#to make him complacent with his own suffering

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 2

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Elain Bashing, Angst, Nesta threatening bodily harm, Amren being mean.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was a lot of things. A knight however was not one of those. 

He was a bastard, a shadowsinger, the spymaster of the night court. He had fought in wars, tortured, killed, slaughtered, and bathed in the blood of his enemies…figuratively and literally in a sense.

But Azriel had never once been considered to be a knight. 

Not until he had met a slip of a human girl who never had the acrid smell of fear clinging onto her like he had expected. 

To Eira Archeron, Azriel had been a knight. 

He still wasn’t quite sure what he had done to give that impression…how she had heard Spymaster as a human and then continued to call him Sir when he had returned to the human lands to make his preparation to talk to the Human Queens. 

She had stopped calling him that at his request…she had been more than content to let Elain do the talking. And his attention had snapped from her, to her twin sister…flawlessly polite and beautiful. 

Azriel easily admitted that between the threat of the war and the worry of the future..somehow his attention had stayed there. 

And he hadn’t thought much more about the fourth Archeron Sister. 

Not when the other three had demanded his attention in a myriad of ways…from Feyre as High Lady, to Nesta with the problems she had adjusting or Elain, who had suffered beautifully and pined away for her human life. 

Eira…Eira hadn’t been anything to worry about, because she had done nothing. 

Hadn’t done anything but tried to be no trouble for any of them. And succeeded. No need to pay attention to her, because she hadn’t done anything. Ever. 

She had found herself work as a seamstress, seemed to adjust well to Velaris and her new Fae body…and that had been that. 

She was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma…and Azriel hadn’t even realised it. 

He had become complacent… had started to have a fucking blind spot right in front of his face…and he hadn’t noticed. 

Too busy with himself…with his own overly emotional moping, because he had felt unfairly treated… and had come away from that with a chip on his shoulder the size of the continent and the mulish expression of a teenage boy on his face…

He had admitted that too. 

At last, he had realised it…at least before he had done any lasting damage, Rhys’ words rattling around his brain and seemingly dousing him in cold water. 

It had been an infatuation with Elain…nothing more. Jealousy about his brothers both finding their mate in such a short period…Feeling unfairly treated...

And Azriel didn’t even have the excuse of his age for it like he had with Mor.  He had been so young when he had fallen head over heels in love with her…His centuries spent pining painfully away were a choice he had made because Mor was unattainable...

So really, these days, Azriel had no excuse that it had taken that long…

Weekly dinners had been a tradition for centuries. And they were not going to stop with them now. Especially not with Nyx there now, who enjoyed the attention of everybody doting on him…though he had one clear favourite. 

Azriel entered the dining room to Nyx’s loud chanting of “Ra! Ra! Ra!” which was the universal sign that he wanted Eira to hold him and nobody else. 

Feyre relinquished her son with a snort, letting Eira take him and settle him on her hip, pudgy little baby arms immediately flying around her neck. 

He blinked once at Eira’s appearance…at the sight of her in a grey dress, high-necked and covering her from her wrist to her ankles, cut high at her neck. Not out of the usual for her. He had not once seen her in the traditional Night Court fashions of tops and trousers…But what did surprise him…that was her hair…

Usually, it was scraped back into a messy knot at the base of her skull…well, now it fell down to her waist in perfect ringlets…held back from her face with two gilded hair combs. Beautiful. 

She took her seat and he moved to sit across from her, like he always did… like he was in a trance, somehow so taken by her that he couldn’t help himself. 

Eira smiled at Nyx in her arms, bright, pearly white teeth showing. He had never seen her smile like that either. 

And then her eyes met his… that smile changing from brightly happy to painfully polite…

And with one look… everything changed.

Lightning crackled along his veins. Crackled through his whole body, his hands tightening into fists as for a moment he didn’t know what happened. 

It caught around his ribs like a whip, tying him to her for eternity. And Azriel could just stare at her, wide-eyed, as she went back to doting on Nyx like nothing had happened…

Everything inside him was rearranged, a place carved out inside his chest just for her…just for Eira. 

For Eira with her big silver eyes, her delicate little hands…

He had always liked her…liked her soft voice, and how she had filled the silence so that he didn’t need to say anything, do anything, but hang onto her every word…liked how she had made it so easy for him to be around her…how she had seemingly always tried to be helpful, always tried to be kind…

Finally! the shadows crooned. Finally, Master! That took you long enough! 

They had known. 

They had known?! Since when…how…

He watched in terror how a tendril of shadows appeared over Eira’s shoulder and waited for her to flinch back…but nothing happened. Eira didn’t even seem to notice it, as she was cutting food in smaller pieces for Nyx, feeding him, his blue eyes wide, staring at his aunt in adoration. His little wings fluttered against her hold and she adjusted, seemingly without a thought…doting on Nyx. 

Eira Archeron was going to be the death of him.

Azriel knew that already. 

Because it already felt like she was crushing his very heart in the palm of her hands…because everything he had spent centuries begging, pleading, praying for, was right there, sitting in front of him and ignoring his very existence. 

Eira. 

Everything he wanted…right there, where he had last expected it. 

“Az, do you want the salad now, or am I just supposed to wave it in front of your face for another five minutes?” Cassian asked him, voice dripping with sarcasm, and that finally managed to get him to function again.

“Thank you,” he managed to force out, pulled all the wayward shadows in his nearer surroundings to him with a harsh tug at their metaphorical leash and took the salad from his brother. 

Salad. Dinner. 

And then…cauldron boil him, he needed to…figure out what he was going to do with…

His blood was rushing in his ears and he was thankful to sit because otherwise, he would have already fainted. His heart was pounding in his chest, far too fast…worse than it had in centuries…even while fighting for his life. 

“Are you alright?” Cassian asked him carefully and he just about managed a nod.  “You don’t look too good.”

He probably didn’t.

“I am fine,” he forced out. 

Great even. He was…

Mate, some instincts inside him purred. Mate. 

Our mate, the shadows sang, so very pleased. Ours! 

He forced himself to eat. Even when every part of him ached for Eira to turn to him like she usually did during dinners…and start a conversation about something or other…Listen to her voice. 

She did nothing of that sort that evening, doting on Nyx, though her soft whispers to the little boy made something inside him ache. 

“So what else happened this week?” Rhys asked at that moment, clearly trying to start a conversation, something that didn’t involve Keir in Hewn City being an absolute pain. 

“Eira got her teeth changed,” Elain spat out and Azriel was so taken aback by that tone of her voice that he needed a moment until the words registered…until…

Eira got her teeth changed? Why had she done that? She was already perfect. There was no reason to change anything. 

He couldn’t help but stare at her, again or once more or…and he watched the blush rise high on her cheeks, see how uncomfortable she was as the attention of the table shifted to her. 

“You had your teeth changed, Eira?” Rhys asked, sounding as taken aback as Azriel was feeling. 

“I did,” Eira agreed, her voice quiet. 

“Look at me?” Nesta requested, two seats down from him and he watched as Eira bared her teeth. 

Perfect pearly white teeth. Uniform in size. No trace anymore of the two big incisors that had sat inside her mouth. They had been just a smidgen too big for her. It had been charming as far as he was concerned.  But now they were all…all perfectly even. 

“It looks great,“ Nesta said. “But they were fine before as well.” A sort of understanding passed between Nesta and Eira, a look between the same grey eyes they shared that Azriel didn’t understand but wished he would

“I like it more like this,” Eira admitted, her voice quiet, going back to take care of Nyx. Nesta inclined her head. 

“Then that’s all that matters.” And that was that.

As long as she was happy, Azriel couldn’t care less. If she liked this more, then she should have whatever made her happy. 

“You actually agree with her? Nesta!” Elain exclaimed and Nesta stared at Elain, lips pursing for once, seemingly disagreeing with her sister. 

“They are Eira’s teeth,” Nesta said with a shrug.  “As long as they are attached to her mouth, I think she can do whatever she wants with them.”

Azriel tended to agree. Her teeth. If she liked them like that…well, that was that then. 

“You should have had them made into fangs. You could use them, Girl,” Amren commented drily. 

Eira said nothing in response, her shoulders seemingly caving in. 

His shadows bristled so sharply that he nearly flinched, hissing quietly, Our Mate. Our Mate! She doesn’t need fangs, but the tiny ancient one needs her throat ripped out!

He glared at them, but they ignored that. Instead, some of them bitched under their breath about anything Elain had to say…while some others were waxing poetically about the gleam of Eira’s hair in the candlelight. 

So beautiful, they purred in his ear.  So pretty. Doesn’t her hair glow like gold like this? Like a halo…

It was decisively unhelpful. Even when they were right. 

Especially because it frayed what little self-control he had. What little self-control he had that stopped him from going on his knees before her right now and begging her for…something, anything…everything. 

His ruined hands curled into fists as the shadows continued with their little monologue. 

Nyx seemed to be content to tuck his head against Eira’s shoulder and play with one big ringlet of that gleaming hair as he fell asleep, yawning widely. 

That seemed to be all the excuse Eira needed as she stood up. “I’ll put him to sleep,” Eira offered quietly as she stood. She hadn’t said a single word that evening unless it was talking to Nyx or Nesta asking her a question. Had stayed quiet. Silent. 

He missed her voice. 

He couldn’t stop the shadows from rushing out to pull her chair back so that it made no noise, fighting with them for control as they insisted on clinging to her skirts. “I’ll be up early tomorrow…I thought I could take Nyx to that playground he likes,” Eira said at that moment looking at Feyre and Rhys.  

“Of course,” Feyre agreed with an indulging smile. “He loves the swing there.”

Eira left and he watched her go, trying to swallow and trying and failing his shadows from following along in one big massive cloud…

“Az, what was that?” Rhys asked with some amusement but he couldn’t bring out the words. Couldn’t say anything…could just pull open his metal shields and push it at Rhys, begging him to understand. 

His brother’s eyes widened in pure undiluted shock. 

*By the cauldron,* he breathed in Azriel’s mind. 

“Are you both alright?” Cassian demanded, the shock being obvious on Rhys’ face. 

*Congratulations, brother,* Rhys said quietly in his mind, carefully. *I hope this isn’t…unwelcome?*

Unwelcome? How could this be unwelcome? 

This was…This was everything he had ever wanted. 

“Yes,” Rhys said, clearing his throat. “I am fine, and Az will be… alright.” 

Oh, he would be. He would be more than alright. He just…needed to...He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart thump against the touch. 

“You sure about that?” Cassian asked drily. “You look a bit green around the gills, Az. How are you feeling?” 

“Like somebody is carving up my chest,” he managed to bring out. 

It was the truth. That mating bond was like a razor wire, tied around his ribcage, sharp and painful. He wasn't sure if that was even normal or if that was just him trying to get used to it, if it was, just the shock that finally he had a mating bond himself or...

“Well, that sounds healthy,” Cassian said sharply, reaching out with one broad hand to put it on Azriel’s shoulder and squeezing. Warm, solid…giving him something to concentrate on. 

“Give him a moment,” Rhys said with a pointed look. “He’ll be fine once he catches his breath.”

He just needed...

She's fine, Master, the shadows assured him. Just singing the Princeling to sleep. 

“You want some water?” Nesta asked, already moving to stand. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Cassian demanded, his voice sharp.

He had no idea what he was supposed to say. 

“The mating bond snapped for him,” Amren drawled drily. “He’s just being dramatic about it.”

Dramatic? He was being dramatic? 

Azriel hadn’t thought he would get this for half a millennium! 

*Careful, Az,* Rhys said into his mind. *She does not mean it like that.*

He harshly pulled at the shadows that had been striking out on their own, getting ready to make their displeasure known to Amren. 

“What? To whom? You?” Cassian asked, the hand tightening nearly painfully. 

“If that was the case, I would be utterly uninterested,” Amren said with a snort. “But I imagine.. it must be Eira.” 

It was deathly quiet in the room after that declaration, all the eyes on him. 

Elain broke the stifling silence. 

“Is that a joke?” She asked, sounding utterly aghast. “Your mate is Eira?”

He couldn’t help the snarl that broke out of his throat, Cassian's grip turning from supportive to warning in an instant, the shadows poising themselves to attack. 

“Careful,” Rhys said quietly. “His instincts are primed. And his control is…not what it should be right now.”

*Reign it in, Az. Nobody is going to take her from you,* Rhys warned him. 

“We are all just…surprised!” Mor hurried to add, exchanging a look with Feyre next to her, who was paling rapidly. “Congrats! She has been having a crush on you for years!” 

What?

“Oh gods,” Feyre murmured under her breath.“I…I may have really messed up,” she admitted with a grimace. 

Not exactly what Azriel wanted to hear. 

A glance was exchanged between Rhys and Feyre. 

“You told her to get over her crush?” Rhys said surprised, blinking once. Feyre just nodded. “When?”

“2 days ago? After she got her teeth changed…I thought she only did it for Azriel,” Feyre admitted quietly. 

“Why would you do that, Feyre?!” Nesta demanded sharply. 

“Were you trying to protect Azriel’s virtue?” Cassian asked with a snort, trying to find some levity in that situation even when Azriel was starting to get furious.  “Don’t worry, there is nothing left for you to protect.”

“I didn’t want there to be any problems. And she was annoying you at every dinner,” Feyre tried to explain. His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. 

“Annoying me?” He repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. “She wasn’t annoying me!” 

“Making you uncomfortable then,” Elain amended quickly. “She talked to you constantly.” 

Yes. And it had never bothered him one bit. 

He would rather just listen to her talk, to one person talking, than to take part in the loud and raucous conversations that could go on for hours. 

If anything…he had welcomed it as a respite. In Eira’s little world, there weren’t really any…there were no bloodyproblems to take care of,  no weapons…she talked about embroidery and fabrics and books she had been reading…her world was so soft. 

“If that bothered me, I would have said something,” he bit out. He didn’t need Feyre to protect his virtue. Or Elain. Or anybody else. 

“I thought you would be too polite for that,” Feyre admitted with a grimace. Before he could respond, Elain beat him to it. 

“Does it even matter?” She asked, crossing her arms as she stood. “It’s Eira. It’s not like you’ll actually want her,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll be upstairs.”

It was pure shock that kept him rooted to his chair. Pure shock that stopped him from lunging across the table, at Elain’s throat because how dare she?!

The shadows hissed, spitting mad, whirling around him, a mess of voices, bombarding him with suggestions of what he should do about this, about that kind of disrespect to his mate. 

Want her? He didn't just want her, he needed her!

To his surprise, it was Nesta, Nesta of all people who slammed her hands onto the table, who stared him down with sparkling grey eyes, steel in them. 

It wasn't Nesta who stared him down. It was Lady Death herself.  “You lay one finger on Eira where she doesn’t want it and I’ll hack off your fucking hands!” She snapped at Azriel. 

He swallowed. He could only incline his head in response.

“We’ll deal with all of this tomorrow,” Rhys pointedly, with a sigh, making an executive decision. “After our visit to the Hewn City.”

*Can I trust you not to tell her for one night?* he asked Azriel mentally. *Let Feyre talk to her first and apologise?*

 *Tommorow,* he agreed. He didn’t want to tell her now…not when she was tired and wanting to sleep. Tomorrow. 

Still, without a conscious thought he sent the shadows to check on her…finding her up in her room, getting ready for bed. 

Safe. Content. 

His. 

[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (IX)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 3,564

CW: MDI 18+, pregnancy, (difficult) grapic depictions of child birth, angst, manipulation, toxic relationship, dark/possessive Aemond, co dependency, self harm. not proofread!

Fem!oc x dark!Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

(birth seen between dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

authors note: sorry if this seems messy!

Two years had come and gone since the wedding.

Her mother had left, there reunion short lived, and all hope lost as her mother realised how easily she had lost her daughter to the greens.

Woven so far into their net, that it was impossible for her to escape.

Believing so blindly the words of Aemond and Alicent.

Finding no cause or reason to mistrust them, seeing any reason for Aemond to act cruel as her fault.

Aemond had inserted himself so thoroughly into her life now that it was impossible to tell the difference in their lives.

she would follow him around like a lost puppy, and he would tug her alone with him wherever he went.

She was always with him or in her chambers. Never anywhere alone.

And she liked it like that.

For when she was alone the dreams came.

Dreams of blood and dragons.

Dreams that only sought to bring her pain.

She could never stop them. Not truly, nor had she ever told Aemond of them, or of reason for the scratches lacing her body.

He had noticed them, of course he had, with his cock filling her day and night there was no way he hadn’t, and yet he had bit his tongue at the sight of them.

Perhaps because they were in the same place as her scares from the black cells. scares he had long grown used too, especially after he treated them. How he was her only comfort when that incident had happened, the only one she would let touch her.

He loved to remind her of how he was she only one truly they’re for her, both then and now

Married and bound by soul and law. She was his and he was hers, for two years now her life had revolved around him. She found little she for having her own thoughts and opinions, finding most of the time they were too silly or simple to be of any use.

At least that’s what Aemond would say.

But despite that she never felt small, only that he understood her. He knew her limits, her struggles and did not wish for her to suffer.

Though if you asked Aemond, and though he would never admit it, he liked her simple, complacent.

He had not only won her trust through guilt.

Guilt of her brothers’ actions, guilt of craving a bond between the brothers who caused him pain.

He had also won her love.

He remembers the day she had said it, near six moons into their marriage.

“Aemond” she had said, wrapped in his arms after a night of passion, “I…I think that I love you” she said, her voice so soft and worried.

As if despite his professions of love, his actions devotions where all fake, as if a disguise for the Aemond who had called her “my lady strong”, or the Aemond who had teased her and been so effortlessly cruel for years on end.

And though Aemond was cruel, still the man who craved to carve out her brother’s eye, who still bite his tounge every time he saw her, wishing to announce her bastardy to the court.

But he didn’t, the years of being cruel have shown him that being cruel to Aemma was not what he desired, not what she deserved.

She had been his only friend and only love, and though he did not regret the cruelty of him for years towards her, he regretted how rash he had been in it.

The game he had played with her for so long had come to ruin.

The game of making her the eldest pawn for him and the greens.

He loved her, that much was true, you could not argue he didn’t.

He just simply couldn’t show it, not when she reminded him for so long of the pain he had felt as her kid brother struck out his eye.

And know as she said “I love you” wrapped in his arms, her belles swelled with his babe, he knew he had won.

Not only had his plans to isolate her worked. Her family loosing hope with her and making her entirely his.

But now she loved him just as she once did.

He smiled, caressing her hair “I love you” he whispered, possessively.

She smiled, her usual timid smile, she went to say something more, but she bites her tongue, instead throng her head to kiss him softly.

The inner workings of Aemmas thoughts were so tricky to place.

A part of her knew she was being manipulated but she couldn’t understand it or understand why.

She understood the love Aemond felt for her and how the love she felt she had lost with her mother had been replaced with him.

But ever since her mother’s departure something had been nagging on her mind.

Her mother had insisted she had sent letter, and never received hers. It made no sense and yet the look Aemond would send her whenever she sat at his desk, reaching for a pen and paper. the pen hovering but never writing words as she tried and tried to think of what to write.

He sent her a look of worry; she wondered if it was for her or for what her letters might say.

She couldn’t understand the idea that Aemond would have prevented her mother and her reviving letters. It made no sense.

Her mind raced and raced with a million thoughts, and all her mindful return to be the dreams of blood. Blood on her hands, her sheets.

Even know a year after she had confessed her love her mind raced, her thoughts never stopped. She never had a moment of clarity, and she swore she was going mad.

The scratching had started again, and with a husband who never left her side she o idk not hide it.

He looked at her with such worry and concern.

Mother hemming her as he wrapped and bounds her arms, covering her scars and helping the to heal. Leavings off kisses as he went, begging for answers.

“Aemma, my love. What plagues you?” he asked his tone soft and sweet.

He was ever so soft at times, and yet other times he was could be brash and harsh.

“I am scared” she whispered, her head falling into her hands.

“What of?” he asked, no demanded. He had become such a fierce protector; it was after all his excuse for being so distant and cruel all those years.

“The tides, the sister” she spoke quickly, shaking her head, as images of head rolling flashed through her.

Her hand gripped her swollen stomach “my boy” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“The tides will come Aemond” she spoke in riddles. Riddles that Heleana knew all too well.

For years it had only been dreams and yet her mind was so full of dreams that sometimes they just spilled out in confusing riddles for others to pick apart.

“Tides?” he tilted his head, “the sea? Ahh the sea snake…he will recover I am sure” Aemond said softly, news had reached them of his injury, of the bids for succession of drift mark.

A part of him wanted to make his own bid, though technically Aemmas bid.

As a second son he would receive nothing, why not join the other second sons and bid for Driftmark also?

The doors to their chambers opened, Dayna, a maid, walking in with their son, a boy fast approaching his first name day, named Aerion.

“My sweet boy” Aemma said standing up with a start. She hated him being away from her, fearing he would be taken at any moment.

“Thank you, Dayna,” she whispered holding an Aerion close to her.

Aemond walked to her once more, smiling sorry as their son giggled in her arms. “you mother will be here soon” he said caressing Aerion’s cheek.

“Do you wish to greet them?” he didn’t wish to go himself, but small choices like these made Aemma feel free and not like the prisoner she truly was.

“i…I do not know” she did know, she wanted to see her mother, she had cried and cried for her, craving to see her and yet she had not once brought herself to write to her, instead she had forced herself to find the comfort of a mother in Alicent, and it was never the same.

He hummed, “I have training” he said, almost as if to grant her permission.

“I shall go then, better to introduce Aerion earlier than not” she said, nervously.

She didn’t know what she would say.

She was a stranger to all now, 2 years and passed since she had seen them, and even then, they were strangers, wishing to reignite a closeness that was long lost. Thanks to the efforts of others.

Dressed in a sea green gown, with Aerion on her hip. She stood in the courtyard awaiting her mother’s arrival. She stood alone, with few courtiers coming to great the heir, and those that had only seemed shocked when her mother stepped out of the carriage.

Sending her mother a nervous simile, Aemma walked down the steps to greet her.

“mother” she said in greeting, her voice the usual shy and timid it had always been, but never with her own mother.

Unlike her wedding, where only her mother, Jace and Luke had attended. This time, all her siblings, even the ones she had never meet and even Daemon had accompanied her.

“Aemma” her mother said breathlessly taking her in, a timid smile graced her lips.

not much more was sent between your or your family as you walked them through the halls of the keep.

Though they were greeted by few friendly faces, many turned their nose up at her mother, favouring greeting Aemma over her.

“Aemma” her mother spoke once more, sitting down in as they finally walked into her mothers’ old rooms. “How have you been?”

Huffing slightly, Aemma replied, “I have been well, muna, I- “she looked down to where Aerion sat on her hip, his curios eyes looking around the room.  “This is Aerion…your grandson” she muttered, coming to brush his hair away from his face.

He was the perfect combination of Aemma and Aemond, with silver hair and purple eyes, the shade being a perfect match of Aemmas. His face bore her nose and his shape.

“Aerion?” Rhaenrya breathed, smiling slightly as he turned to face her at the sound of his name. “I- had heard news…I am sorry that you did not writer to me of the news yourself.”

“I…it was a difficult pregnancy; I was bed bound for most of it…and with how you left things last time I- I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me”.

Daemond scoffed, shaking his head as if what Aemma said was a lie.

“of course…dōna riña, I would have come” Rhaenyra said, moving towards Aemma.

“You said you would visit before, and you never did”.

Rhaenrya’s heart broke, she had felt like she had truly lost her daughter. Her sweet girl had been taken from her and she had done nothing to top it, even years after realising all she had done was hide on Dragonstone wallowing in grief at loosing a daughter who still lived.

“I am sorry, tala, truly”.

Aemma softened, always one to easily take an apology and never one to hold a grudge. No matter how badly she wished too.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Her mother smiled, sighing a small sigh of relief before nodding her head and enthusiastically taking her grandson in her arms, “he looks just like you, dōna riña”.

“I think he is the perfect mix of me and Aemond” Rhaenyra flinched at the mention of him. Their conversation forms two hears prior still haunted her.

“Rhaenyra” she heard a voice say, the voice of her half-brother.

“Yes?” She answered, as Aemma was led to a corner with her ladies, trying on her wedding gown.

“Is there something on your mind?” he said teasingly.

She knew he had never liked her, especially after Driftmark. And though she had craved to be neutral with her half siblings the mere fact he had taken away her only daughter from her, made her hate him.

And now that she knew he had stolen her letters, hidden Aemmas own to her. She depside him.

Depside how Aemma trusted him and doubter her.

Rhaenyra scowled “you know exactly what’s on my mind, tell me the truth of it’.

He smirked, “hmmm, I do not know what you mean”.

“Yes, you do” she insisted, “my own daughter thinks I abandoned her, I know those are not her own thoughts”.

‘Oh, please, I only told her what she was already thinking” he smirked.

“That cannot be true” she seethed.

 “you’re not going to fix your relationship by arguing with me now are you?” he smiled, and Aemma called him over, “whether you like it or not she is to be my wife and to my Aemma, I will be here for her, and you…you will be swiftly heading back to Dragonstone, leaving her yet again” he quickly left before she could reply, not that she had much to think on as she knew everything Aemond had said was true.

The words circled her brain day and night. How had she not noticed that her daughter, her sweet loving daughter.

Her favourite child.

Had been so heavily manipulated by the greens, how her sweet girl who had promised to write every week had not sent a single letter.

And how she had let Dameon convince her to stay away. That she was better off with them her.

That she had been lost to them before she had even married Aemond.

“Yes…he is he. And the child in your belly… a boy or a girl do you think?

“I hope for a girl, though I think it to be another boy” Aemma said, smiling as her mother cooed down at Aerion.

“I believe I am to have another girl…your sister”.

“About time” Aemma joked, “I have long asked for a sister”.

“Kessa ñuha dōna riña, emā” Rhaenyra whispered, starting at her daughter as she took her son back into her arms.

yes, my sweet girl, you have.

Daemon coughed once more behind her, seeing Aemma a look she could not place.

“We should go see your grandsire now…perhaps we- I could join you for dinner?”

“I- have to ask Aemond”.

“of course…send me a note dōna riña.”

She nodded, taking her leave.

She didn’t join Aemma for dinner that night, receiving word for a smirking Aemond.

 The next day they had all gathered in the throne room, the court divided.

The blacks on one side, the greens on the other.

And Aemma, still unbeknownst to the guide, wore and emerald green dress, stood beside Aemond. Hand clutching her swollen belly.

Otto stood at the front of the throne room, speaking on behalf of her grandsire. “Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.” Otto spoke, “As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” He moved his head to face Vaemond “The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

“My Queen, My Lord Hand.” Vaemond started. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind.  Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.” He spoke, before being interrupted by her mother, who refused to face him.

“As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir…No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition” Otto cut her off.

“You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Otto said, allowing Vaemond to continue, a smirk on his face.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.”

Aemmas mind began to circle. The sound of blood filling her ears, the slice of a sword yet unsheathed.

Blood dripping.

A dagger slicing.

Whores dancing.

Her mind circled again and again, in a never-ending loop of green and black fading into one and ending only with death.

Her hands were covered in blood, and no matter how hard she spends them on her dress it would not go away, how could it? When the blood had yet to be spilled?

The sound of a dragon’s roar and the crashing of tides.

She screamed, covering her ears. and a head…the head of Vaemond Veleryon came rolling towards her.

Blood spilling over her gown, and more blood lacing her hands.

A sharp pain hit her then.

Her breathing grew heavy. Her hand gripping her stomach, as another sharp pain hit.

Aemond touched her then, bringing her out of her thoughts.

His face and the face of her mother and brothers filled with concern, as pain wracked through her body.

“Aemond” she breathed, her voice scared as pain, a contraction she now realised hit her once more.

Her grabbed her to him, picking her body up and running though the halls, calling for the midwives as they reached their chambers.

Her screams filled the halls of the keep.

Cries of pain and fear as the midwives told her to push and push.

Aemond, like the first birth refused to leave her side. Insistent on staying even as her grip threatened to break his hand.

“Aemma” he said in encouragement, “ñuha jorrāelagon, kostā gaomagon bisa... jelevre”.

my love, you can do this...breath.

“I can’t…Aemond please…mazverdagon ziry keligon” she begged.

Make it stop.

Rhaenyra burst in the room, tired of waiting “dōna riña” she sighed, looking over to the midwives in concern as they stood to the side talking with the maester. “I am here, my sweet…I am here”.

The maester approached them, pulling Aemond the side.

Aemma looked to her mother in fear…”no…no”

“Aemma,” Aemond said, moving back to her side “the babe…is breach” he said, and Rhaenyra saw she saw a tear leave her brother’s eye.

“Breach? no…no” she muttered.

An image of a dagger.

Of blood-soaked sheets.

A head of silver hair rolling across the floor.

She moved from her position on her bag, swiping away the hands of Aemond and her mother.

“I must stand” she muttered, holding her back as she moved away from everyone leaning against a chair as she felt the need top push once more.

“Please…tala” her mother begged, walking towards her “they can turn the babe- “

“No…no they are wrong! I can do this! I can do this” she begged to no one but herself.

“Aemma you will only hurt yourself…please” Aemond begged.

“Will you cut me?”

“Never!” he shook his head, “I would never do that, my love. Never!” he insisted as he and a midwife slowly approached her.

“We can turn the babe” the midwife insisted, and before she could utter another word, she was dragged towards the bed, eld down as the maester forced the babe to turn.

She cried out, crying in pain as the few minutes it took felt like hours.

And before she knew it, she was pushing once more and then she heard a cry.

A cry that was not her own, but her babes.

A girl.

She smiled reaching for the babe, before she was taken out of her sight, and Aemma found she was pushing once more.

Another babe.

“Twins!” The maester said in delight, as her second son was placed in her arms.

Aemond laughed in joy, before looking down and seeing the blood dripping from Aemmas thighs.

He felt like crying as he was pushed aside, his babes taken as he watched the maester work.

As he watched Aemmas eyes flutter closed.

“No…no” he muttered, going towards her only for Rhaenrya to grip him.

“don’t” she said, tears filling her own eyes “she will be fine” she said to reassure themselves “she will be fine”.

The night was long and hard, with the birth of twins.

A boy and a girl. Named Aelora and Aelor.

Ot took her three days to recover, her form weak and still as healed.

Her mother had stayed with her, day and night.

And for once in his life, he had felt a closeness with his half-sister.

A mutual understanding.

Though it would all be lost when a family dinner was called a week later.

Authors note: dont ask me why all their names are so similar it was a good idea at the time and i can't think of any other names.

taglist

@melllinaa @zillahvathek @ateliefloresdaprimavera @bellaisasleep @aleemendoza2425-blog @bunbunblogsblog @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @ka1afbr @winchesterfamiliebusiness @gghoulzz @dark-night-sky-99 @violet-potter @iamthehybrid @duckworthbean @winter-soldier-101 @apollonshootafar @deeeeexx @zzz000eee @meowtastick @flrboyd @cynic-spirit @wondergal2001 @aelora-a @amanda08319 @may-machin @sarahkimtae @yentroucnagol @loserwithnofriends @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @urmomsbananabread @azaleapotterblack @delaynew @adira033 @babyzzlove @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @zimzala01 @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @justbelljust @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @Youknownothingjohnwatson @marsmallow433

to be added to taglist

[clanborn]

star climax that i would personally enjoy: splashtail's got frostpaw pinned in their final confrontation, he's this close to finally killing her, and all of frostpaw's fears culminate and leave her frozen, unable to struggle free. curlfeather, through sheer willpower ignited by this immediate threat to her daughter's life, summons all the energy she can muster to project her image into the physical world, visible to both splash and frost. her sheer fury, her mangled corpse--here, present, clawing her way out of splashtail's dreams and into a waking nightmare, here to drag him down to hell with her--spooks splashtail to the core. this either frightens him so bad he suffers cardiac arrest, or he instantly bolts and abandons the clans forever (for the case where he could be brought back as a villain who is ideally no longer lame). once more, curlfeather saves frostpaw's life, this time from beyond the grave, so great is her love for her daughter. with the image of her bloodied mother burned in her mind, frostpaw's conflicted feelings bubble to the surface, feelings she's desperately forced underneath a layer of anger and resentment. frostpaw faces the truth: that her mother manipulated her for her own gain, but also that her mother loved her, and ultimately cared for frostpaw more than her own life. curlfeather was not entirely good or bad, she was simply just a cat, a flawed one, one capable of both good and bad things. hidden in all of her misdeeds was a cat that could be forgiven--and in turn, frostpaw too could be forgiven, and no longer needs to blame herself for every misfortune that had befallen her and her clan. frostpaw is also just a cat, a child under incredible duress, forced to make decisions that no child should have to make. she thinks of every cat that pushed that responsibility onto her--yes, her mother, but also splashtail, her older clanmates, every clan cat around the lake that turned a blind eye to her desperation. even starclan--her all knowing, benevolent ancestors--had stood by while she suffered, had caused her suffering, had used her not unlike the way curlfeather had. what made them different? why was curlfeather punished by cats who were no better? why was frostpaw punished for doing everything right? what distinction did starclan make between "good" and "bad" when all cats were capable of both, including starclan, in all its alleged, unerring kindness?

frostpaw once again does starclan's bidding, touches her nose to the moonpool and receives her nine lives. with each life, cats flash before her vision--harelight, riverstar, jayclaw--but they aren't the cats she sees. in her mind she sees curlfeather, blood on her paws and love in her eyes, and newly named froststar decides what sort of leader she will be. this is the last time she will follow starclan's path, no more will riverclan be subject to their will and their hypocrisies. relying on starclan is what destroyed them, their ancestors standing idle as riverclan tore itself apart for their favor. no more will riverclan force warriors and apprentices in certain roles, no more will it allow complacency, letting desperate voices go unheard. splashtail rejected starclan, but that is not what drove his bloodthirst and desire for power. under froststar's leadership, power would not solely lie in the paws of her and starclan, but shared among her clanmates, unable to be ripped away by a lone instigator, shattered by a single break in the chain.

maybe she'll be the kind of leader curlfeather wanted to be. maybe she'll be better. either way, froststar will lead riverclan into a golden dawn.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

thinking about book 6 battle simulations

I was thinking a lot about book 6 lately! (Not for any particular reason, I was just ruminating, haha...)

During the examination segment, Riddle, Azul, and Vil were put into one group and Jamil and Leona were put in the other group. Idia then put them into VR simulations in which (simulated) Trey, Jade, Rook, Kalim, and Ruggie approached the subjects to upset them. This is for the purposes of STYX to gauge their combative capabilities and blot accumulation. What I noticed on another read of these parts was that Idia makes sure to inform all the subjects they are about to enter a VR simulation BEFORE they dive in... and yet despite this, group 1 (Riddle, Azul, Vil) was still caught off-guard when Trey, Jade, and Rook attacked them. Meanwhile, Jamil in group 2 automatically defers to Kalim but Leona is the one who notices something is fishy about the situation. Now, now... this is interesting 👁️ Why might this be, I wonder~ (You bet I'm going to analyze the heck out of these small details!)

***Main story spoilers up to book 6!!***

First thing to consider: it's possible that perhaps the characters don't fully understand what "VR simulation" is, as most of them did take a while to come to their senses. Of the 5 subjects, Riddle is the most likely to fall into this category. He seems to be slightly confused by the concept of a "virtual space" when Idia explains the examination to them (which likely conflicts with Riddle's very traditional understanding of "tests"). Furthermore, Riddle has expressed in Endless Halloween Night that his mother did not allow him to play video games or to watch TV so he'd usually do crosswords or solve other puzzles for fun. He's not completely technologically inept (like Malleus), but Riddle does have a somewhat limited scope of how items and procedures are to be used, especially if it lies beyond its normal means. It's likely that he has not thought of VR simulation being used in the scenario in which he finds himself in now.

The other 4 subjects, however, most likely understand what VR is and shouldn't be confused by the simulation. Azul is very savvy and keeps up with trends, which can factor into his business(es). He even brings up streaming as a potential source of revenue in book 6; man has his fingers on the pulse of pop culture to know what will sell. Vil, being a celebrity and the leader of the Film Research Club, must have an understanding of various technologies used to achieve certain effects (especially as director of his own projects). Jamil constantly deals with Kalim's requests and, being in Kalim's social bubble, must get exposure to all kinds of crazy technologies. Leona, being a knowledgeable prince, surely must understand the concept of VR simulation.

Okay, so... why did they (mostly) still get "tricked" by the simulation anyway? The key words today would be "trust" and "dependence".

Thinking about it, there's one thing that separates group 1 from 2: the boys in group 1 have a tendency to rely on others for support and validation whereas the boys in group 2 are consistently shown to be more independent than their peers (even if they, too, seek validation). Let's go through them one by one!

GROUP 1

Riddle

Riddle is presented as a tyrant that rules with an iron fist, particularly in book 1 where he stars as the main antagonist. However, it's also pretty blatant that Riddle has become increasingly aggressive due in part to others enabling him. Ace specifically calls out Trey for this, saying that his failure to intervene or to quell Riddle's temper has resulted in Heartslabyul students suffering for it. Cater is also complacent, as he and/or Trey often follow Riddle's orders and remove Adeuce from the dorm multiple times in book 1. Riddle relies on these upperclassmen to listen to him and carry out his bidding, and he feels validated when they do. It's a lesson he has learned from his mother. He is the most powerful, and therefore he should be the most correct. Notice how Riddle is quick to anger when others refuse to obey him and how often he demands for them to conform. He becomes enraged when the Heartslabyul mobs rebel and chuck an egg at him. But what hurts him most of all is, perhaps, Trey turning too. Riddle was mad about the mobs acting up, yes, but he still did not overblot. Not yet, at least. No, Riddle overblots only AFTER he tries to attack Ace with the rose trees... and Trey steps in with his UM to overwrite Riddle's collar, turning it into cards. Trey's relationship with Riddle cannot be understated here. In this very moment, Trey, Riddle's childhood friend (one of his first friends), vice dorm leader, silent yes man, his most trusted confidant, has betrayed him. He is proving Riddle wrong, that the most powerful mage is not the most correct. "Are YOU going to tell me that I'm wrong too? After all I've done to protect the rule of law?! [...] I... I refuse to believe this!"

From these examples, we can clearly see that Riddle is someone who is reliant on others--not that he isn't a capable mage, but rather he is reliant on others for his own sense of self-worth. Indeed, even in his post-OB flashback, he indicates feeling proud and excited when his mother praises him for good grades or successfully performing a spell. This is reiterated many times over in book 1, in which Riddle feels satisfied and even smug when his students fall in line, and spirals into uncontrollable rage when they don't. There are a select few whom Riddle has chosen to place his faith in, and Trey is one of them. Trey, who gave him his first slice of strawberry tart and has been supporting him as his vice for over a year now (since Riddle became dorm leader in his first week as a first-year student; now is the start of Riddle's second year). That's why he feels so hurt when Trey is suddenly chastising him, telling him that he's behaving irrationally.

If we reexamine Riddle's post-OB flashback, you'll notice that Riddle says he is lonely without every outright stating the word "lonely". The phrasing makes it sound as though Riddle does not understand his own loneliness, like he doens't even know the word or want to acknowledge it as reality. He is awkward and unsure around Trey and Chenya, who invite him out to play. He follows his mother's rules because he believes that is what will bring him happiness. He wonders why, in spite of following all those rules, he still feels hollow inside. Then, once Riddle has awoken, he confesses that he always wanted to play more with Trey, and that he wants to talk with everyone after a meal. Riddle. at his core, craves companionship rather than dominating his peers. Trey was one of the few friends he ever had, and so Riddle puts a lot of stock into his support. This may be why he was quick to believe the fake Trey in the simulation, and why he looked so shocked when Trey started attacking him. Here is a boy who has already been betrayed once, experiencing that same betrayal again at the hands of his childhood friend. How scared must he be of losing his oldest friend, of Trey turning his back on him or seeing him as a monster? 😭

Azul

Due to the bullying he experienced in his childhood, Azul works very hard to maintain a new image of someone who is cool, confident, and composed. Part of that is passing himself off as someone who is large and in charge, while posing Jade and Floyd as his lackies who do whatever he tells them to. The reality of the matter is that the twins are very much... there to do their own thing, and they just kind of go along with Azul's schemes because they seem to be a lot of fun. When you stop to consider it though, Azul definitely puts a lot of trust into the Leech brothers even though they're both shady and can be flippant at times. It's the twins going around and advertising Azul's services to the student population. It's the twins who help him expand his business and acquire new items (as all three's Dorm Uniform vignettes are about the Octatrio conspiring to acquire the rights to and/or advertise their new drinks). It's the twins who are asked to run the Mostro Lounge whenever Azul is absent. Time and time again, Azul falls back on Jade and Floyd. They've been with him since middle school.

In book 4, both Azul and Floyd insist that they aren't really "childhood friends", but they do consider each other "equals". As Azul describes it, "I strongly doubt Jade or Floyd have any binding allegiance to me. This is all and elaborate game of pretend to them. [...] If I made a poor choice as leader--or even simply a boring one... They would turn on me instantly and seize the dorm leader seat for themselves." Floyd follows with, "We ain't got any plans to challenge him, either... for now, anyway. Aha ha! [...] We stick with [Azul] now 'cause it's fun. If it stops bein' fun, we drop him like a bad habit. Easy." The twins and Azul are both very aware that their relationship is a temporary and transactional one. Azul himself has even fully considered the possibility that Jade and Floyd may one day turn on him. This is all true--however, I also believe it's possible that the Octatrio are not being entirely truthful to themselves and do actually care for one another beyond the confines of their business ties or "having fun". In book 3, Jade and Floyd sense that something is wrong, and their immediate thought is to go check on Azul because of this gut feeling. Jade warns Azul of the consequences of misusing his UM. They are also the first to check on Azul after his OB and insist that he rest and find it within them to gently tease him over the situation. Even the way they address each other is "special". Jade and Azul have a tendency to be polite and use the honorific "-san" after everyone's name... except for each other and Floyd. Floyd, meanwhile, tends to give everyone a nickname... except for Jade and Azul. They drop these naming conventions within their group because that's how much they know and trust each other. Further proof of this is that when Floyd first meets Azul in the post-OB flashback of book 3, he calls Azul "Octopus-chan". Azul used to have a nickname, but no longer has one. This implies that a lack of a nickname actually indicates that Floyd is more intimate with someone than if he had nicknamed them. The same goes with Jade and Azul, who are usually so formal and polite.

I've already established that Azul acts in ways which indicate that he is close to the twins, as much as he tries to deny it and come off as tough. He drops the honorifics for them and he trusts them to do his bidding. What I find most telling, however, is when Jade and Floyd check up on him right as he's about to OB. "Jade! Floyd! Ahhh, you've finally come back to me," Azul says (if you listen to his voice, he sounds SO relieved). "Would you believe that thanks to these FOOLS, I've lost all of my contracts? Which is why I'm going to need your powers now. Come on, give them to me!" This is notable because, prior to this, he was forcibly ripping powers out of mob students. But now with the twins--Azul makes a CONSCIOUS decision to ask Jade and Floyd for them to willingly give up their powers to him. Azul is emotional and acting without tact here, but he STILL stops to ask the twins for them to surrender their magic. He cares about getting their consent specifically. When the brothers deny him and Floyd says Azul has become lame, that's when Azul snaps. His loyal henchmen are refusing his request and he's lost all his accumulated wealth. He's going to become the weak, friendless crybaby he once way all over again.

Knowing all of this, it makes sense why Azul was as startled as Riddle was when the simulated Jade attacked him. Azul claims that he anticipates this day--but he still seems to disturbed when it actually happens. It's true that perhaps this surprise comes in part from Azul having no indication that the twins were getting bored of him, so this is coming out of left field in his perspective. But... it could also be that he's hurt by the sudden shift, even if he and the twins have been telling themselves all along that they'd toss each other out without a second thought once they lose interest. This calls back to Azul's concerns right before he overblots: that his "business partners" (whom he refuses to call his friends) have lost interest in him and will now leave him alone and with nothing. He relies on the brothers not only for labor, but as his company and his confidants. When that's taken away from him... what does Azul have left that's worth anything?

Vil

Vil is another person who typically passes as very independent. He looks after himself quite well and is often the one nagging others to do the same. The thing with him is... he's still a celebrity at the end of the day, and a celebrity like him is always aware of his public image and the eyes on him. That's Vil's Achille's heel: as a celebrity, he is constantly concerned with how others perceive him. This is a lesson he learns in book 5--that he shouldn't let other people's judgment of him or a silly popularity contest determine his self-worth. Ah, but let's remember... book 6 begins like a mere DAY after book 5. Sure, Vil's character arc may be over, but that does not mean that he has suddenly completely changed. Up until yesterday, he was aggressively training to overcome his rival and to show the whole world his true beauty. Vil still, to some degree, finds value in how he looks and how others see him, as it strongly ties into his career. To this end, he sees Rook as a valuable individual.

Now, there's a lot of contention about whether or not Rook is a good influence on Vil or not, as some interpret his commentary as derogatory or unnecessarily critical. I'm not going to get into that; here, I am going to speak plainly about how Vil himself views Rook's feedback. In Vil's Labwear vignettes, he confides in Trey that he relies on Rook's keen observational skills to reflect the truth back to him. A celebrity must look at his best, and he can count on Rook to not mince his words and point out even the most minute of changes at a quick glance. (Vil himself is also extremely strict with himself, but lacks the superhuman abilities that his vice dorm leader does.) Rook has been doing this since long before he even transferred to Pomefiore, critiquing Vil's performances and such, not just his looks alone. This led into long discussions and debates between the two, which demonstrates how much Vil values Rook's perspective. Even back then, Rook was one of Vil's greatest supporters, but not exactly a totally blind "yes man". He is offering the kind of feedback that Vil seeks, not empty, sugar-coated niceties. This is why, in spite of his betrayal at the end of book 5, Vil eventually accepts it, as he trusts Rook's keen eye and judgment. What's interesting about book 6's examinations is that Vil seemingly takes charge of his group. When approached by the simulated classmates, Vil steps up and, after a moment of silence, says, "No... It's nothing. Let's go." (Vil is known as a skilled actor and can easily sniff out an act himself. Was the silence hesitation as he, Azul, and Riddle reevaluate the scene? Hard to say, but I'm assuming that STYX's state-of-the-art tech was able to perfectly simulate Rook, and thus confused Vil and co. for a while.) Rook strikes him with a spell, and that invokes a great emotional reaction from Vil, who seems to be the most aghast of the group. The fake Rook then declares that he's going to claim the dorm leader seat from Vil, which shocks him. "As you know, I appreciate beautiful things. Hence... I can hardly allow someone who's acted as ugly as you to occupy the Fairest Queen's throne!" The scene then cuts away to a battle. Now, while we don't get any extra dialogue from Vil to show his reaction, one interpretation could be that he was stunned into silence. Why is this a believable occurrence? Because the fake Rook called Vil out for "ugly" behavior. This is significant because back when Vil was overblotting, he was desperately shouting for people to "not look at him" because he's "so ugly". Here, ugliness does not mean literal ugliness or something that is visually unappealing. The "ugliness" being spoken of refers to being morally rotten, as Vil was speaking on his guilt after resorting to dirty tactics to try and take out his rival (when he had previously sworn to win on his own merits alone). The simulated Rook might be referring to this, which induces great shame in Vil, who is aware of the weight of his sins. Heck, book 6 even starts with Vil taking accountability and sincerely apologizing to the whole NRC Tribe for causing them trouble. Vil blames himself for their team losing, as it was his OB that forced them to fight and physically wore them out before their big performance. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" He may still have lingering guilt regarding this incident, hence why he's the one predominantly reacting when the vice dorm leaders betray group 1. His mirror and huntsman, who speaks only the truth to him, now tells him of his ugliness. What else can that be, if not the truth reflected back at him?

GROUP 2

Jamil

To be clear, Jamil did not automatically go after the simulated Kalim. He automatically defers and tries to go along with his dorm leader (and only starts fighting once Leona declares the simulation for the sham it really is). Why? Surely Jamil is sharper witted than that. To this, I say... of course, it's just that Jamil's so used to being a servant that he reverts back to submissiveness as soon as he's put in a circumstance where there's a power dynamic. He’s not the one relying on Kalim—Kalim is often the one relying on him. You need proof of Jamil's servile mindset? He was intentionally talking down his own skills ever since book 4 and, according to Azul, has been purposefully maintaining painfully average grades (which, in of itself, takes a lot of effort). Admittedly though, those are conscious choices, not unconscious ones. But how about back in book 5, when Vil announces him as one of the lead vocalists and Jamil's immediate reaction is not to accept it, but to humble himself and insist that Kalim would be better suited for it (when Kalim actually isn't)? Jamil has to stop himself, back up, and accept the nomination, which he has earned for himself, rather than relinquish it to someone less deserving. Years and years of serving someone else, forced to play the part of the inferior servant, will beat that attitude into his mind, regardless of how much he resents the position.

Even now, Jamil feels like he usually has to follow someone else's lead. Leona, the upperclassman and dorm leader, provides that lead for him in the VR simulation. This leadership + independence is something they would butt heads over later in book 6, as Jamil begins to act overprotective of his current charge (Leona) as he does with Kalim. While Jamil has played the part of Kalim's attendant and childhood friend, the reality is that Jamil cannot stand those roles. He desires to stand out and to be recognized--something which is evident in book 4. Before he brainwashes the Scarabia students, he's always framing himself in a positive and helpful light to them and speaks humbly about his abilities. After he brainwashes the Scarabia students, he has them heap him with praise that he had never gotten in his childhood. In the post-OB flashback, we see Jamil's parents scolding him for outperforming Kalim, even in something as simple as a game. The headmaster of a great arcane academy overlooks him in favor of someone far less capable.

Jamil knows he can be great, but he's intentionally being told to not reach those heights. He feels stifled and trapped, and no one understands his plight that he cannot escape from. This results in Jamil distancing himself from others and coming to rely on himself and himself alone to make his wishes come true. He can't rely on his family, who are beholden to their legacy of being servants to the Asims. He can't confide in friends because none of them are quite like him, and Kalim would ignorantly brush it off. He can't tell third parties because, as Crowley as demonstrated, they dismiss him outright. Jamil, as he acts throughout book 6, is doing so in an effort to find his own strength and to be able to act on it with the freedom he seeks. To play support not because he has to, but because he, the individual, wants to. As Jamil states before overblotting, he wants to "be free" from these precarious circumstances where a wrong move could doom him and his family... but he only has so many liberties to work with. This leaves him in a strange limbo situation where he still isn't fully independent but desperately wishes to be. We see him fighting against the restraints, and to varying degrees of effectiveness depending on the context and his state of mind within that context.

Leona

From a young age, Leona seems to have worked tirelessly to obtain recognition. Like Jamil, Leona was in such a position (second-born prince) that, despite his efforts, he kept being rejected and beaten down again and again. As we see in his post-OB flashback, this is what eventually broke Leona’s spirit and made him develop a pessimistic outlook on his prospects for the future. The thing is, even though Leona does not really have hope for himself, he still manages to inspire hope in other people, from underclassmen to the students of his dorm. Book 2 is entirely about Savanaclaw looking to Leona to save their own futures, and him trying to do so for their sakes. His club mates extol how he can so quickly hone in on their best skills and advise them on how to sharpen those skills. Jack admires Leona’s plays, so much so that he wished to one day play alongside Leona. He’s even able to get beastmen of different species to get along and live peacefully under his rule when this has historically been difficult for his older brother to manage. All in all, Leona has all the makings of a leader. He stands out from the crowd, knows when to leverage his power and intelligence (playing smarter, not harder), and commands with ease.

… That being said, Leona’s presence can be so powerful at times that it’s also isolating. This was the case for his childhood, which is depicted to us as many palace servants being fearful of Leona’s devastatingly strong magic. He also uses this strong magic against his dorm mates when their intentions clash in book 2–and he comes close to killing someone in the process. He’s also just notorious in general for being grumpy or unfriendly toward others, including one instance in book 5 when he seems upset that you’ve showed up in his classroom. Leona drives people away from him, whether because of his strength or because of his prickly attitude.

At the same time, i would also describe Leona as a tactician that keeps some degree of distance from those he commands. He makes it clear he's willing to use others to achieve his own goals and does so many times over. Book 2, when he tries to take out Malleus to help his dorm leaders while also trying to prove to himself that he's capable. Book 3, when he helps Yuu and co. dissolve the contracts including one of his own he made with Azul, etc. Leona knows how to best use his own abilities, as well as those of others. That's what makes him so formidable--he can read others and judge the situation extremely well, and he knows when it is smart to fight and when to tactically retreat (such as in book 6, when he immediately surrenders to STYX agents rather than make a scene). Leona is a self-sufficient man.

There’s the question of Ruggie, of course. Leona is often depicted as lazy and relies on Ruggie to do many daily things for him, such as laundry or fetching food. This obviously throws a wrench into the claim that Leona is more "independent" than those in group 1, doesn't it? He doesn't even come close to Jamil, who actually does all of these tasks himself. Well, not exactly. I don't think "independence" here really comes down to that alone. Riddle, Azul, and Vil all relied on Trey, the twins, and/or Rook to some significant degree to inform their own senses of self. Jamil had this belief of deferring to his "betters" (the Asims) instilled in him, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. And Leona? Leona does not significantly rely on Ruggie for his self-worth (dude was 100% going to sand him in book 2). Yes, Leona was likely looking to help his dorm members in part to prove to himself he is capable of leading a pack, but he gives up when he realizes it was a fruitless effort. He doesn't become reinvigorated to keep it up or to try again, even when his dorm members (Ruggie included) plead to him. Leona is acting selfishly, and he refuses to acknowledge their perspectives--he's set in his own ways and is driven by his own thoughts, not those of the people around him. Perhaps this is what allows him to discern truth from lies with such clarity, as it is Leona who rouses Jamil to his senses and leads the charge against the VR simulation Kalim and Ruggie.

[redphlox]

Regarding the civilians condemning Shigaraki in BNHA chapter 427...

Despite the civilians' lack of self/social awareness that societies create their own villains, it's a good sign that the people in this news program are questioning Shigaraki's motives and want to learn more about him. Their words are harsh but laced with genuine curiosity to avoid a similar event in the future. Hopefully, Tenko's story will be told and it will reveal that society's indifference towards the suffering of others and their complacency with heroes directly lead to all this. Hopefully, this realization will prompt collective reflection and change. The return of the lady who ignored Tenko reinforces this point, since she was basically the embodiment of society turning their backs on a little crying boy and being dependent on someone else to do the right thing.

I don't think that the civilians' condemning lens is the same lens Horikoshi is asking his readers (us) to use to interpret Shigaraki. I think it's there to show the readers the civilians' state of shock and confusion about Shigaraki's origin. By providing the villainifying newsreel alongside Spinner's more kind view of Shigaraki, Horikoshi is providing two lenses for the reader to marry together. During the first war in his battle with Endeavor, Shigaraki talked about the dichotomy of Heroes, and there is also a dichotomy of villains which has been explored through all the league members' backstories. The overall framing of this chapter is humanzing for Shigaraki, as Shigaraki was someone who spearheaded death and destruction for so many but was a source of comfort, inspiration, and a first true friend for someone who experienced loneliness and rejection his entire life. How could someone so horrible be so kind and relatable... and human? That's what the author is trying to make us think about. People are complex, and that's what the civilians are about to learn.

Also - I'm not saying that these concepts are expertly handled right now, but they're there and need to be acknowledged by readers to understand what the author is trying to tell us.

[cosmicjoke]

So I wanted to just take a moment to elaborate a little more on Levi's leadership during the Battle of Heave and Earth, because I think it's so important to understand just how vital Levi was to that final battle and, ultimately, toward the alliances' victory. Everyone was vital, of course. Everyone contributed in ways indispensable. But I think Levi's role was particularly crucial, and I want to explain why.

They wouldn't have won without Levi.

Full stop. They wouldn't have won.

I spoke before about how so often we've heard criticisms of Levi and his choice to let Erwin die, accusations hurled at him of having "robbed" humanity of the only leader that could save it, and I spoke about how those accusations, in the aftermath of Levi's contribution to that final battle, fall so utterly flat, because Levi became the leader that humanity needed in the moment when it counted most.

Armin was out of commission for most of the final battle. Of course he was doing his own, important work toward ensuring victory by convincing Zeke to stop wallowing in self-pity and actually do something (Zeke gets no credit from me, he let 80% of the population die because he felt sorry for himself). But my point is, Armin, despite being the Commander, wasn't able to lead during most of the battle because he was trapped in the Paths.

Levi took the reigns, then, without even needing to be asked or told. He simply took command, and it was his decision making that lead to their victory.

But before that, he fought alongside all of them as simply another soldier, putting his body and life on the line to take down as many titans as he could in the attempt to clear a path back to Armin. Levi was literally half-dead during this battle. His body was beyond compromised. He was suffering internal bleeding, likely major trauma to his organs, half blind, his dominant hand half-mangled, and later, his leg likely broken and torn apart and open. His ability to fight, and to fight so well and with so much strength, was nothing, then, but pure will on his part. Pure determination and refusal to quit. He never gave up, not once, despite his body needing him to.

When he sees the tied of the battle not going their way, then, a path back to Armin seemingly impossible, he takes charge and calms everyone down, tells everyone to stop and think. When it becomes clear that they won't be able to simply retrieve Armin and win this thing, when it becomes clear that killing Eren is the only way to actual victory, Levi is the first to organize everyone into accepting that bleak and awful reality, and to lay out a plan of attack toward accomplishing it. He breaks their team into two units and instructs them on what to do, one to go after Armin, the other, Eren's neck. This was Levi's plan, Levi's decision, and it's largely why they were able to succeed in their goals.

And then later, when he heartbreakingly thinks of himself as a burden, as someone who will just get in the way, he disproves his own self-criticism by stepping up and once again taking command in what truly was the most critical moment of the battle.

He takes out Zeke, of course, which stops the Rumbling. But then Armin's initial plan, of using the blast from his Colossal Titan transformation to kill Eren, fails, and the worm responsible for Eren's power threatens to reach him and start the Rumbling back up. It begins to release the same gas which Zeke had used on Ragako Village to turn the Eldian's into pure titans, and in that moment, with hundreds of Eldian's on the ground, it would have proven the end of the battle for all of them if Levi hadn't acted as quickly and with as much clarity of thought as he had. They all would have died, and the entire population of the world would have been wiped out.

Nobody else realized what was about to happen to them, too dazed and complacent and stricken with hopelessness, even after Connie posited what the gas could be. Only Levi understood what was about to happen, and only Levi took action in that moment to prevent total disaster. And then, while everyone else is standing around, paralyzed by their horror at the realization of what's happening, overcome with grief and fear, in that moment, Levi didn't hesitate. Like he once told the 104th, if disaster struck right now, he would act faster than any of them, and that's exactly what he did.

He understood the situation within seconds, and understood within seconds what needed to be done to avoid total catastrophe. He understood that he and Mikasa and the titan shifters were the only ones who would be immune to the gas, and so it was up to them to take action and end Eren's life, or all would be lost. He understood in that moment that they would be forced to abandon their family and comrades on the ground, abandon them to their fate of being turned into pure titans, in order to save what remained of the rest of the people trapped down there, and he didn't hesitate. He didn't falter. He pushed aside his own grief and horror, his own driving need to save everyone, in order to save who he could, just like he's always done. He armed himself with their only remaining thunder spear and ordered with commanding force for Mikasa and Pieck to get onto Falco's back, for them to take to the air, because he understood on the ground, they would all die, and if they were to have any chance of victory, they needed to be up high. He was able to ignore their stunned and frozen grief and initial refusal to move and act, and overcome it with his own refusal to give in. He made them act in the moment when it mattered most. And when Mikasa was overcome with grief at what was happening and the prospect of killing Eren, Levi refused to let her lose herself, screaming in her face to get it together, reminding her again and again that only they could stop Eren now, only they could save what was left of humanity.

And finally, with his failing body and waning strength, he fought side by side with Mikasa, battling through what seemed literal hell on earth to give her the opening she needed in order to deliver the killing blow to Eren and end it once and for all.

Mikasa wouldn't have been able to do what she did if not for Levi. If not for Levi's quick thinking, if not for Levi's orders, if not for his command, if not for his battling side by side with her, clearing a path for her. If not for his own sacrifice, giving up everything, having to leave behind the people he loved for people he didn't even know. Levi made that final push toward victory possible.

Levi essentially took over for Erwin when no one else could. He took over for Hange when no one else could. He became the Commander of the Survey Corps in that final battle. He became the one who lead them to victory.

I think understanding that is so important. For anyone who ever tries to accuse Levi of not caring about humanity, or accuse Levi of dooming humanity because he let Erwin die, you're wrong, you're so wrong. Because Levi became every bit the commander Erwin ever was in the moment when it mattered most. He refused to let humanity fall. He lead humanity to victory.

[screamingcrows]

Start Carvin' Darlin' - Dottore x f!reader

Note: I've never suffered this much anguish just to make a single bad pun. I do want to write their first encounter buuut we'll see if it ever happens. Bear with me, I know it makes little sense. By all that is important- please heed the tags.

~7k words

Tags: dead dove do not eat, nsfw, dark content, fem!reader, cannibalism adjacent thoughts, manipulation, coercion, noncon, drugging, medical malpractice, power imbalance, age gap, somnophilia, sexualised dissection, fingering, needles, blood, gore, dacryphilia?, drowning, no aftercare, thoughts of death, thoughts of murder, brief choking, no pleasure for reader, Il Dottore centric MINORS DNI - I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

There were few things, and even fewer people, Dottore would consider faithful companions. The world had made clear that nothing could be trusted and any gesture of kindness was bound to come at a price. The rest were blind to their perils. After all, so long as it was woven tight enough, even a tapestry of lies would be beautiful.

Hunger was different in that regard. Its claws had always nestled deep within his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew to carve out a space for itself. He'd known every flavor it had to offer, from light tingles creeping down his spine to the dagger that had been lodged and twisted between his ribs, unbearable when he'd dragged himself through the scorching dunes that refused to be a home.

His eyes flickered to the scalpel held loosely in his gloved hand, the light reflected in the metal devoid of warmth. There was no real reason to wear them, the broken husk atop his table served no threat, and contamination from himself was a wholly irrelevant concern to the present analysis.

Force of habit was what he reasoned, the motion of putting them on coming almost as naturally as shushing the commotion in his, their, mind. There had been quite enough of that lately, only worsened by his own souring mood. Cutting the link off for the day would be best for them all.

That torment and the hunger accompanying it was but a faint memory now. Much more vivid were the tendrils that had coiled around his gut so long ago and punctured the fragile organ, leaving holes that would never be filled no matter the knowledge he devoured.

Every form of craving was a base need that Dottore had long since catalogued and archived in the back of his mind, giving him control whenever they surfaced. Desires were a potent tool when wielded right, something to use and then push away, a drive he'd discovered far more difficult to replicate mechanically.

What good was fear of decay to something that had never truly been alive?

It wasn't before you entered his life that Dottore understood what it meant to be truly starved. Four weeks. That was how long you'd been gone, a speck of dust compared to his solitary existence. It would likely be another two before you returned. Living as a famished man had been all too easy before the taste of sunsettia lingered on his tongue in the dead of night, the sweet fragrance in the air cloying despite every window letting in the frigid Snezhnayan air.

Ichor poured forth from the incision, rich in color as it stained everything in its path. Light reflected across the surface of the syrupy liquid, creating millions of constellations one second and replacing them the next. How would it feel on his tongue? Look running down your throat? It enveloped his fingers in a welcoming embrace, spilling over the edges as it made way for curious probing.

Crimson eyes refocused under the mask, shattered remnants of crystalline mimicry laying separated from the sharp casing. Rarely did a delusion crack. Even in death, the poor thing still clutched it with fervor. Each delusion was a testament to progress, every shard a strict reminder to never grow complacent. In time, he'd examine the shards for impurities, but for now, the cold flesh bearing the consequences was his priority.

Selfishness ingrained after hatred burning too brightly, his recklessness had long since settled into carefully calculated moves. Still, the temptation of your flesh had been too much. By no means were he a weak man, yet the promise of warmth in the otherwise cold halls had caught him unaware.

It's lungs were expanding almost desperately to accommodate the growing pressure of death upon the air. That was another faithful companion, silent and ever watchful, no doubt waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The ashen skin was beautiful and had he known no better, it would've seemed obvious to write off the limbs as carved from stone. But there was no reasonable way to make that assumption, not with how the remaining muscle still moved under his touch. How it stretched when tugged. As tenderly as a lover, the sharp metal severed a piece to call it's own.

It hung from his palm, no longer part of anything that could have held importance, the tempting pink that was so familiar tainted by a vulgar discoloration, no doubt caused by the elemental energies it had been forced to absorb.

It bordered on obsession with how his thoughts would always circle back to you. He'd seen that color in the bruises he left on your body, in the plums you so enjoyed, pearly whites ripping through the skin and piercing the soft flesh underneath. You were always messy, with juices running down your chin while you perched so prettily on the cold metal tables of his workshop, nodding along to anything that left his lips. His eyes focused on a single drop running down his arm, deceptively anonymous in origin if seen in isolation, it might be a believable substitute for licking sweet nectar from your lips. He wondered if you were still as sweet as your favorite fruit. If it would sate the longing that gnawed at his insides the same as your presence did.

"Lord Harbinger? I- please excuse my intrusion, I'd been led to believe you weren't otherwise occupied."

You'd come to him as a wide eyed recruit, having had the misfortune of being made a cog in their machine. Such had become the fate of most, ironic that all they would see accomplished in their lifetime was trading who held the reins of their suffering. His wooden doors had creaked on their hinges as you tried to be discreet, trembling and clumsy with the salute, clearly still trying to come to terms with this new fate. You were everything he'd despised; weak, helpless, naïve, and so willing to throw yourself at whatever would have you and keep you safe. It fed something selfish.

"I am always busy. Quit wasting my time and state your purpose."

"I'm supposed to report for a health examination before they finalize the recruitment…"

Under normal circumstances, he'd have punished a disturbance like that, especially when paired with such ignorance. A medical exam. That was what you inquired about, and while he knew it to be true that every acquired asset must be examined, it was laughable that you'd fallen victim to some superiors directing you to his space.

Dottore had been in a good mood, finding himself willing to entertain the misunderstanding, if nothing else, it had provided a good distraction from the failures that had haunted him. Not even an hour after you'd left had he requested your transfer to his command, deeming you suitable for a few impending projects.

There was nothing sentimental left in him, all that had been forsaken, turned to dust when he broke himself into pieces. That was the truth as he willed it.

Another chunk of red left the body on his table, nimble fingers peeling back a layer of epithelia to trace the vessels that permeated it. They too had been contaminated, their walls glittering preciously in the sharp light. Steady hands held a syringe filled with water, letting it perfuse the artery before he gingerly collected it. A sample of blood for purification would be necessary as well. A pity the body had been left long enough that tracking the spread of energy would be useless through the crimson liquid, tissue damage would be the most reliant evidence.

Nothing remained of his past self, the parts that still clung to a desire for belonging, not satisfied by only the unity of ambition. It had been your eyes that revived it, looking upon him as if he held the sun in his palm and brought forth the dawn. As if he held all the secrets that would bring salvation.

Undoubtedly, you were one of the healthiest subjects to find themselves on his tables. And that was the justification he'd used that first time his hands had roamed the expanse of your skin, checking for any deformities and writing down scribbles on a sheet of parchment. It was both to placate your nervous mind, betrayed by the wobble in your lips and fidgeting hands, and to record your initial state, in case an opportunity to bring you back regularly and monitor any changes presented itself.

His fingers pushed inside, pliant flesh parting around his digits and swallowing them whole. It was a mesmerizing sight, his free hand twitching briefly before mindlessly wandering to unclasp his mask, as if the removal of it somehow made the wetness now coating his fingers glisten all the more. A shuddering breath passed his lips, forced out by the growing pressure in his chest as he remained unable to pry away his eyes. How utterly beautiful a sight it was. Unable to hold back, his fingers spread out to better stretch the opening, viscous liquid slowly oozing out as he engaged his other hand.

"a-ah I don't think that-"

"Good, keep it that way, there's no need for you to think. The more you squirm around, the longer this will take. Although, from the sounds you're making, it almost seems as though you are enjoying yourself?"

"No I'm.. Hurts.."

"Relax for me then."

Dottore had wondered since that day whether you were truly that clueless, or if you'd excuse yourself with the anxiety he'd seen choke your thoughts so often since. While he could grant you the benefit of doubt concerning the implications of his title, surely you'd know that a Harbinger had far more important obligations?

Entertaining whims had a habit of bringing more trouble than the brief euphoria indulgence could ever warrant. That had been his first mistake pertaining to you.

A flick of his wrist and the liver was easily removed, threads of adipose tissue clinging to the engorged mass as if unity would somehow save it. How tragically still it all was, the clockwork driving it forward had long since ceased operating, leaving only obsolete parts in the wake. The liver had been discolored, electro particles having seeped into the matter, it was made even more noticeable by the crisp white fabric it came to lay on. One of the segments could prepare biopsies from it, check if the energies had disrupted or otherwise changed the structures.

They already had an understanding of elemental overloading in organic matter, but it was a rare chance to observe internal damages caused by high loads over a short time rather than the prolonged use cases of their regular agents. Dottore had come to understand that no matter his insistence and want for knowledge, the soldiers wouldn't carry their dead with them, and he hardly had time to waste collecting material himself, no version of him did. Not with how close they were to their objective.

You had understood his desires and promised to try. The distaste had been palpable in the slight twitch of your eyes and wrinkled nose. It was the desire to try that fed his hunger. The silent promise of wanting not to understand, for how could you ever, but believing when he said the benefits were worth the hassle.

That he was worth the hassle.

Ah, how lovely you were. Keening moans and gasps of his name feeding into his budding obsession. The sounds had been enough to distract him from the churning feeling in his gut, barely able to handle how warm your insides had been, how tightly you squeezed his fingers. The feeling reminded him of reaching into a bed of roses, thorns puncturing his being and forcing his breath heavier.

It had been nothing but slow, languid movements, meant to explore and not fulfil, the sweet pleas that left your lips were simply a tacked on bonus. Dottore could only hope that you were left aching and wanting far more than him and that you hadn't seen how his cock had strained against the front of his pants, throbbing in tandem with your mewls. It was unbefitting.

"Two doors down the hall, on your right. You should fix your attire, it wouldn't do for a recruit to look as disheveled as that on their first day."

"I will, Lord Harbinger, and thank you… Did you fill out a form or something I should bring?"

"Consider this a preliminary inspection, the actual one will be done by a physician two doors down the hall."

How unfortunate that those The Mayor promised a better future were also the ones who would never see it come to fruition. They gave their lives, some more willingly than others, for a reward they could never reap. It had already caused a disease to run through Snezhnaya's people, unrest and distrust filling the veins of their nation instead of the wealth and prosperity they'd been assured would come. Dottore had found it most useful in handling you, a little taste of false certainty accompanied by the promise of power to protect yourself. Your gaze had rested upon him with nothing but devotion.

Another chunk left the body on his table, almost tossed aside without the faintest hint of grandeur, the heart was of no use to them This was far from his preferred medium, more durable constructions would always be at the forefront of his interest, yet there was still appreciation behind his mask at the delicacy. It had stopped the moment a flash of electro singed the nerves. He briefly wondered how its now blighted lifeblood would feel atop his tongue, would it prickle? Burn the roof of his mouth?

How he longed to taste yours again, feeling the tension in his jaw at the memory of biting a little too hard, that's what he'd called it anyway, an accident. In truth, he would not hesitate to drain your blood in seconds, the thought of your reliance on something apart from him made a feeling better left unidentified carve a path through his lungs, leaving the structures to collapse without air.

Every time his hands had touched you, tears had been rolling down your cheeks. How long before you learned that compliance was the logical path, that he wanted to gag every time his hands were forced to harm you?

Threats of missions far above your qualifications kept you in line for the most part, pliant enough that the restraints kept for livelier subjects rarely saw use.

Despite his best efforts to keep everything under wraps, Tartaglia had grinned brightly, not a care in the world when he'd approached, having the gall to simply barge in, to inquire about what promising new people he'd taken on. 'It had barely been a week' was what he argued, commenting how surely you must be something special to rouse The Doctor's interest so. Any reaction to his taunts would simply play into the ginger's hands, a game he was always surprised the young man knew how to play.

Something wet slid down his wrist, immediately drawing his attention back as he pulled his hands from the bloody mess. His lips curved downward, observing exactly where the edge of his glove had been pushed down, leaving the marred skin beneath vulnerable. With a huff, Dottore stepped away and discarded the gloves, letting cool water rinse away the icky feeling now writhing under his skin.

"Come now, Doc, why won't you let me have a friendly spar with you newest acquisition? It's so rare for you to take a special interest in anyone, surely you can understand why I'm curious?"

"That is exactly why. She shows promise, and I cannot have you breaking her prematurely."

"That's a promise then! When the time is right!"

"Get out, Tartaglia."

"I heard she's been coming in for regular 'inspections', you have to admit, that sounds a little unsavory. Does she actually think you're a real physician? Oh I know, tell her you studied medi-sin."

"That was an order. Out, now."

The water in Snezhnaya had an edge to it, as if pieces of glass were contained within. It left one feeling raw and aching despite no physical proof persisting. If it did, his hands would've been torn open days ago. There had been too many small mishaps lately, too many times he'd needed to cleanse himself after his mind had wandered. Despite how clearly the words echoed in his mind, no part of him would admit to their truth.

You'd done this to him. You'd instilled in him a weakness, a beast that wouldn't let him rest when you were gone.

A soft knock followed by the click of a lock behind him cleared his head in a flash, clean gloves swiftly tugged into place with newfound anticipation bubbling under his ribs. None of his segments knocked. No one else had a key. His body remained still, awaiting an announcement from the intruder, willing patience to persist even if the idea of feeling your skin under his uncovered palm was clawing at his muscles to move them.

"Doctor, I don't feel so good," weak and pitiful was the voice that reached his ears, it should've made him recoil.

Instead, Dottore found himself struggling to keep his movements languid, the image of a predator barely conserved in the slow turn of his head. He had no doubt you'd be scared if you could see how his eyes lingered upon your silhouette.

"You're making a bad habit of returning in a state of disrepair, there is only so much I can do to keep you patched together. Disrobe while I clear a table."

It would be a shame to discard the rest of the opened body already, there were still so many secrets to be pried from its cold grasp. Perhaps he could get you to-

No.

You would adamantly refuse, already he could sense the unease rolling off of you in waves at the putrid stench of death. Instead, the remains were wrapped tightly and brought to an adjacent room, the air misty from the cryo applicator installed inside, ensuring it could rest unaffected by decay while he tended the living.

A chuckle passed his lips upon seeing the way you were eyeing the metal surface as if it'd dissolve skin and bone. The sound alone was enough to stir your body, movements stiff as you sat on the edge. Such obedience was an admirable trait, one that would make the investment well worth it when he would one day enhance your form. He would. That's what he had to tell himself, even if the thought of peeling back your skin and rewiring everything inside was tied so intimately with an odd sense of loss.

"Finally…" his words had no real bite, only mild impatience.

Still, you hid yourself from his gaze, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around your chest. As if he hadn't seen it all already. Dottore let himself take a moment to simply rake his eyes down the shapes constituting your body, careful to let none of the flames eating away at his insides show. Would you be able to discern it in his eyes should he discard the mask? Light fingers traced down the mock beak, briefly contemplating if he should let you try, it would be nothing but torture no matter what.

Being able to put a monstrous form to everything you'd heard about him, everything he'd done to you, it coiled in the pit of his stomach and upheaved anything on its way. He would never admit to being afraid, but the thought of being regarded with repulsion by you sent a shiver down his spine.

The injuries you'd sustained were minor, shallow and located at safe distances from anything vital. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to play a little, the table had already been cleared and he might as well take the break. Lips set in a scowl, his hands found your shoulders and pushed you back, already relishing in how perfectly the curvature fit against him, how little resistance there was in the movement. Made for him. That's what he would make of you. Scarlet lines had been drawn along your skin, urging his fingers to trail along the wetness.

"Do explain what, precisely, led to you looking like this," he kept his voice frigid for now, knowing how much more responsive the thought of having upset him made you.

"We were on our way back from taking care of-"

"I'm aware of your assignment, do not forget who signs off on your outings, give me the specifics."

A curious finger brushed over your hardened nipple, hearing the words catching in your throat.

"Treasure hoarders. I failed to block a strike and-" your body tensed as it wrung out the words.

"You failed to block a strike from such vermin?" He tutted, hand squeezing a little tighter around the soft flesh of your chest, seeing it spill out between his fingers, "That hardly warrants returning all cut and bruised, clearly, you lack the perseverance I thought I'd observed in you. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but nutrients for the wayside flora, is that what you'd like?"

Dottore wanted to laugh at your pitiful expression, a kicked puppy laying at his feet and wordlessly pleading for forgiveness, unknowing that it had already been granted. It was deliberate that you were never sent away far or for long, but there was no reason for you to know. Fear fostered obedience and your obedience was always pleasant, speeding up the process of cleaning the wounds you'd sustained with minimal squirming.

That didn't mean one hand wasn't constantly splayed over your sternum, pressing down to keep your body pinned. Already, a faint buzz was crawling along his bloodstream, months of conditioning catching up in the most frustrating manner as the front of his pants tightened. He had to swallow hard, forcing his fingers to relax before he left bruises. How would it look, he mused, if his nails could dig into your flesh? At the mere thought of those red crescent, a wave of heat washed over his body, accompanied by images of what other marks he could leave upon the canvas of your body.

Could he replicate and improve how pliant your thighs were under his grasp, would new vocal cords make sweeter sounds, added nerve endings would no doubt make for interesting results, if your muscles were synthetic the force they could exert would be greater meaning-

Not yet.

Dottore willed his focus to return, threading a needle as his disinterested voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

"Do I need to strap you down?"

There was no need to look, knowing you were already oh so bravely shaking your head. An amused smile graced his lips upon seeing your teeth sink into the dirty uniform. Such foresight deserved praise, a small nod of his head accompanied by a finger rubbing along your collarbone in an almost soothing motion.

Having done it countless times before, the needle went effortlessly through your skin, thread pulling the flesh tightly together whenever he tugged. A hand kept returning to your no doubt soft locks of hair, carding through it and pushing back the urge to give a tug. The few tears that had fallen were swiftly brushed away by his fingers, the taste almost cloying upon his tongue.

Dottore sighed softly, tapping your side to get your attention back to the present, seeing your glassy eyes and the small shivers that ran down your body. He could already smell your arousal in the air, the scent growing in strength every time your hips shifted.

"That's it for now," his hand skimmed along your bare stomach, ending atop your sternum and keeping you down, "however, some of the lacerations appear to be in early stages of infection."

How he'd missed the little hitch of your breath, the stutter of your heart underneath his hand. Unceremoniously, Dottore put more weight into the hand, feeling your pulse echo throughout his own body and letting every beat slowly fill the gaping pit beneath his ribs with hollow promises.

There was no infection, of course, but he needed something to placate you before an injection. And the sedative would be invaluable. After weeks of being famished, there was no guarantee your comfort would be at the front of his mind, and it was so much more pleasant when you didn't struggle. Last time had bitterly taught him as much.

"But you can make me okay, right?" There was a sweet tremble to your voice, always so scared of death.

"The mere question is an insult to my abilities," he practically purred, excitement bubbling as his chosen objective for the day moved closer, "it'll just be a little prick and then you're safe. Now, sit up for me."

He'd already turned around, hands aching to return as he rummaged through a few drawers, eventually pulling out both a vial and syringe. Your body came into view reflected in the clear liquid, barely having sat up and already exploring the stitches.

All it for your eyes to lock on the syringe was two taps to the glass, unease so plainly written across your face while he pressed the plunger to clear excess air trapped inside.

His hand encircled your arm, tugging upwards and tutting at the grime that clung to you. With the syringe between his teeth, he wiped the area down, satisfaction flooding his system when goosebumps spread. It had been so long since he'd had you properly.

"There. Now, you need to stay here a little so I can ensure that there are no immediate adverse effects. The blanket is in the usual spot."

It would have been far more practical for you to put the uniform back on, but Dottore trusted that you'd follow his directions regardless and without fuss. When he caught the rattling of metal buckles, he wanted to laugh at your naivety, were you truly not accustomed enough by now to know what he wanted?

"I said; the blanket is in its usual spot," the icy sneer left his lips without a second thought, and oh how beautiful your widening eyes were.

"Well, I know, but it was just-" your voice was already a pitch higher, the irrational fear further irking him.

"Should I consider this insubordination?"

Already, Dottore had crossed the distance and wrapped a large hand around your jaw. It was no secret what happened to cross subordinates. He was well aware that your little slip hardly warranted this reaction, but it was difficult to hold back when the urge to sink his nails into your skin screamed and begged, fighting to drown out every other thought.

"N-no, please…"

It would be all too easy to squeeze a little tighter, hear the crack of your mandible as it would threaten to give out. His fingers stretched to move further up, pressing against the condylar processes, feeling around the joint as images of you with your jaw agape crashed over him.

Dottore knew how little force it took to break. And how a replacement could be crafted and implanted in less than a day, stronger and sturdier than what occupied the space now.

"Remember your place, and be thankful I don't leave you to wilt," the words were spat out with more disdain than anticipated, his fingers giving a last wanton squeeze before releasing your jaw.

With a small scoff, Dottore returned to one of the workbenches that lined the walls, feigning disinterest as his hands automatically began tinkering with the closest contraption, barely willing to divide enough attention to ensure it wasn't something that required further protective equipment for handling. Of course you'd know there were proper medics within the ranks, the most accessible ones located a few rooms away, but they couldn't offer what he did, and the reassurance that you always came back for him to lick your wounds with his barbed tongue, it was enough to pacify any frustrations with your brief moments of hesitation.

Five minutes of pretending to be distracted and Dottore found himself a little impatient.

Ten minutes and it had built to irritation, glassware scraping along the surfaces as he pushed it around, mindlessly 'reorganizing'.

By fifteen something would have been thrown were he a lesser being.

Sweet relief came at the quiet sound of your voice shattering the thick air, the words slurred as if you couldn't quite make out the correct shapes with your lips.

"Am I s'posed to feel tired?"

A small chuckle wormed it's way from his lungs, nonchalance fully restored now that he could turn to gaze upon your slumped body, fingers tightly clutching the fuzzy blanket that enveloped you in a flimsy haven.

"You've just returned after weeks in the field, having sustained injuries and all," Dottore spoke calmly, betraying none of his greed as he gestured to the trace remnants of blood on the table, "it is no wonder that exhaustion would begin to take hold now that you are safe."

The question was plainly written in your eyes, making Dottore incline his head in silent motion to continue, preemptively stepping closer to catch what would no doubt be a whisper.

"Should I go back to the barracks?"

"Would you prefer to go?"

You wouldn't be given the opportunity to go, of course not, but there was no need to be forceful when he could already see how valiantly you fought to keep your eyes open, how your body seemed drawn downwards. It couldn't be more than a few minutes now.

Irritation briefly sparked in Dottore's chest at the little shake of your head, it would've been far more fulfilling to hear you say it.

No attempt was made to make your way through the laboratory to reach the modest cot that stood tucked away in a corner, crates of supplies and projects on hold usually hiding it from view. How ethereal you looked, head lolled to the side and the blanket slowly slipping from your shoulders as a false slumber curled its gnarled limbs around you.

Whatever conclusions you mind would reach were of little consequence, the sedative would take care of that, countless tests indicating that it always left the recipient's memory riddled with inconsistencies, making it easy to dismiss any unpleasantries as imagined.

Dreams.

The risks associated with using the modified Akasha were still too great, even if the possibility of directly rewriting the barrier between truth and fantasy was a tempting one. This way would be more satisfying in the end, having had to put in a little work and flex muscles that had been allowed to atrophy since his days in The Akademiya.

Dottore showed extra care when he hoisted up your unconscious form, grip unyielding as he closed his eyes to revel in the weight against him. In a past that mattered little, others had sworn the ego he carried around was inflated enough to see him ascend in any way but the desired, perhaps this would've been enough of a tether to their reality. For this alone would he allow himself to be held down.

Perhaps things could have been different had that lone island in the sky not decided for his fate to be nothing but misery. Thus logic dictated that you too would be lost. A soft tremor reminded his fingers to relax, gently stroking over the crescents they'd left.

Your breath warmed him far more than it had any right to, coaxing forth memories of a soft summer breeze, rose petals velvety between his fingers as they were plucked from their stem and plummeted to their inevitable demise. And an inviting sound, bubbly and sweet that had, for just a night, filled his veins with the toxin your presence had reignited.

Having you clean would be preferable. The emergency shower would hardly be sufficient, not with how the filth seemed to have embedded itself in your skin. With you unconscious, there was no reason to school his expression, the notion only serving to exacerbate the scowl his face set in.

A soak would be easiest.

There was nothing pompous about the washroom attached to his quarters, and a pang of regret had the idea of bringing you to The Regrator's briefly surfacing. The sentiment didn't linger, an unwillingness to be indebted quickly reigning in the myriad of thoughts cluttering his mind in much the same way towels and clothes were currently strewn around the room.

It made a pretty picture, your body curled up against the side of the tub, a few rays of pale light slithering through the lone window to caress your face. A feeling that had never quite been within his grasp lingered in the rays of light, coaxing something painfully unfamiliar to tug at his shriveled heart.

Just a little longer before the tingling in his fingertips would be sated.

Quick work was made of disrobing himself, a watchful eye making sure your head remained above water. Dottore let a weary sigh hang in the otherwise empty silence, hating the hesitation that riddled his movements as his clothes fell to the floor. There was no reason to be reserved about the results of a life lived, the chances of you regaining consciousness would remain negligible for a while.

Finally settling with your weight in his lap was undoubtedly the closest to rapture Dottore had found himself. Arms securely around your midsection, your back flush against his heaving chest, had every uncertainty draining into the water.

Dutifully, one hand tore itself from your form to reach for a clean cloth, struggling for a moment before muscle memory took over, fingertips gracing the fabric without the need to tear his eyes from your parted lips. It was nothing short of tranquil, letting the cloth scrub away the remnants of your excursion with meticulous care.

Dottore saw how your skin turned red from the continued friction and consciously ignored it, some small voice wanting to rub it off completely and leave you a blank canvas.

He looked instead at his reflection in the water, vermillion stare drawn to its counterpart, noting briefly how it wasn't nearly as comfortable as being under your gaze.

At least his subconscious mind had the decency to have left the few areas he'd stitched together alone, not that they mattered in any practical sense, but you'd be distraught if they were gone when you woke. With time, would you be as broken as him?

Only once you'd been scrubbed clean were thoughts of his own desires acknowledged, cock throbbing against your back as soon as attention was diverted to the feeling. A small hiss mingled with the steam from the water, Dottore easily repositioning you to let his length slide between your thighs.

Already, satisfaction rumbled in his chest, vision engulfed by white for a moment upon repeating the soft motion of his hips. Your thighs easily gave way when tugged apart, body every bit as pliant as previously. Having made peace with his impatience long before, his lips were immediately descended upon the crook of your neck, stifling the groans that spilled forth as he aligned himself.

The water provided additional friction, a slight burn dancing against his sensitive tip upon breaching your tight entrance. Soap met his tongue, disgustingly sterile as it danced along his taste buds, only spurring him on to mouth at you with renewed vigor, desperate to taste the sweetness he knew lay buried underneath.

His hips snapped up as the familiar taste invaded his senses, eyes rolling back at the pleasure of being buried to the hilt. Had his faith been intact, a prayer to the archons for your silence would have tumbled from his lips. Warm droplets carved out paths alongside old scars, gathering at his chin before being caught in the soft locks of your hair. Dottore felt his skin crawl as traces of a pained howl bubbled in his throat, body trembling in time with every squeeze of your insides.

If time would remain forever frozen as the land just outside the walls perhaps everything would be more bearable then. Would it banish both the threat of separation and the burden of remaining what he'd made of himself in spite of reality?

Another sound crawled from his lungs, foreign and intrusive when it met his ears, wanton in a way that caused nothing but dissonance. Dottore curled his body around you, panting heavily against the nape of your neck as he sought out some form of relief, his muscles straining with the increased pace.

Stagnating would be of no use, pleasure was fleeting, worthless without contrast.

Dottore felt euphoria flood his system, spine tingling mercilessly as his sharp teeth tore into the pliant flesh beneath. It was a thoughtless action, driven only by the need to claim and consume, satisfying the desperate desire to be whole. Water sloshed against the edges with every rut of his hips, driving himself deeper into the warmth you so selflessly provided.

How much time had passed felt secondary, the only thing truly worth attention being the rapid tightening in his abdomen, pleasure steadily building with every movement. Seeking more, Dottore found his hands had moved down to grasp the curve of your hip, easily hoisting you up to twist your body around.

With a ferocity that should by all means have been concerning, his lips sought a home against yours, relishing in how they had already parted for him. A hand in your hair was all that was needed to stabilize your head enough that he could delude himself into thinking you awake.

That the little puffs of air that passed into his waiting jaws were instead keens and broken moans spilling forth. His tongue pushed into the waiting heat, wanting if he could to explore deeper, have your throat squeeze around his tongue as your body did his cock. Before he could hesitate, the curve of your nape rested in his calloused palm, the appendage twitching with budding excitement.

A light press was all his mind would allow, knowing all too well how little it would take to snap such a precious thing. As intoxicating as holding the fate of another in his hands were, this was wrong, without reason.

It was the way your thighs quivered around his hips that brought order to all those thoughts, tugging your head away for a breath of fresh air to stifle his burning lungs. Only a single breath afforded, diving back in for more as all else lost meaning. He needed more, needed to hear you beg him, needed your hands to tug at his hair, needed-

Water splashed over the edges as he pushed forward, hands grasping for the back of your knees to push them against your chest. His chest heaved at the sight underneath him, growling like a wounded animal as he reaped what he'd cultivated, one hand keeping a leg pinned while the other covered your nose and mouth.

He was so close.

Close enough that every clench of your slick heat choked his thoughts. Close enough that he threw back his head, willing the image of your eyes briefly opening from his mind, focusing instead on the water soothing his burning skin as he gave a last few thrusts, cursing as the thread snapped and released washed over him.

It would've been no surprise if the tub had cracked from the force, even less if you had cracked, his body still shaking from the force of his release, milky white leaking out into the water and dispersing. Your body was swiftly pulled above the surface as Dottore sat back, once more cradling your head to his chest, trying to ignore the emptiness that wanted to force itself along the clarity that came in the wake of euphoria.

He laid your no doubt exhausted frame onto the cot, hastily tossing the grey blanket over your form. The harsh light of the laboratory did little to hide the marks that littered your body, blooming purple along your thighs, fierce red at your shoulders, already tempting him to reach out and touch again. It was a matter of creating distance, unwilling to let attachment fester and consume more, already now the gnawing had returned, weaker than before but far from sated.

By all means, he should've swung the door shut with more force, knowing at the back of his mind that the lock never clicked. It did nothing to stop his body from collapsing onto his unmade bed, pushing at the covers before crawling further up. He didn't find himself opposed to having you drape yourself against his body, rest in his arms.

Would you seek him out by yourself once the sedative wore off?

Would that finally stave off his hunger?

[gerbymoo]

Fanon Bucciarati: A man with a tragic backstory where he lost his family, had no choice but to join an organization that caused him the same pain but makes the best out of it by providing guidance, kindness and support to his new found family. Is willing to put his life on the line for his own beliefs and his trusted companions while understanding not everything can be fixed in a black and white sense. Is empathetic towards those who have been played a bad card in life and wants to offer them a second chance after not getting one himself. Becomes a role model for those in his life and follows through with his belief system until his demise, but with a wise mind and acceptance of how things need to be played out.

Canon Bucciarati: A man who was intensely traumatized in his childhood, influenced heavily by his father’s values and evolves into a savior complex which starts off as a positive way to cope with his loss but eventually develops into a double edged sword when faced with his unnerving reality of working for an organization that thrives off the suffering of those who are the most vulnerable (just like him). Has an immense loss of identity and slowly succumbs to complacency after years of letting things play out as they are, knowing he can put his and his teammates lives at risk if he were to do anything out of the status quo of Passione. Refer back to the theme of sleeping slaves and his own inner turmoil of being ‘dead’ while just being a cogwheel in the bigger drug trafficking system and possibly creating the same scenarios to other innocent people just like the one he was forced into. Is snapped back into his old self by a fucking 15 year old with even bigger complex trauma issues, but willing to fight against the status quo and willing to make a change for the better for himself and for everyone else who has been a victim of this organization because of his otherworldly resolve and belief system (bro has two biological dads). No wonder Bucciarati immediately hopped on board with Giorno’s plan, the man was literally begging for someone to come and make him realize that there are others who share the same sentiments as he does.

Tumblr Bucciarati: Zipper daddy

[kirain]

what do you think of this post about Gale? I saw it today and idk how to feel about it. h t t p s : // www. tumblr. com / galahadwilder / 741497332636467200

I couldn't disagree with it more, to be honest.

First of all, and I can't stress this enough, Mystra doesn't care about her followers. She cares about the state of the Weave and nothing more. If her followers don't worship her, if they're not useful to her, if they don't serve her purpose, they mean nothing to her. After she abandoned Gale, she had no interest in him until she realised she could use him to stop the Absolute—and she only wanted to stop the Absolute because it threatened the Weave. In general, Mystra doesn't care what people use magic for either, be it the most admirable heroics or the most depraved insanity you can imagine.

Case and point: Lorroakan. He is an arrogant wizard, far worse than Gale could ever hope to be, who uses magic for pure evil. When he beat Rolan, he undoubtedly used magic to do it. Do you think Mystra cared? Nope. You can help that nutjob achieve his goals, kill a demigod, turn him immortal, and give him free reign to abuse magic any way he wishes, but do you think Mystra cares? Nope. She doesn't. She doesn't care about people unless they benefit her. In fact, all three iterations of Mystra have a vast history of grooming, flat out 🍇, and the forced impregnation of unsuspecting mortal women. Despite being neutral good, Mystra is and has always been extremely vain, selfish, jealous, and problematic.

With that in mind, I'd like to break this post down piece by piece. Also, please be aware that when I use the word "you", I don't mean you specifically, anon. I'm more so addressing anyone who might be reading.

PS: Please no one harass this person's post. Their opinion is their own, and it's very respectful. At the end of the day, we're just talking about a video game.

Mystra didn't tell Gale not to juggle the torches. She didn't even tell him it was a torch. She let him go on believing it was a part of her missing Weave. Had she told him the truth, he would've stayed away. That's why he's so shocked in Act 3, when she finally reveals it's the Karsite Weave. He had no idea, and she likely never intended to tell him. She didn't before he went off in search of it, and she didn't the entire time he was locked away in his tower, scared and suffering. I can't for the life of me figure out why she wouldn't warn him, but I can only assume it's because she expected absolute obedience, or because she was getting bored of him and wanted him to mess up.

Whatever her reasons, she didn't tell Gale to leave the orb alone because he was "worthy" already. He clearly wasn't in her eyes, because he wanted her to see him as an equal. He wanted her to share her knowledge with him, which is perfectly fair in a healthy relationship. If you're dating a god and they treat you like a worshipper—that's all you are to them. A worshipper. A plaything. You're beneath them. You're unworthy. She told Gale to leave the orb alone because she wanted him to be complacent. She wanted to keep him in servitude. That's what she wants from all of her followers, though it's even worse when it's her lover.

In almost every story where a mortal loves a god, the mortal is either ascended into the heavens or the god gives up their divinity. And this isn't even specific to gods, but also vampires, werewolves, elves, and so on. Arwen, for example, gives up her immortality to be with Aragorn. Bella becomes a vampire to be with Edward. Hercules gives up his divinity to be with Meg. Elisa Esposito becomes aquatic to be with the creature. These are common tropes because it makes the couples equal.

Mystra contradicts herself by saying Gale was "always worthy", because her actions don't reflect it. He was a worthy distraction from her job, sure, but not worthy enough for her to treat him like an equal. So in order to prove it to her, to prove his love and devotion, he went after the one thing he knew she wanted—her missing Weave. Yes, she told him not to, and I agree he should've respected that, but this is on par with a woman telling her husband not to buy a bracelet she really, really wants because it's too expensive. If your husband worked extra hours and saved up enough to buy you that bracelet, would you divorce him?

Gale was completely unaware of the danger. He basically thought he was getting Mystra a bracelet. Had she taken the time to explain it to him, the whole catastrophe could have been avoided. He was just a hopeless romantic who wanted to surprise his girlfriend and prove he belonged at her side. The same girlfriend who very well could have made him her equal and shared her knowledge, but chose not to. Why? Because she's selfish. She didn't want an equal, she wanted a servant. We know this because, if you romance and ascend Gale, he will ascend you alongside him and give you your own domain! Mystra had the power to do this, or at least the ability to slowly ease him into it, but she refused. No matter how much he pleaded and proved his devotion to her, she refused.

Mystra did not save Gale when the orb embedded itself in his chest. He survived only because it fed on his gifts. He says as much, and so does she when you go to see her at the Temple. That's why, when we first meet him, he admits he used to be better at magic. He was once exceedingly powerful, but the orb basically knocked him down to level one. Mystra was perfectly happy to let him scramble to find items to absorb, knowing that he would inevitably run out and erupt. When we give him his third item in Act 1, the orb is becoming quenchless, and he knows his time is nigh. Mystra has nothing to do with satiating the orb until Act 2 and 3, and only because he becomes her wild card.

Gale: Mystra will consider forgiveness?

Elminster: She will consider ... what she considers to be forgiveness.

Even Elminster, her most faithful Chosen, knows her "forgiveness" isn't really forgiveness. It's an ultimatum. Do this for me and be welcomed into my hall, or die and literally go to hell. Why would Mystra make this offer? Well, because why else would Gale agree to kill himself only to end up in the Wall of the Faithless? How would that motivate him? Mystra didn't make this offer out of the kindness of her heart, she made it because she was desperate. Had the opportunity never presented itself, she would've let him die and suffer for all eternity, and possibly take hundreds of innocent people with him in the blast. She. Doesn't. Care. 🤷‍♀️

Now, one could argue Gale was asking for too much, but I'm going to have to call bullshit on that. First of all, Mystra showed him things no mortal has ever seen. It's only fair he'd want to share her world and learn as much as possible. Imagine if the Doctor from Doctor Who picked up some random people and took them on breathtaking adventures, but the audience got mad at them for wanting to see as much as they could. Amy, Clara, Rose, etc.—none of them could live a normal life after meeting him, and they wanted to learn as much about the universe as possible. But everyone loves those characters. They don't get mad. There's even several episodes where the companions call the Doctor out for not treating them as equals, and he admits he's wrong for doing that and adjusts his way of thinking.

I would argue that the only real divide between Mystra and Shar/Vlaakith is that Mystra doesn't inflict physical pain ... most of the time. That's it. Vlaakith and Shar only care about themselves and the effectiveness of their followers, but the exact same applies to Mystra. She is the Weave, and she only cares about the Weave; therefore, she only cares about herself. She had ample opportunity to help Gale or tell him the truth, but she didn't until it was convenient for her. The gods of D&D are basically the Greek Pantheon gods—a bunch of assholes toying with mortals, regardless of their alignment. The odd one is decent, but most are only out for themselves and their rule. Now, I will concur that Mystra is hardly the worst deity (in fact, she's unfortunately one of the better ones), but she's still not great and Gale is her victim.

To get a little controversial, I think the writers made a mistake. I know what they were going for, but I think they lost it along the way. At first, I was ready to stand with everyone and admit he belonged in the quintessential "overreaching wizard full of hubris" category, but upon researching the lore, getting to know Gale better, and doing several different playthroughs, I've come to vehemently disagree. First of all, before 5E (the current D&D edition), becoming a god was the ultimate goal for a lot of players, and that was perfectly acceptable, with many DMs providing celestial paths to make it possible. Moreover, many of the current gods were once human themselves, including Mystra!

Second, it's only hubris if you fail. Gale can ascend. He can succeed. Although it's not the canon outcome I would choose for him, he is right about the crown. He does his research and figures out how to reforge it. And he doesn't seek godhood to be worshipped, he seeks it to either free himself (and all mortals) from Mystra's chains, or for her to acknowledge and love him as an equal. His arrogance stems from insecurity; an insecurity Mystra herself planted and cultivated, and in the end he's not really arrogant atfter all. Does him wanting to be Mystra's equal make him selfish? Well, I suppose that depends on how you answer these questions:

Is your partner equal to you? If you don't think so, why are you leading them on? Why wouldn't you take steps to help them become your equal? Why are you holding them back instead of propping them up? If they show interest in your life, in your world, in the things you can do, why would you keep it to yourself, especially when you have the time and resources to share it?

Just some ambrosia for thought. 😉

[iovetecchou]

If I Can't Have You... ⧸ Jouno Saigiku

༞ Part 1.

༞ Contains...! angst, dark themes, detailed descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, gaslighting, mind-breaking, slight!physical abuse, very toxic relationship, asshole!jouno, just absolute pain and suffering. use of pet names (darling, princess)

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 1,557 words.

Everything after that fateful encounter with Jouno was a blur. You have no idea how you even made it back to your shared apartment in one piece. His venom-laced words rang through your mind— over and over again.

You were in shock. This whole time you were nothing but an “Easy fuck.” to Jouno. The man you loved more than yourself. The man who took over your every thought, every action, every semblance of happiness.

You gave everything up for him, and for what? All you could focus on was the ringing of your heartbeat in your ears. Your fingertips going numb from all the anxiety coursing through your body.

“Ah… it’s six already? I need to start making dinner.”

You thought out loud. Your body moving on its own, as though you weren’t controlling your actions. Even now, Jouno held the strings. Present or not… he owned you.

Your brain couldn’t possibly comprehend that this was your reality. All that echoed in your mind was,

“If you so much as think of leaving me… I will know, and I will kill you.”

You knew you were screwed. Even if you began packing your things now, leaving and never looking back. Jouno would find you; and kill you. As promised.

Your mind played out constant scenarios of how you could escape and run away without a trace. But it was futile; Jouno would use everything in his arsenal to hunt you down.

Tears blinded your vision as you continued to prepare supper. Your shaky hands placing two plates atop the dining room table; an act that once brought a smile to your face now tainted.

Meals always brought you two together. You always valued those times spent with Jouno. Laughing over stories about his ‘idiotic’ colleagues from the day as his lips curled up into a soft smile. Complimenting you on your meal, telling you, “No one could compare.”

So all of that was a show? Just an act he maintained to keep you complacent? Did all of your cherished moments truly mean nothing?

The door swung open just as you finished up. Causing fear to course through your entire being. You froze as Jouno's words rang through your shared apartment.

“Princess, I’m home! I knew that divine smell from the hallway was coming from our place. Nothing compares to your cooking, darling.”

You physically could not speak. The words were trapped in your throat as you turned to face Jouno. He was smiling sweetly your way, walking over toward the table and taking his seat.

“Well? Aren’t you going to give me a kiss hello? I did just get home from a hard day of work, you know.”

Why was he acting as though nothing was wrong? You were more than certain that everything that went down today was real… right?

“O-Oh… right, I’m sorry.”

You managed to squeak out. Shaky legs made their way toward an awaiting Jouno. You placed your clammy hand atop the table for support. Leaning in closely toward him, even though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to pull away.

The second your lips captured his, you felt sick. No longer did his embrace feel safe; quite the opposite. Jouno smirked within the kiss at your physical reaction. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, your body trembling in place.

You pulled back as fast as you could. Noticing the lipstick stains on Jouno's collar as you stood upright. You felt nauseous, your stomach turning in knots from the sight alone.

"What's wrong, princess? You seem shaken up."

Jouno quirked a brow, reaching a hand out to soothe your hip. You took a quick step back, dodging his embrace completely. Jouno looked stunned for a split second before his expression twisted into something sinister.

His lips were curved into a nasty frown, eyebrows knitted where they lay. Jouno's whole expression became shaded, and his body became tense too. Your eyes widened as you watched his hands ball into fists from where they rested beside him.

"Oh… so there is a problem then, hm?"

His voice was razor sharp, not even a trace of Jouno's usual witty tone could be found. All you could do was shake your head in disagreement as you took a few more steps backward. Startling yourself as the cold countertop grazed your lower back.

Jouno rose to his feet slowly, making his way to stand before you. He towered over you, his hand grasped your chin firmly. Tugging your face up toward his own before he spoke up once more. "What… did you go mute? Use your fucking words."

"Yes..?"

His fingers dug into your cheeks as he forcefully shook your head in agreement. Pulling a small yelp from your lips.

Jouno smirked at your painful cry, making your heart ache even further. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, not letting him get that gratification off your pain again today.

"Or no..?"

His grip got even harsher as he shook your head in disagreement this time. A shit-eating grin etched into his features, immensely enjoying the way you shook in his grasp.

To say you were fed up at this point was an understatement. Your fear subsided for a moment, being replaced by rage. You brought your hands up to grasp Jouno's hand. Yanking his digits away from your face and pushing him backward with everything you had in you.

"Of course— yes! There's a fucking problem. Why are you acting like nothing happened today? I walked in on you practically fucking another person— and you told me if I try to leave, you'll kill me. So of course there's a fucking problem, darling."

Jouno's smirk only grew wider at your words. His maniacal laughter filled the room, fueling your irritation even further.

"What? What's so fucking funny, Sai? Hm..? Tell me, was all of this— our whole relationship just a cruel joke to you? I gave up everything for you, everything. My family, friends— hell, I gave my whole life for you! And all you can do is fucking laugh in my face?"

His laughter only picked up the more you spoke. His hands grasped the edge of the dining table as he leaned back for support. Throwing his head back, reveling in his own amusement.

You couldn't think clearly. Your whole world was turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours. The person you loved more than anything was now nothing more than a stranger to you. But the worst part of it all; was that you still loved him— at least, a specific version of him. The one he showed to you, and you alone.

You reached out to him, balling the front of his uniform in your fists. You shook Jouno with all your might. Tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks as you cried out,

"Stop laughing— stop fucking laughing! I hate you, I fucking hate you…"

"No… you don't, princess. And we both know it. I bet the day I asked you to be mine was the greatest day of your life, hm? But to me… it was just another Friday. It meant nothing to me— you mean nothing to me. Accept that this is your life now, Y/N."

His words rattled through your whole being. Cutting you up from the inside out. Jouno was right… that was the happiest day of your life.

Was it so wrong of you to assume he felt the same way? That your relationship, the time you spent together, held any comprehensible significance to him?

You were too exhausted to fight with him further. Too shocked to even process that this was your life now. In that moment of realization, you didn't feel anything anymore. The tears still flowed freely, blurring your vision; but you couldn't care less.

"Accept that this is your life now, Y/N."

"This is your life now, Y/N."

Those words played through your mind like a record that endlessly skipped. You knew you couldn't escape; Jouno would kill you. Your family had no clue where you were and you didn't have friends anymore.

This was the end of the line for you. So were you going to accept it, or fight it?

Your body froze; your hands released the front of Jouno's uniform and went limp at your sides.

All of a sudden, your head snapped up. Jouno listened to your every move, trying to anticipate how you would react next.

"Darling, your dinner is getting cold. Why don't we eat before it all goes bad, hm?"

Your voice was eerily calm as you walked around the table. Making up his plate; as if nothing was awry. Jouno couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips as he took his seat.

He didn't say a word, simply just honing in on your reactions. Sensing for anything out of place, he couldn't find such things. Your heartbeat was regular, body temperature was back to normal. And he couldn't hear any wavering in your voice.

He had broken you; completely. There was no fight, no drive left inside you. All that was left was a shell of the person you once were. An altered version of yourself, one that Jouno molded you to be.

"Same time tomorrow for dinner, Sai?"

"Indeed, same time tomorrow."

[synchodai]

It's very important to me that Jacaerys Velaryon is not perfect. He suffers from the same affliction Robb Stark and most young, inexperienced commanders do — that despite being good at short-term strategic planning, his decisions in the book absolutely suuuuck long-term.

He wanted to send himself and his brother instead of ravens because he wanted to prove to the lords that they could ride dragons.

“We should bear those messages,” he said. “Dragons will win the lords over quicker than ravens.” His brother Lucerys agreed, insisting that he and Jace were men, or near enough to make no matter. “Our uncle calls us Strongs, but when the lords see us on dragonback they will know that for a lie. Only Targaryens ride dragons.”

They were so insistent on proving themselves as "Targaryen men" that they couldn't foresee the obvious danger of how easy it would be for some lord to take them hostage or sell them out to the greens.

It was his decision to send Aegon the Younger and Viserys II to Pentos while leaving Joffrey in the Vale.

The Prince of Dragonstone also had to care for the safety of his half-brothers, Aegon the Younger and Viserys, aged nine and seven. Their father, Prince Daemon, had made many friends in the Free City of Pentos during his visits there, so Jacaerys reached across the narrow sea to the prince of that city, who agreed to foster the two boys until Rhaenyra had secured the Iron Throne.

In this part, you could tell he saw Daemon's children as seperate from the brown-haired sons and made the unwise decision of relying on a foreign connection that he himself couldn't vouch for. He reaches out to a foreign ally he never spoken to and suddenly the brothers who he sends off to the Free Cities are targeted by Free City warships? It's uncertain if he was betrayed, but this tragedy could have been avoided if Jace wasn't so complacent about the Pentoshi prince's loyalty to Daemon and Corlys's naval dominance remaining uncontested.

And finally his biggest achievement/blunder was calling for the dragonseeds. Yes, it gave them the raw firepower needed to take King's Landing, but it also had the worst long-term affects on House Targaryen as a whole. It gave a bunch of untrustworthy randos access to their most powerful weapons and shattered the already crumbling mystique of Targaryen Exceptionalism. Not to mention how it burned and killed scores of their own men who tried their luck at claiming.

Like a lot of his decisions, this is a reckless gamble that only seems like a solid plan if you don't spend too long thinking about the possible consequences.

His poor decision-making isn't as obvious on the show because they gave a lot of his wartime contributions to Rhaenyra, probably since she's their designated main character and they had to give her something to do, but it leads to the unfortunate outcome of fans thinking Jace was this noble, put-upon boy who had the wisdom and temperance his peers lacked.

That's not only untrue, but also flattens his character by putting him up on the "perfect prince" pedestal that is so clearly his albatross. A lot of his choices were motivated by hubris and the desperation to prove himself as a man and prince. Once Rhaenys died and Corlys was instated as Hand (with Jace convincing him), Jace was empowered to make such decisions and act as the de facto head of the blacks — and almost every one of those decisions eventually come back to bite them.

He was a smart young man, that was clear by how he was responsible for securing key alliances. But he was also a foolhardy and inexperienced boy who modeled himself after a peerless adventurer and a rogue prince. Corlys and Daemon's rashness was ultimately tempered by their age and experience, but Jace didn't have the luxury of living through his mistakes.

[seokka0o]

𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙪𝙣 𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨

ғʀᴏᴍ. sᴇᴏᴋᴋᴀ0ᴏ

Synopsis: Your relationship seemed great, but only those inside the storm can say how difficult it is, Anton was a great bystander, he was always very attentive, but he got tired of just being someone to watch you slowly suffer and after an incident, he starts wanting to take the position as your boyfriend.

Pairing: Lee Chanyoung x afab!reader

Contain: friends to lovers; college!Au; toxic relationship; Cheating;lies and alcohol consumption

Featuring: Riize and Chenle from nct

Warning: This chapter contain smut; drunk sex; protected sex;

Author; This is my 1k followers event. I will make three chapters of this story available, since it was supposed to be a longer fiction I divided them to make it easier to read. Hope you like it.

5k

English is not my first language, so there may be some grammar errors

Chapter I: The fine line between you and me

You were fucked from head to toe. Not because it was entirely your fault either, but that lack of complicity in your relationship was something detestable in your opinion. Something that took you so long to build with someone just going down the drain because of simple everyday things left aside and who would it be like being stuck in it for any emotional issue, you were so comfortable that it didn't seem to hurt the fact that Chenle treated you as if you didn't exist, basically, it was a facade couple, the type that doesn't mind being in that role, because in everyone's eyes you are perfect, but within the relationship everything was in ruins.

He was too good. Popular, rich, very charismatic, his group of friends, all equally popular, from a more renowned college made the whole situation worse. Chenle had an easy smile, besides being too handsome to be so friendly, he was sociable in his own way, full of compliments to give and sell to everyone, everything that was good came from him, because he was the sun, because he shone, and you were someone who also gave in too easily. Despite his charms and the way he's with you now, Chenle was great in the first years of the relationship, but there's nothing you can do when everything is worn out.

Much of sustaining this situation came from the support of your best friend. Anton was always very positive about the relationship from the beginning, even if from time to time he tried to point out certain things that seemed too wrong. his complacency would never be able to tell you directly that Chenle was a fucking asshole and didn't deserve your attention in any way, your forgiveness or even your desire to save that relationship.

Which would also be a mistaken thought on his part, you were accommodating, and would remain there if you were going to depend on Chenle and his lack of equal disposition, in technical and correct terms, you deserved each other, that relationship was rubbish and neither of you seemed to get along.

In any case, having a friend like Anton was a privilege that you would give yourself until the end, his participation in this relationship was integral, from the first hook-up to the request for an official, extravagant date, the first fights and disagreements, distrust, jealousy , detreatment. When you cried, he was the one who was with you to help you, regardless of everything, in the end it would be the two of you trying to help each other and it may sound wrong, which in fact it was, but Anton was very good to you.

You had fought again. What was supposed to be a weekend date turned into a horror show and Chenle just left without saying anything, leaving you abandoned. The desire to tell everyone to fuck off was stuck in your throat from early on, the lack of enthusiasm, despite Halloween having passed, some parties were still going on, you were in the comfort of your bed and your cell phone was beeping non-stop, it was Anton, whining about not wanting alone.

"Fuck it, y/n, when was the last time we hung out?" The delicate tone of Anton's voice made you laugh, he was adorable, a very present friend, you loved him from the bottom of your heart, alluding to the way your boyfriend always hated him - "I hate tall men, none of them are any good" - you should having imagined imminent envy, reaching the point where he even tried to make you move away, something that didn't work, it was too difficult for you to live without Anton and over time and Chenle just gave up, as he did with everything that had to do with you and that relationship

"I don't know, Anton, I'm not in the mood" you whimpered, looking at the costume you had agreed with him to go, you as an angel and him as a black angel, it wasn't a big deal, but he seemed very offended. "Chenle won't go"

"I don't care, honestly, this is one of the last parties you'll have, let's go" he was still in the comfort of his own room, adjusting his clothes in front of the mirror, waiting for you to say something "So you are going?"

You pondered, not in dead silence, your body dumped on the bed, you found yourself thinking about the last time you could have fun like this, the costume you could wear, even the friends you hadn't seen for so long, it would be cool, you could go out better than expected, so what did it cost? Anton was already so willing to make this move forward and he wouldn't give up for anything, much less like it if by chance it wasn't

"Yes, Anton, just give me some time so I can get ready." You grumbled leaving your comfort, after going to the bathroom.

"Half an hour and I'm ready"

You didn't wait for him to say anything, you hung up immediately, taking off your clothes to go straight to the shower. At certain points you couldn't deny the fact that you rarely did things for you, Chenle was in other places, other parties with his friends, so for you to have the right to do the same wasn't unreasonable, it had been for some time. You didn't care about the types of eyes that directed you around college, there was nothing new, so you gave yourself this opportunity to just go out with someone you actually like.

You got ready quickly, the white clothes followed by angel wings, the halo on your head, the makeup in shades of white and silver, you looked beautiful, radiant, so pleasant to see that you got a little excited to go to the party and like a divine sign the cell phone vibrated, they had arrived and you just grabbed your things and got out, running to the sidewalk where you found Eunseok in the driver's seat.

“Hey y/n, how are things going?” He rests his arm on the window next to him and you smile. Eunseok was a funny figure, you should remember to get his number for a friend of yours from college, according to Anton he's not the type to get along with people, It would be interesting to make a small investment for a close friend.

“Well, I would say,” you replied, opening the passenger door and getting in, looking to the side as a body emerged from the back seat to lean against those in front. Black clothes, black wings, horns, makeup in shades of black and brown, Anton looked very handsome in that costume, even more so than you, and you can easily admit it.

“Hey baby” he smiled and you smiled back.

“Hey” you replied

"So does that mean that today y/n is single?" Eunseok asked, starting the car, taking to the empty streets of an early Friday night, the weather was mild, not too hot, not too cold, you like it, it's comfortable.

"Single? O- oh I didn't understand well" you commented trying to free yourself

"Hyung, you can't pressure people like that" Anton commented with a suggestive smile. "Let's just assume so…"

"I found out he's on the other side of the city, you know, these guys who hang out with him are a little out of the box." Eunseok added, demonstrating his total dissatisfaction with the presence of Chenle and his noisy friends "a lot of money for a small size, maybe that's why he doesn't like Anton"

"Not really, Chenle just being…Chenle, you know?" You tried to get around the subject, you knew that none of them were willing to answer and that's why you just left it alone, that silence was enough to tell you that everything sounded wrong even to outsiders, inside you it seemed even more difficult to discern. the frustrated relationship that took place.

You got out of the car when it stopped, loud music, lots of people, you followed the flow inside with your friends, everyone had been there having fun apparently for over an hour on end, Wonbin smiled at you in the Lobby polite as always and he followed destiny close to Shotaro, handing him another drink. You followed Anton to the kitchen and Eunseok slipped closer to Sungchan. You handpicked the flavor of the energy drink that would accompany the vodka and then mixed it, making Anton breathe out in a relaxed laugh.

"Wow Y/n, you really aren't joking around today" Anton poured himself a beer, patting it on his body to toast and brought it to his lips to take a good sip."let your rich boy know this"

"I don't feel like talking about my relationship, Chanyoung, let's just enjoy it" You don't hesitate to say, your cell phone was in Chanyoung's pocket, who apparently had a higher alcohol capacity than yours, so you wouldn't have to bother to check calls and messages that would not arrive. That whole facade wouldn't be maintained by you and everyone who stopped by to take a look at you unaccompanied already proved that you would have a huge headache, but that they certainly didn't worry about that today.

"You're in charge " He said politely, leaning against the counter and then you went in to drink. Several flavors mixed with , a horrible combination that ran your system fast.

You knew it was an exaggeration, you were with Chanyoung all this time, talking about the week, about that flirtation he had and didn't work out, about the other boys' lives which, as always, were too busy for you to keep up with. You missed them, being with them without your egocentric boyfriend getting involved and you even considered breaking up in the middle of this conversation you were having, seeing how much more happy could be away from that.

A short time later Eunseok reappears suggesting beerpong and you move to the living room, first competitors Sohee and Seunghan were at the end of the round when Seunghan couldn't handle the pressure of the beer and gave up. You laughed quietly at the other's lack of firm grip and signed Sohee to have his victorious man dance.

The music was very loud, at this point. you entered the match with Shotaro, luckily in the first rounds you had the advantage, but soon the number of times you drank increased, a lot of beer in your system, you were never good at containing the alcohol content when it comes to beer, so it doesn't take too long to weigh. However, far from giving up on the game he had started, it was a matter of principle.

"Take it easy, we've just arrived" Anton policed ​​you very quickly, he knew you weren't taking it easy, but you didn't listen, as always, stubbornness was getting to your head, you were so frustrated that you didn't even notice that, you start to lose the control.

It had been a long time since you talked to them and how excited they all seemed to be in your presence. It's all to new to you understand that you're discounting your feelings in alcohol and you don't need to Anton to warning you about that.

"Do you see y/n drinking more than you hyung? Will drop?" Commented Sungchan next to you, looking at Shotaro's upset figure

"You will never take my post, y/n! " Shotaro had the determination and the will…but he certainly didn't have the stomach.

After the game that you won at the cost of a lot, you took your destiny to the dance floor, you had already lost your friends and took body to dance, let the sweat carry the alcohol out, but the more it danced, it seemed to rise and it left you dizzy.

You saw Wonbin making out with someone in the right corner, he escaped very early to be exact and you just laughed, seeing little by little everyone dispersed to their respective interests, Your skin was numb and your eyes were closed, you were immersed, when Anton passed through the crowd and found you to join, you smiled and approached him

"I was looking for you" He bent down to quote in your ear, with that you hugged him.

"I'm here, darling!" you replied, pulling him to dance with you. Anton laughed casually, he held you so you wouldn't fall, you could smell his alcohol too, which was funny, because he was so firm, so firm in his attitude,but also so friendly , if your boyfriend was half that maybe you wouldn't feel so upset.

"You shouldn't exaggerate so much y/n..."Anton started a little worried, a little drunk, but sure of what he was doing, he grabbed your body by the waist, keeping you firmly close to his.

Yes you were going insane, your neuron didn't want to share the information anymore, this whole thing about dancing with Chanyoung was going to spread around the campus and you knew what would happen, but it was actually good, just for Chenle who didn't even think twice about leaving you in house planted to go to a party. As always, you would not treat it with due proportions.

"Don't tell me what to do too~...I...I'm fed up with this " You complained with a choked voice, taking advantage of the contrast to slower music and laid your head on his shoulder

"Sorry" Anton caught the rhythm of your body, letting you rock slowly, in silence for as long as you preferred. His cologne mixed with your perfume, you were trapped in your world like Anton always tried to do.

"Are you okay? I think I want to go home " You couldn't have stayed there for more than four hours, and now you knew you had exaggerated too much, but it was worth the experience of enjoying yourself with your friends, even if it was just for a while. "You can call a taxi for me...I'll come back alone."

"Hm? No, I'm going with you, I think Eunseok hyung is leaving too " Anton said quietly, awkwardly and then you took your destination outside, finding Eunseok intact waiting in the car. "You know that I don't party alone, even though you abandoned me in the last few months"

"I didn't abandon..." You whispered near the vehicle, you had no way of justifying yourself and you wouldn't, you wouldn't have that condition or that courage, not when it comes to Anton and his surgical tongue.

"I will never come driving again! You guys are just a lot of work " Eunseok hadn't put a drop of alcohol in his mouth, he was and upset about having to go to the trouble of serving as an Uber for all his friends in all party they go "See, even Y/n drank..."

In the end, all destinies end there, Sohee was in the front seat, behind there were seunghan, sungchan, shotaro, with only one space left.

"There's no space " You said tearfully.

"Go on in Chanyoung's lap!" Shotaro commented in a clear intoxication "I'm in a hurry"

"Okay~" You mumbled "Anton ~come in"

"But…"He replied

"Come in!" You demanded, he entered and you followed, sitting awkwardly on his lap. With hands adorning your hips to keep you in place, you then slammed the door.

"Y/n, does your boyfriend know you're sitting on someone else's lap?" Sohee said from the front seat.

"Chanyoung are my friend, nothing more than that" You said back, feeling the car start to ride

"Even so, I don't know if I would like it very much" Sohee continued to joke.

"It doesn't make any difference...any...for him " You said upset, cutting the joking atmosphere even without your intention. Anton pulled you subtly trying to comfort you.

"Okay, sorry, let's just go" Sohee snuggled into the seat and you started off in that silence. Anton was a little too immersive, the alcohol started to rise in earnest as the vehicle rocked, which left him too caught up in the idea of ​​you being so comfortable on his lap, which wasn't right, but the subtle flavor of that prohibition It started to make him want to walk around with intentions he didn't have with you.

The long fingers on your hips, you weren't fitted into him, but he had noticed your ass showing through your clothes, he could just pull himself a little to feel you, nothing big, it wasn't like Chenle would find out, just a test, just once. You were never this close, for you to allow him to touch you freely, to give him the approval to squeeze your hips so precisely and subtly pull you on top of him. You gave in with your body limp, spinning, you smiled, snuggling, thinking it was his method of keeping you safe, but you were hyperventilating, the pressure of your body threw Anton into another dimension, his head spinning non-stop with the information that he could make you his so easily, but a poorly thought out idea, harshly cut off when the car stopped.

"We have arrived " The cut was dry, Eunseok stopped in front of his house and then Anton returned to reality, a little shy due to the condition, but letting go of you so he could open the door.

"I'm going to leave y/n at home" Anton commented, as you opened the car door, getting out disoriented, you turned to the door and bowed to everyone.

"Thanks for the ride!" You said choked up, waving your hand at everyone.

"Be careful, you two" Eunseok guided more as a friend than anything. Anton waved his hand and left too, slamming the door, now you walked arm in arm into the house. A comfortable silence, the night seemed very beautiful, you stopped at the door to enter when Anton walked away. Right now was where he drew the line, he didn't know what could happen if he had the brilliant idea of ​​entering.

"What? "You asked.

"I'm going home" he dictated

"No...chanyoung stays here with me today...no one is home"you said, accentuating the problem

"Y/n I can't " he said

"Yes you can, just come...I don't want to be alone, you can sleep in the guest room" You said, leaving the door open for him. Anton trembled, he knew he shouldn't, he looked from one side to the other, grunted and then went inside, locking the door as he did so.

You directed him to the guest room, next to yours, handed over some of your dad's pajamas that could fit and then fled to your room. Trembling with the discomfort between your legs, Anton's pushing and pulling in the car caused more than a few mixed feelings, and even though he thought you hadn't noticed, you clearly felt each and every action he had taken at the first opportunity.

When the situation is not conducive, it will pass with a painful slowness, the one that tortures, you made your way to the room, you were on your bed, looking at the window, the alcohol was still in your system, you saw everything slightly blurred, frustration, sadness , anger, you just wanted to cry, you were feeling guilty for going out without your boyfriend, for being so horny because of anton attitudes, for let him sleep in your house and besides all that your cell phone without a single notification. Stories, photos, videos, everything about how Chenlee seemed too satisfied to remember that he had a partner, you were tired, drained in that relationship curse, but still without any ability to say goodbye. You swallowed your tears, got out of your bed, your bare feet, like cat's paws, went to the next room, you went in, Anton wasn't sleeping, his eyes met yours, in your expectation, in your cluelessness . But messing up your feelings wanted to push you towards the easy feeling that your best friend causes in you.

"Did something happen? " He asked as you approached.

"No" You stammered

"Are you sure? " Anton questions once again, you push him with your body and then lie down next to him, at first reluctantly he held your arm. "Y/n, no, you can't"

You laughed mockingly, hugged Anton's body and adjusted the blanket between your bodies.

"Who cares? " You asked

"You know the answer well, I'm your friend, it shouldn't be like that " He had a delicate tone of voice, low, whenever it sounded too close to your ears it made your skin crawl, for different sensations, you liked it more than that would admit it. " We drank too much, you should go back to your room."

"Hm...yes, you're always so good to me, Chanyoung, but I'm not interested in leaving here" You hugged him tightly, Anton on the defensive, you had definitely gone crazy, overlooking his thoughtless decisions. Anton was always handsome, you never denied it, your head out of place denouncing the shit you were willing to do to get rid of the situation of being left aside " Could you kiss me?"

"What?' Anton was avoiding looking at you and you knew what that was.

"Why not? You seemed to like the car, as I was on top of you" You played, induced, put a leg around his torso, climbed up, stopping on his lap "Do you like me?"

"n-no " Anton snorted, he didn't want to let out that intrusive feeling of yours, but you were ready to win. "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"It's only us here, no one will know, Anton" You sighed and leaned towards him " Let's cheat a little , show me what he will never be able to do. I can be whatever you want me to be."

You had definitely lost your mind, if before Eunseok's warnings didn't seem to make sense, now they did, the faces close in a microspace, hot, strong, the silence was significant, Anton grabbed you with an overwhelming force, putting you to lie down in bed. You couldn't, you shouldn't, but he saw in the depth of your gaze just as he felt his own body vibrate at the mention.

"Okay, let's cheat" He started with your neck, open mouth kisses, his tongue sliding down your neck, you moaned softly, he was too big to fit between your legs for sure. Your fingers clung to the strands of his hair, holding on to the desperation of that feeling, Anton didn't kiss your mouth as he wanted, he didn't mark your neck as he wanted, despite his drunkenness, he was sure of that, his big hands digging into your pajamas in search of the your chest exposed to play with, your nipples hard, you had been wet since before, which betrays your anticipation.

The pinch was subtle in tone, you were moaning so delicately, so beautiful, the sensitive body of someone who hadn't been touched in so long, his hips against yours simulating thrusts, Anton wondered what the hell was getting involved even though the hand was already trying to remove your t-shirt and leave you naked from the torso up.

The sensation of the exposed body made your skin crawl, hidden under the semi-darkness of the room you began to lose yourself in the intrusive idea “if he were you maybe I would be happier” completely wrong, distorted, the alcohol that hadn't even left the system wanting pushing the pleasure down your throat, you trembled at the feeling of his fingers touching your nipple, the kiss on your neck marking the skin superficially, tongue slipping between your chest and running to one of your nipples, circling, sucking, your moan sending good vibrations to Anton lost his temper at the first sensation of his dick hurting inside his clothes.

You felt him hard touching your body through your pajamas, now raw, desperate, you were ready for the consequences for everything, because you knew well in your unconscious mind that regret wouldn't be something you would feel fully, not in these conditions, not when it was Anton give in so sweetly. Sighing and grunting in that way that was so sly and yet firm enough to make you want him inside you so desperately.

He hovered over you, Anton wanted to kiss you, show you, but even drunk he knew where to put the shit he did. His hand invaded your shorts with a wealth of precision, you felt your insides compress, you moaned at the top of your lungs when he began to play with your pussy, his long, firm fingers making trails that not even you alone were capable of making, leaving sensations and moans along the way, you were so wet that Anton's fingers were getting lost, slipping easily between your lips, your entrance, applying pressure, but without penetrating, going up again to your button to circle and press.

“Feels good….oh-oh chanyoung, please” you were losing your voice, he loved your drunken desperation, how now it didn’t make any difference because you were already over the limit anyway. Eyes dark with pure desire, he smiled at you.

“What kind of situation did you put yourself in, right?” He had won, whatever the comparison was, it wouldn't make any difference, he would make you his person, his partner, no matter who, what method, Anton would now make you uniquely his, as if he were a wolf in a lamb's clothing all this time, lurking for the opportunity, he would take you out of chenle's arms, he would make you slip into his arms, once and for all, because in your life there was never anyone more ideal than him for this role.

“Just fuck me already” you whimpered, squirming against Anton's arms, his fingers fingering you like an instrument, focused on different points, soon he got tired of playing, to pull your already out of use clothes, he left with an ease he never imagined he would have. The clothes making their way to the floor, he did the same to him, his head dizzy, you body realized what was about to happen , when you visualized him putting on the condom so responsible you felt everything start to get lost inside you, you didn't seem worried at all, just as drunk, you needed to recover from your heavy breathing. he was between your legs, and then he entered you as if he already knew the way, the drawn out moan ran through your lips you were consummating, he began to fuck you slowly.

You pulled Anton to you carefully , kisses all over his face, making him tremble eager to feel your lips, but to no avail, you slipped to his earlobe where you kissed the pretty earring and hugged him, feeling him fill inside and the response come out through your lips directly to his ears.

He let his arm waver, his body gave in to you tremblingly, his hips were frequent, rhythmic thrusts, for him to understand the waters, and little by little you began to synchronize.

Your fingers went into the strands of his hair, which you began to pull, he, on the other hand, raised his hips with more force, accelerating, his lips harmonizing gibberish, meaningless moans, the dim light gave a vague mention of the bodies nestled together, shiny, the heat made the skin sweat, the feeling of stuffiness rising.

The tension was increasing, Anton kept his arms resting on the side of your face, even though he felt very ashamed he wanted to see on your face everything you had to spill, how good he was doing you to the point that tears appeared in the corner of your eyes, your body was reacting quickly, the frames were beating, you bit your lip desperately, a little off your axis, you closed your eyes feeling everything explode, your lips letting out loud meows for Anton, he was satisfied, nothing nothing difference, now that you got where you wanted, he would just take it until the end, putting his body upright to open your legs and hold you, at that moment he was fucking you so hard that you forgot you had just had an orgasm, your body was That's it, he went deep, grumbling at your nasal tone and then he too lost himself in the immensity, reaching his limit, feeling his body much more drunk than before, Anton left you and fell to the side, leaving both your bodies Breathing, eyes static, you wouldn't say anything, shouldn't, couldn't make the condition worse.

You didn't even notice when you fell asleep, you were too drunk, your body was tired, you felt like you were in a dream and if only you could barely open your eyes when you woke up again, sunlight coming through the crack, you were alone, but the feeling it was there, you looked at the clock, it was Sunday, so you were fine, the issue was everything else, your body without clothes, headaches, body aches, and the first flash.

"Shit." you mumbled, you turned in bed from one side to the other aimlessly, your naked body covered by the sheets, your fingers wandered over the thin fabric, your eyes fixed on the window, without completely understanding, you brought the piece of fabric to your face and felt it. His smell and that made you want to cry, for having been stupid enough to let this happen, having played with a friendship and that most likely everything would have been destroyed. But the inescapable way he made you feel after fucking you in the height of desperation, there was no way of knowing where it came from, nor where it would go, but you were feeling the thin line between you and Anton collapsing, bursting, as if that friendship was nothing more than a stupid excuse to keep him close…you felt horrible.

You were in the middle of your moral collapse, thinking about all the decisions you've made in life when the doorbell rang. You considered pretending not to be at home, but you were persistent, so you got up, picked up your clothes from the floor and put them on, bitterly, you left the room and walked slowly to the entrance of your house, not in the mood to talk, considering you were a neighbor on the door and then a large bouquet of sunflowers. The smell of grass came straight to your nose, making it itch, you felt anxious, it seemed like he had the gift of smelling trouble, with that he emerged from behind the smiling man, his face heavy with a hangover, damn Chenle and the perfect timing, your body still memorized from the fuck you received earlier and him in front of you, like your boyfriend ready for reconciliation. You found yourself desperate inside.

“I came to see you and I brought a gift" he said.

[searchingforserendipity25]

An old draft resurrected for @feanorianweek! Inspired by last year's Back to Middle Earth bingo board option - gift giving. Some humor and some angst. In which Maedhros is a defiant prisoner, but not the most infuriating of his siblings.

-

Gift-Giving

In Valinor, there had been certain expectations from musicians - the minstrels, those few that devoted themselves fully to the Song. 

Every noble house ought to have one among their members, and the noblest the best; Maglor had been very obliging in that regard. Maglor had been the example to follow, the prototype, the trend-setter.

Maglor, Maedhros had thought even then, had chosen the Song as much as it had chosen him. For its own sake; and also so that he did not have to choose anything else less great and mighty. 

Minstrels were for rites, time-keeping, celebration and beauty. Minstrels were for the blessing of the fields. Minstrels were an honour to their kin, and an adornment. 

Beleriand changed things. In Beleriand, Song was power, and Songs of Power needful weapons used beyond the value of their beauty alone.

Unfortunately, kingship was also power, and not one that could lightly be set aside. Fortunately, Macalaurë had always been very able at managing a number of tasks, as long as he could accomplish them in the most impressive and aggravating performance possible. 

For thirty years he ruled singly, second-born of a great house in exile, making Siege against one of the Powers, he that first Sang discord into the very matter and memory and making of the world. 

Morgoth was besieged. Maitimo might be prisoner, hostage, slave and victim, but there was some satisfaction in knowing the manner of his binding.

Treachery there had been, and foolish anguish - but he would not have chosen other. He could not have chosen otherwise; and at least this time, when he suffered the consequences of one of his brother’s irreverence, there was a bitter pleasure in the paying of it.

No gift could be sweeter to him than the memory of the song borne over the great dark stillness of Thangorodrim. The voice soaring to the heights, saying, 

HAIL DECEIVER, SACKER AND THIEF, FROM ANOTHER MURDERER: HOW IS IT TO BE LOATHED AND REGRETTED BY ILÚVITAR, THY VERY OWN KING AND FATHER - 

“Alas for what you have wrought, fell lord,” called Maitimo Nelyafinwë. The laughter wound the chains more treacherously still on themselves, but it was worth it, and frankly necessary to defiance to laugh sometimes. “Once he is started, the true challenge is to close his mouth.” 

AND KNOW THOU HAST BEEN MADE TO FAIL AND FAIL AND FAIL EVER AND EVER UNTO THE VICTORY OF THE HEAVENS AND INDEED THE FORCE OF ELVES IN WRATH AGAINST THEE -

Morgoth roared, and shock the mountain, and thundered at the skies. 

There was a pause. The echo rang, and then the silence; it set, and settled. Morgoth’s immensity blotted out the stars, and grew to match his complacency. 

Maitimo waited. His brother held passionately to a theory, regarding the counting of time in silence as a mark authorship, from which every composed could be identified with enough familiarity, and his thesis presentation had gone something like this:

Somewhere in the far, far distance, there was the familiar sound of a harp being strummed in a uniquely obnoxious fashion. 

GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER THOU AVARICIOUS CUR-FACED DULL-WITTED  CRAVEN -

For a moment, a terrible abyss of an instant, the full force of Morgoth's loathing filled the air in a silence made of many dimensions and many strains of incredulous rage.

“You heard him,” Maitimo said into it. Teeth-bared, words round and smiling in his mouth. “Cur.” 

The chains were really quite dreadful, where they bit into flesh to lash the bones; but he wouldn't have said they weren't worth it, for the look on Morgoth's face just then.

[sureuncertainty]

so as a former employee of RMS Titanic Inc, I have some thoughts I need to get out about this whole current situation, or I will literally explode.

for context, I worked for RMST Inc. for a year and a half as a tour guide and artifact specialist. The company owns the salvage rights to the wreck site, and partners with Oceangate and other companies to retrieve artifacts. the artifacts are used for educational purposes only, in the museum that I worked at, although they weren’t above selling little bits of coal from the Titanic in stupid little tchotchkes like snowglobes and hourglasses.

i dedicated so much of my life and passion to that company and that museum and was treated like absolute dirt lol. and I didn’t even get the worst of it, I had friends and coworkers whose safety and wellbeing was consistently disregarded for the sake of profit, fighting desperately for corporate to stop pretending to care about the legacy of Titanic when all they really cared about was making money

so despite my initial shock at reading about what was going on with the missing submersible, I can’t say I’m surprised. This is what fucking happens when you cut corners and put profit over everything else. If only there was some big historical event that we could look to that would show us just exactly how dangerous that can be...  oh wait.

Jack Thayer, who was 17 when he survived Titanic, said that “the world woke up on April 15, 1912″, which pretty much sums up how SURE people were in 1912 that they would never make those same mistakes again. They realized had gotten complacent and swore things would be different. They enacted safety laws, pointed fingers at survivors, created conspiracy theories to try to explain what happened, all out of fear of it happening again. And yet, history always repeats itself

and now people are fucking OBSESSED with the Titanic, they find it fascinating,  they won’t fucking leave it alone, and the company I worked for, and Oceangate, and others, capitalize on that because they’re greedy and want to make money off of it. all they care about is how to profit off of it. they PRETEND to care about Titanic but they don’t. They never did.

I also actually have a personal connection to one of the five members of the team in the submersible. I met P.H. Nargeolet at the event our museum did commemorating the 110th anniversary of the sinking, I spoke to him and heard firsthand some of his accounts of dives to the wreck site, I even took a picture with him. He cared, he cared so much about Titanic and its legacy, and so do I and so did so many of my friends I worked with. The company we worked for took advantage of our caring, it took advantage of how passionate we were about it in order to line its executives’ fucking pocket

I’m horrified, I’m devastated, I’m vindicated.

on the one hand, I hope this ruins them. i want to watch the company die. there’s a satisfaction in that. but the shitty thing is how much suffering has to happen for things to change. i just wish good people didn’t have to die to make change happen. I wish people cared first, before tragedy strikes. I wish our world wasn’t so fucked up and shit like this didn’t happen. But it did. And it does. And money won’t save any of those people any more than it saved John Jacob Astor or Benjamin Guggenheim, or any of the other rich greedy assholes who died on Titanic. I’m not celebrating their deaths. But I won’t ever forget who suffers the most. The coal trimmers and the stewards and the minimum wage guest service associates at the museum I worked at.

I’m glad I don’t work there anymore. But some of my best friends still do. And I don’t want them to suffer more because of this. All I can hope is that it enacts meaningful change that actually lasts. But I know that’s just wishful thinking.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.220 thoughts

[Here For a Good Time AND a Long Time!]

(Contents: thematic analysis - happiness/autonomy)

All Up From Here

What'd I tell ya? You don't give things a numerical score, cus something better is always capable of coming along. Tozuka himself even incorporated my exact feelings into this chapter!

"I'm as happy as can be, Andy." "What are you talkin' about, Nico?! It's all up from here!!"

Acknowledging that you're happy is of course an important first step to actually being happy, but to say that you can't be happier is to say that you'll never be this happy again, like a preemptive refusal to accept greater happiness in the future

This is also why I don't personally like to throw around "peak" as a compliment, because again it implies that nothing compares now and never will again. It puts the recipient on a pedestal, and forces all further interactions to be analyzed exclusively in comparison rather than on their own

Take me for example: long-time readers of mine know that Medaka Box is my favorite manga of all time, but as UU has continued to grow and evolve artistically and narratively, I've been forced to reexamine my relationship with both series. By insisting that nothing would ever surpass Medaka Box in my heart, I've been actively holding my opinion of UU down, refusing to change the shape of the hole that Medaka Box left in my life to fit UU, afraid that doing so would cause me to forget Medaka Box

...Huh, that sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Andy telling Nico to look forward rather than becoming complacent with his current happiness or previous joys is actually a perfect capstone to their last meeting in the previous loop, as Nico's inability to allow Mico to make him happy in Ichico's place was ultimately what allowed Ragnarok to reach a critical point as quickly as it did. He certainly won't allow it to get to that point again, but rooting himself in the high of getting married rather than looking forward to the perpetuity of married life rings a bit of a bell, and one that Andy is quick to silence

This Too Shall Pass

Andy himself needs to take a future-focused stance like this, as if he doesn't, he would certainly go insane...again. In L100, he spent 200 years trying to kill himself because he saw no future in his immortality, just a constant waste of time with no purpose or goal. He would never find love, and any love he did find would be fleeting, as he would watch everyone he cared for slip away. He'd peaked when he had his gang in the Wild West, and everything since then was downhill

Until he met Fuuko

Once Fuuko was in Andy's life, suddenly every day was better than the last. Every day was fun, every day was worth living, and even when he couldn't see her anymore, when he was stuck eternally burning alive on the sun, he knew that there would be a day when the suffering would end. Because he had something to look forward to, the knowledge that things would get better, Andy was able to put up with literally the most painful hardship anyone has ever experienced without a word of complaint

All thanks to Fuuko

No Fate But What We Make

Fuuko, of course, went through the same thing, just on a much smaller scale. She went through ten years of believing that there was no future in a life where she couldn't touch anyone, and the only thing that kept her going was the serialization of a manga. Once it ended, so too did the roadmap of her life; if the only thing she could look forward to was the next chapter, there was no future without one

It was only when she met Andy that she began to see possibilities for herself, that that there was a reason to keep going. Because of Andy, Fuuko was able to look ahead and make a real plan for herself, to commit to multiple preparations and contingencies across 200 years of loneliness, to lay the foundation for her and everyone else's happiness

All thanks to Andy

But Fuuko interestingly takes the opposite approach here. While she builds her future, she seems to think of it as a culmination of the past. She says that the moment of their meeting wasn't the start of their story, but rather Andy's very creation was the start, that he and his life choices are what brought the present and future into possibility. Fuuko attributes all of her successes to him, a domino chain that simply swept her along

But just like Andy corrected Nico, so too does he correct Fuuko

"It started with you, Andy. If you were never born, then I -" "Ha! It was just dumb luck. You're the one that turned that luck into fate."

In this moment, Fuuko has an external locus of control, believing herself to have been dealt a bad hand and that she just got lucky when she swapped out her cards, but that's not what Andy sees. He sees a woman who made the right calls with what she had, who swapped out the right cards and made the right bluffs to turn a bad hand around and win big anyway, and he doesn't want her to lose sight of that

Just like he doesn't want Nico to think his life is going downhill, he doesn't want Fuuko to think her life isn't in her control. If life isn't in your control, then neither is your happiness; anything you have can be taken away, and you forfeit the ability to take it back. Again, Andy can attest to that: he only found Fuuko by sheer dumb luck

No one orchestrated their meeting, it just happened, and it was only because Fuuko made the choice to embrace the consequences of that meeting that their lives turned out for the best. If Fuuko hadn't pushed herself to kiss Andy and save both of them from being captured by the Union, she likely would have been killed and he probably would have somehow found his way back to being Victor, this persona fading into nothing while still remaining unnamed

When hardships inevitably come Fuuko's way again, she needs to understand that she can't rely on luck to save her, but she can rely on herself. She's proven it a thousand times, and even become someone that everyone else can rely on; with her own hands, she defied everyone's destinies and forged a happy ending for all of them. That's not something that could have just happened by the whims of fate, only by the choices of someone with the strength to take control of their own life. After 100 loops with only subtle variations thanks to the minimal interference of the only one who could, the 101st has the chance to create the perfect ending specifically because Fuuko chose to interfere when given the opportunity

And now she has the opportunity to interfere one last time

Let's Enjoy Life

We've talked about it endlessly at this point, but Ruin is a clear foil to Andy in a ton of ways, and this chapter is a perfect illustration of that concept, literally. Not only is this fight happening on the bridge where Andy and Fuuko first met, the flow of the battle itself is like a speedrun of the first 20 chapters

The meteors and lightning from last chapter, getting hit by a vehicle and reduced to a head (the train in ch.1 or the truck in ch.2), having his body sealed by specially made Union containers (eye-scar guy in ch.1), getting pummeled by Void on the highway (ch.2), facing Shen immediately after (ch.3), then jumping straight to being launched into space by Nyoi Kinko (ch.16). Even the way he talks, insisting "this isn't enough to kill me" is pretty much exactly what Andy and Victor would say whenever anyone would hit them with anything - because he thinks they're trying to kill him

But that's not the goal. It never was

Tozuka played a fun little trick on us from the very beginning of the series. By calling UU "the story of [the] quest for the greatest death ever," the expectation that was set up was that we would see the most extravagant, bombastic and show-stopping death ever put to page, that the goal was to find the one thing that could actually overcome immortality. He made a promise that the story would end with Andy's demise and all the spectacle that came with it

With this chapter, it is clear that this was a promise that Tozuka had no intention of keeping

Not in the sense that Andy won't die, I have a hard time seeing this series ending without that punctuation to his story, but the death itself is no longer the purpose of the journey, and I would argue never really has been. The "greatest death ever" is one that comes at the end of a fulfilling life, one where the deceased is surrounded by people who love them and, even through the tears and grief, everyone can look back and smile. This was the lesson that Fuuko learned in ch.1 as she fell to what she thought was her death; the suicide that was meant to end her suffering simply put into perspective how empty her life had been, and being saved, being held, being shown affection by Andy showed her what her life could be

Ch.1 was a perfect preview of the rest of the series, because as I've said many times over by now, Andy and Fuuko's stories are near identical. Just as Fuuko learned that life needs to be lived for death to have meaning, so too would Andy. And now, two hundred and twenty chapters later, Tozuka has finally paid off that slow burn by having Andy acknowledge that he enjoys life!

And now he wants Ruin to do the same.

"I've got one rule and one rule only!! ... Now, c'mon, You follow it too!! Let's enjoy what life has to offer!!"

"You follow it too."

Andy doesn't want to kill Ruin. He wants Ruin to understand the truth. Ruin loves the world, and that's a start, but he wants to eliminate the thing that makes the world truly beautiful - the people in it. Andy's "ridiculously long life" was pointless because he was alone, and Ruin's life is set to be just as long. He insists that he only needs the Rules, but how long can that sustain his soul? At best, madness is all that awaits him, but as we said, a life that accepts it will never be happier is one that has accepted it will be unhappy

Ruin needs to be shown that his way of life will only lead to unhappiness, and that there's a better way. That loving people and being loved by people is better than hating them and isolating from them. Just like Andy drifted through life ambiently allowing things to happen to him, taking opportunities as they came along rather than actively working towards a goal, so too is Ruin losing control in this fight. He's getting smacked around like a rag doll by the culmination of the life that Andy lived, and the Rules he hid behind to distance himself from humanity can't do a damn thing to help him

When Andy thought there was nothing more he could do, that he had to sacrifice himself to the Union to keep Fuuko alive, she stepped up to save both of them, reaching out to someone else for the first time. That was the moment Andy's life started to change, the moment that Andy was truly born, and I believe that Ruin is about to learn exactly what that's like

Undeath and Rebirth

The official twitter gave us a fun bit of insight this week: in L100, the mark over Ruin's eye that I've been calling a scar this whole time was actually a birthmark. While the mark from Remember on Andy actually is a scar, it was present from the moment of Andy's creation, making it functionally identical to a birthmark

But now, in L101, both of these birthmarks are gone. Andy no longer has Remember, and Victor is no longer trying to return, so his wound has healed; meanwhile, Ruin's natural birthmark has been subsumed by a wound. Andy is no longer defined by his origin and now can look toward the future, while Ruin is likely hiding from his origin, covering it up and ignoring the implications of it

Andy was reborn and able to heal, but Ruin is more damaged than ever; more ruined than ever. With his birthmark gone, the pain of his past can be left in the past, but by marring himself so grievously, there will always be a reminder of it. It will only be once Ruin learns to look forward like Andy, like Fuuko, that he will be able to heal and be reborn as well. It is only then that he will cease to be ruined

Conclusion

Of course, this is all assuming that Tozuka actually cares enough about Ruin to keep him around and actively develop him. For all I know, this is going to be another Kururu situation where I'm filling holes that Tozuka only ever planned to leave empty, but as I've said a thousand times, Tozuka has built up more than enough good will for me to give him that benefit of the doubt. I wholeheartedly believe that Tozuka has a plan for Ruin (and hopefully for Kururu too), but in the end I'll still be okay with it either way so long as he uses them properly to develop and analyze Andy and Fuuko

At the end of the day, Ruin's character has given me another angle to approach our leads from, and that's what a good foil is supposed to do. Even if Ruin doesn't accept the lessons and is made to be an illustration of what happens when one refuses to live their life no matter what, that's just as good narratively, even if it's sad to think about. We'll just have to keep reading and enjoy what Tozuka has to offer, whatever that may be

...Ah, crumbs, do I need to change my sign-off???

The original translation was "let's enjoy life," but presumably for either accuracy or dramatic flair, David Evelyn went with "what life has to offer" this time. Now that it's been introduced in canon, that's the quote that's going to become iconic, and most people won't know about Tozuka's convention appearance or the chapter blurb that only appeared in the original magazine run! "Let's enjoy life" is inevitably going to be forgotten as the phrasing of the sentiment, so should I fight the tides and stick with the original, or accept reality and adapt accordingly...

...Well, when I put it that way, after everything I've said in this review, I think my choice is pretty clear. If anyone wants me to go back to the old way, let me know, but for now:

Until next time, let's enjoy what life has to offer!!

[thathorriblebitch]

AN ANIMATIC!!!!

GORE WARNING FOR A FEW FRAMES!

ALSO SPOILERSSS

(tumblr may have killed quality srry)

Notes under cut

AHH THIS TOOK SOOOOOO LONGGGG

I haven't posted any comments or notes or fanart in a while so here's the whole shebang, enjoy my mad rantings @uhohbestie

So starting from chapter 21 when grian died, oh my goddd

I was convinced that Scar would die first and grian would give in to his suicidal thoughs from when he was on the sand cliff

Then after scar and grian make it out of a horde infested store alive. The worst happens

"He'd grown complacent, and now scar was suffering for the consequences of it."

A quote that sadly summarizes a large percentage of the fic

Thennn

"He knows the blood seeping from his shoulder hasn't come from a gunshot."

"I love you, scar"

"'I love you,' he adds, and it feels so easy to say now that he wonders why he ever struggled with it before."

Owwwwww

It's oddly poetic how in his effort to help and aid scar he had to leave him behind. I took his own death for him to admit to him faults, for him to help scar, for him to say he loves scar, and it feels like I'm supposed to forgive grian, BUT HE STILL HASNT APOLOGIZED! he barely acknowledged his cheating.

It's very purposeful that I drew him dying in the desert instead of the woods.

I do wonder if the trio could every stumble upon him while they explore ghost towns

Next chapter

22 FUCKING SCHLAT?! I understand that this schlat is not even all that close to the one I know and love from dsmp! Era, but still. Schlat?!?! I have never watched his day z streams nor another zombie content from any dsmp people (mainly ref Tommy's and Charlie's vids) so I have no clue who Aubry, Mosin man, Paul, or any other people from that reference so to me they end up coming off as oocs but they have clear intentions and I love how they give scar his turn to use his salesman voice. Anywayyy

Next chapters up to 26

I enjoy the vibes of schlat joking with scar's pc ass

They fit in the weirdest way and I still get thrown off seeing schlat on my tumblr feed from the chapter banners

The sudden kidnapping was fun and I can't wait for scar to randomly start using his legs and firearm skills to kill 3 guys then feel guilty asf just cause "Oh God I killed unzombie people oh noooo"

Anyway in general, I love how this fic is turning out and feel my heart shatter for scar every update and fear for my life when I see lock n key post anything regarding the plot

And my favorite part of this fic?

TEMPORARY CHARACTER DEATH

TEMPORARY!!!!

much love, thb