thing, he didn’t even need to let enough time to blink skip by before he snarked back, “I think you just like the punishment.” His name leaving your lips in a hiss knowing Gilly could’ve easily heard that, but Jon rose his head with that smirk so handsome across his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You had no defence, and he was smug knowing it. He truly must not have cared, cupping the back of your neck, Jon brought you to his lips. His other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, tilting you to the angle so much better for him the way you both sat. Keeping you pressed to his kiss, he was soft and guiding, kissing you deeply but with a slowness that made it somehow as chaste as it was passionate. Almost too much so for someone else being in the room, but he tilted your head to kiss you more regardless the second you even thought about pulling away.

A tingling left on your lips as he let his teeth graze on your bottom one, almost teasing you with deepening his kiss in a way he wouldn’t so brazenly out in the open as such. The second your lips left his, Jon had barley even allowed his eyes to open to see yours still shut as if in a daze when he pushed forward. Connecting you right back, his kiss so much deeper, so much more demanding right away as your hands dug into his shoulders, him keeping your face in his hands to steal every inch of breath in your lungs, gifted right into his mouth along with such small sounds of need bouncing around in your chest.

One kiss, then another, then another before finally Jon had to be the one to tear himself from your lips, turning you head down once again to leave one at your forehead and resting against it. Your murmur was light in his ear as your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “None of this will make our lives any easier.”

Jons rasp was as deep as it was comforting. “No. But they won’t be so complicated anymore. We can focus on what really matters.” The audacity Jon had to lean back to let his eyes drag down to your stomach, breaking out into a grin as you tried to pull away hiding a flustered grin. “We finish this today, and it’s over. I promise.”

Leaning in, your kiss was far more tender and light then his was. Not in need but almost an appreciation for the love he never wavered in showing no matter what direction your spiralling mind could take him in at any moment. Speaking against them, you felt by the tightness of his hand on the back of your neck that Jon was tempting pulling you back into his kiss each word you said. “I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon brushed his nose against yours barley letting you nudge back before pulling back. Hands lifting you to your feet, he only looked down at you for one moment before grasping at the laces of the front of your dress, tightening them with furrowed brows, as if even the idea of temptation of how it made you look made him annoyed. If it was with the idea that other men would notice how loose it was around your chest or if it was because it would be that loose right beside him and couldn’t have anything be done about it that annoyed him.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a kiss to little Eddards forehead, whispering only enough you and him could hear. “Don’t nap too long. I need time with your mother tonight.” Only hesitating for half of a second Jon grin adding, “Still need to make you a sister.”

Were Gilly not in the room you’d have called his name in a fluster, but your wide eyes and embarrassed smile said it all for him no doubt. Both making your way back down, Jons hand pressed firmly into your lower back each step did you ask, “Who else still needs to speak?”

Shaking his head a little bit, Jon answered with more of an authority falling back into his tone naturally the closer you both got to the meeting hall. “Only you.” Nodding, you both arrived, clearly everyone was waiting inside for the trial to commence once more, the guards alone on the other side of the closed doors as you both stood there. Turning you in his arms, Jon cupped your cheek, holding at your hip in the other, simply allowing himself not to care of the guards watching his softness with you. “Give me a bit, when the doors open, it’ll be your turn. Are you ready?”

Exhaling shakily, your hands rested on his waist as you shook your head. “No, but it’s like you said. We end this now.” Pulling you back in, his kiss that time was much deeper, yet more urgent before pulling away. Looking you over with wide eyes, Jon swallowed down the rest of such raw need of many desires as his expression steeled over. Nodding for the guards to let him through, you could only stand out there.

Waiting for them to open, you had confronted the memory of Catelyn Stark in a trial of your own with no hesitation. This was not your trial nor your death on the option of the chopping block, you would not allow yourself to let the fear talk you out of it now. Not with what you were about to say, and how few anyone in that room could guess what that would be.

No doubt, Littlefinger had expected once the trial begun once more as Jon sat down, that he would finally be given his chance. A man such as him you knew would’ve spent the entire duration of the break between coming up with the right words to convince even one person. But when Jon had called for the next witness and the doors opened, never more was there such a distinct apprehension, and perhaps even fear which flashed before his eyes as it was you who walked into the hall, and up to the small podium.

You had felt fear before, but meeting his eyes, you too could see one person specifically up at the table on Jons side. Jon did the rest of this without fear to protect you, it was your turn to return the favour. If there was only one slip, it was the simple one noted by some, that the King in the North had been polite, yet stern and proper this whole time but was just the slightest bit softer spoken with just the softer matching eyes looking to you as he only ever addressed you by your first name.

If that was Jons only slip, then you knew you could not disappoint him this time.

Asking how it was you knew the accused, you only looked to him for as long as it took for Littlefingers eyes to narrow in question at you, before you turned back to Jon. Collected you hoped it was, and steady without sounding like you were forcing it. “I’ve known him since I was a twelve, he sat at the small council in Kings Landing with my father, and later myself when I begun sitting in on such meetings as well.”

Jon had the questions he needed to establish, but with less demand in the way he spoke to you compared to anyone else. “Did he ever give you a reason to think he’d betray your trust?”

Again, your eyes looked to his, and then back at Jons. As if the familiarity of the grey could overpower the beating in your heart. “Yes. More then once.” Some whispers begun, only to be washed away into silence as with but a single glance to the crowd in disapproval did they all grasp the message their King was telling them. That this was not the time to gossip or to stop paying attention. “The first was in Kings Landing, during the time your father was serving as Robert Baratheon’s Hand of the King.”

Waiting only long enough for Jon to gently nod at you with a gentle look did you know he was prompting you to speak it in your own words in your time. He knew the questions to ask to guide you to the conclusion you both knew was coming. And Jon too knew the closer to that he could get you to, the more confident you would grow to say it on your own. He just needed to help you get there first.

Speaking clearly, you would glance ever so briefly at Arya and Sansa, the details of all this mostly lost on them as only unaware girls at the time of the events before it all crumbled around them in one single day. “King Robert was dying, and your father and I had uncovered the truth that his children and heir were not actually his, and he had not known it. Both of us knew once he was gone, that Cersei Lannister would attempt to force Prince Joffery onto the throne knowing he was not Robert’s rightful heir, and that she would use force against us if necessary.”

Dragging your eyes over to him, the single brow raised did not even anger you as perhaps once his attempts may have. He assumed this trial was still about you, afterall. But you didn’t care about that, what he had done and tried to do to you. You cared about what he would do once he got what he wanted. With you out of his way entirely, where would he stop? Not just with you, not with your son, and certainly would not stop before trying to move Jon from his path as well.

Jon was doing this to protect his siblings, and to protect you and the case he had created was well put together enough none in this room would object to Littlefinger being sentenced to death. But you were here for Jon, he was your purpose and so you would erase any spec of doubt left within the air and force it gone forever. You were to leave no stone unturned, and no room to ever give a single person doubt of Jons choice.

“Lord Baelish assured Lord Stark and myself that the City Watch would be on our side, sworn to defend the Kings peace. But we stood in the throne room, and realized he had done the exact opposite.” Darker and darker the colour in your eyes grew as did the tightening in your heart at the sight and memory swirling of a last time you then had not known. “It wasn’t until the City Watch had murdered the remainder of the Stark household guard, one held a knife to my throat and Littlefinger holding a knife to Lord Stark’s did we understand he never intended to help us.”

“I did warn you not to trust me.”

You ignored the whispers, you ignored the looks any gave to one another or to you or to Littlefinger. You simply stomped over whatever explanation he’d no doubt give again to pile against him this time. “Lord Baelish purposely betrayed us knowing it would lead to Ned Stark’s death, hoping it would lead me to mine. During the war, when Catelyn Stark had gone to the Stormlands to negotiate peace with Renly Baratheon, Lord Baelish approached her. Telling her lies that he never betrayed us, telling her lies that Arya was safe in the captiol when none had heard from her, and offered to arrange sending home the bones of a man he helped lead to his death to manipulate Lady Catelyn in freeing Ser Jaime Lannister in hopes her daughters would be returned to her. When he knew without any doubt, they did not have Arya, and they would never give Sansa up.”

It was strange, that fear you felt no longer within your chest. As if knowing all you knew, and trusting that the man you loved would keep you safe, you felt nothing about the way Littlefinger looked to you as if daring to say it. You knew too what he may say to you in return, but he had not a clue what sort of place he had come to. Your eyes barley tore from him at the behest of Jons voice asking you in a more lulling tone then he would’ve others, “The crime he committed was against your life and you’ve established he has reasons to do it. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Jon was giving you that one last chance to tell him you couldn’t do it, but the brightness in them and the warmth radiating into you was only watched as your eyes flickered to Bran. Your hands flexing under the material of your gloves, you felt the sting of the blade as you looked at him. Were one to not focus, still he could’ve been mistaken for a boy, the boy you thought you’d never seen again who did not yet know the danger of the world around him.

Your voice was steady, as you met Jons gaze before turning to address the court. “There is nothing I could add to the case which the King has already presented today, but there is one thing which has not been answered. Why.” Those up on the stand here had seldom found reason or willingness to address him so directly, but your lack of fear in doing so, almost seemed to put him on edge. “Lord Baelish, you knew there was a chance the Lannisters may have traded Ned Stark’s life in exchange for peace with the North, but you knew there was no negotiating with Stannis Baratheon once he had chosen to fight against Joffery’s claim. That he was not a man to surrender in exchange to free me from being a prisoner. When you betrayed myself and Ned Stark that day, if you only had one plan which you hoped would work, is that I without any doubt would’ve been executed for a treason we both knew was false.”

If you listened closely, the sounds of the strings was heard through the halls in an echo only to you, but still you spoke over it. You pushed passed it knowing lingering on just that pain was not where this belonged. “You later had hoped the threat I posed to you was gone the night the Freys betrayed Robb Stark and I at the Twins. And when you heard I was alive over a year later, you tried again to have me killed but in a way you hoped could not lead back to you.” Truly it was as if something inside of you flipped.

The way Jons own fears of his blood and father and who he is, all compounding in fears which were inflamed by his own sister. But those distrusting didn’t come from her alone, you knew her as a girl but that level of animosity towards Jon did not come from merely years of being apart. That came from somewhere. Someone whom had interest in getting between you and Jon before.

Growing and growing that resentment that he ever thought to worry with you what he was like, how he treated you, or if you feared the love he gave you, and the question of would this have returned to Jons mind had the man before you not slithered in, a snake looking to bite at the right strike. “When all else failed around you Lord Baelish, you then came here. Under the guide of simply bringing Sansa home where she belongs, and then you stayed. You fed lies to her, saying that Jon is nothing more then a bastard who can’t be trusted, that she should attempt to drive us apart. Because you know that it is a lot easier to try and kill me when I’m nowhere near Jons side.”

Sensing her eyes on you intensely, you pushed passed what you knew Sansa had not yet started to consider. Not that such a thing was her fault. Whatever she and Jon had discussed the other night seemed to have brought her down to some kind of understanding with him, but you knew this was not even the worst.

Whispers around all begun a slow ascend, the unavoidable fact that it continued to get worse and worse and how utterly long and devastating of a path it took Jon and yourself to be able to get here. Of course, he had not perhaps, seen it coming that his path against you had attempted to take what should’ve been time used to repair Sansa’s difficult past with Jon and Arya, instead making her animosity drive them each apart from her. Looking to you, he had the audacity to speak as if you were anywhere near done. “Perhaps what you see as lies were merely what I thought was fair advice to Lady Sansa-”

If Sansa were to speak for herself, instead who took up her defence was Arya. Cutting through him louder and with a bite in her tone enough it could’ve come across a growl. “You weren’t here to help her, you’ve never tried to help her.” Jon attempted to call Arya’s name in a quieter tone, but she kept going, likely not even hearing him. “The last time I saw my sister she was screaming and crying for Joffery not to murder our father and because you came here trying to tear what few of us were left, I couldn’t even be happy to see her again because all I saw was you.”

Eyes flickering between Jon and to Sansa, no doubt he too could feel the conflict within her, that guilt at what part she played and the slow understanding of todays events the degree he simply used her. Afterall, she had not known any reason to see any ill use of giving her young cousin sweetmilk. She had not a clue that when Maester Coleman had grown suspicious of him, did he send the naive Alyane Stone to continue it for him. Until Maester Wolkan had explained it’s effects, until you had heard too much to handle and left did it occur what he had her become.

And just like the rest of it, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Arya continued to defend her sister, in despite of everything and how strained they were and how little they talked, it was just like that night at the inn. Moments before she had grabbed at Sansas hair yelling she was a liar as the two girl fought against the other, then without any hesitation did Arya yell at Cersei herself the moment Lady was declared to take the punishment in Nymeria’s place. You had seen the way she much like you had, stared unblinkingly at Cersei with a glare wild in her eyes as she stood beside her crying sister.

Only this time, Sansa didn’t cry or argue or yell, she sat in a silence in a feeling you knew too well. As if she sat a stranger to who she even was anymore, and Jon saw it too. A small nod, Jon read your intent that you understood to leave it to him as Arya was arguing back against Littlefinger. Whom had just inferred that perhaps his advice was simply taken in the wrong way beacuse of a misunderstanding. “You don’t even know him, you just call him a bastard and tell Sansa to assume the worst, and expect anyone to believe you didn’t intend to tear us apart-”

“Arya.”

Snapping over to him, Arya felt that feeling much like Sansa had the other night, but in a way familiar to her. The calling of her name in a manner and tone so much like their father, but coming from Jon. His head tilting as he looked at her with a knowing expression. “That’s enough.”

The understanding between them was one of a silent language Jon had always been able to speak to Arya. An equally as low and rasping voice from closer to you however drew your focus. Benjen softly prompting you with something shining of encouragement in his eyes only you seemed to catch. “Please, continue.”

Only a nod, but turning from the table towards where Littlefinger stood, you knew there was little left. “What I am saying, my lord, is that you should have worked far sooner to try and kill me again.”

He was daring you gave him that, looking to you as if to attempt to make you sound delusional. “And why your grace, would you think I want that?”

Not for long would he remain daring. Staring at one another, no doubt were you any other witness, such an exchange of words not be permitted so freely, but you trusted Jon the rest of this trial and so now he trusted in you. Your voice was flat as you spoke, and yet did not match the ever growing darker look within your eyes. “Do you know much about gambling, my lord?”

Eyes flickering side to side in a bit of confusion, he sounded more honest in that moment then he had the entire time he had been within the North. “I’ve dabbled in it.”

The scowl grew a breath more noticeable. “Then you would know two important rules a smart gambler would live by. Firstly, never wait to play your best card for too long. Because another might come around with a better one in the time it took you to choose when to play it.” If he didn’t grasp it then, he did now as you slowly and clearly phrased it. “The second, never play the same card too many times. Eventually someone will recognize your tricks, and put together how much you’ve lied your way into winning.”

There it was. The look you were waiting for. The anger of a man realizing that he had placed his enemy in the hands of the wrong Baratheon. How does it feel Lord Baelish, you thought. How does it feel to realize that it wasn’t Stannis’s hatred for him that was his biggest enemy, it was the daughter right in front of his eyes. Doing exactly what he had tried more then one to have you killed to avoid. It simply took long enough to come together that it brought him into a falsehood of his own hubris.

You didn’t even look to the crowd, or Jon. Just Littlefinger right in the eye so he could feel it all coming.

“The night King Robert had come to Winterfell, Catelyn received a letter from the Eyrie from her sister, Lysa Arryn. Stating that her husband, the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had been murdered by the Lannisters.” Not yet any reaction further. “The day after, when most of the men and guard were on a hunt, ten year old Bran Stark had seemingly fallen from a tower, leaving him unconscious for nearly a month and crippled for the rest of his life. Not long before he had woken up, a fire was started in the library here to draw attention away from Brans chambers. Only Lady Catelyn had still been there taking care of her son, when a man came into the room, attacked Lady Catelyn, and viciously attempted to murder Bran Stark in his sleep before his throat was ripped out by Brans direwolf Summer, saving his life.”

Oh very few would be able to even spot it, but it was there. The slightest twitch in his eye, and the rush within your blood burned hotter. Jons voice to the side was rough, a control meaning to hide the husk furthering him into an anger. “Do you know who this man was?”

Your head shook slightly to indicate a no. “No assassin any more sophisticated then a simple catspaw.” You dared not look at the remaining Starks, the distraction of their anger or devastation could not spare to interfere now. “The blade did stand out however. Made of Valyrian Steel, and the handle carved from dragon bone. Someone gave it him. Lady Catelyn had reasonable presumed the two incidents were connected, and Lysas letter had given the impression that the Lannisters loyalty to the crown was questionable already. Soon she left Winterfell for Kings Landing to inform her husband of the events but was greeted when she got there by you Lord Baelish.”

“I simply had heard she was coming-”

You cut him off, and the hall was silent as if only you both stood there. “You were honest with Catelyn. There is only one dagger like that in all the Seven Kingdoms. It was yours. But that you had bet it in a wager during the tournament of Prince Joffery’s last nameday.” Brows furrowing, Littlefinger looked confused and unsettled at the manner which you spoke, as if someone showed you the meeting itself. “You bet on Ser Jaime as any sane man would. When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, you lost that dagger.”

Bran was more clever then you could’ve hoped for, both of you speaking such easy words yet only the man before you would recognize their exactness. “To whom?”

“Tyrion Lannister. The imp.” The details were harrowing, speaking of your time with Ned Stark in Kings Landing, what the mystery of uncovering Jon Arryns death had uncovered and why, the secret he learned before he was poisoned. How the secret pertained in such specifics to the nature of Cersei and Jaime Lannisters secret affair. “So imagine my suprise, Lord Baelish when Catelyn arrives at the Eyrie with Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner, as you put it in her head that he had tried to murder her son, that Lysa accuses him of a new crime. She suddenly accuses Lord Tyrion of murdering her husband, Jon Arryn as well. When so far, not even Ned Stark or I had come anywhere near that conclusion. Strange, how two murders were pinned on him. And even more strange, that I know for a fact, Tyrion Lannister had nothing to do with the attempt on Brans life.”

The trial by combat in the Eyrie, learning Jon Arryn was murdered by poison wine given to him by his squire. It all was a life reliving that had been so long gone but felt as if it were fresh in your mind without any doubt. Arya had glanced to the side, a look on her sisters face as they both found the others gaze, a near scowl putting it all together only to find Bran seemed to watch Littlefinger with the same amount of knowing animosity as you did.

An issue posed, was that you knew for a fact the person who ordered a catspaw to murder Bran was not connected to whomever pushed him from a window. Jaime Lannister had confessed to Catelyn that he did it, and neither he nor Cersei had a clue about the assassin. They weren’t connected, and neither did Lord Tyrion know about his brother and sister and thus had no reason to wish to see Jon Arryn out of the way.

Grasping at straws, that time he picked one which Jon himself had the answer to shut down. “Perhaps Lord Tyrion had other motives, arranged for the murder on the road after parting from Winterfell.”

Jon could speak for that. “He didn’t, and you know that. Lord Tyrion was on the road to visit Castle Black, with me, and my uncle, Benjen Stark.” Asking if by any chance was their an opportunity to plan an arm an assassin during that period of time, Benjen confirmed without a doubt there wasn’t.

Tyrion had no reason nor gain from ordering Jon Arryns death, and had even less reason or ability to order the attempt twice on Brans. “Twice falsely accused is odd, my lord. But three times? That tells me he was being used as a shield. A lamb for the slaughter to hide the real murderers actions.” Asking loudly and with a defiance you knew was crumbling to his feet, what this third imaginary crime was, it was nothing short of satisfying that she finally found her voice.

Something between a tearing of betrayal and anger was shaking behind Sansa’s voice. “You told me that you killed Joffery. You had a necklace made for me, one of the stones held the vial of poison so someone at the wedding could take it off me without me realizing and use it to poison him.” If the look on his face was a wider eyed shock, you hoped it felt even sharper in what little of a heart a man as him could possibly have. “You planned it all out to help me escape the city, knowing they would accuse me of helping my husband murder the King. You needed Cersei to accuse Tyrion, because you knew he had no one there to defend him. Knowing he and I both didn’t do it.”

The room was thick with tension. Littlefinger had one play left and it was his weakest card and it seemed he could sense that. “It would seem backwards for the King in the North to try me for the murder of the very King who murdered his father.”

Pushing up from the table, Jons stood with his hands braced against the surface and nothing but black remaining in his eyes. “You aren’t on trial for that, my lord. I could stand here and accuse you of using Lysa Arryn to murder her husband and blame it on Tyrion Lannister, of murdering the man who killed my father, but that’s not my place. More then once you tried to murder my wife, because you knew she was the only person left who could actually find the truth in the chaos you caused.”

If an ounce of credit could be given, it was that Littlefinger held himself together very well, but his eyes told stories beyond even his comprehension when he asked what reason would he have to cause that much chaos just to murder one woman. But Bran was the one with the answer, and one that put him into a silence as he realized there was no hiding from the truth coming out, because Bran said the one thing Petyr Baelish alone knew that not a soul in this room could have possibly known he said.

“To most of us, chaos is just a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all. Many try to climb it and fail, and never get to try again. The fall breaks them, some are given a chance to climb but they refuse. They cling to an illusion, but the climb is all there. Beacuse to a man like you, chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder.”

Petyr Baelish could lie about you, he could lie to Sansa, to Catelyn, back stab many of the Starks and Baratheons because he knew he could get away with it, but he couldn’t look Bran Stark in the eye and even pretend as if he could climb his way out of this pit. The pit he caused.

And the issue was, chaos was not a ladder to all. Chaos was not found in the lives of some men. Ones with the trust in justice and duty and honour and love above all else. Jon stood there as King in the North and took away his last chance to ever try to climb his way out of that put of chaos. Projecting loud and a husk under an anger of dark eyes turned black and a tensity you felt too within your own bones, Jon knew he had him without any doubt, just as he trusted in you for.

“Unless any up here with me have any protest, I, Jon Snow, find Lord Petyr Baelish guilty of three charges.” Your name without even hesitating for once to feel the bravery to name you a Snow coming from him with that same rasping seriousness hardly masking an anger. “For conspiring to murder her, my wife and Queen. For betraying my father Eddard Stark and giving him over to the enemy you know was to kill him. And for the attempted murder of my little brother, Bran Stark.”

When none, not Arya, nor Bran, nor Benjen, nor even Sansa spoke a single word or even though about saying something in his defence, Jon gave a slow nod to the guards by him, not hesitating to pull Littlefingers arms back into chains, as he stared in a disbelief at how swiftly it had gone wrong without ever seeing it coming. There was not even an attempt to silence the sheer volume of the now standing crowd, the North loyal to their King and the Starks, shouting and yelling in defence of the family he had used and harmed over and over.

Petyr Baelish could only stare at Jon’s burning glare of black eyes. The man who, unlike his father who Littlefinger betrayed, had been the one to put the knife to his throat all without spilling a drop of blood.

[heroofspiritsisthebestlink]

With the resurgence of the Hinamiki Agenda, I realized there was a wall of text I wrote for them that I never posted here.

So here it is. Why I think Hinamiki rules.

You often hear that there are two sides to every coin. Every toss of said coin can determine drastically different outcomes. People nurtured into the mundane often dream of more, and people dragged through the extreme wish for less.

Hajime Hinata is born as what equates to a commoner in this world of overglorification of the talented. He lives what we consider a normal life, and like many others, dream of attending Hope's Peak Academy and enter the ranks of the socially elite super star teenagers. Finally, he finds a way in, though disappointingly through the Reserve Course.

And it's hell. There's nothing special about being a Reserve Course student at Hope's Peak, unless you count being treated like societies biggest joke from both sides of the spectrum. The other talentless of the world see you as a rich asshole pretender, and the main course students see you as worthless garbage. The police even do it too. Or at least, the lives of a main course student is more socially valuable.

But then Hajime is granted a choice. A choice to be more, a choice to ascend. To become what he's always dreamed of, someone of talent and of what society deems of worth. So of course he takes it.

And, without knowledge, he's turned into a monster.

Mikan Tsumiki is born into an abusive household. She's tormented, bullied and beaten at both school and at home. It's never explicitly stated why, but somewhere along this way, she develops an enormous abandonment complex, to the point where she prefers mistreatment over isolation. There's no one to help her but herself, something she eventually takes to a fatalistic conclusion by teaching herself how to heal her own wounds when no one would. Her expertise in the medical field stems from self treatment just to make it through to the next day. Childhood is hell. Middle school is hell. There's nothing she can do, and nobody is willing to do anything for her.

Until one day, something does. She gets scouted for Hope's Peak Academy as the Ultimate Nurse. Her achievements are heralded as incredible, her fight for survival indirectly romanticised as "worthy of prestige." It's morally garish, but she starts attending. And it turns into the best years of her life. Sure, some people still pick on her and take advantage of her obsessive need for attention, but it's still the comparatively healthiest environment she's ever lived in. She has friends. For the first time in her life, she's thriving, even if it's in somewhat unhealthy ways.

But then someone has plans for the world. Someone is in need of autonomous slaves, willing to carry out her will in her absence. And Mikan is taken in, and much like the rest of her life, she is given no choice in the matter, forced to return to that harmful path.

And she, once again without a say in the matter, is turned into a monster.

Two sides of the same coin that flips through the air, one side twisting to take up the position that the other previously held. Joy to despair. Despair to joy. The coin keeps falling, barrelling towards the bottom, destined to land with one side up, and the other scorned. Both sides can't both win.

Unless someone catches that coin.

One thing that keeps striking me when I look over the interactions Hajime and Mikan have is that despite how much the two mirror each other as opposites, they still find much common ground. They're both scared and insecure of others not deeming them worth their time, but differs in how they express it and subconsciously enact on it. But, through talking, they find a sort of conversational kinship. Hajime reassures Mikan that she doesn't need to do anything to deserve friendship, and she, in turn, gets on his case to take better care of himself. Any attempt at hiding his pain is something she picks up on, given her heightened perception she's gained through her own trials.

Through his ardent kindness, he's able to make her calm down and have a regular conversation with her without enabling her worst coping mechanisms, which is a really difficult balance to hit. He is the only one Mikan ever opens up to, given he's the only one Mikan trusts not to be repulsed by her ugly past and distance from her. That's an incredibly difficult step to take, and I wish that was recognized more.

It's cheesy, but I really do think they make for an interesting whole when these two halves come to talk, each showing the other a path to deal with their respective issues, and then imploring the other to walk down it.

Love isn't a cure. Junko's version is an example of that, it's not instafix or bandaid solution.

Instead, love is a symptom. A symptom of joy, progress and hope. Hope that you can have enough faith in yourself and your life to share joy unconditionally.

Top image is an edit made by Twitter user @ weebainu

Bottom image is a sprite edit illustration made by Twitter user @ middinos

[homestuckreplay]

Gamer Grandma Gits Gud!

(page 419-421)

7/30/2009 Wheel Spin: Captchalogue Lore Verdict: INCORRECT

7/31/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: EXTREMELY INCORRECT - true answer: Grandparent Good :)

There's an absolutely overwhelming amount of stuff in only three pages and LOADS to say, so I'm going to bullet point this to keep this as brief as possible because I try to write these posts within the timeframe of a single Mountain Goats album.

Rose + Dave

Those notification bubbles above the computer really exist, in Sburb at the very least! Rose knows that Dave is wearing those stupid shades confirmed.

The command is 'Rose: Pester John.' and Rose only half obeys this - she pesters, but it isn't John. Always cool to see characters push against commands, and to have expectations subverted for the reader.

Dave acknowledges that his bro might be taking puppet irony too far, and it's Rose he chooses to tell this to, explicitly saying 'don't tell John.'

Dave's bro's ventriloquist rap doll haunts him in his dreams?? This is definitely a normal sibling dynamic and definitely not something that's going to end up being super important given the general theme of the characters having dolls in their house.

What are Dave's bro's websites and are they anything like Dave's? Does Rose think Dave's bro is cooler than he is? Is this a sticking point in their friendship?

'I suspect he is preoccupied with the fact that he just had a bucket of water dumped on his head by the ghost of his dead grandmother, who also happens to be dressed like a clown.' Fucking insane thing for Rose to say. No wonder Dave has no idea what to make of it.

John + Nanna

Nannasprite is the coolest ever. Lots of her wisdom clearly comes from being a game NPC, but she dispenses it in such a grandmotherly fashion.

Nannasprite is also the most powerful character because she never has to retrieve her arms. She has one all the time, while everyone else is sometimes drawn without them.

Very interesting dynamic that John doesn't remember his nan from before she died, and is essentially getting to know her for the first time in gamesprite form.

Absolutely hilarious bit that Nannasprite pretends not to know what a computer is.

Dad + Imps

The imps on p.421 are both clown themed and have the same bodies, but different color schemes. One is a shale imp exactly like the one John thought - the other could be a different flavor of imp who drops different loot?

John is 'a fine young man just like [his] father' according to Nanna. I sure would love to know what Dad was like when he was young.

With the new knowledge of the strife portfolio, can we assume Dad uses both cakekind and broomkind? Possibly other fatherly household objects too?

Dad was kidnapped by 'the forces of darkness,' which doesn't sound very good. The imps seem like really low level enemies though, and not deserving of this title. Who do they work for? In D&D, imps are very low level fiends who serve devils and archdevils, and I believe this comes from Christian mythology. But imps aren't typically evil in and of themselves, just mischievous lackeys, so something bigger is happening.

The Lore!!!!

The Medium - makes me think of an artistic medium, as in a type/category of art or the material used to create art, or of a medium/middle between light and darkness or good and evil.

The Incipisphere - from incipient, 'beginning to happen or develop' + sphere, a uniform three-dimensional round shape. This is interesting, because the place is 'untouched by the flow of time' but also has just come into being with the beta release of Sburb and also 'somewhat paradoxically, almost has' existed apart from it. This works because I too have had older relatives tell me confusing stories that don't make logical sense.

John is not inside a computer or digital space, the computer served as a portal to a different physical space (which is also a ring of pure void). Computer (or fiction in general) as portal to another world is a common metaphor that is being made literal here.

Sburb probably dictates how much gamesprites know and how much they're allowed to tell the player. To what extent is Nannasprite 'pre-programmed' and to what extent is she making her own decisions? Is the lore she gives John completely reliable?