#virtue of time vigil

[rosietrace]

It's okay to cry

Event: Rosie's valentines special 💌❣️ (final)

Ocs featured: Victoria Shard, Grimhilde Shard Von Monarch (Flashback), Virtue of time Vigil(@authoruio)

Mentioned ocs: Zenith Devi(No, UiO, he isn't a god)

Ship: Victoria Shard x Virtue of time Vigil

Summary: The feeling of perfection is something she relished in. Yet the feeling of weakness pained her like the burns of silver. And yet he came to her when she needed comfort the most.

Warning(s): Potential ooc moments, shit writing, emotional manipulation (Grimhilde), Grimhilde in general, implied emotional abuse

{ Apologies for any out of character moments }

[ Reblogs are recommended/encouraged ]

Victoria was tired, and her eyes showed little emotion as she pressed on each note of the piano.

Alone in the music room, wearing her dorm uniform with her hair up, braided yet somehow unbelievably disheveled. And yet she still looked more than radiant.

And the music room complimented the atmosphere. Beautiful, yet solemn. Bedecked in marble for its walls, gold engraved inside and the finest pearly silks for the curtains.

From the atmosphere, down to the scenery, everything befitted Victoria's current mood.

Appearing calm and content, yet filled with sorrow and disappointment. Disappointed in herself.

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

"Failed. Again."

Victoria panted, dressed in royal blue, with her hair all over the place."But…. But grandmother-"

"Must I repeat myself, Victoria? You've failed. You have one week to make up for your mistake." Grimhilde interrupted. At the mention of having only one week to prepare, Victoria felt her eyes sting.

"O-One week?? B-But-"

"No buts, young lady. Do you truly wish to honor this family as its next leader?"

Victoria looked down, her face all bruised up."Y-Yes… But grandmother-" she was cut off by a deep, disappointed sigh.

Grimhilde's heels clicked, walking towards her granddaughter, who was sitting tiredly on the marble flooring. Raising Victoria's chin, the young heiress felt a chill down her spine as she invoked eye contact with her grandmother.

"Victoria…. Do you truly wish to honor this family?" The question and the way she said it was bone-chilling.

Desperate, Victoria clung to the hem of her grandmother's dress."Yes…. Yes! Yes, I do, grandmother!-" Grimhilde violently forced her hands off of her.

"Enough."

Tears began streaming down Victoria's face, yet her expression never wavered. Not even once.

Narrowing her eyes, Grimhilde looked away for a moment in order to let out a soft, yet deep, breath.

Bending down, Grimhilde pulled Victoria into a loose hug. One that Victoria quickly reciprocated and tightened.

"I'm sorry, my dear… I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Grimhilde started. Pulling away from the hug, she held Victoria's face and gently wiped away the tears streaming down her bruised face.

"It's just…. I only want what's best. For you, and for our family." She continued, worried eyes staring down at her heir. Her granddaughter.

Letting go of her face, Grimhilde stood in front of Victoria proudly, her cold-hearted expression quickly making its way back to her face.

"Now tidy yourself up, my dear." She turned away, heels clicking as she went for the door.

"We wouldn't want your mother and father to see you in such a state."

Victoria only properly replied once her grandmother had walked out, and slammed the door shut. Leaving her in the dark, quiet room, all on her own.

"..... Yes, grandmother."

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

Victoria grunted in frustration, banging on the keys of the piano.

"Why….. Why did I have to mess up?" She questioned herself, "Let alone in front of grandmother…"

Her face had healed from the previous bruises. Not only did she feel preposterous by having them on her face, but she'd have felt guilty if her parents, cousins, and even Zen saw her in such a state.

One that made her appear weak. Softhearted. Unworthy of a title like a grand duchess.

It hurt her to look, to feel, weak. Victoria had ambition, but not even her ambition could stop her from feeling her eyes sting at the mere mention of being a potential disappointment.

"Why are you crying? For someone as divinely marvelous as you are, I'd never expected you to be on the verge of tears."

Victoria stood up from the piano, fast enough for the stool to fall to the ground from sheer speed. Picking up her sword that stood idly by the piano, she unsheathed it from its hilt and wandered cautiously around the room.

"Who's there?"

There was no voice when she asked. At least not for a little while.

".... You can hear me?"

Victoria scoffed, her eyes rolling in a sarcastic sequence."Of course, I can…" she breathed, "What, are you not meant to be heard?"

A hum was heard."You could say that. And you could also say that I just fell from above to watch over you."

"A guardian angel, as you'd call it." That got a snort out of Victoria. A small one, but a snort nonetheless.

She circled the room, preparing to thrust her sword at the intruder. If given the chance, that is.

"Would you prefer it if I revealed myself? To prove that I'm not a threat?"

Victoria lowered her sword, but only by a small percentage."That definitely doesn't sound particularly ominous." She got a chuckle out of the unknown voice, that's for sure.

"Fine then, I shall reveal myself."

She hummed in contentment, lowering her sword to the fullest capacity. When she saw a pair of large wings at her sides, her eyebrows raised.

When she turned around, she caught sight of the source of the unknown voice. Vigil.

"Greetings, Victoria Shard." Vigil greeted, and the light from the windows illuminated him in a way that made him look ethereal.

Shaking her surprise off, Victoria arched a questioning brow at Vigil."How do you know my name?" She inquired, directly facing him.

As Vigil was answering, his words were but a ringing sound to her ears as she began thinking.

For someone I'm supposed to be cautious of… He's actually quite…. When Victoria caught herself thinking in such a way, she shook her head in embarrassment.

Vigil noticed. He noticed the look of shame in her eyes, as well as the tips of her ears quickly turning red before fading to pink.

He hid a smile behind his neutral facade. He was already intrigued by Victoria, but even little things such as that were what intrigued him even more.

Just as she rested a hand over her chin, Vigil gently grabbed her by the chin."Tell me, Victoria Shard," he trailed before he could say his question.

"Why were you crying?"

Not only was Victoria taken aback, but she was also downright offended. She pushed Vigil away with a cruel scowl.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" She picked up and raised her sword at Vigil, pointing it at his throat. She may have been astonished by his height, but height didn't matter as long as you had skill.

Vigil lowered her sword from his chin, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Was what he told her.

Victoria growled, "And why not?" She replied, turning her response into a question for Vigil to answer.

Vigil huffed."Because you can't kill me, Victoria Shard." He answered.

"Don't you dare have the gall to call me that." Victoria threatened, her gaze cold and unwavering."And I didn't cry, I'll have you know that, at least."

"Then why did I see them sting? Like they were desperate to cry more than a river?"

The sapphire-eyed girl paused, stiffening at the mention of desperation. The wishfulness of wanting to bawl her eyes out however she pleased.

"..... That's not any of your business."

She turned away from Vigil, and closed the piano, preparing to leave the music room and hopefully leave him there.

Just as she reached for the door, she heard Vigil.

"Have you heard of the words, it's okay to cry?"

She stopped, her gaze lingering on the doorknob as Vigil slowly approached her. He placed his hand over her shoulder, his touch as gentle as the tone of his voice.

"Have you heard those words before, Victoria?" He decided not to use her surname this time.

"....." She didn't answer. Or rather, she didn't have the heart to answer.

And that was enough for Vigil. He managed to persuade her into facing him again, and he unintentionally had her leaning against the dark oak doors of the music room.

"I'm sure you've heard of the proverb, power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, at least."

"Yes, but what does that-"

"If you've heard that proverb, and likely more than a dozen others, then you've most certainly heard someone tell you that it's okay to cry, yes?"

He repeated his question but slightly reiterated it just in case Victoria couldn't get the message. But good for Vigil, since she did understand what he was trying to imply.

It's just that she was afraid of admitting it.

Unbeknownst to Victoria, tears were already falling down her porcelain face. She was just too focused on Vigil to notice.

Vigil's eyes softened, more so than he usually allowed them to. His hand reached for Victoria's face, and she let him gently caress it. And gently wipe away her tears with his thumb.

At that realization, and the feeling of safety, and security she felt by being near him, Victoria realized she had allowed herself to feel weak in front of Vigil. A stranger.

And yet…. For whatever reason, she didn't hate it. And she ended up leaning into his touch, resting her head on his chest.

"I've….. Never heard those words." She admitted, tired with her eyes red from the tears she wept.

Vigil pursed his lips, stroking her hair."I see….." was how he replied. And in the end?

Victoria fell asleep, resting on Vigil's chest.

Awkward, yet flustered in what he'd feel to be the best way, Vigil smiled. It was small but visible.

He took Victoria back to her room in Pomefiore and quickly tucked her in before leaving. He didn't want to stay in long enough to invade her privacy.

Smiling to himself, his touch lingered back to his neck, feeling the small scar from the tip of Victoria's blade against it.

He chuckled, quietly. And his smile widened by only a little bit.

"I shall do what I can to protect you, my lady. And ensure that, hopefully, you shall not shed a single tear."

Taglist: [ I'm gonna Mandela catalogue your ass if you don't reblog /j ]

@starry-night-rose @nem0-nee @windbornearchon @sakuramidnight15 @fumikomiyasaki @geminiiviolets @celiica @twsted-princess @terrovaniadorm

For: @authoruio

Congratulations, UiO! This oneshot is officially the last oneshot for the 2023 valentine's event, as it has released on March 14, aka White Day ^^

I'm truly sorry if I didn't do justice to Vigil, I did what I could with the info you gave me on the coconut discord server ^^||

On the other hand, I had a lot of fun writing this oneshot! Especially the flashback segment between Grimhilde and Victoria I'm a monster for saying that, I know

But, worry not, for I will still write oneshots + continue Melodic Misconceptions 🎹 ^^ I'm just gonna focus on my oc lore for a while

So, without further ado, happy white day, and I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, and event in general!

[koujinxwrites]

Sentiment of you

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In which Vigil admires and thinks of the lady that remind him of Nature. or: Vigil is a simp.

[ Tagging ] : @authoruio @fumikomiyasaki @kiranarina

[ Notes] : Hah, Somehow proud yet not at the same time cause college took my time </3 Uriel cameo at the ending

Vigil understands that what he's doing is so unlike him. If Vio were to see it, she'd be over dramatically reacting. 

But he’ll make sure she’ll know no more than just him sharing the sentiment of his worries.

Softly, he fondled the hair of the woman soundly sleeping at the not-so quiet library. He continues to observe, to guide and to protect. 

Vigil knows he's abandoning his duty and leaving his junior subordinate Amery to do his work but he couldn’t stop coming back again and again for the lady that brings him a peculiar emotion.

He doesn't know what attracted him to this woman, no maybe he knows.

He knows curiosity killed the cat. 

‘But satisfaction brought it back.’ He huffs amused.

Vigil  knows that this saying fits his predicament right now. How odd for someone like him who can always predict his own actions fall victim to this... plight? No he doesn't think this much of a plight.

More like a kismet if he still believes in it.

‘How… odd.’ Vigil placed his free hand upon his chest. Following not the rhythm of his breathing, but his heart.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He stares at Carol. 

‘Carol.’ He repeats in his mind. His eyes soften. An enigmatic woman who seems to be so easy to understand. 

Interesting.

He had never felt anything like this.  

Not only does she compel him to observe, she reminds him of nature. Not to mention, the aroma she emits.

The fragrance was… ‘Like a sweet ripe apple that had come fresh from the apple tree.’ He leans close, staring at the sleeping beauty whom he covered with his grey overcoat.

He tucked a falling hair to her ear. Adoring the soft features and listening to her soft breathing. 

Just like this, he is content. 

Just like any normal angel, he is already delighted to have the apple in his eyes safe and protected. 

He widened his eyes, flinching away as he caught himself in the act.

A voice whispers at the back of his head 'Is this what a Virtue, who has a duty, be doing?'

Vigil's face brightened red. 

He bitterly let out a faint laugh. 'No, damn it.'

He closed his eyes. Letting his eyes rest for a moment, but his hands never stopped stroking the hair of the woman. 

Thankfully, Carol didn’t show any sign of waking up. He doesn’t know if he has any face to show her when he has his face really up close to her.

He barked out a cackle, running his hand over his forehead. 

“What the hell is going on with you Vigil.” He shook his head and stared one final moment at Carol.

Emotions are fickle, but Vigil has the power to promise to vow to never hurt the one he shows interest. Consequences be damned.

Towering over her, he leans down to her forehead. His wings acting like shields from the curious onlookers. Pecking a small kiss, he quickly jumps away, berating his own, fast beating heart.

Ignoring the awfully quickening pace of his own heart he whispers as softly he could.

“Sweet dreams.”

His wings flutter, leaving a white feather as if a memento to show that he was present there before disappearing to thin air. 

°•°•.

“Welcome back, Virtue of Time.” The emotionless Cherub salutes. 

Vigil does not acknowledge her greeting, too preoccupied with the thoughts of ‘whys’. The cherub seemed to not mind the action, instead she let out a hum of interest, turning around to leave the Virtue with his thoughts. 

She examines the Virtue one last time before snapping her fingers as flames enveloped Vigil's sight making him jump out of his trance.

“I hope you have put your heart into your decisions.” She crinkle her eyes up, but never smiles.

Vigil blinks owlishly, not getting what she means before gaping and clenching his mouth shut. Too embarrassed to give her an answer back.

She tilts her head. “You will, won’t you?”

This time, he gave up and sighed.

“...Yes.”

Yes he would.

After all, wasn't he the Virtue of Time who kept all of his subordinates and friends safe, even if it meant breaking regulations set as boundary for him as the God of Time's son?

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[uiosprojectkingdom]

Angels... full of mysteries, miseries, duties.

[wingsofmud]

The Thrice-Born Twins

I'm starting my WoF rewrite project with the Darkstalker Legend. The book is honestly fine, but I want to see if I can turn it into more of a tragedy where Darkstalker is known to be an animus from the start, Fathom flees the Seawing Queendom after the massacre, Arctic isn't a complete abusive asshole, and Clearsight and Darkstalker were never meant to cross paths.

Here are my Darkstalker and Whiteout designs/redesigns

Design info + minor ancient nightwing fashion hcs + designs without accessories below:

Darkstalker:

I find it incredibly boring that Darkstalker looks exactly like a Nightwing and that Prince Arctic likes Whiteout more because she looks more like him.

The only Nightwing aspect of Darkstalker is his dark scales. Everything else from his body structure, to his wings, to his face says Icewing nobility. In fact, he bears a striking resemblance to his grandmother, Queen Diamond, even inheriting her signature twisted horns. He has a teardrop scale behind each eye and a round scale on his forehead that denote his mind reading and prophetic abilities.

As is expected of any noble Nightwing, Darkstalker is very intelligent and very charismatic. He was always going to be a key pawn in the Nightwing court by virtue of his birth, but when he was born on the brightest night, plans started to shift. Then, to Arctic's dismay, he presented as an animus when he was a dragonet.

Darkstalker is betrothed to Queen Vigilance's daughter and spends his time learning to become the perfect prince. He and all those around him see nothing but glory in his future, at least until he bumps into a strange Nightwing one night.

Darkstalker is always in fashion. Like many noble Nightwings, he wears a cool colored cloth around his body (the more translucent the better). He wears a matching set of bracelets and a tail band as well as silver bands on his horns and spines. The earring he has on is part of a pair gifted to him from his betrothed. He unfortunately doesn't have a nose horn or he would wear a ring on it, he wears one on his wing thumb instead.

.

Whiteout:

Though her egg turned silver, Whiteout hatched the morning after the brightest night, which is unheard of. Unlike her brother, if you painted her fully black she'd heavily resemble a Nightwing, sans some spikiness. She has Foeslayer's eyes and horns. She's shorter than her brother, but a lot more stocky. Whiteout is regarded as strange, quiet, and a pain in the tail to make wear anything.

Whiteout doesn't speak much and the words that she says are either very blunt or don't make much sense...at first. She's sensitive to a lot of stimuli and rarely changes her expression. She was very difficult to teach, regardless of how many private tutors she had, and continues to be unable to assimilate into Nightwing nobility. As a result, she's generally dismissed and escapes Queen Vigilance's eye. She very talented in painting.

Whiteout wears a triple piercing earring with a blue, star-shaped gem on the end as well as a onyx bracelet matched with a nose-horn ring studded with lapis lazuli. She does not wear any clothing outside of formal events. All of her usual accessories have been enchanted by Darkstalker to not bother her.

.

Designs w/o accessories:

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Two: The Gods' Light

IAemond Targaryen x Strong! Readerl

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Writing a child's inner dialogue was interesting. Besides being very plain and blunt, I didn't know how to write it. Writing for a child will be challenging, but I'm more than up for it. Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter Warnings: Aegon is psychotic, animal cruelty, just sibling things, Alicent being dululu.

As you hurried through the echoing halls of the Red Keep, your swift strides outpacing those of your brothers, you clutched a dragon egg close to your chest. You could feel its smooth, warm surface drumming with growing life beneath your fingers, determined not to let it slip from your grasp. The moment’s thrill spurred you on as you raced through the ancient corridors.

Moments ago, as you sat with Jace and Luke, enjoying a midday meal of goat cheese and dried meats, Ser Harwin suddenly appeared in the garden, out of breath from his hurried journey from Maegor’s Holdfast. He excitedly conveyed the news that your mother had just given birth. The announcement filled you with anticipation, eager to visit the Dragonpit and choose an egg from Syrax’s clutch for the new arrival.

You were restricted from visiting your dragon whenever you desired, making each visit to the Pit a momentous occasion. Gaelithox, your loyal mount, was only accessible during carefully organized training sessions under the vigilant supervision of the Keepers and your trusted protector. While you had made remarkable progress with your affectionate dragon, the Keepers could not trust you with it alone. 

Jace was still grappling with getting Vermax to heed simple commands. The memory of the Keepers urging your younger brother to stand firm and not yield to fear remained vivid. However, when the volatile olive-scaled juvenile lunged forward, Jace faltered and tumbled onto his back, leaving a lasting impression as Aegon and Aemond teased him for days. Unlike Aegon, whose voice echoed like a cackling witch from the tales your maids told before bed, you stifled laughter. Later that evening, your mother reprimanded you when Jace told the incident during supper, silently mouthing the words ‘tattletale’ to your slightly younger brother.

But none of that mattered now. Mother had a babe, and you desperately wished for a sister. It wasn’t that you disliked your brothers; it was just lonely. Jace and Luke shared their Septon with Aegon and Aemond, and you had Septa Marlow, your mother’s former teacher. It was so incredibly boring to sit there in silence with the old crone droning on and on about the duty of a high-born lady, different types of needlework, dances, manners, other Houses, and the importance of virtue, a word you had yet to understand the meaning of.

You asked your mother on more than one occasion to allow you to learn with Helaena, but she said no, saying something about how she was an odd girl with a fascination for unusual things. You didn’t understand why that was a bad trait. You liked how Helaena played with bugs, recalling the many times you counted the legs of crickets you found underneath rocks in the gardens for her. 

When the flowers of King’s Landing had blossomed in the spring, you pleaded with your mother to allow you to spend a day with Helaena in the Godswood. Spring brought out all the little creatures, and your Aunt was always chatty during this time. You fondly remember spending hours capturing beetles, crickets, dragonflies, grasshoppers, and numerous moths and butterflies. You ended up with so many of them that you barely had enough jars to take to your Aunt’s room.

The atmosphere was filled with joy until Aegon arrived. His usual confident stride was noticeably absent, and it was clear that he was not in good spirits. This was unusual, as Aegon was typically the epitome of happiness, and his distress weighed heavily on you. Acting on impulse, you beckoned him over. As he stood before you and his sister, his hands tucked in his pockets, you tried to cheer him up by sharing the day’s events with a hopeful smile. When you suggested showing him a butterfly, he nodded in agreement. You retrieved one carefully, handing it as gently as Helaena had taught you, being mindful not to harm its delicate wings.

You opened your palms slowly to show him. It was bright yellow with black markings, fluttering softly in your grasp. You told him to be careful as you tenderly placed it in Aegon’s hands and told him about the multiflora rose bush you found it from. Turning your head to show him where it was, Aegon crushed the butterfly in his fist, smashing the thinly winged insect as the off-white guts splattered across his palms. You couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing to something you and Helaena took great pride in, never mind that the creature was innocent of whatever hateful reasoning he had behind this. 

You recalled how Aegon wiped the remnants of the butterfly across your shocked face in finality and smiled the smile you hoped for, showing the crumpled, wiry black legs and torn shreds of paper-thin wings on his palm.

Helaena screamed. You can still remember the sound of it, piercing your ears and making them feel as if they bled. Aegon rubbed the tiny leftover specs of the carcass onto her head to get her to quiet, bellowing the same cackle he always did. After that, you couldn’t recall much, only a sudden anger you had never felt before, blurry vision, and being pulled off Aegon’s whimpering form. You were still unsure about how you found yourself pummeling your uncle’s face in the same way he did the bug. 

The Queen, accompanied by Ser Criston, discovered you trying to embrace Helaena. However, the young girl shied away, retreating into a crouched position, her knees to her chest and her face buried between them. Overwhelmed with emotion, you sought solace in Queen Alicent’s arms, burying your head in her skirts. As she inquired about the events, she tenderly ran her jeweled hands over your messy hair while you struggled to say your feelings, too choked up to speak coherently. She lifted you into her arms in a comforting gesture, providing security and reassurance.

You remembered how her scent lingered in the air—frankincense mixed with something more worldly, a delicate aroma that clung to her soft skin and auburn hair. With a determined expression, she assured you that Aegon would be punished for his actions, a look of resolve you had never seen on her before. She then gently carried you over to her eldest son, who was still visibly upset, wiping at his eyes and tending to his busted lip.

Alicent ordered him to apologize, you still in her arms, your face hidden within her neck as your crying turned to sniffles. Aegon did it begrudgingly, and you could tell he did not mean it, but it was enough to appease the Queen as she carried you to her chambers, commanding a maid to bring a fresh bowl of warm water and lemon tarts, though you much-preferred orange, with some floral smelling tea. 

With the tenderness reminiscent of your mother, she gently wiped away the tears and butterfly guts from your face, reassuring you that you were a radiant embodiment of the Seven’s divine light, as lovely as the Maiden herself, and expressed her pride in having someone with a sense of justice akin to the Father’s at her side.

You never understood why your mother didn’t want you to be around the Queen. She was lovely and kind and always had the tastiest snacks at her disposal. You remembered wishing one night after she had yelled at you for running away from your Septa that Queen Alicent was your mother. She would never hurt your feelings as your birth mother had. 

“I want to show Mother the egg!” Luke whined at you as you reached her bed chamber doors. 

“No, I’m going to,” you tell Luke, keeping the egg closer. 

“But why?” he asked, sounding on the verge of tears, petulantly stomping his tiny foot. 

“Because I’m the eldest,” you quipped as you kept the egg out of his grasp.

“Luke was the one who chose it! You just picked it up,” Jace countered, sounding way too smart for his good. 

You started to voice your objections once more, but just then, Ser Harwin turned the corner and caught up with the group of you. Anticipating that Luke would inform Harwin about your refusal to give him the egg, you let out an exaggerated groan, rolled your eyes, and reluctantly handed it to your younger brother.

“Little Princes and Princess, you know better than to run away from me. I should tell your mother about this.” For a moment, you were worried that Ser Harwin might be serious, but then you saw his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“We won’t do it again, Ser Harwin,” Jace answered. You knew he was lying; your mother’s sworn protector seemed to think that, too. 

“We will be calm when we enter, yes?” Ser Harwin commanded rather than asked. 

You all nod, not saying a peep as he opens the door to your Mother’s chambers, though the sound of three pairs of little feet running across the stone floor defeats Harwin Strong’s fleeting hope. 

“Look what we brought, mother!” Jacaerys exclaimed, showing her the near-black-scaled egg in his grasp. “We chose the egg for the babe!” 

The Princess sat in a cushioned chair, her arms cradling a small bundle wrapped in intricately sewn brown and gold fabric. From within the bundle, tiny grunts were heard, adding to the air of anticipation and curiosity in the room.

“That looks like the perfect one,” she kindly replied, grunting as she shifted in her seat.

Your mother smiled at the three of you, leaning forward in her cushioned armchair to show her newest addition to her pride and joy. Pulling the fabric that obscured your sibling’s face away, you stared, a coo of awe filling the air as your brothers placed the dragon egg into the warming pot. He didn’t look much of anything right now, save for the same brown eyes the three of you shared. Your brother’s skin flushed peachy as he opened his toothless mouth to yawn. 

“I let Luke choose,” you added, tugging the fabric as you poked his plump cheek. It was soft and warm under your finger, smoother than anything you had ever felt.

Your mother placed a hand on the crown of your brown hair, a stark contrast to the white of hers and your father’s as she caressed the silky strands. “Thank you, my darling. That was very kind.”

“It is not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” Ser Harwin spoke, a pride you didn’t have to look to see heard within his voice. “I thought it best to escort the lads and lady.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” she nodded gratefully, the tips of her teeth showing between her pink lips. 

The adults continued to converse, but you and your siblings were too concerned with the new addition to pay any attention. Jace and Luke soon found their way to your side, Ser Harwin standing behind your mother with a gentle smile as they peered into the fabric. 

“Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Luke questioned, his dark brows drawn together in confusion. Your mother chuckled and glanced at her sworn protector above as you answered.

“He was born a few hours ago, Luke. Of course he doesn’t have teeth,” you jeered, staring incredulously at him. 

“Now, be nice, dear heart,” Rhaenyra scolded. “He has never seen a babe before. You asked the same questions when he was born.”

You scowled with sealed lips, returning your vision to the bundle in her arms. He was cute, but when your mother told you his name and that you were waiting for your father to come, you sighed, plopping onto a plush settee. 

“Joffrey?” Jace asked, ignoring a begging Luke pleading to hold his brother. 

“Joffrey,” she answered gracefully. “A name your father and I chose together like all of you.” She stroked the lanugo hair on your brother’s head, bringing her lips to his crown.

You stared at your mother with scrunched brows, confused about why they picked such a non-Targaryen and Velaryon name. She indeed named her children in Laenor’s absence, but you knew she did not name you. 

“Queen Alicent named me mother. Not you. She said you weren’t expecting a girl, so you had her decide.” Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked to you, a look you could only understand as restrained annoyance on her chiseled face. You did not mean to upset her, your head lowering in embarrassment. You were only telling the truth. 

“And what an honor it is to be named by the Queen Consort,” she expressed, a slight smile on her rosy lips. Her strained voice betrayed any tenderness she attempted to show, furthering your shame in displeasing her for only saying what you believed was fact. 

The embarrassment did not last long. Your father barreled through the door with the sound of boisterous laughter. You shot out of your seat, your brothers hollering in greeting as your father swooped you into his strong arms without warning. You squealed. You kicked your feet with joy as Laenor Velaryon held you within his warm embrace, a smile gracing his features as he swung your wiggling form back and forth. 

Rhaenyra smiled gracefully, still holding your younger brother in her tired arms. She observed the three of you clinging to your father as his companion stood a respectable distance away. Her heart felt complete at the sight, and her exhausted gaze traveled to Ser Harwin, a soft grin squinting her eyes. 

“Father, what stories of your travels do you have?” Jace asked, eager, a grin pulling his cherubic cheeks as you flung over Laenor’s shoulder with a giggle.

You waved to Ser Qarl, his chiseled face offering a teasing look as you giggled. Luke’s mop of brown curls barely reached your father’s waist as he hugged him, peering up. His dark eyes were wide with excitement as you waited for the exciting tales he would undoubtedly have for you three. 

Before your father could answer, your mother spoke, her maternal presence reasoning like a cloud covering the scorching sun, her voice firm but gentle. She commanded you to leave with the squire and your father. Each of you attempted to argue with her, groaning that you hadn’t seen him for a moon and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

“Mother, it’s been forever since we last saw Father!” Jace complained, his tone so whiney and spoiled that it had Ser Harwin chuckling.

“You will give me no lip, you three,” she commanded sternly, her face glistening with sweat. “You shall hear all your father has to say and more once you finish your lessons in the Pit.” 

Rhaenyra nodded to her husband as she placed your new brother into Ser Harwin’s arms, observing for a long moment as her lithe fingers stroked the silky skin of the babe’s temple. With a grunt, Laenor placed you back onto the ground, bestowing each of you a kiss on your dark crowns before the squire and Laenor led the trio of you out. 

The air was always thick within the Dragonpit, blankets of smoke from torches and incense permeating the cavernous expanse of the halls as it struggled to cover the scent of dragon. When you entered, it nearly choked your lungs, constantly rubbing at your watery eyes as the Dragonkeepers brought forth your little dragon from the deep with rattling chains.

Your uncles, Aemond and Aegon, stood beside you and your brothers in green garments. The younger’s freckled face was sullen as he watched your juvenile dragon flap its viridian wings, kicking its chained legs impatiently. Aegon appeared bored, sputtering his lips and rolling his violet eyes with annoyance. 

You ignored the eldest prince, giggling at your mount’s antics, and took a step forward, reaching an unguarded palm out before a Keeper abruptly smacked it away. Gaelithox released a loud hiss at the Elder’s action, strings of saliva splattering on the stone floor as his blood-red eyes bulged out of their sockets, jerking his chains. Scowling, you crossed your arms, waiting for their instructions as you quelled the ire that began to rise at their scolding.

Aegon released a chuckle from behind, swaying on his feet as you turned, fixing him and Aemond, who mirrored his expressions with a fiery glare. You had always felt that your uncles disliked you, and even though they were of a similar age, you did not feel comfortable in their company, a constant bubbly sensation that felt like a beast was attempting to claw out of your stomach whenever Aegon or Aemond was near. Yet a part of you still craved their attention, their acceptance, feeling that if you did whatever one of them wanted, finally, they would like you. 

It never worked, at least not truly. 

Eventually, you found that if you could not receive the validation from both, one would do. 

When Aemond and Aegon followed you to the gardens one summer afternoon, both intent on harping about your “insulting appearance to the eyes,” you snapped. It was the first time you heard the word bastard hurled towards you. You were five years of age and had yet to understand.

Your mother always told you to treat your uncles kindly even when they did not do the same. The goodness in you did not want to hurt them, whether it be physically or their feelings, but with no brothers to defend you and no guards around to escort you away, you were left with no choice after Aemond yanked a piece of your dark hair so hard it came out of your scalp. 

“I am more of a Targaryen than you, Aemond! I have a dragon!” 

You turned to Aegon next, ready to scream that even though he was born a male, your mother remained the Iron Throne’s heir, but the words stayed inside you. The king’s eldest son stopped you with a boisterous laugh, placing a gangly arm on your shoulder as he praised you for your immature insults. 

Something shifted in the dynamic between the five of you that day. No longer were you and your brothers the dirt underneath your uncle’s shoes. Now, the four of you were comrades. The relationship was still tense, but you had found the secret to redirecting your torment. 

“Princess,” the Dragonkeeper translated the other, “you have excelled in your bonding with Gaelithox, but he is still young and unpredictable.” You looked into the man’s eyes, anxious to hear what the next task for you to master would be. 

Yes, Gaeli was still a juvenile, not yet grown into his leafy-colored body, the red scales lining his sides and wings placed with a lighter yellow-green, but he was bound to you. That was the most crucial part. There could be no command of an animal if it did not trust you and you, them. It took everything within not to roll your eyes. 

“Ivestragī zirȳla jikagon,” (Let him go) the Elder Keeper nodded, having the others release the chains of your dragon. 

Gaeli stalked forward, his clawed legs slapping on the stone floor as he hissed, his arrowhead swaying and observing the people before him. You could hear the panicked whispers of the men, demanding you tell your dragon to stop as he continued his swift march forward. You understood that his intent was the Elder who chastised you and had half a mind to allow Gaeli to scare him, his crimson orbs set on the man who did not falter.

Jace grabbed the hem of your matching navy skirt in anxiety and attempted to pull you back, fearing what the dragon might do, but you held steadfast, a self-assured smirk gracing your features. 

“Kelīs!” (Halt) you commanded confidently with your chest, beaming once your dragon ceased its pursuit with the tilt of its triangle-shaped head. 

Aegon appeared bored with the ordeal, exaggerating a yawn as he flipped his frizzy blonde hair from his face. You could not ignore the pang of hurt at his disinterest, seeking more validation and praise from him that you would not get unless at someone’s expense. Aemond had hidden his face from your view behind his older brother, his sun-spotted cheeks dusted pink as you peered around to make eye contact, only for him to sneer and turn away. 

Twat.

“Pay close attention, Uncle Aemond. Mayhaps one day you will be in this position, but I do believe it won’t be for a very long, long time,” you snickered, the sensation of less than leaving as you noticed Aegon’s smirk. Facing the Keeper and his translator, you could never remember the name of once more, you spoke. “When will I be able to fly Gaeli? I am able to control him well enough.”

The older man grimaced, wiping the sweat across his ebony brow as he gave an unconvincing expression. “Gaelithox is not yet riding age, and there is still much for you to learn, your highness, before you are ready to make such feats,” the translator expressed.

A pout formed on your plush lips, looking to Gaeli and back to the half a dozen Keepers and Wards. It was as if your dragon could sense your annoyance, releasing a deep hiss within the back of his throat and unhinging his jaw as he lunged at the Elder, swiftly jerked by the chains at his ankles. You could not hide your amusement at the adolescent and earned a scolding in High Valyrian that you could not comprehend nor care about.

“Gaelithox kostagon botta aōha botagon. Pōnta issi vēdros. Istia gūrēñagon naejot control zirȳ gō kostā kipagon.” (Gaelithox can sense your emotions. They are volatile, but you must learn to control them before you can ride.)

A grin spread across your plump cheeks, a mischievous thought coming to mind as you turned to look at Aegon, who was still quite bored. The hurt did not lessen, and quickly, you glanced at the Keepers out of the corner of your eye as you took a few paces back, ensuring your brothers were behind you as you inhaled and spoke the few words you knew of High Valyrian off your pink tongue.

“Sōvēs!” (fly) 

Gaelithox didn’t hesitate for a moment. With a mighty leap, he soared into the air, his shimmering emerald wings creating a whirlwind of dirt and debris that engulfed the Keepers. His joyful songs filled the air as he gracefully flew above you, the chains on his legs and torso barely out of the reach of the Dragonwards. You watched in wonder as your dragonling glided effortlessly across the ceiling of the Pit, moving above each of you with the grace and agility of a bird. The men in their gray and crimson garb scattered around the cave’s entrance like ants whose hill had been disturbed, desperately trying to seize Gaeli’s chains.

As you turned to look behind, you bloomed, a smile so bright on your countenance that you felt it would burn all who witnessed it. Jace and Luke stared at you proudly, the youngest trying to run to you but was held back by a Kingsguard. Luke still had much to learn with Arrax. For one, your little brother was deathly afraid of him despite his denial, an emotion the dragon could sense during the training sessions. 

A surge of relief washed over you as you looked at Aegon, whose laughter filled the air in response to your impish choices. He warmly placed his pale, sinewy hand on your shoulder in approval while his younger brother Aemond remained concealed behind him. Despite the Dragonkeepers’ urgent calls for Gaelithox to land, you couldn’t help but savor the feeling of self-satisfaction that his gesture brought.

“Ao dovodedha riña! Aōha giēñilaros hen bisa ozletti kessa sagon se morghon hen sȳz vali! Aōha muña kessa rȳbagon hen bisa,” (You ignorant girl! Your misuse of this bond will be the death of good men! Your mother will hear of this) the Elder shouted, grabbing your shoulders as if his ire could force sense into you.

Once you decided that you had tortured the handlers enough, you told Gaeli to land, which he did so with low, begrudging noises, the vibration of his weight rattling your bones. The rest of the training session went uneventful as you commanded your mount to stay, lay down, and heel, the usual tricks that you and Gaeli had long grown bored of after the first successful attempts. 

When your dragon was tired, nipping at the Keepers who tried to redirect him back to the task, they called an end, bringing forth a white and brown goat as a reward for Gaeli’s patience, a bell jingling around its neck. His scaly, clawed feet tapped against the floor with an excited rhythm, evoking the image of a pup eagerly anticipating its meal. He suddenly lunged towards it but halted abruptly in response to your brief noise.

“Lykirī. Where are your manners, Gaeli?” (Be calm), you teased, earning a quick reprimand from the Head Dragonkeeper for your childishness.

“You must treat these beasts with caution and respect, Princess, lest you get burned. They are wild, barely tamed creatures. They allow you this bond,” the translator conveyed, his accent thick and worry etched in his tone.

You groaned, interrupted by an impatient screech from your dragon as a line of drool dropped from in between his finger-length fangs. After a quick apology, you allowed Gaelithox to feast, commanding with a decisive “dracarys.” The red eyes of your dragon shone like rubies in his orange flames. His obsidian pupils slit as he burned the goat to a charred crisp, tearing at its flesh into chunks. 

After begrudging praise from the Keepers as they led Gaeli back into his nest, it was now Jace’s turn to repeat the same routine, although much less eventful. He was anxious to train Vermax, barely containing his excitement as his dragon whistled. His mount approached him with purpose, olive and scarlet toned body thumping with each step as the younger Keeper translated the Elder’s words. 

“Call Vermax to heel Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace looked to the dark-skinned man who scolded you for your arrogance earlier, scars across his skin and listened. 

“Dohaerās.” (Serve) And Vermax obeyed, stopping a few paces before your barely younger brother, horned head tilting in interest. 

The Elder looked down at your brother, a proud smile on his bearded mouth, and nodded in approval. You should have felt the same that Jace was advancing in his sessions and closely catching up to you, but all you felt was the burning sensation of envy in your stomach, which you buried with an encouraging expression to your brother. You did not understand why you felt such a thing as he was urged back to his dragon, who had taken notice of a snow-white sheep belting in the distance. 

He was your brother, your twin, as close to the same as one could be. It would be best if you were ecstatic that Jace was blossoming into a fine dragon knight. Still, you did not, and guilt and jealousy overwhelmed you as he waited for the instructions, an overeager Vermax ready to devour the unaware sheep.

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it went as you watched how Vermax disobeyed Jace’s commands to halt his pursuit of the animal. The only thing holding the young dragon back was the Warders’ staff. 

“You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young prince,” the translator spoke, “as Prince Aegon has with Sunfyre.” High Valyrian rolled off the Elder’s tongue with deep rumbles as he talked to an embarrassed Jace. “Once they are fully bound to you, they will refuse to take instruction from any other, much like your older sister.”

Vermax released an ear-piercing screech of frustration as his yellow eyes bore into the roped sheep, belting in primal terror as it attempted to escape a fate over which it had no control. Jace nodded to the older man, shame replaced with excitement coursing through his veins as he hopped from foot to foot. 

“Can I say it?” he asked anxiously, brown eyes wide with a youthful glow that reflected your own with your dragonling. The Elder nodded in affirmation as Jace glanced back to you and where you stood in front of Aegon, the man swiftly pushing your brother forward in admonishment for his brief action of immature reassurance.

Your brother turned with a broad smile you feared would split his face in two as you heard the shuffle of shoes behind you. Aemond found himself peering over your shorter form as he studied the dragon, slinking closer and closer to its prey, screeches of a predator ready to pounce echoing off the caverns. You looked at your younger uncle with confusion. Your eyebrows scrunched together as he paid you no mind. Unsure of why you did so, you took a step to the side, allowing him more room to observe as your brother shouted gleefully. 

“Dracarys, Vermax!” 

Perhaps a subconscious part of you felt bad for your dragonless uncle, hoping to give him at least a taste of what power one felt when in command of a beast such as this. Besides, it was the right thing to do. You knew he would not notice such kindness from you and did not expect anything in return, nor did you want it, as Vermax’s orange flames charred the flesh of the snow-white sheep. 

You approached Jace once the lesson ended, giving him an encouraging hug from behind. You knew this was a remarkable feat for him. Jace and you were the same, a sentiment shared by both and your family on countless occasions. Spending every waking moment with someone, sharing the same bed, meals, toys, and friends, it was no surprise that you confided in one another and shared affections that traditional siblings did not have. You tended to mother your brother, a flaw that your natural mother had scolded you on, but that did not stop you as you kissed Jace on his warm, smooth cheek, whispering what he could do better with his dragon the next time. 

You only wanted the best for your brother, and you desperately wanted to share your triumphs with the person you spent all your days with, even if it was selfish. 

Chattering behind you caught your attention, seeing Aegon approach his younger brother as he flippantly stroked a piece of unruly frizz from his face. 

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he confided, placing an encouraging hand at his brother’s mid-back. 

The youngest prince of King Viserys looked skeptically at his kin, gaze downcast. “What is it?” he asked warily, shoulders hunched. Luke gave a cheeky grin and kicked the dirt with his toes. 

“Something very special,” your brother answered as you watched him scamper off into the darkness of the Pit. 

You and Jace gazed at your uncles, confused, a twinge of hurt poking at your chest at having been left out of the “surprise” as you grabbed his hand for support. Subconsciously, you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, feeling uneasy in your heart as Jace looked eagerly to where his brother went.

“You’re the only one of us without a dragon,” Aegon began, escorting Aemond to his intended destination, waiting for his response. 

“Indeed,” the young prince answered curtly. Aemond still lowered his head, silver hair tied back as he followed his older sibling blindly.

You could tell Aegon was holding a barely restrained smile, gesturing with his pale hands and continuing. “And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you.” 

You cocked your head as you followed at a distance. A part of you was anxious to see what Aegon planned, knowing from his history in the back of your mind that it would not be as kind as he was making it out to be. Nonetheless, you intently listened as Aemond protested with suspicion. 

“A dragon? How?” 

Your uncle smirked, stopping just before the ramp of the Dragonpit sloped down to where the Keepers held the animals. You heard the squeals of a creature you could not recognize due to the echoes bouncing off the stone walls. It sent an ominous, almost eerie feeling through your bones.

“The Gods provide,” Aegon answered alisively. 

Moments later, your younger brother led a plump, pink pig with wooden wings strapped to its hairy pot belly up to the four of you. 

“Behold! The Pink Dread,” Luke and Aegon announced simultaneously, cheering as if this was the most fantastic find in the history of Westeros. 

“Be sure to mount her carefully. The first flight is always rough.” 

This was hideous. This was horrendous. This was a terrible, awful, no-good deed that would surely wind up with all of you receiving a reprimand from your parents. But why... why was it so funny? 

You released a noise akin to a gag, a failed attempt to stifle a laugh as your brothers and elder uncle snorted in unison. Unable to control your giggles, you covered your mouth, releasing Jace’s hand as you ran over to Aemond, nudging his side. 

“Don’t be so rude, Uncle! She is a very fine creature, worthy of having such a noble rider,” you teased, but he gave no reaction, only staring at the winged pig with a sullen, dejected expression on his freckled countenance. 

It only made you feel slightly wrong… slightly. 

When Aegon decided the fun had outstayed its welcome, he walked away, laughter fading as the three of you followed his coattails like ducklings to their mother out of the Dragonpit, leaving a dejected Aemond to stare at his new gift.

You spared a glance back to your uncle as the yellow sun peeked into the expanse of the Pit. Guilt crawled up your back like dark clouds before a storm, hesitating your exit as he became aware of your gaze. Aemond still stood where the four of you left him, radiating an aura of hurt, apathy, and anger. Flames lit your cheeks in shame as you stepped back towards your younger uncle, only to be swiftly stopped by the other, Aegon’s larger hand placing itself on your crown as he forced you to follow his march out of the Dragonpit.

There was no reason for this guilt. Aemond would undoubtedly hurt you or your feelings regardless of the jokes your siblings and Aegon played on him. It was only a matter of time until the word bastard spewed from his chapped lips.

The sun felt warm on your skin as you were helped into the carriage, awaiting the return of the five of you home, though you missed one. Judging by the bright orb's position, it would soon be time for your daily lessons with Septa Marlow. The woman was so old that she often fell asleep during your embroidery lessons, an easy chance for you to escape the crone’s torture that she called learning. 

The ride to the Red Keep was quick, and the amount of time it took your Septa to fall asleep was even faster, much to your delight. You found yourself wandering the halls, staring at the paintings depicting great battles with dragons and portraits of your ancestors, unsure what would peak your fancy and seeking anything to entertain you. Your brothers were in their lessons that were undoubtedly more enticing than yours, and your father would most likely be with your mother, seeing as there was a new addition to the family. 

“What are you doing wandering about the halls, Princess?” the velvet voice of Queen Alicent rang out. 

Finally, your musings were answered. 

You demurely smiled at the Queen, giving her a short curtsy in your Velaryon blue gown, tiny silver seahorses embroidered into the bodice. “Septa Marlow fell asleep again, and she looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake her,” you answered with a childish coyness that never failed to endear Alicent. You were her shining light, after all. 

The Queen chuckled, a noise you heard few and far between as she offered you a delicate palm, accepting it without hesitation. Your mother never approved of you spending time unchaperoned with her for reasons you could never comprehend. She was family, your grandmother, to be precise, and she was the one who gave you a name. It should be more than natural to accompany her on outings and luncheons.

“You should not be alone, Princess. ’Tis unsafe for a girl of your age to be unaccompanied in the Keep. I am going to Helaena’s room to pay her a visit. Come,” Alicent stated without so much as a sliver of space for protests. 

“Why is it unsafe, your majesty?” you questioned with a raised brow, curious who or what would try to hurt you. “It’s my home and I’m a princess. No one would try to hurt me.” 

The Queen stopped her movements, glancing down at your much shorter form as a sigh escaped her mouth. “You are still a child, my light, and many people would love to snatch it away and keep it for themselves. Those even close to you could wish you harm.” 

Your head whipped up towards Alicent faster than humanly possible, a horrified look on your visage. People close to you? What could she mean? Could it be your maids? The servants who changed your sheets, washed your clothes, or made your food? Could your mother wish to hurt you? Your brother? Your hair prickled at the thought, causing your skin to itch and become uncomfortable. You could not say anything in response.

You followed the Queen to your Aunt’s quarters without strife, a sinking feeling in your gut as her ringed hand enveloped yours in a blanket of maternal security. Alicent would never hurt you… would she? 

The same scent of frankincense wafted into your nose as the Queen led you. It sent pleasant shivers down your spine, making you forget the discontent as you passed lords and ladies of the court, a warm sense of joy tickling your stomach. You looked at Queen Alicent, the natural light filtering through the windows, to see specks of dust dancing in the air behind her auburn hair. 

Admiration washed over you as you studied her, a crown of weaved golden threads resting atop her curled updo. She wore earrings of silver metal intricately smelted together, an emerald gem placed in the center with droplets of pearl glinting in the sun. Her gown was green, a usual statement color of her House, and she had a modest cloak covering her shoulders and cut sleeves. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone you had ever seen besides your mother, and it filled you with a sense of deep admiration that nearly overwhelmed you. 

Cackles echoed in the distance of the red rock walls of the Keep, a group of ladies adorned in extravagant garbs striding in the opposite direction of the pair of you. Their piercing laughter abruptly ended as they spotted you hand in hand with the Queen, appearing as if they saw a ghost. They stood there, still, unmoving, their eyes following you, despite the impropriety of gawking at the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms and a daughter of the heir, whispering words of gossip. 

Your adoration of Alicent was forgotten about as a sinking feeling of inadequacy hollowed your chest, somehow knowing they were speaking of you. The Queen felt hesitation in your steps as you passed by the women, uncertainty causing you to squeeze her golden-ringed fingers tighter. 

“Pay no mind to them, my light,” Alicent encouraged, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as you did with Jace. You tried to listen to her words and disregard the judgmental stares of the ladies, but you could not and heard one whispering. 

“Seven! She looks more like the Queen than her mother!”

The laughter soon carried on as a lump formed in your throat. Your arms felt prickly again, as if the hair got stuck between the threads of your clothes, pulling and tugging uncomfortably as you attempted to scratch the sensation. Queen Alicent glanced down at the sudden clawing at your limbs. Her plush lips pouted in a curious expression, recognition flashing in her amber eyes as she smoothed the stray hairs of your braid, kissing the top of your head in comfort.

Soon, you entered Helaena’s chambers, her Septa dressed in humble charcoal gray clothing, sitting next to your Aunt as she hunched over an ancient tome. The modestly dressed woman stood and bowed at the arrival of the Queen, exiting without words as you sat on a Myrish rug. A glass case filled with different types of insects rested on the delicate fabric, taking note of a giant dead obsidian scorpion in it. You could not hide the shudder the creature brought as your Aunt found her place next to you, bringing out another small casing. 

“What is in that one, Helaena?” you asked, peering curiously over her shoulder. She recoiled at your sudden presence, slightly shifting away from you as a pang of hurt hit your core at the action. She disregarded your question and focused on her hidden creature, but you paid no attention to it, happy to be by her side. 

Alicent sat on the opposite side of her daughter, crossing one leg and bending the other to get into a comfortable position. Though the rug was lavish, it did not provide much cushioning for larger bodies. As your Aunt opened the wooden box, a creature you had never seen crawled along the side, with what seemed to be a thousand tiny legs hidden underneath a shiny black body. You tried to hide your shock as Helaena picked it up, allowing it to crawl along her pale, dainty fingers. Another shudder of disgust came over you as you watched the bug’s legs move too quickly to be something of this world, nausea bubbling in your stomach. 

“This one has sixty rings. Two pairs of legs on each. That’s two-hundred and forty,” Helaena stated, her violet gaze trained on the creature. She seemed as if in another world as she spoke, talking to those around her but not registering your presence. 

You intently observed as she allowed the bug to crawl up her satin dress sleeve before placing it back into her palm to study it more. You never understood Helaena’s fascination with the things, but you didn’t deter her from it, even when she brought out creatures such as this. It was never something you were interested in yourself, as you would much prefer to spend time plucking flowers like other girls your age. However, you respected them nonetheless. 

“Yes, it is,” the Queen agreed, her facial expressions showing exasperation despite her encouraging words. You moved closer to Helaena with a morbid fascination to see the thing, though you still felt repulsed. 

Your Aunt was silent for a beat, entranced with the new addition to her collection, seeming as if she forgot your and Alicent’s existence. Her voice was the only thing that indicated recognition. “Would you like to hold it?” she asked airily. 

Unsure if she was speaking to you, you did not respond. Only when Helaena turned her pale face to you did you respond with a swift shake of your head. Your Aunt took no offense to the refusal, continuing to examine it. “It has eyes, though I did not believe it can see.”

Alicent released a noiseless sigh. She seemed tired of her child’s interests since they were not ordinary, making you feel bad for Helaena. Though people believed she did not perceive the world for what it was, she wasn’t blind. Your Aunt felt and understood emotions like the rest of you, but she did not act like everyone else. It did not mean she was not human. 

“And why is that so, do you think?” the Queen asked, her velvet voice bland with feigned interest.

“It is beyond our understanding,” Helaena plainly answered, allowing the quiet to resonate as your eyes flicked between them.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alicent replied, placing what was intended to be a comforting hand onto Helaena’s elbow. Your Aunt flinched, trying to free herself from her mother’s touch but knowing she could not force a guardian to listen to their child. “Some things are just beyond our understanding,” she finished, begrudgingly letting go. 

You observed the exchange with critical eyes. Your brow scrunched in the offense for Helaena and confusion. The Queen knew her daughter did not like touch unless she was the one to initiate it, but she still insisted on invading her space with the ignorant hope that Helaena would one day accept her affections. You supposed that was why the Queen liked spending time with you, as you were a more typical child, embracing any affection.

Suddenly, the door to Helaena’s chambers opened with a clanking of metal and squeal of hinges as a Kingsguard gripping harshly onto Aemond’s arm entered. The three of you turned to face the noise, confusion mixed with surprise matching each of your faces.

“Your grace,” the Kingsguard announced as Aemond struggled in his grasp. Questions etched your brows as she stood and went to her son. You understood he had done something wrong by the shame covering his face like the ash dusting it.

“Aemond!” she exclaimed. “What have you done?” She took her son by his shoulders, palpating his soot-covered visage to ensure there were no wounds. 

“He did it again,” Helaena answered for the guard as you glanced at her for an explanation. 

Aemond being covered in ash and escorted by a guard seemed a common occurrence for the three of them, and it needed no explanation. Aemond smelled of smoke and incense, a scent you recognized from that of the Dragonpit. Had he still been in there this whole time? 

“After how many times you’ve been warned? Must I have you confined to your chambers?” Alicent interrogated, exasperation evident in her tone. She stared at him with words ready to scold before her son interrupted with a protest.

“They made me do it!” 

They? Was he referring to you, Aegon, and your brothers? You didn’t coerce Aemond into the depths of the Dragonpit, where he likely encountered a dragon that wasn’t his own. How could he hold you responsible for his own choices?

“As if you needed encouragement! Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding,” she admonished with a shake of her head. 

Aemond’s eyes widened with tears as he tried to comprehend his mother’s lack of understanding. He felt a profound sense of hopelessness and powerlessness in the situation, believing that he had no alternative but to respond in the manner he did, his blonde hair in disarray. It was evident that you hadn’t realized the extent of the pain you caused him. What you perceived as a simple jest had deeply wounded him.

“They gave me a pig!” He shrieked, tears finally falling from his violet eyes as you looked anywhere but at the mother and son before you. “They gave me a pig,” he admitted softer this time, sniffling with chagrin.

Guilt overcame you at the hurt your uncle displayed, emotions gathering in your throat as your digits went under your sleeves, tugging at the hair that had been bothering you all day. You didn’t realize the joke had wounded Aemond as profoundly as it had, shame rising and covering your heart. 

“They said they had a dragon for me,” your uncle confessed, gaze downcast as Helaena began to lose interest in the conversation before her. 

“The last ring has no legs at all,” she said as if you should also share her nonchalant sentiment and fall into her world. You ignored her; all your attention focused on the impending storm unleashed upon you once Aemond told Alicent what the four of you did. 

“But it was a pig,” your uncle declared, a scornful gaze directed at you as Alicent turned to face your shrunken form. 

“Is this true?” she interrogated, ire directed at you instead of her son as you hesitated. “Is it true?” 

The Queen had never crossed with you before, and it caused an unwelcome sensation in your stomach. “I didn’t know they were going to do it!” you exclaimed, shame heating your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have let them if I knew!”

“Liar! You laughed!” Aemond protested, hurt evident in his voice as he pointed an accusing digit. “You and Aegon love to torment me!” 

“Only because you do it first! You call me a bastard and pull my hair! I’m not a bastard!” you argued, tears wetting your cheeks at the intensity of your sudden anger. 

The Queen’s disappointment abruptly left at your words, swiftly turning to Aemond as her face blanched. “Aemond, she is your kin. You mustn’t call her such things,” she implored, eyes wide with a meaning behind them you couldn’t place. 

“But mother, you–” 

“No, Aemond,” she interrupted urgently, stopping your uncle from saying something that would cause another uproar from you and find its way to Rhaenyra. “You must apologize. Both of you. You are family and need to be kind to one another even when they have upset you.” Alicent turned and extended a palm out, encouraging you to make the first step of amends for your participation in the cruel joke you played on Aemond.

You knew he would not accept your apology, though it was sincere. There was no intended malice with your laughter toward Aemond in the Pit. It was what was expected of you to do. You would have become his brother’s next victim if you hadn’t gone along with Aegon when Luke brought out the pig. 

“I’m sorry, Aemond. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you confessed, plucking at the hairs on your forearms to ease the discontent in your heart. He refused to reply with an apology of his own, glaring down at you with such a fierceness you feared that you would wilt. “You will have a dragon one day, uncle. There are many still unclaimed at Dragonstone, and wild ones too! Perhaps you could come with us when we visit in the summer?”

“You laughed,” Aemond glowered, voice cracking. The pain he disguised as anger slipped through his scornful mask, causing your mouth to be thick. 

You could tell he wanted to hit you as he usually would in these situations; his hands balled into fists at his sides, but suddenly, they became limp, and a wave of affection and comfort for your uncle pulled you towards him. You wrapped your arms around Aemond, hugging him so tightly you were unsure if he could breathe, burying your face in his neck. After a long day outside, he smelled of sweat and dragon smoke, a hint of expensive amber-scented soap on his skin. Aemond did not return the action, but you sensed he no longer wanted to hurt you as much.

“I love you, uncle, and I know we’ll fly together on dragonback someday,” you encouraged, holding him impossibly tighter. Partly to distract yourself from your guilt and partly because you knew that despite his cold, sullen demeanor, he too enjoyed the rare warmth of embrace even though it was by the one he despised. 

Human touch was still touch.

Alicent smiled, a joy welling inside her chest that she had not felt in decades. This was the start of something new, a seed planted in the first rays of spring with the hopes of a bountiful harvest in autumn, but Aemond refused to give it thought, focused only on the ridicule you, Aegon, and your brothers caused him.

You were not like Rhaenyra in more ways than the Queen initially thought. You were Alicent’s child, not in this life, but another where she was not a queen and was not a game piece her father moved about how he pleased. She could bring a proposal to match the one she rejected from Princess Rhaenyra with one of her sons. At least in that way, she could ensure your bright mind would not become tainted by Rhaenyra’s blackened rot. 

The Queen gently stroked your and Aemond’s hair, a tender smile on her plump lips, and pressed a kiss atop both your crowns—so different yet so intertwined in ways children could not comprehend. 

Alicent’s shining light, her dream. A dream that never was indeed hers.

“He will have to close an eye.”

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

The reader’s dragon is based on a snake that caught my eye while watching a Nat Geo documentary. It’s called Pope’s Green Pit Viper and is native to Southeast Asia. I initially didn’t think it was a real snake because it looked so cool! They are also the only snakes to give birth to live young, like mammals, and have heat vision.

Also, for those who don't know, Gaelithox is part of the Fourteen Flames, the Gods of Old Valyria. He's the god of fire, stars, moon, sun, and dawn, the rival of Meraxes. Pretty on the nose there, huh?

Thank you so much for reading! I’m so excited to have y’all see what I’ve been cooking up, and I look forward to hearing y’all’s thoughts!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager

[yanderenightmare]

Adam

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, abuse of power

fem reader

To all the people in my inbox, yes, I watch Hazbin Hotel, and yes, we can talk about Alastor, Valentino, Vox, Husk, and Lucifer.

But first, I’d be lying if I said Adam isn’t living in my head rent-free with his entitled, loud-mouthed ass and his sheer disregard for absolutely everyone around him. 

Not to mention his ownersickness.

He’s genesis – the onset of all humanity – and believes everyone is beholden to him because of that – that everyone should fall to his feet and kiss his balls and thank him for their origins.

He treats new angels like a free-for-all eat-all-you-can buffet – like a harem of only the purest sinless samples. Because who wouldn’t feel a little bashful being comforted by the first man after an untimely death – welcomed to heaven and congratulated on a life lived in virtue?

Your cheeks heat up as he flirts with little ol’ you as if you’re not just one of the many million people he plans on corrupting.

And he’s such a big deal in heaven, too. Those big balls have a lot of sway, and he swings them and his dick around at every turn. 

So just imagine if you try to deny him. I mean, he’s Adam. Everyone has him to thank for their lives, and it’s in death that you should all pay your dues.

So, if he says he wants you, you don’t have the right to tell him no.

And the unfairness makes you feel so helpless – nihilistic despite being in heaven. thinking back to the many times on earth when you’d question the existence of god only to persevere. Kept to your morals through it all, remained vigilant in your belief – only to now question if your God really deserved it when he allows injustice even here, in the fucking promised land.

And having been left by both Eve and Lilith, Adam's become a woman-hating misogynist with incel rage that has stewed since The Creation – and so keeps you locked in his suite like a pet. 

He throws his mask off when he comes home, disrobes, and walks about as he’d done in Eden – and says it’s just as much a sin to oppose the first man as it is to oppose God himself when he demands that you strip and get on the bed. 

He’s never gracious, even when you obey – he takes you how he wants – with your ass up and your face down and his hand pressing down on your back between your wings – licking his lip when you wince and whimper, taking every inch of his fat cock in your tight cunt while your pearl-white feathers ruffle and shiver like a baby-bird who’d fallen from the nest. 

Sometimes, he’ll threaten to banish you down to hell if you don’t worship him like the good little Christian you aspire to be. After all, heathen whores who don’t stick to their prayers don’t have a place in heaven.

[becomingthatgirl111]

stoic ideas that will improve your life

✨ what is stoicism? stoicism is a philosophy that seeks to cultivate virtue, reason, and mindfulness through our will and discipline. practicing stoicism means accepting reality as it is without trying to change it. it means accepting that we cannot control everything in our lives, but that we can control how we react to the things that happen around us.

✨ some benefits

improvement of our mental health.

increased ability to concentrate, and clarity of thought.

better self-control to resist the desire and distractions of others.

✨ stoic ideas to improve your life

live in the present moment, do not leave anything for later. value what you have, and take care of your company.

recognize your mistakes. work on your areas of improvement. making mistakes is not important, it is important to rectify them, look for solutions and work on continuous improvement, learn from each mistake made.

we humans are not so different, we share feelings and emotions. we are all part of the same essence. practicing empathy is healthy.

nothing is good or bad. the important thing is not what happens to us, which is inevitable and neutral, but how we interpret and deal with each situation. it is a matter of perspective. what happens is right. the important thing is to understand, using reason, to find out what we can do and to accept without resistance what does not depend on us.

anything can happen, but if it hasn't happened, don't get ahead of yourself and don't anticipate pain that may not come.

writing a diary. according to the stoics, it is a good habit to dedicate some time each day to reflect in writing, which helps to reflect on the actions of each day and to be more vigilant with ourselves.

contact with nature. breathing fresh air, walking in the environment, enjoying the outdoors and getting in touch with ourselves is an effective way to quiet the mind.

work every day, build slowly. don't procrastinate.

we need very little. we have much more than we need, we do and say more than we need to. it would be good to question this, we would have more time for what is essential and more peace of mind. eliminate what is not necessary.

just because things don't go your way doesn't mean they go wrong. find a learning experience in every experience you think is negative. in reality, it is not. the negative is your attitude and you can change it. don't waste your experiences.

i am learning about this philosophy and many others. the smart thing to do is to keep what we can apply to our life to improve it. if there is something you don't agree with, discard it and keep what resonates with you.

[five-miles-over]

Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Would Propose (To You)

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, James Conrad, and Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston.

Also, my sincerest apologies - they all turned into mini-fics.

Will Ransome from The Essex Serpent

Reverend Will would propose to you after a Sunday roast dinner, after your family invited him to your home. You were helping to clear the table with the rest of the ladies in your family when Will coughed to announce his presence. At once, everyone cleared the dining room, leaving you alone with the vicar.

"A word please?" He politely called you by name, his hands clasped in front of him. Will sat you down in one of the empty chairs. Gods how he wanted to reach out and tuck one of your stray hairs behind your ear in that very moment, one of the intimate things that he longed to do with you. Intimate things that would be proper in the eyes of God if you were his lawfully wedded wife. He did not sit down, and gently began talking to you. "For some time, I have been charmed by you. Not just your looks, that is not to say that you are not a lovely woman. You are most lovely, but I have also been charmed by your kindness, your humility, and your…virtue."

Will knelt before you, looking up with the most earnest gaze. "If you will bestow upon me the fortune of being your husband, then in return I shall do everything to keep you safe and comfortable.  I shall speak to your father, and we will be wedded in holy matrimony. You and I shall walk together upon this path of life, and I have no doubt that a virtuous woman like you will aid me in carrying out what the Lord decrees of us. My sweetest, please say that you will marry me."

Henry V from The Hollow Crown

With Henry, there was not much of a proposal to begin with. The marriage between you and the King of England was arranged by your father and his men, along with the king and his men. Still, Henry coaxed your father into having at least one private audience with you before the wedding ceremonies, so that he may properly court you as any suitor would. 

'My dearest lady," Henry began as soon as he was alone with you in his study while your father and his men stood vigil outside. "Lower thy veil, and let me behold your face." He reached forward and removed the hood of your cloak, smiling as he beheld your beauty for the first time. "Cheeks rosier than the flowers that bloom in springtime. Your lips and eyes are so enticing, they call to me like sirens. Yours is a face that I shall never tire of seeing.

I confess to you, my lady, that words are not my greatest strength. Were it so easy that I could simply strap on armor or fire an arrow into a target or vault into my saddle for a wife, I should quickly vault for a wife. Alas, tis not so. For a woman's heart is truly one of the most difficult conquests to embark upon. Nevertheless, tis a conquest that I shall duly pursue if you can deign to love me.

If you can love such a man as me, someone whose words are not their strongest suit and someone whose fidelity to you is true, then take me. Take a soldier, and in taking a soldier, you will take a king." Henry knelt before you and offered you his hand. "Sweetest of all maidens, canst thou love me?"

Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard

"I have called you to discuss a matter of great importance, my lady." Loki enunciated the formal title at the end in an attempt to conceal the butterflies in his stomach. He summoned you to the palace gardens at the house before twilight, when the sky would be decorated with streaks of orange and pink. You walked alongside him through the bushes and the groves of flowers. Loki clasped his hands behind her back, walking as if he ruled every inch of earth on which he stepped. 

He continued, "Yes, tis true that Thor, my brother, is the one whom my father has decreed to ascend the throne of Asgard," The younger prince of Asgard looked forward with a solemn expression while you listened with intrigue. "But he is incompetent." Loki turned to you. "He is idiotic and brash. You know as well as I do that he does not encompass the values of a king.

"Was he not the one who wished to invade Jotunheim alone, my prince?" You stopped in your tracks, just as the sun began setting into the horizon behind you.

"Yes, he was. It was all his idea, my lady." Loki did not bother to include his role in instigating Thor, it would not help him in this moment whatsoever. If he delayed this moment any further, he was convinced the words would be stuck in his throat, forever unable to escape. "You are one of the few people with whom I can share these thoughts, my lady." He sighed, his gaze fixated upon you and your beauty. "It is why I have called you here. In the coming future, I will need to protect Asgard from my brother's foolishness. And for that I should like to have a worthy companion by my side."

Loki conjured a shining dagger with a gold hilt out of thin air and promptly fell to one knee before you. The hilt of the dagger was engraved with the words, 'Min hærr, duonningen av mitt hjerte' (My beloved, Queen of my heart) Still on bended knee, Loki looked up at you with an expression of innocence that you never knew existed within him - wide eyes, baited breath, a meek expression. As if all his life were being wagered on a single thing right now. 

"I wish to make you my wife," Loki declared, his lips trembling. "Should you accept, I will bring my proposal to your family, and then we will be wed with due ceremony. And if you decide otherwise, then I shall…" he swallowed, "I shall respect your choice."

Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim from the Marvel Cinematic Universe

"This looks like something stolen from the Graham Norton Show." You raised an eyebrow when Loki handed you an orange and purple card.

"It's a scavenger hunt." Loki said with a twinkle in his eye. "Every clue leads you to the next one."

"I know how a scavenger hunt works, Loki." You rolled your eyes and flipped over the card. "Was this your idea, or is this some ridiculous team-bonding activity put together by Steve Rogers?"

"No. You see,…I have some errands to do, but at the same time, I have an obligatory excursion with the Lady Valkyrie."

You crossed your arms. "So why the scavenger hunt?"

Loki brightly answered. "Well, it makes the errands all the more fun!"

"Alright, but you owe me, Loki." 

"Good girl." The God of Mischief kissed you not the cheek and disappeared into thin air.

You glanced down and saw that the first card, which told you to pick up six cupcakes ordered under Loki's name. The cupcakes were from a specific café….that just so happened to be the place where you and Loki had your first date, which was set up by a far-too-enthusiastic Thor. The moment you got there, a waiter brought you a "complimentary" cupcake of your favorite flavor…along with another orange and purple card. 

The second card took you to the library, on the pretext of picking up a book that was on hold for Loki. There, the librarian handed you the book - Divine Comedy by Dante - and another book that you recognized. It was Pride and Prejudice, one of the first pieces of "Midgardian literature" that you introduced to Loki, a book that you were all too happy to fangirl over. But inside the book was - yes- another orange and purple card. 

The third card sent you to pick up Loki's dry-cleaning. (Really, Loki? Dry cleaning?) At the dry-cleaners, the person at the register handed you a transparent garment bag containing a black tuxedo with a ruffled white shirt. And then you were given a second garment bag with an emerald green gown embellished with diamonds. You couldn't help but stare a few moments at the pretty, expensive-looking gown. Before the person at the register could hand you another card, you made a mental note to ask Loki about the gown and whom it was for. You guessed it was probably for himself for the times he was feeling fabulous. Actually, Loki also liked to wear absolutely nothing when he was feeling his most fabulous…but that didn't matter right now.

The fourth card took you to the park where Loki confessed his love for you for the first time, on the pretext of picking up Loki's forgotten jacket and buying a bouquet of white flowers.

The fifth card took you across the city just to get a particular bottle of liquor that Loki had liked. Okay, now this guy was having a little too much fun with you right now. 

You were relieved when the sixth card, given to you by the liquor store clerk, led you back to the Avengers compound, to the same room where you began this entire scavenger hunt. You huffed a little, setting the box of cupcakes, the books, the two garment bags, Loki's jacket, the flowers, and liquor gently on a table. "Loki? Loki, where are you?"

Loki stood in the middle of the Avengers' common room, wearing polished gold armor over a black and green leather tunic with long, dark trousers. His hair was combed perfectly in place, and his hands clasped behind his back. He stood surrounded by a few candles and fairy lights hanging against the curtains.

"Okay, I need answers…" You sighed, already tired from running around all afternoon. "Loki, I got your things, just tell me what the gown is for and the…the liquor and the…Are you throwing a party or something?"

"I'm getting married."

"What?!" You gulped, reaching for the nearest couch. "I…what? You're getting married, why didn't you tell me? And…" You felt your head start to spin, preparing yourself for the worst. Whatever happened to all the times he said he loved you? Was he just using you to put together some kind of romantic gesture for someone else, just a tool?! Perhaps this is what you get for letting the God of Mischief into your life. Betrayal. "Well, I hope they make you happy, Loki." You relented, putting your head in your hands.

"She does." 

"Good." You murmured, trying your best not to cry in this moment. That was the last thing you wanted him to see. "Is that gown for her too?"

"Hm-hm. Of course, it'll probably end up on the floor after the engagement party, hehe."

"Loki, I am in no mood for your jokes right now." After a few moments, you looked up. 

"Come on,…have a sense of humor."

"NO!" You yelled, getting up from the couch. "No, I will not have a sense of humor right now! You used me! You used me, and lied to me. You told me to do all of these errands, like picking up dry cleaning, and buying liquor, without telling me that you were going to propose to someone else! You could have at least told me, just so I'd have some kind of closure. But no, you couldn't even think to do that. You told me it was a scavenger hunt, like I wasn't worth knowing the truth.

I...I did this because I care about you, Loki! I care about you like some kind of idiot who actually thought that you might like me the same way that I liked you. That right there, making me like you might just be the worst thing you have ever done me." You took a moment to breathe, and ran your hands through your hair. 

"Ugh…And you made me even pick up her engagement dress! What kind of person makes someone do that?!" You couldn't even think about the words you were spitting out, too busy with the hot tears clouding your vision. 

"The kind of person who knows how good it'll look when you wear it."

"What?!" You were taken aback all of a sudden. 

Loki approached you with a hint of nervousness. "Darling, you are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I know I'm not easy to be with, that I drive you mad sometimes, and I make you put up with a lot. I...I should've practiced this more." He laughed under his breath. "Why didn't I?" Blinking, he pushed his hair back before continuing. 

"What I'm trying to say is,...my life has never been the same since I met you. You're the most steadfast ally, a wonderful friend, and best of all, you are the most passionate and loyal person I have ever known. I could never imagine my life without you, and I never want to. That's how much I love you."

The God of Mischief fell to one knee, and held up a small emerald ring with a gold band.

"Will you marry me?"

Bil Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, sweetheart." Bill pulled his father's car into a driveway, and took your hand. "Just close your eyes, alright?"

"Alright…" After a few steps, you could hear Bill opening a door and the sound of a shopkeeper's bell, along with the muted conversations of various patrons. The scents of vanilla and grease reached you almost immediately. 

Bill held you close and whispered that you could open your eyes now.

When you opened your eyes, you laughed a little. "We haven't been here in a while…"

"You remember it?"

"How could I ever forget?" You kissed him on the cheek, and let him find a table for you. 

Bill's proposal began with him taking you to the milkshake diner where the two of you had your first date. After a bit of small talk over a banana split, Bill not-so-discretely excused himself. While you sat at the table with your spoon and checked your phone, Bill made his way to the jukebox with his hands in his jeans' pockets, feeling the small box inside. He'd almost thought about wearing a suit for this occasion, but his mum said it would make you suspicious. And his father suggested hiding the ring inside your ice cream to be more romantic , but Bill was terrified by the idea of you accidentally choking. Yes, keeping the ring with him was a better idea.

Bill took a deep breath and slipped a coin into the jukebox, flipping through the various tracks to find one of the songs you enjoyed. When he found one, he pressed play and called your name. Bill extended his hand out, offering to dance with you. He twirled you, and the two of you swayed in time with the music, smiling all the while. At the end of the song, Bill proudly kissed you on the lips.

He gently said your name, and pushed a bit of hair out of your face. "You're the one I want to dance with to every song…There's just no one like you, no one I could ever dream of that's just as wonderful as you are." Bill reached in his pocket for the small box, and fell to one knee, not caring who might be watching you in the diner. Inside the small box was a 0.3-carat diamond ring with a silver band. "Would you make me the happiest man in the whole world, and marry me?"

Caius Martius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

Coriolanus invited your family to dine with him and his mother one night on the pretext of an important matter concerning two important families of Roman nobility. It was not the first time he'd done such a thing, inviting your family to break bread with him and his mother. He had even visited your father's home before, sharing wine with your father and your brothers from time to time. It was through those meetings that Coriolanus fell more in love with your smile, the way you bit your lip when you were thinking,…and even the way your laugh infected him like a plague. And if there was anything more deadly to him than your simple, unadulterated laughter, then it was your beauty which had him fighting the urge to smile whenever you walked into a room or whenever he heard your voice.

But despite his best efforts, it became quickly aware to everyone in your family how besotted the general was with you. The way his head unintentionally bowed whenever he was in your presence, as if you were the sun and he would go blind if he looked you straight in the eye, never went unnoticed. The fact that you were the only person who could make him laugh, and that the simple mention of your name was enough to make the powerful General and conqueror of Corioles lower his usual barking voice made your family - and anyone else in the general's presence - giggle under their breath.

So when everyone had finished the prima mensa, Coriolanus stood up and raised his cup. "I have called you here tonight, to make a proposition," he declares with the same voice that he would use to speak to the Senate. "An alliance between our families…" The general turned his gaze to you for a moment, and exhaled to calm his racing heart, which only quickened when you looked back up at him. "If you will bestow upon me this honor, I wish to make your daughter…my wife. She is virtuous, and kind,…endowed with a noble background."

He waved for two of the servants of his household to present your mother and father with gifts of imported silk and valuable coins. And for you, the general had his servant gift place a set of golden jewelry - a girdle, five bracelets, and a layered necklace with rubies - in your lap. Underneath the girdle was a small piece of parchment with the words,

"I long to see you wearing these on our wedding night, my lady. Only these."

You turned red, and looked up and the general, politely expressing your thanks. 

"Should you accept," Coriolanus gave you a nod and turned to your family. "We shall make our alliance official in the presence of the gods. Your daughter shall be my wife, and I her husband. I will defend her from harm and protect her, as I have defended Rome time and time again. Your daughter will be cared for, and all I ask for in return, is your fidelity. Pledge to me your allegiance, for I shall need your influence when the time comes for the elections in the Senate.

Instead of a dowry give me your loyalty, and I swear that your priceless gem of a daughter will want for nothing for as long as I live. Do I have your word?"

Oakley from Unrelated

"Let's get married." Oakley off-handedly said while the two of you stood outside, leaning against the wall while he smoked a cigarette. 

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding?"

"No." He took another drag of his cigarette and turned to you with his ocean blue eyes and tousled, dirty blond curls. "We should get married."

"Who are you and what have you done with Oakley?" 

"What, you don't think I'm good enough to marry you?" He protested. 

Shaking your head, you laughed. "No, it's not that…"

"Well, then what is it?" Oakley crossed his arms and furrowed his brow at the sight of you laughing. "We have fun together, we make each other laugh,…we look good together, especially when naked-"

That was enough for you to playfully hit him on the shoulder, causing him to chuckle. He continued, "We like each other. We have this great relationship."

"But are you sure this is what you want?" You asked. "Don't you want to explore, try things? Do stuff before you're tied down?"

"Why would I do that? When there's this…beautiful, funny, smart, and sexy girl right there with me, I'm not even looking at anyone else." Oakley simply countered. "I like what we have, and i don't want to let it go. We can travel, explore the world, and I'll do it all with you." There was no sign of hesitation in his voice, but maybe it was just the cigarette fueling his courage. He came closer to you, and looked dead serious. "I don't want what we have to be just something we try for as long as we can, something we leave up to chance. I want forever with you."

"Forever?"

"Forever." Oakley knelt before you, his eyes going from a vivid cyan to a soft, almost pale bag blue. "I don't have a ring but…" He removed his necklace and presented it to you like an offering at an altar, calling your name. "Marry me."

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

Jonathan had been working with MI-6 for almost two years, embarking on various mission for them after he gained acclamation for helping to carry out Operation Limpet. He, along with officer Angela Burr, took down the infamous arms dealer Richard Roper once and for all.

Since then, Jonathan found himself a new home in London and got back in touch with you, the one who stole his heart back when he was still working as a night manager. He didn't know how much he truly missed you until you answered his letter, telling him about the twists and turns your life had taken since your last encounter with Pine. After about three weeks of exchanging handwritten letters - simply because they reminded you both of a simpler time and felt more personal - with Jonathan using a pseudonym to protect you, he invited you to visit London for a holiday. 

And those five days you spent in London were some of the best five days of Jonathan's life. He delighted in your innocence, the way you happily took his arm and strolled through the city, randomly surprising him with kisses. Arm in arm, without a care in the world except for each other, enjoying all that life would have to offer…This is how it should be, Jonathan thought to himself as he gazed at the sparkle in your eyes, the color in your cheeks. He listened as you talked about everything you liked about London, everything that disgusted you, and everything you hoped for in the future, simply taking in the opportunity to just be with you. 

After a few moments, you asked him about what he wanted in the future, and all Jonathan had to say was one word.

"You."

You looked up from your cup of tea. "Me?"

He took a breath. "Yes." Jonathan affectionately said your name, and reached for your hand. "I never grew up in a house with both parents, doting on me." He told you about how his life up until joining MI-6 was an abominable quest for order. How his time in the military and working in the hotel business was part of an aim to find a direction in his life, and how little happiness it truly brought him. How alone he felt whenever his life wasn't being threatened. 

Jonathan sighed, not used to telling so much about himself in a single conversation, laying his heart out on the table to be cut into and devoured. "I promised myself that I would find the one person that I could care deeply for, and love them. I promised myself that I would make friends, find a home…a place to belong. Maybe someday become a parent."

You looked upon him lovingly. "That's beautiful, Jonathan."

He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it. "I want all of those things, and I want them with you." Jonathan declared, quiet enough for the two of you to hear. "These past days with you have been…incredible. When I look at you, I see everything that I have wanted, the life that I want to be living five years from now, ten years from now." 

He continued, "You make me believe in a future that's worth building. The way you smile…, the way you look upon me and everyone with stars in your eyes…I want to be the one who keeps that smile on your face, the one who makes you laugh. I want to be the one who kisses you good night, and the first one you see in the morning. I want to be the one you come home to every evening, the shoulder you lean on." 

Jonathan stroked the back of your hand with his calloused thumb. "I know it's soon, but if there is anything that I've learned, it's that when you see something worth keeping in your life, you do everything you can not to let her go. You just do it." He looked into your eyes. "Marry me?"

James Conrad from Kong: Skull Island

It was the third time this week James had a nightmare. After thrashing and groaning, fighting an invisible beast, James found it in himself to call you - his neighbor whom he'd been dating for two years - on the telephone. His forehead and his chest were dripping with sweat, his expression one of agony, when you approached his bed. It was obvious that he had been in a lot of pain. 

James wasn't the type of person who wanted to expound upon the terrors he was feeling; he was a man of action who preferred expressing his emotions nonverbally. So, you respected that and simply talked about mundane things, things about civilian life that would temporarily distract James. As you both fell asleep, you made a mental note to remind James setting another appointment with his therapist, the one MONARCH had prescribed for him.

You woke up to an empty bed. It wasn't unusual for James to go out on an early morning walk to be alone with his thoughts. It was one of the things he'd learned from his therapist when he asked about how to be a better sweetheart to you while recovering from his trauma. You washed your face and brushed your teeth with a heavy heart, hoping it wouldn't be too long before you saw James again. 

While you styled your hair, you heard the door unlock. James walked inside, carrying a bag of breakfast pastries. "Good morning." He greeted you in a low, casual voice. 

"Good morning…" You would've asked if he slept well, but given the events of last night, that question made no sense. "I'm sorry I stayed over."

"No need to apologize." James set the pastries down and placed a kettle on the stove. While the water rose to a boil, James unwrapped the two chocolate croissants he bought, and glanced up to find you standing in the kitchen. You walked up to him slowly, and without missing a beat, James gently kissed you with an arm gently holding your waist. He murmured your name again, his breath warm against your lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

James gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead before going into his bedroom. "I brought breakfast for us both. Should I make us some eggs?"

"No need…" You watched James open one of his drawers. "Before I forget, do you want to make an appointment with your therapist?"

"Uh, I will." James returned to the kitchen with a small box in his right hand. "Thanks for reminding me."

"What is that?"

James took a deep breath. "Just something to thank you for last night,…and for everything you've done."

"James, you really didn't have to-"

"No. I've been wanting to do this for a year, it's time." 

Your breath caught in your throat as James opened the box to reveal a small, simple sapphire ring. He began, "I should've done this sooner, and I'm a fool for not doing so." James fell to one knee, and you gasped. "Darling,…Over the years I've known you, you have helped me…become a man again. You've remained by my side as I've made attempts to return to civilian life. You've comforted me during my worst hours, and you have given me something worth living for."

"James…"

"You're someone worth fighting for." He laughs a little. "I love you. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making you feel loved and caring for you in the ways that you have cared for me.

Darling, will you marry me?"

Magnus Martinsson from Wallander

"Marry me." Magnus groaned with relief when you brought him a plate of eggs, some coffee, and an aspirin. He was laying on your couch, hungover after a night out with you and some of his mates from the police station.

You simply rolled your eyes and laughed a little. "Eat your eggs, you'll feel better with some food inside you."

Magnus kept his eyes on you while you both drank coffee, his headache slowly diminishing. "That a yes?"

"No, Magnus." You flatly said. "You had a lot to drink last night. Just…eat your eggs and finish your coffee. I'm not saying yes to a guy that passed out on my couch after throwing up into the bushes outside."

He grimaced. "I did that?…Sorry." Magnus looked down and shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Whatever, it was just a question, not like I meant it or anything." He pretended to brush off the matter. "You doing anything else today?"

"Tidying the house. You?"

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment to taste the savory flavor of the eggs. "i have a few things to do at the station for Kurt. Won't take long."

You and Magnus finished breakfast in silence before Magnus thanked you for letting him crash on your couch. "I'll see you soon." He said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You almost found it funny, the way he groaned for you to marry him, and chuckled to yourself. For all of his sarcastic quips and his cold exterior, there were times Magnus was an unintentional sweetheart. You'd known him for about seven months, how endearing he was whenever he tried to show off at darts or pool. You thought about the time he brought you soup every night when you had a flu that lasted for a week. And during that one time he showed up late to one of your date nights because of a case, he spent the rest of the evening simply snuggling with you until you fell asleep in each others' arms. It was one of the first times you'd ever seen him smiling so blissfully like a newborn baby.

About a few hours later, you could hear it rain outside, a bolt of thunder rumbling across the sky. While caught up in some trashy television, you heard a knock on the door. 

There was Magnus, standing outside drenched from head to toe. 

"Magnus, what are you-"

"I meant it." He confessed while the raindrops rolled down the sides of his face. "Marry me." He repeated when you asked him what he was talking about. Magnus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small gold ring with three tiny diamonds. "You're the most perfect person in this entire world. And it's not just because you make the best eggs." He said, making you laugh. "You're stunning, even when you've just woken up. You put up with a lot, and…I can't really say what it is you do to me, but I can't help it. I…I…"

"I love you too, you crazy detective!" You finished.

"So, is that a yes?" Magnus asked again, with a big grin on his face as he presented the ring to you. 

Robert Laing from High-Rise

"We need to talk." Robert broke the silence while the two of you shared a candlelit dinner in your flat. 

All traces of a smile disappeared from your face instantly. Usually nothing good ever followed those four words. 

You put your fork down. "What did you want to talk about?"

Robert looked you in the eye. "I moved to this high-rise to be alone, to be away from people. This…a relationship was the last thing that I wanted." He blinked, looking down at his plate for a moment. Then, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. 

You tensed in your seat, preparing for the worst. God, Robert. If he was trying to break up with you, then he just picked the worst time possible. 

The doctor stood up. "I thought I wasn't built for love…So I tried to be alone as much as I could, avoiding every chance to be attached to someone." He swallowed. "And then you came."

You let out a sigh, assuming that Robert was going to say something awful about your relationship. 

"It was like I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. What you did to me…" Robert called your name and walked over to you. "I cannot go a day without hearing your quippy words…, without seeing you when I come home,…without kissing you. It's more than anything I have felt in years." He confessed, his fingers tracing the back of your chair. "If you were to disappear from my life, it would feel like losing everything I've ever known. And…truthfully, the idea of that terrifies me. Maybe I could live without you,…but I don't know if I would be able to call it living.

"So what are you trying to say?" You murmured.

Robert sighed. "Forgive me, I'm not used to having these conversations."

"It's okay."

"You did it again." The doctor remarked. "You're making me fall in love with you, sweetheart." Robert went to the coat closet where he kept his blazer, and pulled a small box from one of the pockets. He returned to your side. "What I'm trying to say is,…that I'm in love with you. I'm in love not only with you, but with the way that you make me…feel things. The way that you remind me that there's a future ahead of us both. A future that can be much more than just dreary parties and squabbles between the upper floors and lower floors. You make me very happy, darling, and I think that you should know that." 

Robert took a deep breath and fell to one knee, next to your chair with the box opened to reveal a silver ring with a diamond heart. "Would you marry me, and make me an even happier man?"

Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

You were sitting on the swing set in the garden of your family estate, enjoying the mid-morning sun and the gentle breeze. Idly moving your legs back and forth, you played with a small cluster of Baby's Breath in your lap. It was nice to be away from the bustling drama and the incessant gossip, and instead be surrounded by fresh air. 

"My lady." You were awoken from your reverie by a smooth, vaguely familiar baritone that belonged to none other than Thomas Sharpe. He was a guest who'd been staying at an inn near your family's home, having joined your family for supper at least ten times in the past two weeks. In your eyes, he seemed mysterious and yet full of stories to tell, always having an anecdote about a place he'd visited or a trick to show you and your siblings. There was something about him that made you drawn to him as soon as he walked into a room, you were unable to articulate what it was. 

"Good morning. What brings you here, Baronet?" 

The baronet gave you a smile, and leaned against a tree, watching you enjoy yourself on the swings. "I was speaking to your father and his, erm, associates about a business venture."

"About clay, right? Mining it?"

Thomas nodded. "Precisely, my lady. And you, have you been enjoying your morning?"

You blushed as he took a step closer. "Yes, Baronet."

"No need for such formal titles now, my lady. We're not at a ball, nor are we at supper. ''Thomas' will do." He gently said. "May I share your company for a while, my lady, if it would not be much of a bother for you?"

You allowed him, giving the Baby's Breath to him as a token of affection. No, not a token of affection. Simply a nice gesture that would hopefully give you a place in Thomas's good books. Maybe he might even ask you for a dance at the next ball.

"Will you be attending the ball this Saturday, Bar- I mean, Thomas?"

He nodded, taking a moment to smell the flowers. "You?"

"I will." 

"And have you chosen a gown, my lady?" Thomas decided to humor you a little. He smiled while you sheepishly described the dress that you had your eye on for that special occasion. "Well, I'm sure you will look divine wearing it, my lady. Do you often spend time here in the gardens, all by yourself."

"Yes. I enjoy the flowers, and the breeze. It's beautiful when the weather is pleasant."

"I can imagine, my lady. It's been a long time since I have relaxed in a garden." Thomas places the Baby's breath in his front pocket. "My lady, there is something I wish to know of you."

You stopped swinging, and asked him what it was.

"I would like to know if you would be interested in marrying me." Thomas knelt by your side, looking up at you with eyes that bore the same hue as a cloudless sky. "For some time, my lady, I have admired your numerous charms from afar. And with each passing day, my affections for you have grown stronger. I find myself thinking about you at the most unpropitious times of day." He sighs, "While I may not be a man of great fame or great brawn or of great wealth, I am a man of dignity." Thomas promised you, despite knowing it was a blatant lie. "I will make sure that you lack nothing as my wife. And to treat you with nothing but the compassion and the love that you deserve. All I ask in return, is that you try to find it in your heart to give me even an iota of your affections.

Would you be willing to do that, my lady?"

Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

Ever since you moved into the flat Mr. Hiddleston bought for you, the most powerful man in London always had a designated town car sent to pick you up from work or school every day. His favorite chauffeur would show up at the same time every weekday, give you a friendly greeting, and drop you off at your flat. And once you got there, you'd be greeted by a doorman that Mr. Hiddleston personally hired to make sure that you reached safely.

Today, however, the chauffeur did not drop you off at your flat. At least, not right away. "Monsieur Hiddleston had something different in mind for today," he said with a small grin, like he knew something was going on. The chauffeur dropped you off at the nail salon for a manicure paid for by your powerful beau. 

After being pampered by the nail technician for about forty-five minutes, you returned to the town car to find a bag in the backseat with the word 'Harrods' on it. "You went shopping?" You asked the chauffeur while he drove you to your flat.

"Non, it was all Monsieur Hiddleston. He was keeping this dress on hold, and asked me to pick it up for you. He would like you to wear it tonight."

You thanked the chauffeur with a smile. Inside the bag was a beautiful Carolina Herrera gown in your favorite color. And right on cue, your phone buzzed with a text from your beau, asking if you liked his gift. As always, you texted back saying that it was perfect. 

The chauffeur dropped you off at your flat, and asked you to be ready by seven-thirty…but not before taking a good look at your manicured nails and saying an early 'congratulations'.

"Gordon owes me a favor," Mr. Hiddleston bragged a little when he arrived in front of your building at seven-thirty sharp. He opened the door of his favorite black Jaguar, and helped you inside the front passenger seat. "You look stunning tonight, darling."

"You look amazing too," you couldn't help but say. It was the truth after all. "When you said Gordon, did you mean…?"

"We're going to the River Restaurant in the Savoy Hotel, darling." He kept one hand on the steering wheel, placing the other one on your knee. "Hungry?"

"Nervous," you sheepishly said.

"I'm here, nothing can harm you." He turned his eyes to the road. "Your fears are far behind you."

The moment you arrived, the host of the restaurant immediately led you both to one of the outdoor terraces, where there was a table for two set up. Mr. Hiddleston pulled the chair for you before sitting down, and a waiter poured both of you some Dom Pérignon. 

"This is beautiful." You gushed, watching the most powerful man in London raise an invisible toast. You clinked your glass against his. 

 He replied with a dramatic flair.  "Nothing compared to you."

"So…what did you to get this favor?" You leaned in and asked him while the waiter placed a charcuterie board for the two of you to share. "This is a seafood place, charcuterie isn't on the menu."

A twinkle in his cerulean eyes, Mr, Hiddleston fed you a piece of cheese. "That's confidential, darling. Just enjoy the night."

"I will."

The two of you made small talk about your day, and about Mr. Hiddleston's upcoming business trip to Paris. You would be going with him of course, Mr. Hiddleston would make sure of that. The waiter refilled your champagne, and your beau discretely gave him a twenty-pound note, whispering that it was time for the main course.

The waiter took about fifteen minutes to bring your elegantly-arranged entrees out onto the terrace. And as he came out, you could hear an orchestra from inside the hotel begin to play "All I Ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera.

"Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Hiddleston leaned forward with a smirk as he noticed you listening to the music.

You admitted this was one of the songs you enjoyed, and said it reminded you of the first time you'd ever heard of the musical. How much you wanted to be Christine in that moment, serenaded with the promise of a life with no more darkness.

"Well there's one more thing I have for you tonight, darling." With a smirk, Mr. Hiddleston reached into the pocket of his blazer, retrieving a small box labeled 'Harry Winston'. He slowly got out of his chair and made his way towards you. 

You gasped, covering your mouth almost immediately. You swore you could feel your heart stop just for a moment when his eyes met yours. It all made sense now: the manicure, the accidental 'congratulations', the gown,…

 "Oh my god…"

Mr. Hiddleston fell to one knee and opened the box, which contained a 1-carat diamond ring with a platinum band. "Love me. It's all I ask of you."

Tag list: @thatdummy-girl @icytrickster17  @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl  , @lokisninerealms  @jennyggggrrr  ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines  , @lokiismineforever  @smolvenger  @winterfrostlovetriangle  , @the-haven-of-fiction  , @turniptitaness   @cakesandtom  ,@sallymagnoliaposts  @leahs-reading-nook  @holdmytesseract  @muddyorbsblr @evelyn-kingsley @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen

[mythalism]

what if solas was a spirit of faith?

ok hear me out. i dont 100% prescribe to this theory. most of the evidence we have is in favor of solas being a wisdom spirit, however when i was writing this post i came across something that made me go hm.

now, not everything david gaider says is automatically canon. in fact, david gaider regularly and loudly says a lot of racist, misogynistic, and generally awful things about his own games and characters, so i actually do not respect his opinion at all.

however he was indeed the lead writer for dragon age: inquisition and had input into solas's writing, so i think for him to say this means it was at least something the developers talked about and agreed upon at that time.

the wiki's citation leads to a forum post by gaider from july 2013:

"the corruption of faith is pride".

hm.

also notable is that david gaider is the writer of cassandra, and i bring this up because solas's banters with cassandra are basically the foundation of this, and why i started thinking about it in the first place.

solas is a lot of things. definitely a pride demon. an judgemental jerk, a lot of the time. a "mirror", as his writer puts it. a staunch atheist as well. extremely critical of anyone who claims godhood. and......... strangely respectful of *checks notes* THE MAKER???????

for someone who spends so much time decrying the corruption of false gods, many people have found solas's banter with cassandra to be out of character. and it is pretty jarring when placed in context with the rest of his statements.

remember that spirits embody a particular single virtue, and will do whatever they can to bring it forth in others:

“Spirits are not complex in the sense that they seize upon a single facet of human experience, and this one idea becomes their identity.[3] They are formed as a reflection of the real world and its passions.[10] A spirit embodies and latches onto a specific purpose and will do all in its power to fulfill that purpose. For instance, a hunger demon will attempt to feed on anything it crosses,[4] and a spirit of justice will stop at nothing to uphold its name”

solas, strangely, speaks of cassandra's faith with great respect and even reverence. he mentions her faith several times in their banter, and rather than criticize it as foolish as you might assume from someone who embodies pride, led a rebellion against false gods, and does not hesitate to hold back his judgement when he disapproves of something, solas actively encourages cassandra's continued faith in both the maker and herself.

he tells her that her position, of a seeker of truth (an arm of the templars which he despises?) and right hand of the divine, is "an honorable one and well-earned" and that her presence is a comfort, because there is no lie in what she is:

he outright mentions spirit of faith as gentle spirits that cannot afford to be lost to corruption:

he tells cassandra he is impressed by her faith, after the revelations about the truth of the seekers:

he praises her templar abilities and the maker?????

and, most notably....

when cassandra learns the truth about the seeker vigil and her abilities being borne of a ritual involving a spirit of faith, he tells her...

she should be proud

part of the reason these banters are so confusing and seemingly out of character of solas is due to his comments on the nature of gods, organized religion, and belief at other points throughout the game.

but i believe there is a common thread to them, and that it is not faith that he criticizes, but those who take advantage of it.

some of the best examples of his disgust for one who uses someones faith in them to accrue power are with a low-approval inquisitor. what he hates are those who manipulate faith in others.

solas hates to see faith corrupted by falsity.

but why would he hate such a thing so much? why does he actively encourage cassandra's faith in the maker, while criticizing an inquisitor who used the people's faith in andraste to amass power? well, because it reminds him of the evanuris, of course. but i think there could be more to it than just that.

whatever kind of spirit solas was, we (pretty much) know that he came into being at the behest of mythal according to cole:

we also know that solas was deeply devoted to mythal in the time of elvhenan, and even thousands of years later, he staunchly defends her as someone worthy of his faith, admiration and respect.

he approves of completing her rituals in the temple of mythal:

and greatly disapproves if you do not:

he cannot stand to let morrigan misrepresent her in dialogue (lol):

he even actually refers to her as a goddess at one point, despite often asserting that the ancient elvhen gods were not gods:

and, of course, the way he speaks of her in trespasser is quite literally reverent, as he reveals her murder was the catalyst for his entire rebellion:

could solas have been borne of mythal's faith? of the people's faith in her? of her faith in her people? of her faith in herself? of the People's faith in each other? how does he still have such faith in her after all of these years?

keeping in mind the way a spirit becomes corrupted,

combined with solas's answer to cassandra's question about what he truly believes, to which he answers that he believes in people:

and of course this new mural:

could solas have originally been a spirit of faith, corrupted into pride by the evanuris's abuse of the virtue he embodied? a spirit of faith, borne of mythal's faith in her people, and turned into pride when her people, her own family, betrayed her? when their gods proved false and the only thing left to have faith in was themselves?

as much as i love this and think it fits, it cant be ignored that there is equal, if not more, that suggests he was a spirit of wisdom first. however this is so clearly intentional and satisfying that i dont think it's a coincidence - they're definitely doing something with this. whether or not solas was always Pride and thus he is just drawn towards the two other sides of his coin, wisdom and faith, or if he was one and corrupted into pride, i dont know, but i think faith and the manipulation of it to evil ends will continue to be integral to his story.

[tokiwarcube]

Dating Charles hc? 👀 Sfw & nsfw both fine by me 🖤

Hell yeah! Pre-Requiem SFW below the cut, NS/FW to follow in a separate post <3

Nathan HERE ; Pickles HERE ; Toki HERE ; Skwisgaar HERE ; Murderface HERE

Despite the “robot” label he’s been saddled with over the years, Charles is a very caring man. He’s romantic in a way that makes all of your rose-tinted teenage dreams a daily reality. And sure, he might not always have time for extravagant dates, but he’s tender in a way that smooths it over so naturally that you really couldn’t imagine spending time with him any other way.

Many of your nights are spent together in his office, sipping scotch to the quiet hum of classic rock as the two of you clean up whatever mess the boys have made this time. Quiet conversation weaves its way naturally into the scratching of pen on paper, easy and fluid as all things seem to be with him.

And while he is, functionally, always on call… Charles very much treasures the hours of the weekend he gets to spend with you.

Whether he’s taking you out to dinner or studying the pieces at your local art museum, Charles will usually be on his feet with you for the weekends unless you reel him in. Believe me, there’s nothing he loves more than relaxing at home with you with the lights turned low… but frankly, the man forgets that he can actually do that sometimes. Workaholic habits die hard.

And despite being around it all the time, Charles still loves live music. Take this man out to a show or two, you won’t regret it.

Just… don’t take him on the dance floor. Ever. He talks big game, but he has zero sense of rhythm. The ‘57 Gibson Les Paul hanging on his wall is purely for decoration, he cannot play it by pure virtue of the fact that he couldn’t catch a beat if it smacked him in the face. Don’t let him fool you.

Charles isn’t a very cuddly man, but that isn’t to say he’s not sweet. He loves placing little kisses to the inside of your wrist when alone, in particular.

Although if you have the urge to card your hands through his hair after hours while he works on a few deals, or loosen the tension in his shoulders… he certainly isn’t complaining.

When he’s drunk though… very, very clingy.

Even while sober though, he does have a bit of a fascination with your hands, just in general. You’ll often catch him watching your movements while you type, or fiddle with a pen. And it’s no surprise that, left unguarded, he’s prone to toying with your fingers a bit. It’s almost subconscious, really.

Charles has a fantastic memory, and he uses this to his advantage often. He’s always got you in the back of his mind, and he’s rather liberal about texting you when something reminds him of you.

[1 Attachment] Isn’t this from that show that you like?

That being said, gift giving is one of his bigger love languages, and he always seems to find the perfect thing. He has some preternatural gift for finding things that nobody else can.

He’s a fan of the classics, in many regards. Holding doors, pulling out chairs, flowers… he does it without thinking, really. Although, he won’t complain if you do the same for him. Makes him quite soft.

Least jealous man this side of the hemisphere. He completely trusts your loyalty and ability to assert yourself, no questions asked. And if there’s someone that’s not taking no for an answer? That is harassment, and they’ll be dealt with shortly. Props of always having a Klokateer around the corner, I suppose. (He’s a very vigilant man in general, actually. You always feel safe when you’re out in public with him, and its not just because of the armed guards that linger in your shadows.)

He keeps a photo of you in his wallet — a little polaroid that Toki had taken after you gifted him a polaroid for Christmas one year, tucked just behind his ID.

He keeps you as his lockscreen, too. Whenever he gets a smidge too stressed in the office, he’ll pull out his phone in a “do it for them” type move. It always works.

He takes your words very seriously — you always feel heard when you talk to him. He’s a fantastic communicator, and most problems are resolved fairly quick.

He loves hearing your voice, and if you’re in a position where you can do such a thing, he loves to just call for a little while. Just to hear you speak.

For as much as he preaches about getting 8 hours of sleep per night, he’s rather shit at following that rule. He might acquiesce if you ask him sweetly enough to please come to bed… although you might have a bit more luck if you plop yourself in his lap, instead. He gets so vigilant about not waking you up on accident that he eventually just gives up and carries you to bed with him.

And despite not being the cuddliest man during the day, he almost always has a hand on you in the night.

He’s an early riser by habit — a morning person by necessity, not by nature, as he says — but don’t think you’re getting out of bed before him. A bleary eyed and whiny Charles is a sight for sore eyes, truly.

He does have a certain set of routines that he follows to a tee, one of which is bringing you coffee in the morning. He likes to sit on the edge of the bed, sipping from his own mug as he gently runs his free hand up and down your spine. For a moment, the world is quiet — peaceful.

[astrophileous]

I'm in It for the Money

Part 1 of 4 from The Countdown series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: When Derek is forced to go undercover for a case, he doesn't expect to encounter the past that has haunted him for years.

Word Count: 4400-ish

Warning(s): STRONG NSFW IMPLICATIONS (nothing too graphic but MINORS BE ADVISED), past trauma/abuse, child abuse, undercover life, mention of dead animals, estranged parent-child relationship, discussions about organized crime (including but not limited to narcotics, firearms, human trafficking), mentions/talks of serial killers, cursing and other foul language, smoking (cigarette), implied age gap (undefined) (pls lmk if I miss anything)

Author's Note: another special shout out to @avis-writeshq for beta 🥺💞 I hope you like this one! Pls don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG tyyy ❤️❤️✨️✨️✨️

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The abandoned factory smelled like piss. It was the first thing Derek reckoned the moment they stepped into the darkened lot. Perhaps it was the meager visibility that caused his other senses to heighten. He swore he could almost hear a dying rat fighting for its last breath deep in the imposing darkness, but he might as well have been hearing the rush of his own blood.

Next to him, Agent Temples lit up a cigarette.

"I must say, until last month, I thought I'd seen all kinds of evil there are," Temples said before taking a long swig. "But a syndicate of serial killers?"

"Evils come in different shapes and sizes." Derek jerked his eyes towards the other man for emphasis. "Believe me."

A cloud of smoke appeared in front of Temples' face before it dissolved into the pitch blackness. "You've seen them all, haven't you?"

Derek didn't warrant him an answer. Instead, he steered the conversation towards the case at hand. "Tell me about your UC."

Temples relented. "She's been under for four. Smart, perceptive, vigilant. She was in the bureau for a short while."

This new piece of information tugged at Derek's intrigue.

"Really?"

"Your loss, our gain." Temples shrugged. "You'll know when you see her."

Derek nodded his head silently.

He stared at the tall windows on the distant wall. The foul odor around him had dwindled since his eyes adjusted to the feeble light from the moon. Either that, or Derek was subconsciously building resistance towards it. He couldn't decide which one was worse.

Agent Temples was flicking the butt of his cigarette when the first roar of an engine echoed in the distance. Derek's instinct kicked in, pushing his body to its full stature the second he saw what looked like a motorcycle light penetrating the window. Soon after the sound of the motorcycle reduced to nothing, Derek saw a silhouette slipping past the gap of the dingy entrance to the factory.

Temples called out to its direction, "You're late, Ghost."

The silhouette sauntered closer in the dark—proving claim to its name—before arising in the light like a doomsday's salvation.

"Patience is a virtue, Jimmy," you said in a tantalizing sneer.

Inside his chest, Derek's heart ceased to function.

From where you stood, your eyes had caught sight of him, too. Derek saw the flicker of recognition in them, maybe a little something more as well, but you schooled your expression faster than a blink of an eye.

"There was urgent business to take care of," you added.

Agent Temples hummed in interest. "Possible lead?"

"Debatable." You shoved your hands inside the pockets of your jacket. A casual gesture to the untrained eye, but the profiler in Derek knew it was an attempt to hide. From him, maybe. "I need more time to confirm."

"You do that. Meanwhile, there's someone you should meet. Agent Morgan, this is Ghost, our UC."

Temples proceeded to say your real name to Derek. As if he didn't already know it. As if the name hadn't haunted him every day and night for nearly the past five years.

"And Ghost, this is—"

"SSA Derek Morgan." For the first time since you walked in, your attention finally meandered his way. Derek burned under your blatant perusal. "Behavioral Analysis Unit. FBI."

Temples' surprise was glaring. "You know each other?"

"We did," Derek spat.

You appeared bemused at Derek's callous display. He, on the other hand, didn't find the whole thing amusing at all.

"We do," you eventually said.

Temples didn't seem to notice the existing tension in the air. If he did, he chose to say nothing. "This is great news! You guys know each other, so you can get everything settled yourselves." By a miraculous coincidence, Temples' phone started to ring. "Now, excuse me for a moment."

You waited until Temples was out of earshot before addressing Derek, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah. I wish I could say the same."

You smiled somewhat sadly at the taste of venom in Derek's voice. The damp and moldy air in the forgotten factory stood no chance against the sting of Derek's cold glare. It was easy for your body to ignore the chill, pretending that Derek's indifference didn't bite through your skin. Your heart, though, was a different story.

"I didn't know it was gonna be you," was what you ended up saying after a full minute of silence. "When Jimmy told me that someone would be coming in, he didn't tell me anything else. I wasn't expecting you."

It was the most sincere string of words you had uttered since showing up in front of him. For a moment, something twitched in his chest, and Derek loathed the fact that you still had that effect on him even after years had passed. But as frustrating as it was, Derek didn't think petty would suit him well as a middle name, so he swallowed the bitter lump and forced his shoulders to relax.

"So, this is where you've been all this time? Living as a ghost?"

Derek's passing jab at your nickname didn't go unnoticed even if you chose to pay no heed to it. "I met Jimmy on a case, back when I was still with the bureau. He offered me the job."

"Is that why you ran?" Derek pretended not to see you flinch. "Or did you go to ATF because you ran?"

"You know I've always wanted to go under."

"As if you couldn't do that in the bureau."

"In the bureau? Yeah, maybe. But do you really think I could've done it back when I still had my old life?"

Derek bit his tongue. There was no mistaking what you meant by that.

Do you really think I could've done it back when I was still with you?

Something was boiling in the pit of Derek's stomach. He recognized it from those few months following your sudden departure from his life. Before tonight, Derek thought the wound you administered had scabbed over with time. But one encounter with you, and now those scars were opening up and bleeding again, all over the place.

"You used to say people who run are cowards."

Your head whipped towards him. In the darkness, Derek could still see the brush of disbelief across your face. He wondered, then, what had you looking so taken off guard. Was it the fact that Derek still remembered something you had said to him many moons ago?

In the end, your response was to avert your gaze from his face.

"Well," you began, "maybe I am one."

Thunders were feuding inside your chest. They squeezed around your heart like a garrote, making you gasp for air until you forgot how to breathe properly without doing so.

A few seconds later, you finally completed the fifth and final round of your torture.

"Time!" Derek called out as soon as you passed the finish line. "Four seconds faster than your last. Not bad."

Your heart was still galloping at a thousand miles per minute. The voice that rose when you spoke up resembled a choking fish out of water more than anything else.

"Not bad, but not good?"

"I think you can do better."

A sarcastic chuckle rumbled from your chest. "Any faster than that, Derek, and I might die."

"Don't deny your potential before it becomes real. You're so much more capable than you allow yourself to believe." Derek grabbed a bottle of water that he had prepared for you. "Here."

You accepted it with a quick thanks. "I've always hated running. It's something that cowards do."

"That's an extreme notion to have."

"Well, my family had a tendency to do it, and all of them are cowards," you said nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the weight carried by your choice of words. "My mom ran every time my dad beat my brother and I to the brink of death, and Dad ran when the police finally got on his ass about it."

Derek visibly softened after hearing your rancorous confession. "Your mother's still calling?"

The bitter scowl on your face was enough confirmation for him.

The first phone call arrived around four months ago. You had dropped the call as soon as you realized who was on the other end of the line, after which your mother resorted to leaving you an abundance of voice messages instead. All of them were deleted without a listen, and you found yourself blocking every incoming call from an unknown number just for the tiniest bit of chance that it might be from her.

Exactly a month ago, your mother suddenly showed up on your doorstep.

It was already alarming when you realized that she had somehow gotten a hold of your contact information. To then find her in front of your home was worse. You nearly didn't recognize her when you first opened the door; not with her thinner cheeks and sunken eyes. She looked nothing like the woman you remembered from the routine nightmares, but the shadow of terror in her eyes was one you knew quite well.

"It's good to see you," she had said after begging you not to slam the door in her face. "You look great. Healthy."

"Considering the last time you saw me, I was drenched in my own blood, I'd say that's an understatement."

She physically winced at your reply. "I paid your brother a visit before coming down here. Can we go inside?"

"No." You closed the door behind your back, pressing yourself like a royal guard against it. "Whatever you want to say, we can discuss it here."

The woman whom you once called mother darted her eyes everywhere. At last, she settled on pinning her gaze towards a point right beside your ear. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

You scoffed. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"What? No—"

"Do you need money? Is that it?"

A look of offense scampered by your mother's face. "Is a mother not allowed to ever see her child?"

"If I had a mother, then sure, she could see me. You're just a woman who stood by for years while I was bruised and battered every single day of my childhood." Tears had started to stream down her face, but it did nothing for you. It wasn't like she was ever affected by your desperate wails and cries when you were little, anyway. "I never hope to see you here again. If you keep coming, I'll be contacting the police."

You had slammed the door on her face after that, and thankfully, her phone calls and messages promptly stopped, too.

Until last week.

"She's sending text messages this time," you eventually said.

Upon hearing your answer, Derek gestured towards the bleachers behind him. You sighed loudly, albeit still obliging his silent request as you took a seat on the second lowest bench. Almost the entire track field was in your line of sight from where you sat. In the distance, you could see young cadets from the Academy training together. The scene brought a smile to your face. It reminded you of memories from a lifetime ago.

When Derek sat down, he didn't leave any gap between the two of you, pressing your sweaty thigh with his toned one.

"What are you planning to do?" Derek asked.

You opted to chug the rest of your water instead of replying.

"You threatened to report her to the police last time. You can choose to make true of that promise. Maybe it'll force her to stop for good."

"Or?"

"Or—" Derek glanced at you, his eyes sincere and not at all captious as he spoke, "—you can choose to try hearing her out."

Your face contorted into a grimace. "Are those two my only options?"

"Your third option is to do nothing and let her keep stalking you. Possibly until the aliens decide to invade the earth, sending humanity into extinction."

"Hm." You dropped your forehead on Derek's shoulder. "That sounds tempting."

You shut your eyes against the soft material of Derek's T-shirt. The smell of his detergent mixed with Derek's natural musk served as an anchor for the adrift ship of which you were the captain. Derek's presence was always a reprieve in your otherwise bleak life. Derek was comfortable. He was your safe haven.

"I know I have no right to speak about this, but I think it needs to be said," the man added.

You lifted your head to stare into Derek's eyes, the same ones who had crowned you as their sole center at that moment. His hand was warm as it crept towards the nape of your neck.

"Take it from someone who lost one of his parents at a very young age. You will end up regretting the things you didn't do a tenfold more than the things you did do." Derek's thumb swept over your eyebrows, smoothing out the creases until you were pliant underneath his touch. "I'm in no way saying that my situation is comparable to yours. I will never understand what you went through with your family. All I know is, I don't want you to wake up one day with any remorse about the past."

Derek's advice was sealed with three gentle kisses: one to your forehead, one to the tip of your nose, and one to your lips. You left one of your own on his jawline for good measure before burrowing yourself further into his side.

"I hate it when you're right," you grumbled.

"That kinda sucks, considering that I'm right all the time."

"Yeah, you are." You hid your smile on his shoulder. "Which is why I really hate you."

Less than two minutes later, Agent Temples re-emerged from the dark.

"Sorry about that, folks. What'd I miss? Have you two walked through everything?"

"Actually," you began, "we haven't even started yet."

"We got caught up... reminiscing about the past," Derek fabricated smoothly.

Temples didn't seem to detect the lie as he said, "Alright. We can go through it now. Ghost, you wanna start us off?"

You spontaneously stretched to your full height underneath the newfound attention. "I've been planting the seeds for months now. Hopefully, no one gets suspicious whenever Morgan decides to come in."

"What's the story?" Derek asked.

"You're a friend of my brother's. I've known you my whole life," you replied. "I orchestrated a malfunction in one of the orders a few months ago. We've been looking for an explosives expert ever since. That's you."

"And you're sure it's solid?"

"It's a perfect cover considering your time in the bomb squad. Just in case, though, Jimmy will handle your background." Your eyes flitted towards Temples, who nodded in confirmation of your statement. "By the time it's done, you can say goodbye to SSA Derek Morgan from the FBI. It'll look legit."

"Don't worry." Temples patted Derek's shoulder. "You're in the right hands."

"What about you?" Derek asked again.

You tilted your head curiously. "What about me?"

"What's the story you told them? Nothing good about a solid cover if yours isn't just as sturdy."

You squinted your eyes at Derek's strange question. It sounded, somehow, like he was questioning your work for the last four years, as though he only came up with it as an absurd act of retribution for something that could now be declared as history.

Or, perhaps, you were the one being paranoid because of your past mistake.

After all, you still didn't know how to move on from the guilt even to this day.

Before you could come up with an apt answer, Temples suddenly beat you to it, "You don't need to worry about that. Nobody dares to question Ghost. The Big Boss is sweet on her."

"Jimmy."

"The Big Boss?" Derek's glare pierced right through you. "You mean Kreczmar?"

"What can I say? Ghost is an expert when it comes to fraternizing with the enemy."

Temples could be a sleazy bastard sometimes, and right now, you wished you could punch that toothy grin straight off his face.

"Aleksander Kreczmar is an assignment. A means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less."

You didn't understand why your eyes blithered towards Derek as you made that proclamation. The way he was studying you, though, made you feel like a cell under a microscope. A small part of your brain had fleetingly assumed that it might be jealousy, but you pushed the hope away before it could sediment further into a foolish delusion.

"This changes things," Derek said out of the blue. "The fact that you're in a relationship with him—"

"I'm not in a rela—"

"—would never make him approve of me. He's a man with an ego. He's not gonna like his woman bringing in some guy she knew from the past."

The objection died in your throat.

Derek was making a lot of sense.

"You're the profiler," you shot a little too sourly. "What do you suggest, then?"

"Simple." Derek smirked, a picture of smugness and spite as he looked at you. "I'll tell him I'm in it for the money."

Derek pulled out with a hiss, immediately missing the warmth he had been enfolded in just a few seconds prior. He peeled off the condom before tying it securely, throwing it straight into the garbage can in the corner.

"Why did you decide to join the FBI?"

Your question brought out a laughter deep from Derek's chest. His eyes took in the view of your exposed upper body, mirroring his own state of undress, while your body's other half was covered haphazardly by the flimsy material of Derek's sheets.

If he didn't know any better, Derek would be wondering how you still managed to stay lucid even after the hours the two of you spent on his bed, and a few more hours around various corners of his home. But Derek could read you better than most people by now, and he could distinguish the sign of post-coital bliss glistening over your irises. Underneath the gentle glow of his bedside table lamp, you were a sight for sore eyes.

"Why do you ask the most random questions after sex?"

"Because people are usually more honest after sex."

"And you know this, how?"

"I read it." You slithered into a new position as you responded, flumping on your stomach with your chin pressing on Derek's abs. He looked down at you in wonder. "Your brain gets drowned in oxytocin every time you cum. The love hormone, people call it. Oxytocin promotes the feeling of trust, hence the truth bomb."

"Hm. You sounded like Reid just now."

"Why do you know what Spencer sounds like after sex?"

Derek grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing until you squealed at him for mercy.

"I think I was always destined to follow in my father's footsteps," Derek replied at last. "I picked law in college 'cause it made sense. Joined Chicago PD 'cause I felt like it was up to me to continue the job my father couldn't finish."

"And the FBI?"

"It was my first experience of staring evil right in the eye," Derek said. "The first time I truly felt scared on the job was back in the bomb squad. I got tired of having my life taunted by a bunch of scrap metals. Joining the bureau gave me the chance to stare directly at the people responsible for these crimes."

"You want to challenge them to their faces," you concluded.

"Exactly. I wanted to put a face on the crimes. When I realized that these people were just a bunch of fucked-up morons and sick-minded souls, going up against them wasn't as frightening anymore."

Derek's gaze roved over the entire ceiling as he spoke. His fingers on your shoulder drew abstract patterns that triggered an expanse of goosebumps on your skin. The alarm clock on the bedside table mocked you from the corner of your eye. Its little hands were swords, threatening you with the knowledge that you had to be up and out of Derek's place in just five short hours.

Your stomach churned at the thought.

"What about you? Why did you join the FBI?"

The question arrived as a welcomed distraction. It provided you with an excuse to push the thought of your inevitable flight to the back of your head.

"Do you want the honest answer or the default answer?"

Derek looked down at you in amusement. "There are two different answers?"

"Yes. Now pick one."

"The honest one."

"Is it cliché if I say it's because of my parents?"

Derek knew your question was more rhetoric than inquisitive, so he settled with squeezing your hip instead of a literal response.

"The worst thing about that part of my life isn't the memories, nor the nightmares. It's not even about the scars. It's the fear." A shiver ran down your entire body. For a second, Derek thought he had set the AC temperature too cold until he realized he hadn't even turned it on yet. "I knew if they placed me in front of my father again, I would crumble like nothing. I didn't want that. Couldn't accept that. So, I trained myself to stop being afraid in the face of atrocities."

As you finished your explanation, Derek couldn't help but think about how similar the two of you were in a lot of ways. His mind went back to a memory from years ago, back when you were still in the Academy, and back to the first time the both of you had ever met.

"What's your greatest fear?" Derek had asked that question in front of the room full of trainees back then.

Shouts of dying, height, and even my mom filled the air. Derek remembered scanning the crowd of faces in the midst of all of those answers before his eyes had fatedly landed on you.

"You." Your surprise was conspicuous as Derek's finger aimed towards you. "What's your greatest fear?"

"Fear."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"No, I meant that's my answer. Fear. Being afraid. That's what I fear the most."

You might not have been the first person he noticed in that gym full of people, but you were definitely the one who managed to stay on his mind.

After all, he had given the same answer when his trainer asked him the same question back during his time at the Academy.

"That was the honest answer," Derek noted after a lengthy silence had passed. "What's the default one?"

"It's the one I tell people," you responded with a brilliant smile thrown his way. Derek tried not to read too much over the implications that you had excluded him from the word people.

"Which is?"

"That I'm in it for the money."

"Hey." Temples' voice echoed inside the vast space of the factory. "I heard that one before. Didn't you use to say it all the time, Ghost? I didn't think much when you folks said you knew each other, but looks like you know one another quite well."

"I hardly think it's an appropriate time to discuss this, Jimmy."

"Right. My apologies. You have anything else, Ghost?"

Temples' question was a relief for your anxious bones. It gave you the chance to maneuver the conversation towards a more purposeful direction.

"Do you have a working profile for your UnSub?"

Derek studied you for a moment before replying, "We don't have much to work with. All we know is they operate on a network that spans throughout the entire country. It's run by a much smaller group. No greater than ten, most likely fewer than five. We flagged some human trafficking activities we thought could be related to them."

"They contacted me when they found out we have an active op on Kreczmar," Temples explained.

"You do know that we haven't uncovered any conclusive evidence for the trafficking allegations, right?"

During the four years you spent infiltrating Aleksander Kreczmar's empire, you had crawled, climbed, and sprinted your way up to the top. It was arduous work, one that required you to sacrifice a lot of things. Your life was one of them. Your dignity was often another.

For four years, you and your team had succeeded in stopping dozens of narcotics deliveries, along with detaining numerous firearms and explosives before they could fall into the wrong hands. You oversaw most of the trades that went through the eastern coast of Kreczmar's territory, but so far, you had never positively identified a single human trafficking activity connected to Kreczmar's ring.

You knew better than to perceive the lack of evidence as proof of innocence, though. That word didn't fit in any dictionary of a man such as Kreczmar.

"The profile fits," Derek declared. "Kreczmar's routes coincide with the syndicate's hot zones."

"That's a lot of areas to cover, Derek."

"Which is why we start here, at the heart of his operation. Which is why we need you."

That one sentence didn't have any business messing with every neuron in your brain, and you hated the fact that it did. Derek was the only person in the world who possessed that kind of power over you, and you couldn't help wondering if he did it on purpose just for the satisfaction of seeing you wither.

"You're putting a lot of faith in me, Derek."

"I've always had that for you."

The surrounding air seared where it touched your skin. Your tongue stiffened like metal inside your mouth, and beside you, Temples looked as if he was just now noticing the electric field buzzing between you and Derek.

"I need to get going," you rushed out. "People are expecting me."

"Oh? Of course. Thanks for making the time, Ghost," Temples said before bidding you goodbye.

You could barely look Derek in the eye as you offered a lame wave. Your shoes composed a scratchy melody against the ground. As you reached the exit, your eyes caught Derek's from the distance, and suddenly, you were hauled back towards the night that had gnawed at your memories for the past five years.

And just like that night, this time, you were running away from him once again.

Taglist is open. Leave a comment or send me an ask to be added!

Taglist: @citrusiove @kneelforloki @prentissim @bunbunbl0gs @lubunnii @alluring-andrayav @sammyrenae68

[grison-in-space]

Is it fundamentally unethical for people to eat publicly indoors, since they can't wear a mask while doing so and no amount of ventilation will prevent them from expelling saliva droplets while doing so?

No, particularly not if they are in a space that is designated for that purpose so that people can plan accordingly with respect to their own risk levels.

My orientation is harm reduction, not virtue ethics. My lens assumes that individual people are modulating their behavior according to their overall circumstances and ability, and that the best way to change behavior is to emphasize evidence based structural practices that make safer behavior easier. These are some of the central insights that we learned from activists during our last major plague.

Shaming people tends to result in all or nothing behaviors rather than an overall reduction in harm, just like increasing anxiety and fear generally in an environment does: fearful individuals may avoid danger by freezing and not engaging in a risky behavior as frequently... Or they may simply engage in a risky but rewarding behavior impulsively, when a potential opportunity seems to arise, and reduce the amount of time that they spend thinking about ways to reduce risk.

I want people, as much as possible, to think about risk as something that can be assessed fairly objectively and to think about their decisions as tradeoffs made subjectively based on individual context and values. And I want them to understand that different people have different trade offs to make. Metaphorically, fearful people freeze in place or bolt across roads without pausing; I want to teach people to look both ways before they cross. Is it ever ethical to cross a road? How many lanes of traffic? Are there lights? Can we put lights in?

Shaming people and blaming them for any suffering also dramatically increases the likelihood of those people experiencing trauma from an extended stress. If stress is a wound, trauma is like a scar: it persists as an understanding of the risks of the world that we can't unlearn, even when the immediate stress is past. The trouble is that we are social creatures, and our bodies weigh the value and strength of our social connections—how safe we feel within our networks—as dearly as they weigh the bread in our mouths, using the same scales to do so.

No human survives alone. Who would stand watch as we sleep in case of leopard? We are all reliant on the social connections and contacts we weave with one another. So when we find ourselves feeling that our fellows wouldn't protect us if we are in danger, we learn that our stressor is even riskier than we thought: we can't rely on our social networks to protect us if they think we deserved it. So we etch the fear into our brains with the vigilance of the human who can't rely on the group for protection and support.

Is it ethical to engage in behavior that might harm my neighbor? Which neighbor? Who can say?

You gotta stop the little Calvinist asshole in your head from doing your thinking for you. It's not about preventing transgression, it's about preventing harm—and harm is multifaceted, contextual and often conflicting. The best I can do is let everyone judge their risk for various things as accurately as they can.

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ CG Aragorn Headcanons ໒ ˚⁎

hello! Do you take requests for Lord of the Rings, and if so can I request a cg Aragorn? Thank you!!

•Aragorn’s presence is calming and reassuring. His steady demeanor and deep, soothing voice provide comfort and a sense of security to you

•Care giver Aragorn loves telling stories about his adventures and the rich history of Middle-earth. He has a way of making each tale captivating and relatable, often personalizing them to make you feel like you're part of the adventure.

•He's incredibly patient, understanding that your needs and behaviors can change. He adapts his caregiving approach to meet them where you are, offering unwavering support

•Protector : With his skills as a ranger and warrior, Aragorn ensures the safety of you at all times. He is always vigilant and ready to defend you from any perceived threats, making you feel protected and secure

•"Fear not, little one. I am here, and nothing will harm you while I stand guard !"

•Aragorn loves taking you on nature walks, teaching you about the plants and animals of Middle-earth

•"See this plant? It’s called Athelas. It has healing properties, just like you have the power to heal with your smile"

•Using his knowledge of herbs and healing, Aragorn can tend to any scrapes or minor illnesses you might have. His gentle care and healing hands quickly soothe any discomfort

•Papa Aragorn understands the importance of routine and provides a consistent structure for you. He ensures you have regular meals, rest times, and activities, creating a stable and predictable environment

•If you feel anxious or upset, Aragorn is always there with a comforting hug or a quiet presence. His empathy and understanding help to soothe your worries and fears

•"Shh... my sunshine, don't forget that : when the shadows grow long and your heart feels heavy, remember that even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise."

•Playful Side : Despite his serious demeanor, Aragorn has a playful side that he only reveals to you. He engages in games, sings songs, and even teaches you some basic swordplay in a safe and fun manner

•Aragorn involves you in preparing meals, teaching you simple recipes and cooking techniques. This activity is both educational and a bonding experience, making mealtimes special !

•Dada Aragorn might serves as a role model for you, demonstrating qualities like bravery, kindness, and integrity. His guidance helps your develop these virtues in your own way

•"Patience is a virtue, little star. The greatest strength lies in a calm and steady heart..."

DNI: basic criteria, DSMP, vivziepop/h4zbin h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl, nsfw/k!nk, anti-agere, anti Christians blogs

[elisabethbabarci]

THE POWER OF FORGIVENESS

May my affirmations heal, awaken, and restore your soul within. You have the power to evoke forgiveness in every aspect of your existence. Give yourself the precious sacred gift of inner peace throughout your life.

My natural state is that of peace.

I choose to reclaim my inner peace, sovereignty, and power as I accept with patience, understanding, and wisdom that life is uncertain and I must embrace change.

With intention I liberate and emancipate myself from my experiences, processes, circumstances, and situations that are beyond my control.

With compassion and awareness I evoke self care and self love during my recovery.

With self respect, dignity, and honour I remind myself that I am not the body, I am consciousness.

I am progress in motion, and I choose to not foster a destructive environment where I maintain the rhetoric or belief to keep the pain alive within, as I acknowledge doing so, is regressive and harmful to my soul.

With each passing day, I learn to embrace self forgiveness by loving myself, as my experiences do not define me.

Breaking generational cycles, beliefs, patterns, and attitudes enables me to dissipate residual anger as my past circumstances or experiences do not have power over me.

As I seek inner peace, I enable self compassion, self love, self care, and self respect for myself and others.

I acknowledge and accept that I am processing my internal and external emotions of feeling intentionally wronged, harmed, hurt, or being a victim of endured suffering. I allow myself to heal and emancipate now.

I am more than my experiences as I am experiencing symptoms of a much greater root that is healing internally with every passing moment.

I recognize that I am safe and within a loving environment to make an intentional decision to release resentment, regret, anger, and negative emotions that may have consumed me at one period of time however, I have extracted the lesson to move forward with enlightened wisdom and strength.

I accept the process of life, and I embrace my natural transformation through catharsis and metamorphosis.

I accept my new awakening that I am liberated from behaviours, perceptions, patterns, cycles, feelings and emotions that are not aligned with my path.

I rise with every opportunity to become a stronger version of myself as I emancipate from stagnated perceptions and constructs that misalign with my moral and ethical principles.

Accepting loss does not constitute weakness or defeat, for it resurrects within me my inner power, to choose what I partake in.

I acknowledge the inner pain, as it enables me to evoke self reflection and deeper examination of core roots that I need to heal within. I am safe.

Practicing empathy enables me to consciously analyze a situation and reflect on my actions, thoughts, words, behaviours, and the impact it has on others.

The process of forgiveness enables liberation from stagnation and disturbance to establish inner equilibrium and tranquility.

Coexisting in perfect harmony enables compassion for others, respect, love, and community as we are all one, complete and whole. By seeing through anothers eyes enables me to gain deeper insight into the realm of higher conscious state of awareness.

Forgiveness then allows me to return to my natural state of peace. Securing a state of inner peace within myself enables and fosters forgiveness. I acknowledge and accept that both concepts are interconnected and promote divinity within.

There is universal power in compassion and love for another, which enhances the moral principle of interconnectivity, honour, integrity, respect, and virtue.

Forgiveness enables me to see beyond my fears, and to lead with love in every aspect of my existence.

Forgiveness is an inherent human right which is an essential element of benevolence.

Forgiveness is within my moral fabric of self, as I seek justice not revenge.

Embracing vigilance and prudence offers the ability to remain ethical in all pursuits, while governing my actions with fair impartiality and reason. 

With diligence, I observe and respect others perspectives as it enables me to become impartial during my recovery. 

Consideration of others feelings, thoughts, experiences, and trajectories enables myself to step outside of my comfort zone to observe the matter through another dimension. 

With care, perseverance, and motivation, I seek solutions which enables empathy, resolutions, and solutions. 

Self reflection fosters an internal dialogue with myself to observe and evaluate my actions critically, to foster and implement improvements of my behaviour, to enhance peace in all aspects of my life. 

As I encompass forgiveness, it liberates my soul within, from the confines of the illusion of control and fear. 

Forgiveness enables me the intentional decision to release resentment, residual anger, sadness and grief, and regret. 

I release residual energy that is holding me back. I am free to embark on my journey with ease, hope, and grace. 

I give permission to be gentle with myself through my recovery process. 

I forgive myself with patience, I forgive myself with time, I forgive myself with love, I forgive myself with acceptance, I forgive myself with care, I forgive myself with self support, I forgive myself with self compassion, I forgive myself with self love, I forgive myself with self empathy, I forgive myself with self respect, I forgive myself with understanding, I forgive myself with peace, I forgive myself with inner truth, I forgive myself now.

[box-architecture]

11.

His Majesty had called him to the throne room that evening, drawing the curtains for a more private conversation. It had been a talk Punz had been dreading the entire day, ever since they had locked eyes with him over the breakfast table that very morning. His Majesty had chosen the seat on the left side instead of one on the right. Unusual, but Punz had thought nothing of it at the time, too excited to have the rare chance to see His Majesty's unobstructed face all morning, rather than just his hair (and on particularly blessed days, the slope of his neck.)

They'd been too caught up in their foolish crush to realize how obvious they had become, until suddenly his eyes had flicked towards them, piercing through the dream and freezing them in place

Punz had quickly stifled their fantasies, but His Majesty's eyes had widened minutely, and they knew he had read the them in their entirety.

(Hunger. Lust. Devotion. Worship. Love.)

They marched dutifully to towards their fate, resigned. There was no law against staring at the King. His Majesty was a good and honorable man who had forbidden senseless shit like that, and who's tyranny was limited to nobles trying to line their pockets rather nurture their Kingdom. Punz would not be executed for a faux pas.

They would, however, likely be transferred from their position as part of His Majesty's personal guard for making his King uncomfortable. No longer would Punz get to witness their lord soft and sleepy in the mornings, or coming out of a bath with wet hair and a relaxed smile. His Majesty stayed up late most days, working tirelessly in the study. Most of the personal guard elected to stay in the hall during these times, but Punz had always made sure to stand vigilant in the corner of the room, watching his back and longing to wrap the man up in a quilt and take him to bed. Kiss his forehead, brush his hair out of his face, even, before doing his duty and sinking to his knees-

It was agony, the idea that they would lose him, but they were willing to beg forgiveness, to never think another lustful thought in his presence, if only he would allow them to stay by his side.

"Punz." Their Lord greeted them quietly. The servants had already lit the lanterns for the evening, giving him a softer glow that felt heavenly to witness.

"You're Majesty." Punz bowed their head. They tried to keep their face relaxed, neutral, but they suddenly felt flush. He had said their name, and oh, how good it sounded, held in his mouth.

Their palms began to sweat as his Lord met their gaze once again, knowingly, and it was clear that Punz had failed at neutrality.

"You can speak freely here." Dream inclined his head at the curtains surrounding the throne. "You are not on trial, and I ask only for your honesty, as promised to me when you swore your oaths."

Punz's gut clenched. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"It's Dream." He spoke softly. "As long as we are free to speak, it's Dream to you."

All breath left them. The honor, the privilege-

"Dream." They dropped to their knees, desperation their ugliest virtue. "I'm sorry, it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, my lord. I had only- I had just-"

They struggled with their words. They couldn't say I hadn't meant to stare, to lie when they had promised Dream the truth would surely be more sinful than the act itself. But they needed his forgiveness.

"I will never look again if you don't wish it." Punz swore, turning their gaze to the ground. "It was unacceptable of me to think of you in such a way, and if you let me stay I swear I will never-"

They startled as fingers touched their chin. Dream knelt before them, lifting their head up to meet his beautiful eyes once more.

"In what way," Dream murmured. "Were you thinking of me?"

[ineffable-dads]

Don't Wait Up

Ineffable Husbands, Ineffable Dads, Light Angst, Mentions of Bullying, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Crowley, Child!OC

Ineffable Dads Masterlist

A/N: Hey! I'm not dead. With all the hype around season 2, I remembered this was still kicking around my files and decided to finally finish it. I have NOT had a chance to watch season 2 so if this isn't in keeping with new information, I apologize. Please no spoilers in the meantime. Once I get a chance to watch it, I'll likely have plenty of thoughts to share. Thanks!

Also, PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS. I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!

Summary: Aziraphale finds himself waiting for Isabelle to come home from her first date. Unfortunately, humans can be rather unpredictable creatures.

Word Count: 1.9K

Aziraphale wasn’t waiting up. He had no reason to. Isabelle had been very clear on that score. 

She was going to meet a boy from school at the cinema. She had told Aziraphale what time it started and when she’d likely be back. He had nothing to worry about and therefor had no reason to wait up.  The fact he had decided to catch up on some reading while taking a seat closest to the front door was a mere coincidence.

His eyes scanned over the pages, but halfway down the second, realized he hadn’t truly read any of it. With a slight huff, he set the book down and leaned back in the chair.

He really shouldn’t worry. Crowley certainly wasn’t as he made himself comfortable watching telly in the other room. Still, the whole thing nagged at him.

It wasn’t as if he were keeping vigil over Isabelle’s virtue or whatever it was fathers were so paranoid about to the point of threatening young suitors with violence. What Isabelle decided to do or not to do was entirely her decision. She was a smart girl after all and had been taught from a young age not to be afraid of the word no. All the same, he knew he’d feel much better once he saw her come through the door safe and sound. Isabelle might be good at saying no, but it didn’t mean other people listened.

That was the real crux of the issue, he supposed. Other humans. There was no telling what they would do.

With a slight effort, he got up from the chair, adjusting his waistcoat as he did so.  No point in pretending to read.  She’d be another hour at least. Might as well make some tea and think of something else to do. Maybe he’d even give that show a try Crowley seemed so addicted to.

Just as that rather shuddering thought ran through his mind, the front door clicked open. Relief immediately spread through him as he turned towards the entrance.

“Ah, Belle you’re back. How was your evening?”

She ignored him, keeping her head down as she quickened her pace toward stairs.  The smile which had appeared on the angel’s face quickly disappeared.

“Dear, are you alright?”

Isabelle didn’t answer. She only let out a shuttered breath of one trying hold back tears and failing.  She just ran the rest of the way up as fast as she could before slamming the door to her room shut.

Aziraphale blinked, finding himself standing rather uselessly at the bottom of the stairs. Of course, she wasn’t alright. Something had to have gone wrong if she came back this early. Different scenarios flashed across his mind, most of them ending with Isabelle giving a boy a well-deserved slap, but none of them provided him any useful insight.

“Was that Izz?” Crowley said, poking his head out from his study, undoubtedly clued in by the proceeding bang. “Something wrong?”

“Um yes,” Aziraphale said distractedly.  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Before Crowley could get another word in, the angel walked up the stairs, and stopped just in front of Isabelle’s door.

“Belle?” he called gently. “Dearest, what’s wrong?”

He received no answer, aside from the muffled cries.

“Isabelle please open the door. I promise you’ll feel much better if you let me in.”

“Go away,” her voice came tiredly.

“Alright, you don’t have to open the door,” he conceded. “Just talk.  What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, more forcefully this time. “Just leave me alone.”

He gave small sigh, halfway between exasperated and concerned.

“Belle what have I told you about lying?”

“You do it all the time.”

He pulled back, his brows furrowing. “Now that is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“You let people think you’re human, that’s lying.”

“That’s different, if I went around saying--,” he stopped himself, directing a tight-lipped expression straight into the door frame.  “Now that is completely off the subject.”

There was a pause. Aziraphale could practically hear her annoyed look at being caught.

He took a deep breath. “Dear,” he said as his voice slipped back to its parental tone, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Isabelle snapped. “Can’t I just not want to talk about something? Leave me alone!”

Aziraphale jerked back from the door, startled by her outburst.  He opened his mouth to retaliate, but quickly realized it would do no good.  For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to talk to him. 

A slight pain came to his chest at the thought.

There had been times Isabelle kept things to herself, but not for long and never anything serious. She knew she could tell him and Crowley anything. Yes, he had read enough books to know finding independence was part of the growing pains of adolescent, but he hadn’t thought it meant she would willingly shut him out.  He felt rather stuck about the whole thing and slowly made his way back downstairs, chewing his bottom lip the whole way.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he was a little surprised to find Crowley waiting for him, arms crossed, and stone faced.

“What happened,” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, sadly.  “She came in crying and went straight to her room.”

The demon’s brows creased. “She was crying?”

“Yes, she tried her best to hide it, poor dear.  I don’t know what happened, but it must have been something very bad.”

Crowley nodded.  “Right, best let me take the lead.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale asked.

“Tough love.”

He then turned his attention up the stairs.

“Izz! I’m coming up!”

It was her only warning as he stormed the steps with a determination which normally left Aziraphale flustered.  And he was, rather, having followed him halfway up the stairs before he knew what his legs were doing.

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?” she shouted back as Crowley reached the landing.

“All of it,” he said. “Now let me in.”

“No!”

“Izz, I have respected your privacy by asking, but using my authority as your father I’m coming in anyway.”

He snapped his fingers and there was no longer a door.

Isabelle sat up on her bed, her eyes flashing with tears and anger.

“That’s not fair!” she shouted.

“Lesson one for the evening, life isn’t fair,” he said sternly. “Lesson two, privacy is an illusion.  Now are you going to tell me why you’re crying?”

“It doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “I just need to cry, okay? Sometimes you just need to cry. It’s human.  It’s a very human thing to do.  Now can’t I just cry?!”

It was then Isabelle finally caught Aziraphale’s eye. The anger was still there, but it was obvious just how hurt she truly was. He hadn’t seen her eyes so red since she had broken her arm after attempting a rather precarious trick on the monkey bars. This was different though. He couldn’t miracle it away, for one. 

Isabelle instantly put her head down looking ashamed at having both of them see her like this.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, crossing the room toward her.  He took a seat on the bed and quickly wrapped her in a hug.  “There, there, it will be alright.”

Isabelle tried her best to look annoyed at his gesture, but her body language gave her away as she leaned into the embrace. In all honestly, it made him feel just a bit better too. At least he felt like he was doing something useful.

“Dearest, what’s wrong?” the angel tried again.

She let out another shuddering breath, shaking her head. “It’s stupid. It was a stupid joke.  I’m stupid to have fell for it. I’m sorry.”

“What joke was that?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Isabelle,” Crowley said.

That got both their attentions. 

Aziraphale looked up at him and saw an uncharacteristically soft look on his face as he looked Isabelle right in the eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he had given that look, but it was a rare enough thing, that Aziraphale always felt a little off balance at seeing it. There was something different about it, just a glimmer of that angel he used to be back before the world.

The girl in his arms seemed to feel the same thing as whatever fight she had left in her slipped away.

“It was all a joke,” she said quietly.  “Thomas asking me out.  It was all a joke.”

Both Aziraphale and Crowley remained silent allowing her to continue.

“He told me to meet him at the cinema, so I did.  After a while it looked like he was going to be late so I texted him and he told me he was sorry, that he got caught up with school stuff and he’d meet me there in a bit so we could get dinner.  So, I waited and about half an hour later he drove up with his friends and they just started laughing.”

She let in a sharp breath as she started to feel the familiar tightness in her throat.

“They just thought it was really funny.  I mean c’mon it’s hilarious, why on earth would the school freak think that anyone would be interested.”

The tears were flowing freely now.

“I mean how naive is that? It’s so stupid.  I’m so stupid.”

She tried to compose herself, but every attempt she made seemed to make it worse.

“I’m sorry. I should have seen it coming.  You taught me how to spot liars and I didn’t. I’m smarter than this.”

She broke down again no longer having it in her to form words.  Aziraphale pulled her in tighter and she let him.  He slowly rocked her back and forth rubbing her back soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s alright, you have nothing to apologize for.  That’s it.  Just let it all out.”

Crowley for his part said nothing as the last of Isabelle’s tears trickled down her cheeks.  His stance was much stiffer now with balled knuckles and hardened gaze.  Something was brewing deep inside his mind and, needless to say, it was decidedly unpleasant.

Isabelle eventually calmed down and Aziraphale let her go with the promise of coco and the fact it would be better in the morning.  She only half believed him, but accepted the idea of coco with as much enthusiasm as one could muster after having their feelings stamped on.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley left the room in mutual silence not speaking until they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale said.  “It’s going to take a while to recover from this.  She’s really taken what those boys said to heart.”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but mental scars are forever, or something like that.  You got this angel?”

“Yes,” he said suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“Got to take care of something.” The demon then grabbed his keys, coat, and sunglasses before heading out the door. “Don’t wait up.”

Aziraphale did not need to ask what it was that Crowley needed to take care of, or more accurately who. 

He also knew somewhere, deep down, he should intervene, but the crying girl upstairs gave him pause.  He didn’t know exactly what Crowley had in mind, and if he didn’t know, there was no real way he could reasonably stop him.  Aziraphale was satisfied with this circular logic and allowed himself to settle in for the night. There was no need to wait up, after all.