#which would be a servant. but the servants are already accounted for

[pochapal]

gonna be honest i hadn't even really thought about a master key until now. that's...hm.

[fideidefenswhore]

now. that. we. don't. talk!!

[whetstonefires]

Man sometimes I still think about Alfred's Bandit Anecdote in The Dark Knight (2008).

So, the most straightforward reading of this sequence seems to have been the one Nolan intended, because he is not actually a subtle filmmaker, and the further we got into the series the more heavily he committed to making Alfred a mouthpiece. Old man provides words of wisdom that frame the correct understanding of the situation; you can tell it's meant to be correct because subsequent Joker appearances reinforce its thesis statement.

Intended takeaway: some men (like the Joker) don't have rational motivations, they just 'want to watch the world burn,' and you have to account for that when trying to counter them. Chaos agents, basically unstoppable by reasonable means.

But the thing is. This is not a story that stands up to even mild interrogation. The number of assumptions Nolan wants us to swallow without blinking is kind of stunning.

First of all the obvious timeline questions that arise: the Anglo-Burmese Wars and periods between and leading up to them where this kind of white man's burden 'delivering jewels to local elites In The Burmese Jungle to sway them toward British interests, but getting waylaid by bandits' scenario makes any sense all, happened in the 19th century.

The Burmese resistance in the 1930s was centered on university student protests and that sort of thing; it was reasonably successful in moving Myanmar toward independence by increments, though who knows what would have happened without WWII. But it did not provide anyone with reasons to be hand-carrying huge gemstones through forests.

Even if we assume this was somehow a 20th century event, it has to have been before WWII unless we want to postulate a complete alt-history setting, and since The Dark Knight leans heavily into being a modern 21st century story with like, cell phone networking as a major plot point, this still makes Alfred old as balls. Born no later than 1920, and probably earlier.

But that's whatever; comics time. Batman Begins did some fun stuff (possibly in imitation of Batman (1980)) with making it ambiguous what decade it was supposed to be set in, though the sequels dropped that conceit. And anyway, people can be 90 years old.

So that's basically fine, although good god Wayne hire some more servants, this man should be fully retired already.

More problematic is the unfettered colonialism of it all, the confident proclamation that since this guy's motive wasn't profit, since he didn't keep the jewels, he had no motive. Because 'inconveniencing the Raj and weakening their control over the locality' isn't a Real Person Motive that a real person could have had. During or soon after failed wars to resist colonial subjugation.

Like. Come on??

The place where this story utterly shoots itself in the foot, though, is the clever bit at the end, where Bruce asks how Alfred's military unit solved the 'bandit stealing jewels he didn't even want' problem and Alfred's like: 'we burned the forest to the ground.'

Because this is so punchy! In screenwriting technical terms, it's quite well done. It's useless advice that loops the story back to its themes; obviously Batman can't burn Gotham down to get the Joker. Even in a Batman movie that doesn't like Batman very much, this is still obvious.

But at the same time this totally takes the legs out from under Alfred's words of wisdom about human nature. Because if that bandit 'wanted' to 'watch the world burn' then what his unit did wasn't so bad, right; he was basically asking for it. Burning a forest down with all the inevitable collateral damage and economic and ecological cost, all for the sake of horribly killing a group of people in the name of government revenues was totally okay guys!

It transforms the whole thing into a pretty obvious post facto rationalization of colonial violence. Which makes the Insights Into Human Nature bit real questionable!

But the movie gives absolutely no sign of having noticed this.

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part I

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your story begins. Chapter Warnings: Off screen parental death, implied alcoholism, financial ruin, Loki being vaguely menacing in a library.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Once upon a time, you had a family and you were happy.

Your father was a lord with a modest estate to his name. You had enough money to live comfortably and pay your servants well, but not so much that you lost all perspective. Your parents were good, kind people who were well-liked and well-respected, and they loved you very much. Though they had been married for many, many years, they still behaved as a couple newly and madly in love. Your mother’s eyes lit up when your father walked into the room and your father looked at your mother like she was the sun and moon and all the stars combined in one dizzying and glittering person who lit up his entire world.

In the darkest part of the night, when all your tears had been spent and your heart felt as though it would never stop breaking, you wondered if it would have been better had he loved her a little less, if that would have made things easier for him in the end. It’s the sort of thought that you feel guilty having, the sort of question that you know you’re not supposed to ask—after all, some stones are better left unturned.

Your bright and glittering mother burned too brightly for this world and it seemed rather bitterly poetic that she should be taken by a fever. Her eyes shone bright as new silver coins as the sickness burned through her, her fevered mind conjuring demons and shadowy figures from the flickering firelight in her chambers. The shadows in her mind made her weep and scream so loudly that you couldn’t help but hear it, even though your father tried to shield you from the worst of it. Worse, though, was when she went very still and quiet, her rattling cough the only sign that life still lingered in her too bright eyes.

She was only sick for a fortnight, but it felt like months of pressing cool cloths against her burning brow and waiting with bated breath for relief that did not come.

She died at sunrise, leaving you alone and taking a part of your father with her.

He tried, your father. He really did. He got up and got dressed every day. He still took you on rambling strolls through the city, still took an interest in your studies, still quizzed you on history at the dinner table, still told you he loved you. But his eyes never really regained their former sparkle and his face grew hollow and just a shade too thin. He drank more—always at night after he thought you’d gone to bed. Sometimes, you would find him staring empty-eyed into the fire, like if he looked hard enough, he might catch a glimpse of your glittering mother dancing in the flames just beyond his reach.

The worst part of it was when you tried to talk about it, he insisted he was fine, even as he began to neglect the house, even as he did not hire replacements for the servants who had begun to leave. You suspected—but could not say for certain—that if you were to look at the house’s accounts, you would find a good deal of red in the ledger. He grew weaker and thinner, like he was trying with all of his might to just disappear.

Your father died like your mother—in the quiet of the night before you could say goodbye.

But your problems were only just beginning. 

You hadn’t expected them to bring you before the king’s steward, but that is where they take you when you arrive at the palace. The palace as a whole is light and airy and bright, but Fritjof’s office feels like a dungeon—largely because of the man himself. Fritjof is a thin and reedy man who would seem less imposing and severe if he were carved from granite. He sits at his desk as he looks you over, his mouth drawn into a thin hard line like you've already disappointed him.

“Do you know why you’re here, girl?” You don’t know it yet, but this greeting is a rather apt example of what your entire relationship with Fritjof will be: cold, distant, and abrupt.

You’re not sure if you should look him in the eye—he seems like the sort of man who would interpret a direct gaze as a sign of impertinence while simultaneously demanding it as a sign of respect. There is no winning with that sort of man—you’re young, but you know this.

Ultimately, though, you decide to look him in the eye. Not for him, but for yourself—it at least gives you the illusion that you’re somewhat in control. It’s a comforting illusion, even if it is a lie.

You clear your throat. “My father’s debts, sir.”

He sniffs slightly and it’s somehow dismissive, like you’d said the wrong thing and he’d expected that. “No.” He picks up a quill and makes a careful note on one of the papers sitting in front of him. “You are here,” he says as he writes, “because of the Allfather’s generosity.” He looks up, fixing you with a stern gaze. “You will do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

He returns to his writing. “You are not of age and you have no family to take you in.”

This is a fact that you’ve become quite well acquainted with, but you are still surprised by how painful it is to hear Fritjof say.

“The Allfather has settled your father’s debts and you are now a ward in the employ of the crown. You will take no wage until such a time that your debt to the crown has been repaid. You have ceded all claims to your title and any property of significant value.”

He sets his quill down and looks up, his expression devoid of any warmth. “You are a servant, you are indebted to the crown, and you will remember your rightful place at all times. I do not tolerate foolishness, laziness, impertinence, or stupidity. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow, your fingernails digging hard into the palms of your hands, any hope of finding kindness at the palace well and truly extinguished. “Yes, sir.”

Fritjof stares at you for a moment longer and you get the sense that he’s trying to decide whether you’re truly clever enough to have answered his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from squirming under his gaze. Finally, he clears his throat.

“You will work in the kitchens. Grete will see to your training. You are dismissed.”

You don’t really know where the kitchens are or who Grete is, but you exit as quickly as possible, desperate to leave Fritjof and his icy gaze well and far behind you.

Years pass and you come of age in the punishing pace of the palace kitchens.

You are an average worker, precise and methodical, but not exemplary or incompetent enough to draw much attention. You like it this way—the less conspicuous you are, the less likely that you’ll stumble into Fritjof’s crosshairs. While Fritjof spends very little time in the kitchens, his general presence in the palace has the same effect as an icy draft on a guttering fire. He doesn’t exactly seem to like anyone in particular, but it feels like he reserves a particular kind of disdain for you especially. You’re not entirely sure why—it’s not as if you’ve done anything other than simply exist in front of the man—but you try not to think on it much. At some point, you mention it to Grete and she laughs.

“That man has never smiled a day in his life,” she says. “His soul’s made of vinegar. Keep your head down and pay him no mind.”

You laugh, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling.

Grete is something like a friend, you suppose. She’s around your age and prone to gossip, but she’s pleasant enough. She makes an effort to include you in her small group of friends—Marit, Solvi, Lise, and Ylva. It’s not quite the same as your life before, but you have something that resembles a social life, which is more than you expected given Fritjof’s icy reception.

The head cook, Anja, also turns out to be something of a blessing. While the details of your current situation have left you feeling a little wary about trusting anyone, Anja proves to be the exception to that rule. She’s not exactly a warm person, but when she finds you crying in the pantry one night not long after you first arrive at the palace, she sits you down in front of the fire and fixes you a mug of warm milk.

“I’m not one much for sentiment,” she says gruffly as she hands you the mug.

You tense in anticipation of the lecture you’re certain is coming.

“But losing both your parents in such a short time, that’s a heartache I understand.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you nod and take a careful sip from your mug.

“I won’t tell you it gets easier,” she says, “but the pain dulls after a while. It’ll become an ache you can live with.”

Anja is quiet for a long time as you sip at your milk, but it’s not an uncomfortable quiet. “You’re a smart girl,” she says eventually. “This—” she gestures broadly at the kitchen, “—this is just a short season in your life. You won’t be a ward of the crown forever.”

It’s the first time that anyone has said anything like that to you, the first time that your debt has felt like anything other than an immovable and immutable obstacle. It’s a hope that feels practical and you feel something lighten in your spirit. 

You blink away more tears and Anja pretends she doesn’t see. “Thank you,” you say.

Anja pats your shoulder as she stands. “Wash the cup before you go to bed.”

For the most part, you keep your head down and focus on your work, dreaming about the day your debt is repaid and you can leave the palace behind.

Though you’re curious about your outstanding balance, you decide that you cannot ask Fritjof about it for a while yet. While Fritjof’s general unpleasantness and seeming dislike of you is a motivating factor, the main reason is because the amount you owe is large enough that it doesn't seem particularly prudent to check until enough time has passed for your work to start to make a difference.

So, you wait and work.

It’s many years after your arrival that you finally drum up the courage to knock on Fritjof’s office door. Though you are now a woman grown, you can’t help but feel like you did on that first day: wide-eyed and terrified, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands in an effort to maintain your composure. Even though you’ve never asked him about this before, Fritjof still looks annoyed as he hauls out his ledger, licking his index finger as he flips through the pages.

Your knees are shaking when he finally slides the ledger across his desk for you to inspect. You suck in an uncertain breath while your eyes scan across the page until you find your name.

And there in Fritjof’s precise script is a horrible truth: your balance owed has barely moved at all.

You have worked until your body ached, forgone sleep and many other comforts, and it all amounts to a raindrop in the ocean. At this rate, you will be an old woman by the time it is paid off in full.

You have years of practice holding back tears, but this creeping sense of despair and the lump in your throat are both new. You feel as though you’ve lost something important and after a moment, it occurs to you that the feeling you’ve lost is hope.

“Will that be all?” Fritjof says gruffly.

You jolt. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

You only allow yourself to weep later that evening under the cover of darkness.

But despite that loss, this is the year that everything begins to change, though you won’t know that until much later.

You spend the first week after Fritjof’s revelation walking around in a dazed fog. You eat little and sleep as soon as your work ends in the evening, clinging to what scant comfort your dreams are able to provide. But from that consuming fog of hopelessness emerges a strange kind of freedom. It’s not exactly apathy so much as it is perspective—suddenly, the little things that bothered you seem pointless, arbitrary rules that kept you in line feel less consequential. Does it truly matter if you sneak an extra pastry into the pocket of your apron when so many more years of backbreaking work lay ahead of you?

It’s this change in perspective that motivates you to begin visiting the palace library.

Reading is a pleasure that was taken from you when you came to the palace. You had managed to keep four favorites from your parents’ library, but you have read them so many times over that it is difficult to enjoy them in the same way that you had before. With all of your wages going toward your debt, you have no money to buy books of your own, not even the cheap paperbacks they sell in the marketplace. From time to time, you might be able to arrange a trade with one of the other servants—bartering an extra shift for a borrowed book—but your reading interests and theirs did not always align. A library is a luxury that you can barely even begin to imagine—and one day, it occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t have to imagine it.

You’re not exactly breaking a specific rule. That is the story you intend to tell if you are ever caught. The library is open to the entire palace and no one has ever specifically said that servants are excluded. Granted, if you have to guess, you’re fairly certain that you’re not supposed to be there, but you’re prepared to play dumb if it comes down to that.

You are still careful, though. You only go very late at night during your free hours. You don’t stay long—maybe an hour at most, the clock chiming midnight always serving as your cue to exit. You never take anything with you—you read quietly standing in the stacks, your eyes straining in the dim lamplight.

You like this new rhythm to your days—it gives you something to look forward to, a glimmer of light in an otherwise exhausting existence. The only person who notices you coming and going at late hours is Grete, but she easily convinces herself that you’re sneaking about because you’ve taken a lover. You roll your eyes and tell her that you’ve simply grown fond of a late evening walk. She doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t try to stop you either, which is the only thing you care about.

It’s three weeks in when you’re caught. You expected this would happen at some point, but you didn’t think it would be so soon and you didn’t think that one of the princes would be the one to catch you.

Your stomach drops as you recognize the emerald gaze boring into you from across the room. You hadn’t seen him sitting there, hadn’t heard him come in, and there is no way to hide the open book in your hand. It’s not like you could pretend that you are here on urgent kitchen business, either. If Thor had been the one to find you, you might have had a hope of pleading your case, but Loki...well. Loki isn’t exactly known for being particularly merciful.

You meet his gaze dead on, your chin jutting out almost instinctively in quiet defiance. He looks at you, utterly unreadable, his gaze flitting briefly to the book in your hand. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips—something that could be a hint of amusement, though you can’t quite imagine him smiling in this moment.

He holds your gaze for a moment more and then his gaze drops back to his book.

You stare at him for a few seconds before retreating back into the shadows of the stacks, your heart beating wildly. You’re not entirely certain what this means. Perhaps he is biding his time; perhaps he will go straight from here to Fritjof’s office after he finishes his book. Perhaps he will wait until morning.

You consider this for a moment. If he intends to report you, your time in the library is surely limited; you’ll be back to rereading your own books and making bargains with the other servants. This could be your last chance to enjoy a new book for quite a while. You might as well make the most of it.

It’s not easy to bring your focus back to the text, but you manage, even though your heart is still thundering in your chest. Your legs are a little wobbly, but you convince yourself to stay until the clock chimes midnight.

Loki looks up as you are leaving the library. You keep your eyes on his, chin tilted up as you dip into a perfunctory curtsy. You’re not quite sure if it’s amusement or something darker that makes his eyes glitter like jewels, but it’s out of your hands now and you’re resigned to whatever fate has in store. You leave the library with your head held high, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling under the weight of Loki’s gaze.

When all is said and done, though, he doesn’t report you.

He’s there the next evening when you return and most of the ones after that. You seem to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement with him, though it baffles you. You are not entirely certain of his motivations—perhaps he sees you as an amusing curiosity, perhaps he does not care enough about rules and protocol to be much concerned when someone breaks them. Perhaps it’s simply the fact that you never seek to deprive him of the chair that he favors—the red one right by the window. Or perhaps he still intends to turn you over to Fritjof and he’s merely waiting for the right moment to do it. Whatever the reason, he seems content to allow you to go about your business and you decide that it’s a reprieve that’s best not questioned overly much. 

Still, even with this silent truce between you, even with your vow not to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Loki gives you the same feeling you get when you discover a wasp trapped indoors: a slight sense of unease, the feeling that you must be aware of his presence at all times or risk some sort of danger.

Careful, you think.

Sometimes, you lock eyes and it’s hard to ignore how hard your heart beats in your throat, how difficult it is to hold your head high and not look away. It gives you a strange feeling, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.

He’s also rather absurdly handsome, which doesn’t help matters. 

Careful.

Every year, the palace hosts a masquerade ball. It’s meant to be a celebration for all of Asgard—everyone is invited, even the servants. Inviting the servants is a nice gesture, but a slightly thoughtless one—a ball requires an enormous amount of work, especially from the kitchen staff. If everyone took the night off to attend, there would be no celebration at all.

Many years ago, Anja had implemented a solution to this problem. There would be a rotation—the full staff would work together the day of the ball, with one third being dismissed a few hours early to attend and the other two thirds remaining in the kitchens to work. The assignments would change every year so everyone got the chance to attend. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fair and no one could find any fault with fair.

The problem for you was that Fritjof was the one who actually arranged the staffing for this. And every single year, you are assigned to the group scheduled to work. You know that this is intentional on Fritjof’s part: it is the sort of pointless, petty revenge that he is fond of and it requires little effort for him to accomplish.

It doesn’t really occur to you to complain about it. You’re trying to keep your head down and complaining to Fritjof is not worth the trouble it would cause, even though you would very much like to go. So, every year you ignore the sympathetic looks from Grete and the other girls and try not to think about the dress you have tucked away in the trunk in your room as you work the night away in the kitchens.

Among the few belongings that you were permitted to take with you to the palace is a gown that once belonged to your mother. You wanted a bright, glittering reminder of her when she died and this dress was the brightest and most glittering one in her wardrobe. It is several seasons out of fashion, but it is beautifully elegant, all ivory silk and lace and hemmed with silvery embroidered leaves. The matching shoes are encrusted with blue and silver beads that glitter like glass when they catch the light. A matching mask of silver filigree accompanies it—your mother must have worn it to one of the masquerade balls many years ago.

It is an impractical dress to keep—you have never worn it anywhere outside of your own room—but it’s nice to put it on and pretend sometimes. If you ever get the chance to go, this would be the dress you would wear—everyone dressed a little outlandishly for the masquerade and a gown a few seasons out of fashion would draw no special attention.

It’s a silly, passing thought—just another daydream that makes your old life seem not quite as far away. 

But in the year that everything changes, your absence from the ball is finally brought to Anja’s attention.

On the day of the masquerade, Anja summons you to the larder on the pretext of helping her with some pastries. The moment the door closes, she whirls on you, fixing you with a stern gaze. You tense and for a moment, you think she must have found out about your trips to the library.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been assigned to work during the masquerade every year since you’ve arrived?”

Your relief is immediate, accompanied by a dizzying rush of adrenaline that almost makes you want to laugh. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Of course it matters,” says Anja with a level of feeling that surprises you. “Everyone's meant to have a chance to go, not everyone except for one person. You should have said something to me.”

You know you’re speaking out of turn, but the indignation in Anja’s voice is oddly disarming. “I didn’t think Fritjof would allow it,” you say.

Anja’s shoulders sag slightly and there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that disappears almost as quickly as it appears. “I’ll thank you not to repeat this, but that man is too hard on you.”

You shrug, not really sure what to say.

“Luckily, he’s predictable,” she continues. “He’ll be in and out of the kitchens early on in the evening, so I can’t change your assignment without him noticing. Once desserts go out, though, he’s likely to stay in the ballroom. After the cakes are iced, I’ll send you to go get dressed. You won’t have more’n two hours in all, but it’s enough time to get cleaned up and dressed and have a dance or two before the unmasking at midnight.”

Your mouth hangs open. This was beyond what you had hoped for. “Really?”

“Don’t gape at me, girlie, it’s unbecoming,” she says, lightly tapping your cheek. There’s something warm growing and expanding in your chest and you realize there are tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t you cry on me either or I’ll change my mind,” says Anja gruffly, though there’s warmth there.

You nod, hastily wiping your eyes. “I just—I never thought...thank you, Anja.”

“It’s the decent thing to do,” she says, brushing you off. “Now look lively, there’s a lot of work to be done yet.”

You think of your bright and glittering mother and your kind father and the life that they wanted for you. It’s just a masquerade, but you can’t help the small, hopeful feeling that blooms in your chest.

Little do you know that this will be the start of something rather extraordinary.

Next chapter

[thestalkerbunny]

I'm not caught up on kitsune lore, actually.

You have come to the right place, my friend.

All I think about is weird fox based lore.

We'll cover the 3 big ones of Japan, Korea and China.

THE FOX BREAK DOWN.

WHY THE FOX?

The fox in many cultures-in this case countries residing in the Eastern areas of the world-have been symbols of mystery, trickery, transformation and deception. This may account to the fact a fox is naturally a very fast and intelligent animal, that is rather nocturnal and has a way to always evade danger that it finds itself in. They're problem solvers. They also scream like women in distress. Or when they're happy-they scream like cars trying to rev up.

THE KITSUNE: Japanese messanger of the gods and local nuisence

The most popular of foxes in media, art and story, the Kitsune story comes from Japan. It has been the subject of movies, games, animes, mangas and even folk tales for generation. To put it simply, a Kitsune is a fox that possesses paranormal abilities. People already believed that foxes were supernatural in general-but with time and age, they'd grow smarter and wiser. A kitsune grows a new tail for every 100 years it lives-with those that have 9 tails being very powerful and with 10 tails earned, will ascend into GODHOOD.

-sound familiar to someone you might know?-

Kitsune and humans have always lived together and gotten along mostly. Fox Urine actually repels rats-so stones soaked in the urine of foxes would be placed near fields; which most likely led to people finding foxes sacred and becoming a symbol of the Japanese Deity, Inari Okami-the God of agriculture-and eventually being regarded as their messengers.

Kitsunes had the ability to shape shift-often doing so into beautiful women (and sometimes men depending on the story) and getting themselves married, but usually getting run off by their spouses' dogs (which they are afraid of) They also have a tendency to reveal themselves when they get drunk or are careless as the tails are the one part of themselves they can't hide properly (which is tricky if you got 9 of 'em.) Beautiful women with certain face structures and high cheek bones are often called 'fox faced'

Kitsune can be good or evil-some of the more wicked ones going out of their way to possesse humans and have to be exorcised to free them.

THE KUMHIO: Korea's nightmare manic pixie dream girl

The Kumhio is my personal favorite-hailing from Korean, the Kumhio (or Gumhio depending on spelling variation) is a fox similar to the Kitsune in many aspects. It's a very long lived 9 tail fox, it has supernatural powers of illusion, shapeshifting and magic. But the Kumhio is different in it's behavior. The Kumhio's favorite meal-unlike the tofu loving Kitsunes-is human livers. And they go about acquiring it in a very interesting way. They will become women (or men) and manage to get hitched up to whoever is most convenient and begin to systematically prey on everyone in the household. First the animals, then the servants, the family, and often times leaving the spouse for last. They are also known to dig up fresh graves to get the livers. They also sport something similar to the kitsune that was not mentioned-a Bead they keep inside their bodies that they can cough up. This is called a Fox Bead. Putting this bead in your mouth can give you IMMENSE knowledge of the sky land and seas. Often times this is only shared by the Kuhio via a sort of 'deep kiss' where it puts the ball in your mouth and then takes it back with it's long unnatural tongue. But most cases have been people trying to steal it/accidently swallowing it. Although humans are a Kumhio's prey-if a Kumhio abstains from killing and consuming a human for 1000 days, it too will become mortal and then can enjoy all mortal perks (getting married, sharing a life span with someone, not being a literal monster) They are sometimes in mythology (depending on who you ask and which variation of the story you read) regarded as a lesser creature, but still very very dangerous. I wouldn't wanna fuck around and find out with one of these puppies.

FAVORITE PIECE OF MEDIA INVOLVING A KUMHIO:

Laon, it's a great horror read, kinda short, but still great. I love it unironically.

THE HULI-JING: Your friendly neighborhood fox ghost

The Huli-Jing is another Fox Spirit, this time from China. Much like Japan, it has the same properties as the Kitsune; Supernaturally weird, crazy long lived, can become god, people tend to like them. Until they do fucked up stuff. One case had a huli-jing posesses an important woman in power and she and her husband while posessed basically started torturing and murdering people and starting a massive revolt against their dynasty. Unlike Kumhios who suck life essence from the mouth (and eat your liver) The Huli-Jing will go the Succubus route and.....steal semen. That's right, the foxes are turning into hot hot women and are stealing your life force via your jizz boys, keep it in your pants. But despite that, many villages in history love the Fox Spirit-a saying going as far as villages shouldn't be established without a fox spirit milling about. They're seemingly friendly provided you pay them the right respects. Many people would have in home shrined dedicated to them to make offerings right there.

TLDR: Foxes are fuckin' spooky, turnin into women, stealin' your semen, your liver and making your goddamn rice grow. fuckin' foxes doin' FOX SHIT.

[sulumuns-dootah]

NSFW Alphabet - Leviathan

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A/N: Sorry this took a long time. Been a busy and chaotic past month, but I'm working on things so hopefully they'll be ready to post soon. Also, Levi isn't exactly my favorite so I had hard time analyzing and accounting for all the lore we have so far.

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you had an intense encounter, you'd both need it, which is why he calls for his servants to come and care for the both of you. Otherwise, he doesn't mind to do some extra steps to get you comfortable.

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B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Our nice piece of ass loves your neck. The loyalty noose would look amazing around it. Or maybe his hands?

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C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I'd say his cum tastes like caviar. He's technically a fish too, after all. Definitely the king whose cum I'd enjoy the least. It's also not as opaque, but with a slight shimmer.

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D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

While he's having some me-time, sometimes he puts on a noose around his neck and orders himself to hang.

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E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

With how rarely he trusts anyone, I'd say he barely has any. He gets the gist, knows many positions, but hasn't tried out most of them.

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F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position, really. As long as you're strangling him hard enough, he doesn't care.

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G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? Etc.)

No jokes here. In fact, no jokes ever. Besides like some special circumstances.

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H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

Perfectly silky smooth like the rest of him. There's no room for imperfection.

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I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If he's bedding you, you're already doing something right. I imagine him being super vulnerable figuratively as well as literally with the strangling and all.

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J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His main source of getting off. He can't even remember the last time he's slept with someone. Once you're in the picture, however, that immediately changes and his hands focus onto you.

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K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Beside the obvious breath control and getting beat up, he also strikes me as the type that would be into voyeurism as in getting watched fucking someone.

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L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Public places are out of the question. The safety of his castle is the only place where he allows himself to get loose.

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M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Jealousy, of course. But also public humiliation as long as he sees you as more than just his subject.

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N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Share a partner. He'd get too jealous and possessive. Unless, of course, you tie him up as a punishment. HE would actually enjoy that.

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O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Force him to go down on you and you'll have one of the best orgasms ever. In giving-head-contest he'd come close second (only beaten by the pussy devourer fly boy). While giving him head, he'd get super whiny and needy. Tease him and he'll lose his mind.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.)

There's two ways Levi can go. Either he's downright lovemaking with you or the bedroom is a whole ass battlefield.

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Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Actually, thinking about the location again... I wanted to say that why have quickies when you're at his castle and have all the time in the world, but thinking about it, If the need arises and you're not in his chambers, he would definitely use his coffin to have a quickie with his partner.

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R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? Etc.)

Depending on the risk. He wouldn't mind seeing how long you can hang from the noose, but wouldn't try and introduce lovecraftian horrors in the bedroom.

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S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Leviathan's energy is stored in that juicy ass of his and boy, can he go for long time. The thing is, that he will, however, start complaining that he's tired and that you have to do the rest yourself.

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T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Levi doesn't really strike me as the type to use toys. His imagination is enough for him. In my mind he's more old fashioned and all these different toys are just a riffraff for him. (Meaning he's too shy to buy some and would be afraid to get caught using them.)

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U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh this man *italian hand motion* loves to tease, but the moment you tease back you have no time to react before you're hanging from the ceiling.

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V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Whimpers. This man whimpers and it's the best thing you've ever heard (besides Beel's purring). How loud, depends on the situation. If you're on the bottom, some might escape him. But if you're on top, oh boy, all the demons in the surrounding chambers know.

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W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Actually, not a hc, but more of an analysis of his H scene that I really want to talk about? Okay, so Levi makes it really obvious that he wants to be beaten and straight up just abused. This just screams to me a trauma response, which is extremely sad to me. The amount of abuse he had to endure to the point where his mind equates it to pleasure just so he doesn't go bonkers?

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X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Once again, if you have the Erolabs version, you're lucky to see his sausage in the game itself. I personally agree with the ingame depiction of Levi's dick (unlike certain pierced someone's).

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Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Actually, piggybacking off the wild card analysis, I think Levi can go anytime all the time. One of trauma responses tends to be hypersexuality (but I'm not a professional psychologist, so don't take my word for it). We even know about it from the Halloween event where Minhyeok says that Levi looks like he's in the mood despite fighting off angels.

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Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not really a sleep I'd say, but he wouldn't mind snuggling up after some exhausting workout. Just don't get too used to it since he's too busy.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Platonic Yandere DIO and daughter reader (who was abandoned at his house as a baby)

Hi thank you for the request, this is my first platonic request so I hope it's alright.

Familial Yandere Dio

At first Dio simply wanted to leave the child where they were but something compelled him to take the child. Maybe a small part of him thinks back on his childhood and takes pity. However he has no need for the weak so he uses a fragment of the stand arrow on the baby to prove their worthiness. The child doesn't die so he decides to keep them. They'd serve him well as a stand user in due time.

He has his servants raise her, luckily she had her name embroidered on the blanket she was wrapped in, (Y/n). However she still finds a way to get his attention. At first he simply passes her back off to the servants, agitated that this child will disrupt him. However over time he softened to her, she became less of a tool to him.

Soon he would allow (Y/n) into his bedroom and read to her whatever he was absorbed in at the time. He begrudgingly accepts the child calling him "dada". As soon as she develops proper talking skills he insists on being called father instead.

Around the age of 4 to 5 (Y/n) already quite independent. Already learning stuff more advanced then what her age range would. A model child by all accounts, however despite showing an ability to see stands hers hasn't quite manifested yet. She has been put through strenuous training yet still no results. She's also spoilt, she eats extravagantly, dresses in the nicest clothes a child could wear and is given almost anything she asks for.

As she grew up, she became aware of her lack of a stand. Trying to make up for her failure but Dio assures her it will come in due time and that she does not need to make up for such a thing.

But she also becomes aware of life outside the mansion. Asking at first to accompany servants during errands which he allows but when she asks to play with other children he tells her that she shouldn't bother with such a thing, those children are beneath her. Those children would bow before them when the time came.

Eventually her stand manifests. The moment it's know, a victim is choosen for her to test her stand on. When the victim isn't harmed Dio is let down, but his initial plans of using her as another servant are far gone.

That's when she goes to the piano, something she was still a novice in but now could play it like a professional.

She is able to figure out she has the power to absorb information and skills from others. Not a powerful stand but a useful one nevertheless. A stand dubbed Gates of Babylon, a physical manifestation of her desire of knowledge.

So it becomes a regular occurrence that Dio will let her use her stand on his victims before he drinks them dry. An odd form of father daughter bonding (of course away from (Y/n)).

Still (Y/n) never quite lost interest in the outside world. One day she manages to sneak out by herself. Of course when he discovers this he's mortified, but hides it the best he can from his servants as he tells them to find her.

Of course she's found and brought back. If she has injury, even just a scrape he'll use it as justification. She's only mortal compared to him. All manner of things could happen to her. The moment that it is just the two of them he scolds her. Even goes on about how vulnerable she is and what compelled her to leave with everything she has.

Everything is a lot more tightly run. Constantly monitored, constantly given more and more things to entertain her. He's also taking more time to spend with her directly.

Telling them always that he's the only one that she should trust 100%, that people will try to harm or take advantage of her. God forbid he brings up his childhood as an example, that he actually acknowledge his prior humanity to another soul.

[thewertsearch]

TT: You mentioned immortality. TT: Godhood makes one immortal? […] One will live forever, unless killed. The death must be either heroic or just. TT: How are those terms defined? Broadly, mysteriously, and according to the case of the individual. One may be killed by opposing a corrupt adversary and die for a just cause, as through martyrdom, for instance. This would be heroic. Or one may be subject to corruption, and slain by a hero. This would be just.

Heroic Players can die fighting 'corrupt adversaries', whereas Just Players can be 'corrupted', and 'slain by a hero'. There's a clear dichotomy here, wherein 'corrupt' God Tiers are particularly vulnerable to self-sacrificing God Tiers, and vice-versa.

I like it. It's a very mythological way for immortality to work, and it gels well with Sburb's fantasy narrative. Rose's alliance with the Horrorterrors probably marks her as corrupted, so God Tier ascension probably wouldn't grant her true immortality.

The concept is fascinatingly ambiguous, too. Morality is a controversial subject at the best of times, and allowing Sburb to judge the ethics of a Player's actions could get very tricky, very fast. There's no doubt in my mind that Sburb and I disagree vehemently about what constitutes a just cause, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

TT: Which sort of death will you have when I destroy the sun? Neither. I'm not a god. I'm a guardian, a servant, and a weapon. I have power and knowledge far surpassing a god. But I am not one.

First Guardians are considered far more powerful than God Tiers, then. Aradia was able to get the drop on Jack, but Jack's really just a Kernelsprite imitation of a First Guardian. Scratch is far more threatening, especially since his brain isn't scrambled by dog memories.

...that said, his brain might be a little scrambled by whatever was in that HONK code. Who knows what Alt-Gamzee was cooking there.

My master can't enter this universe until I am killed. […] TT: That almost sounds like martyrdom. Are you sure it won't be a hero's death? Quite sure. My master is a very evil man. TT: Who is he? I won't tell you his name. But he goes by the title, Lord English.

About bloody time. This guy’s been sneaking around the back of the story for over two thousand pages, and it sounds like we're finally going to shed some light on this mysterious adversary.

But you must decide which objective is more important. You may decide to attempt to destroy the sun and end my life. This will neutralize Jack, who is also much more powerful and dangerous than myself by virtue of the ring he wears in addition to drawing energy from the same sun as I. He poses a significant threat to reality.

I'm still skeptical about this assertion. What could Jack's other kernels possibly offer that his First Guardian powers don't render obsolete?

Anyway - even if Jack does have better numbers, Scratch is still far more dangerous by virtue of the mind he wields.

TT: But in the process of killing him and you, I release your master, who is just as deadly? He's more deadly. But the danger he poses is sanctioned by paradox space. It is a known quantity. His very existence in a universe will mean it will inevitably be torn apart. But there are rules to his entry, and his grim procession through paradox space is rather orderly. The present equilibrium has accounted for him, and will continue to.

I did wonder if English was part of Paradox Space's natural ecosystem, charged with destroying old universes in much the same way Sburb destroys planets.

Even if he is part of Skaia's ineffable plan, I don't think that should stop us from ending his sorry ass. We might not understand English's motivations, but we do know that his plans destroy anyone unfortunate enough share his plane of reality, and countless lives have already been ruined in Scratch’s quest to bring him out. I don't really care if Paradox Space sanctions his actions - he needs to be taken down, and if that upsets the natural order, then it's time for a new natural order.

Besides, we probably don't even need to destroy the Sun to stop Jack. We have plenty of other angles to work, from exploiting his psychological weaknesses to negotiating with his slightly more reasonable deputy. Additionally, Jadesprite won't be out of action forever, and Jack can't even harm Jadesprite, due to the aforementioned psychological weaknesses. Even if she's inherited Bec's 'don't fight Agents' programing, that doesn't stop her from simply stealing his Ring. She's done it before.

Jack however is a loose cannon. He will not stop until he destroys everything he encounters.

Yeah - to be honest, Scratch, I'm starting to think you're laying it on a little thick, here. Is Jack really the omniversal 'threat to reality' that you're making him out to be?

Let's not get it twisted - I have no trouble believing that he's dangerous to individual sessions. But does he really have the juice to wreak cosmic destruction on the scale of Lord English? His battery is only as strong as a couple of universes, and he has to share it with every other First Guardian in the cosmos.

Plus, the kids can't be the only Players in the multiverse to accidently prototype a First Guardian. I'm sure it's rare, but it can't be once-in-all-the-worlds rare. There should be plenty of other rogue First Guardians floating around Paradox Space - and if they're all enormous threats to reality, then reality should already have been destroyed.

In conclusion: No, Doc. I don't think Jack Noir is an English-tier threat. And for the record, I think there's a much more dangerous First Guardian in this equation than the Sovereign Slayer.

[seonghwaddict]

stupefied — kang yeosang

in which a small accident leads to something more.

prince!kang yeosang x fem!reader. genre. fluff, domestic fluff, slight crack. warnings. they're super awkward, description and mentions of wounds, a tiny bit of blood, they're super cute. wc. 5.8k.

lilo's notes. hi i'm back :3

　　　　　　　　　main masterlist

There was nothing that could explain why Prince Kang Yeosang was roaming the woods, other than the fact that he desired a break. He told his servants not to go looking for him because he was on a personal mission, but in reality, he wanted to mindlessly wander around in a disguise that would not attract attention. He set off in his worst garments and a hood above his head. The brief vacation was only supposed to last for a day, but it did not go as he had anticipated.

After winding his way through snow and wood for so long, he fell into a rhythm. His defences were down and his thoughts were building themselves into other things until he heard singing. It was an enchanting melody, but that did not keep him from being wary. Once he brought more focus to his path, he realised that the part of the forest he was in felt unfamiliar. He told himself he was too competent to fall into such a generic trap, so he got off his horse and secured him to a tree. After asking his companion not to make a sound—as if the animal would understand him—he moved further with much caution and hands raised. His fingers twitched as the voice grew louder and his boots pushed quietly onto the earth.

Up ahead, you hummed a sweet melody. However, you faltered for a second when you heard the snap of a twig. It was easy to believe that it was likely one of the many harmless animals that liked to roam about the area in the afternoon, so you continued. Your confidence began to diminish once the sounds of birds twittering faded into silence. It did not look like a storm was coming, so the safest conclusion was already thrown aside along with your composure. By all accounts, if you were so nervous, why did you continue singing?

As Yeosang passed a shrub, he saw you by several bushes filled with various berries. His first thought was not him questioning why a young woman would be by herself in this secluded part of the forest. Instead, he thought of how carefully your fingers skimmed across each fruit to study them. He was close enough to see the way the sun caused a glimmer that beamed off your shoulders and brought a shine to the locks of your hair. If he was closer, he would have seen that your rosy lips were the result of you biting them to strengthen your concentration on berry picking. To his hidden delight, those same lips did not stop singing as minutes passed. The sight before him eased his suspicions significantly, but he was still hesitant about making his presence known. The Prince had planned to turn on his heels and try to forget what he saw, but once he put his guard down, his vigilance followed suit. A larger branch whimpered as it cracked from the weight of his body, and the next thing he could properly process was the girl’s frightened eyes meeting him.

From your perspective, it was after you had noticed that the birds were completely silent that you heard the branch break. You glanced at your surroundings briefly, picking up the largest rock you spotted. Just in case. You were on edge more than usual, so you whipped around to see why the sound was coming from behind you, and what had been causing it. Any other creature was what you expected, but when you saw a man crouched behind a shrub, you instinctively screamed and threw the rock right at him, hitting his head. The basket of freshly picked berries was knocked over as you tried to gather the fabric of your dress. Your shoes carried you to the nearest tree and you hid behind it and held your breath. The anticipation grew up your spine as the silence persisted. Minutes passed without any response from the mysterious man so she peeked. You could see the man’s wavy black hair still peeking out of what he previously hid behind.

You had concluded that ten minutes was not the normal amount of time that someone would pretend to be unconscious, so you approached his still body with your hands stretched out, ready to defend your own life. His face was the first thing she noticed about him. His features were so striking that you felt that if you reached out with your hands, your fingers would have bled. His physical appearance did not match the frayed clothing that he was wearing. Every strand of his hair fell into perfect position even though he had been knocked down on the ground. He was well-groomed in every sense of the word. It was odd. From your speed search, there did not seem to be any weapons on him, which made the situation even stranger.

“Oh, no.” You sank to the ground in shame.

Your fingers warily made their way to his wrist to check for a pulse, then his neck. He was so cold that without the hammering beating of his heart, she would have assumed that he was already dead. The growing red colour on his arm and the thin cut on his temple made the situation even more critical. You needed to get him to your home, but you did not know how to. You scrambled to pick up the man, but the weight you felt when you attempted to lift him by his shoulders was enough to convince you that dragging him back home would not work. Everything seemed pointless until you heard the heavy breaths and cries of a horse not too far from where you were. You thought that if it was not this strange man’s horse, then who else would be around to tie a horse to a tree? After practically begging the horse to lie down, you were finally able to drag the man onto it. That’s when you definitely knew you made the right decision. The majestic, pitch-black creature seemed so comfortable with the heavy man thrown over it like a towel.

“Come along now, sweetie.” You took the horse’s reins and walked it to your cottage.

When Prince Yeosang woke up, the first thing he saw was a cat. It was perched on his chest with no thought about the consent of the stranger. Its mismatched green and blue eyes almost distracted Yeosang from the fact that he was in a room that he was unfamiliar with. Not only that, but he felt something wrapped tightly around his arm and something else sticking against his temple. Before he could panic, he heard someone coming into the room.

“Laura!” You came rushing in. The cat was quickly removed from the prince’s chest, and he felt like he was left completely thoughtless. You tried to cradle Laura, but the cat leapt from your hands and out of the room. “I’m so sorry,” oyu said. The man stayed completely still, as the emotion on his face still remained ambiguous. You took that as your cue to introduce yourself with your first name. You waited to see if he would introduce himself too. When he didn’t, you continued. “You fell on a rock and were out cold when I checked you. Um,” you quickly pointed to the window on your right, “your horse is outside. I fed him… he’s really pretty.”

“Thank you,” he said. At any other time, the prince would be ready to fight his way out of a situation, but he was more focused on the light from the candles in the room gently contouring your face. Your beauty was painfully enchanting. It was a surprise how your features stupefied him the moment you stumbled through the door.

“Your food.” You dashed out of the small room as quickly as you came in. Your dress moved like billowing clouds as you made haste to retrieve his food, your quick footsteps giving the illusion that you were floating. Yeosang felt like he was looking at a person from the very fairy tales he heard as a child.

You came back in carrying a tray with a bowl and utensils in the centre. “Would you like it?”

“Like what?”

“Some food,” you nervously stated. Your idea of bringing the man back to your cabin was as awkward as you expected it to be, you were starting to regret your plan.

“Oh…” he nodded, “yes, please.” It should not have been that easy for a stranger to convince him to ingest anything, but he already had the silverware in his mouth before he was mentally chastising himself for being so easily charmed.

“I’m sorry for the confusion. I think you got cut on a sharp rock because your arm was bleeding really bad,” you said. That is when Yeosang finally stopped eating and looked at his left arm. It was utterly embarrassing that he did not notice it was entirely bandaged until now. He did not want to admit how bad it looked from the few discoloured parts of flesh peeking through. “And… you must’ve hit your head on something. I put some plasters on the little bit, but I think it should be fine by now.”

“Still, I would hate for you to continue your journey with an injured arm,” you added. You kept your attention on his wounded limb, it was jarring to see how dark his eyes were. They intimidated you into looking anywhere but at him and attempting bad conversation. “You can stay here until you feel well enough to return to what you were doing if that’s what she would like.”

“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Yeosang was no longer going to lie to himself. He knew he would rather spend days with the bewitching woman who saved his life than return to his very own prison. He would just hope that you didn’t have any ill intentions because it would be a shame if he would have to take you out himself.

“So,” you got up to mindlessly shuffle some stuff in the room. “What’s your name?” you grinned.

“Yeosang,” he replied without much thought. He wanted to take it back, but it was too late. No one really called him that anymore—but if you didn’t recognise him as the prince of this nation, he would try his best to keep it that way even if he could only experience a form of normality for a few days.

“That’s a lovely name… May I ask where you’re from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the nearest town…” You trailed off at the end in hesitation.

He thought for a moment before he said, “Gyeongju.”

“Oh, my—What’s it like? I’ve never been to the capital.” You could not stop your true reaction from escaping.

“It’s…” he let out a sigh, “pleasant.” The conversation died for a moment so you focused on Laura making it to the top of your dresser. It was your excuse for still not looking at him. “Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I was raised here” you replied as you stroked Laura. He nodded. The conservation did not go any further until you chimed in again, “Well, it’s late. It’s such a shame that you just woke up.”

“I’m sure I’ll sleep,” he voiced politely.

“Okay.” You smiled and began to snuff out the candles around the room. “The door’ll be open so if you have any problems, you can just ask.”

The prince mindlessly nodded to your instruction. It would have been easy to ask where you would be if he was not so uncharacteristically timid. Yeosang refused to try to sleep. There was still some hesitance that made him cautious of sinking into the bed with a weak arm. It grew stiffer as the night continued, so he distracted himself with a book that was left on the wooden dresser.

The feeling of a weight on the Prince’s chest woke him up. When his eyes snapped open, they were looking at the sharp eyes of a feline which brought back memories of the afternoon before. His consciousness did not scare away the cat—as he had desired—but he knew picking up Laura would surely bring unpredictable pain. So, he stayed in an undisclosed staring match with her even as he heard small movements outside the room. After a short period, his focus broke once he heard distant calls for the cat. The young Prince looked back at the cat, which was now preparing to fall asleep on his lap until it met his eyes again. Laura stood right back up—he almost expected her to groan—and hopped off of the bed and out of the room. He followed suit, careful not to strain his injuries, and got out of bed. His body ached more than he was used to. It hurt all over, but there was a more pronounced pain in his forehead. Unfortunately, there was not much to do but follow the path Laura had shown to the kitchen.

“Laura—” The cat quickly interrupted you by hopping into your arms as you crouched. “Where did you go?” you petted her. Yeosang walked into the kitchen, but his steps in his shoes were very quiet. You didn’t notice him until Laura turned from staring at absolutely nothing to the towering wounded man. “Did you wake him?” You whispered to her. Laura continued to stare at the towering, pale man. “I apologise,” you muttered. He nodded with the faintest, courteous smile. You took the trace of emotion that you were given and pulled out a dining chair as you gestured him over. His long legs took him over to the dining table without much effort.

“Thank you.” He completed a small bow, and he sat. Instead of going into his meal, he looked around as you were occupied with trying to get Laura to eat. His brief scanning of the house had him see his horse through the window to the right of him.

“He was fed this morning,” you reassured him.

“Thank you.” He felt like an echo in a cave. He still had not said anything besides constantly thanking you for your hospitality. “He appears to be doing much better than I am.” He was satisfied to see how easily you let out a small chuckle.

After making sure Laura had finished eating, you rose and grabbed the handles of a woven picnic basket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” you told him as you looked at his nose instead of his eyes because it was easier that way. You turned to Laura and whispered to her ears, “Please, behave, and don’t embarrass me.” As if she would listen if she could. As you went through the door, you looked back for a brief moment. You saw the man’s head whip back to attentively look at the cat on the dining chair. You closed the door and sent a small prayer that if the man tried to take anything or cause any trouble, then your cat would at least try to put up a fight.

Once the door had completely closed and your gentle footsteps grew quieter, he waited three minutes while eating and carrying on the staring match he had with the tabby cat, then got up and let his legs lead him throughout the house. Different varieties of dried flowers spun into circles were gently laid into a bowl. Next to it was the basket of berries he believed he saw yesterday. Plates were lazily leaning against the wall on a shelf while mugs were hanging from hooks. A sweet smell lingered in the kitchen, even though it looked recently cleaned. He couldn’t exactly name the scent but it resembled a mixture of vanilla and something fruity. He did not lose interest in the kitchen but knew his nosy lingering may take longer if he stayed. Yeosang walked to the living room to see two small armchairs next to a well-maintained fireplace. The abundance of shelves on the wall were filled with many books of varying sizes and colours. There was a knitted blanket haphazardly tossed over the chair facing his room.

He continued scanning the room and saw a closed door he never noticed; he had no time to think about the chairs any further. Had he been a guest anywhere else, he would have honoured privacy, but he considered this a unique circumstance. His fingers enveloped the handle and the door whined as he slowly pushed it open. All he did was poke his head in and was met with a clean and very simple room. It was a lot like the one he slept in, except there were different items decorating the tiny dresser. 

Ultimately, Yeosang felt pleased enough with what he glimpsed that he took his snooping to the front door. He held the door latch, peered through the window next to it, and opened the door.

The sun hit his cheeks in small ruptures as its rays tried to twist through the thick trees that blanketed and guarded the cottage. His horse stood without any sign of distress. Yeosang petted the horse while simultaneously giving him some of the berries that Yeosang took off of his plate.

The Prince looked around the exterior of the cottage as his companion leisurely absorbed the sun. The house almost appeared swallowed by bushes, shrubs, flowers, and a few potted plants. His slightly tattered shoes led him around the house. There was a small garden of salad leaves in their pots. With one of his hands brought behind his back, he leaned in to look further at the vegetation.

“You found dinner.” 

Your small voice only tapped his ears, but it startled him into losing his balance. He would have caught himself if she had not assumed he would crush the leaves and attempt to catch him. Your hasty moves caused your steps to be misplaced and she crashed into his hard, warm back. You expected to take him down with you, but he did not budge. Once you realized your face was not meeting the dirt, but rather remained on his back, you erected your spine back up and tried to ignore the wave of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry!” You frantically tried to smoothen the wrinkles on his clothes while avoiding his eyes.

You thought you heard a chuckle come from him. It would have been hard to miss it if his shoulders did not shake when he laughed. “I should be apologizing,” he briefly looks at the plants before switching to look you in the eyes, “I’ve been exploring.”

“That’s fine,” you assured. As he watched you pick up your basket, Yeosang wondered how he got so occupied that he did not notice your return. You walked back to the front of the cottage and inside without checking to see if he was following you. Laura poked her head up upon the opening of the door and right back down when she saw it was you.

“May I?” you heard him say. You turned and saw him, gesturing toward the rows of books you had on display.

“Go ahead,” you said, “there’s not a lot for you to do around here, unfortunately.”

“It’s quite alright, this is enough entertainment.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” You went back to rummaging through a cabinet for the items you needed to tend to the plants outside.

For Yeosang, the morning went by as quickly as the last chapter of the book had arrived. He noticed that you had gone outside, but not that the sun had already made it to its highest point by the time he closed the story and set it aside. He made an effort to inconspicuously look outside the window leading outside to the front of the house to see if he could spot you and not just a tall black horse. His effort was a failure, but his pride found another alternative. The Prince rose from the chair and walked outside.

As he pretended to walk closer to his companion, he got a much better view of you. Your hands were occupied with tending to the pieces of each plant as your eyes followed them with deep concentration. He saw strands of your hair spilling out of a patterned headscarf you used to protect yourself from the sun. From those same strands came a single bead of sweat that started from your head, down the side of your face, and past your jaw. It continued down your neck and that’s when he refused to keep looking further.

“How was the book?” You looked at him for a moment to see him looking at his horse with too much focus.

He looked over and tried to pretend to have just noticed you. “Good,” he replied. He watched you get up from the ground.

You removed your gloves and walked closer to him. “Could I– um–” She pointed to his bandaged arm.

“Of course,” he replied.

As soon as you were given permission, you took his hand with one hand and lifted his arm with the other. You inched closer in hopes of seeing more without having to move the arm any more than needed. During your inspection, from his height, he was able to see the natural curl of your lashes. The fragments of the sun made the warm glow of your skin more apparent. When you took his hands, it was a moment of cold clarity. He could not remember the last time he was so aware that he was touching another person as it was happening.

“Yeosang?” you looked up at him and were surprised by the lack of space you were giving him. It was easier to pretend that you did not notice.

He hummed in response

“I asked you ‘how much does it hurt?’”

“It aches, not as painful as yesterday, though.”

You nodded, gently placing his hand back down. “And your head?” You gestured at your temple.

“Feels fine to me.”

“Wonderful.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by thanks to the chores she tended to outside and inside, with Yeosang lingering behind you every step of the way. He offered help many times, but you denied his offers and told him not to put stress on his arm. Not wanting to be completely useless, he held a short conversation. It was when dinner was ready and Laura was eating out her plate that you both fell back onto the topic of where he was from.

“Forgive me for asking, but what’s the Palace like?” you asked. He mentioned working there during one of your short conversations.

“Um,” he thought for a moment as he chewed, “clean, I suppose?” You finally heard the sound of laughter not just from yourself, but from him as well as he shrugged. It was nice, and it filled up the house with warmth. “I’ve never had the chance to observe it all,” he said.

“Were you busy?”

“Many duties,” he claimed.

His responses were as short as the time you had known him, but they were getting longer, much to your delight. You wanted to ask him what his job was, but you were not sure if you would be poking too much into his personal business. However, your curiosity about the outside world fueled you to keep going. “Are those duties being neglected right now?”

 “Possibly.”

“I’ll try my best to help speed up your recovery,” you pushed around a piece of asparagus on your plate.

“Much appreciated, but I’m sure they don’t miss me too much.” He quietly appreciated your questions, because as he answered them, the excitement in your eyes never dimmed.

You nodded in response and continued to eat. You pretended not to look at him as he ate, but even in the evening, the dim lighting of the candles scattered around the house made his face look even more enticing. You saw him glance over to check on his horse outside.

“Your horse should be fine outside. Nothing ever comes by here,” you assured.

“It is quite an isolated home,” he realised.

“Yes,” you agreed.

It was quiet for a few more moments until he asked a question of his own. “Have you always lived here?”

“Yes. Can’t really remember living anywhere else.” You tried to pet Laura as she wrapped herself around your foot, but she then began avoiding your hand before skittering under the table to settle at his feet.

“Really? I’ve never come across here,” he said as his brows furrowed, but he nodded before going back to his meal.

The rest of the evening was spent cleaning up the events of the day that passed. The current occupants of the house finished the day with reading. Once it was time to retreat into sleep, you were already fast asleep on the chair with your quilt and a book trapped under it with you.

Yeosang saw how shallow your breaths became and how supple your cheeks were when they were pressed against your shoulder that you used as a pillow. He took it as his cue to go to the bed he was given. He went around and snuffed out each flame in every candle with the tips of his fingers. He pretended to ignore the cat as she followed him into the room and slept beside him. He made the effort to try to rest by telling himself that this would probably be the only real rest he would get for the next decade.

The sun brought in the next day and he never remembered falling asleep or waking up. The stiffness in his back made it clear that he did both of those things. He wished that he was not a little disappointed that Laura did not greet him with her morning stare, but he did not take it personally. He simply put on the same shoes and hoped that he would find someone in the kitchen even though there was no noise coming from any part of the house. He made it into the living room and was met with complete stillness and silence. From the window, he could see his horse grazing. Once he made it outside, the sun was shining much brighter than he expected. He had slept longer than he had intended.

It was relieving to see Laura preoccupied with attacking insects, but one more person was missing. Amid his deep thoughts, he petted his horse and scanned around the house for any sign of you getting a task done.

“I suppose you don’t know where she is,” the Prince playfully said to the cat.

Later, a certain beauty walked back to her cottage with a picnic basket of her clothes in one hand and a large bucket of water in the other. You bid good morning to your cat and his horse on your path back inside the house. It was almost as quiet as you left it, but you did hear some movement coming from inside your old room.

He could already tell it was you who came back just by the gentleness of the sound of the footsteps that came inside. The prince already had a book in his hand, trying not to look flush when he saw your head poke into the room.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he made the effort to remember to smile instead of just staring.

“I’m here to change your bandage.” You came in with a new set of clothes in your hand and the other necessary items to clean up a wound. The various plasters you stuck onto his right temple were already removed the day before, nothing but a faint bruise was left behind. His arm, however, would take a bit longer to heal. As you took off his bandage, you forced your hands to not tremble, repeatedly reminding yourself to only touch where it was necessary despite how tempting the muscles of his arm looked. Once the fabric was completely off, he got to see the injury that was his excuse to extend his vacation. The deep cut started halfway up his forearm and to his upper arm. It was like a dark red serpent permanently etched on his skin. I suppose that does seem pretty bad…

“I think it might scar,” you said as you gently tried to wipe off areas of dried blood.

“I wouldn’t worry,” you heard him say, “… a scar isn’t too hard to get rid of.”

You nodded in hesitation and pretended you could not feel his deep brown eyes staring at you as you worked. “I brought you some water from the stream so you can bathe. You can wear that shirt over there while I clean this one.”

“Thank you, but I’ll heal just the same without you inconveniencing yourself.” His comment was genuine but had a mixture of disappointment.

“Well, it is my responsibility.” You tried not to seem entranced by his starless eyes as you both stopped for a moment to look at each other.

“Why?” he asked. You shrugged your shoulders in response, ignoring the unspoken truth marinating on your tongue. It’s my fault you got hurt.

The afternoon with him in the cottage was slightly more talkative than the days before. He attempted to play with Laura as he pretended to read, skimming the same line over and over and over again. In the moments when he was not too distracted, he watched you complete some more chores around the property with the occasional insistence to help. You begged him to remain rested and even threatened him to sell his horse if he tried to help, but in exchange he let you continue to ask about the capital. His description of the palace brought shame to the books describing the same place. He was surprised at how willing he was to recount the layout of the place he had come to know well. By then, speaking more openly to you was much less difficult than he had expected it to be.

By the time the sunlight took over the country, he was intrigued by how quickly the days were being eaten by the cooperation of the moon and the sun. On his way to return the books that he took, he watched you begin to blow out each candle until the darkness flooded the cottage. Yeosang took the opportunity to retreat into his temporary room, in which Laura was already sleeping at the foot of the bed.

“Yeosang,” you spoke into the darkness. He turned around. You noticed how well his figure fit into the darkness. His ink hair almost blended into the surrounding shadows. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled.

It was a good night. He allowed his bed to swallow him much easier than the nights before, but you took longer to fall asleep.

The very late afternoon the next day was the perfect time to go searching for food in the forest. It was initially meant to be a solo trip, but the not-so-unfamiliar stranger refused to hear your request to rest his arm, tagged along, and promised to only watch. The walk throughout the woods was filled with the sound of shoes crushing leaves and branches accompanied by a pleasant chat. It was a few minutes into your search that she found what they were looking for.

“They’re beautiful!” You smiled and looked back at the tall man to see if he was just as happy as you were. He returned your smile with his own since he was amused by your child-like giddiness.

Without paying caution, she enthusiastically reached for the berries. He reached for your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself, but it was too late. A particular thorn right above the fruit sliced through your flesh much deeper than it would have if she had noticed it. As the thorn ran through your hand, parting skin from one another like a boulder spilling crashing waves in the ocean, blood began rushing out of her open wound. She knew better than to pull back her hand recklessly, knowing it might make the situation worse. He did it for her instead. He carefully took her hand and tried to cover the wound. 

The wound wasn’t terrible or serious in any way, but neither of you acknowledged that as he cradled your hands a mere five minutes later, the two of you sat on the sofa. His hands, though large and masculine, felt surprisingly soft. He wiped the spilt blood clean and carefully placed a plaster over it. Even after successfully treating your small wound, he kept your hand in both of his, looking down at them and absentmindedly brushing his thumb over your knuckles. You didn’t mind one bit. In fact, you’d been yearning to feel his touch more and more as the days passed.

A comfortable silence passed over the two of you, but minutes later a conversation came by naturally. If someone asked you what this conversation was about, you wouldn’t have been able to answer, for you were so comfortable speaking to him that you let down your guard, words flowing freely without a second thought. At some point, the two of you had moved closer. So close that you had lain down while he stayed sat, your legs thrown over his at some point as his hands tapped and caressed your knees.

You talked well into the night. Naturally, you grew tired, your eyelids drooping as you looked up at him, trying your best not to fall asleep. He caught on quickly, a chuckle escaping him as he gave your knee a brief squeeze.

“You’re tired,” he pointed out, “you should sleep.”

In response, you pouted and shook your head. “No, no. I’m fine. Keep talking to me, please.”

His smile softened at your words and did as you asked. The low baritone of his voice did nothing to keep you awake, soothing you further asleep. Minutes later, he thought you’d agree to go to your bed and sleep, but you only whined in your half-asleep state and pulled him down with you, clutching onto his sleeve but still careful not to hurt him.

And so he found himself laying with you on the couch, the two of you squished together on the narrow furniture yet it was still comfortable. You fell asleep much quicker than he did, already prancing around in dreamland by the time he finished manoeuvring the two of you to lay comfortably. Eventually, your gentle breaths against his neck and soft hand on his arm lulled him into a deep sleep.

networks. @cromernet @blankjournal

taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb

[linkspooky]

Spinner ending kind of confirmed for me that even if Horikoshi does bring back Shigaraki/Tenko, it won't be so he can heal the League, and they can reform together. I get the sense that we are even supposed to feel like all of the villains *deserved* their fates, that it isn't something they deserve saving *from*. It's like he couldn't decide between having them be evil + getting punished for it and having them be sympathetic to an extend + humanising them. I'm seriously trying my hardest to wrap my head around this, it feels so cruel??

I already talked about it in this post, but Obito's death is a much better example of how to "save the villain's heart" then what MHA is trying to sell us.

It's this excessive focus on whether or not the league's crimes are forgivable that's really the problem, because it comes down to the implication that once the league has crossed a certain line into unforgivable territory they're "no longer human" and therefore not deserving of human empathy for what they've suffered.

The main characters constantly use that line "I can't forgive them" so they don't have to think about the league as human beings who have suffered greatly.

What does it matter if they're forgivable or not? My Hero Academia is not a work that analyzes moral philosophy. I'm not reading Crime and Punishment here.

The theme they brought up is "Are heroes obligated to save the villains too, even if those villains have done unforgivable things."

I've stated this before but whether their crimes are forgivable or not is irrelevant to that question, because it's about the heroes obligation to save everyone not pick and choose who to save. They are government servants who are supposed to use their quirk to stop villains and save lives, but at the start of the story heroes only focus on the brutally beating down villains part of the job. The central theme of the manga is that the greatest hero wins by saving, and saves by winning, therefore Deku must save even his enemies.

The worst part is that despite bringing up the topic of forgiveness, MHA basically has nothing to say about the issue of what should be forgiven, what shouldn't, and how justice should be applied in this situation. It is wildly inconsistent because the villains are all held to task, whereas characters like hawks are never held accountable, and Enji while put in a wheelchair suffers way less consequences than his son and victim Toya.

Since MHA has like nothing intelligent to say about accountability, redemption and what merits justice and what merits forgiveness it might as well have just swept everything the villains did under the rug and thrown them in prison because we would have gotten the same result regardless. The story never addresses anything it brings up or applies consequences to the heroes so why do villains need consequences too?

I'm reading another comic right now Gunnerkrigg court, which actually discusses these themes of morality, and whether victims should be saved even if they've harmed others in the past.

Zimmy is a character being used as a human battery for the court's (a shadowy organizations) plan to create a new world without the Ether, which is a chaotic force that warps reality. Omega is a character who is for this plan, because she is 1) a semi-omniscient being who sacrificed her own bodily autonomy in order to help the court by giving them predictions of the future that furthered it's plans.

(Therefore, she does have the understandable perspective of, Well I sacrificed myself for the greater good so why can't Zimmy?)

and 2) Zimmy is kind of a jerk, who has an incredibly dangerous ability that puts everyone around her in harm's way. Therefore if you're going to sacrifice someone for the greater good she makes sense.

Zimmy isn't a perfect victim. She constantly gaslights her girlfriend by telling her that everyone hates her except for her so she'll never leave. (A girlfriend who is rather selflessly devoted to I might add). She is like, a walking bomb ready to go off at any moment.

At the same time the story never minimizes Zimmy's suffering with the idea that she "deserves it" for being a bad victim. The main character is consistently advocating for her, which also SHOWS the main character's empathy rather than MHA's habit of continually INISTING upon Deku's empathy without ever showing it.

I don't think the author expects us to side with Omega, but it does entertain her argument so it's a two sided discussion. To cap this off I hope this demonstrates the difference between what I think is a thoughtful depiction of a bad victim and to what extent the main characters are responsible for saving them, and a completely thoughtless one and why one is more entertaining to read than the other.

[brrmian]

something that so many star wars fans somehow fail to realize is that george lucas always intended for the fall of the republic to be a completely unavoidable tragedy. that’s what makes it such brilliant storytelling.

placing the blame on just one party in the galaxy-wide farce that was the clone wars just isn’t interpreting the story the way its writer intended. neither is saying that all players should be held equally accountable. i don’t think the jedi were at fault for the state of the republic, and (despite the fact that he did horrible things) neither was anakin, on a galactic or governmental scale.

the real villain is palpatine, who shaped the government into a corrupt system by his own hand. the blame for turning a democratic republic into an authoritarian dictatorship (which it was long before it became the empire) under the noses of thousands of incredibly corrupt politicians must be placed entirely on him, and him alone.

by the end of the war, the jedi council recognized that they had already lost the ability to hold onto what it truly means to be a jedi. in their prime during the days of the old republic, the jedi knights were “the guardians of peace and justice.” they’re meant to as diplomats, peacekeepers, mediators, and public servants. when the clone wars began, they were essentially forced into being soldiers, generals, and quasi-politicians by palpatine and the senate. all of those things are antithetical to the jedi’s beliefs, but they had no other choice.

placing even the smallest bit of blame on the jedi for anything leading to the republic’s downfall—and their own—is not only unfair, it’s factually incorrect. the jedi order is a monastic organization. they have no say in the senate and no voting power. saying they’re corrupt, when in fact they were just as conned by palpatine as the rest of the galaxy, is victim-blaming and scapegoating.

palpatine shoved the jedi face first into fighting the war, and pretty much threw the clone army into their laps on top of that. the jedi had no say in the matter, and they certainly had no say in the war itself being started, either. because he controlled both sides, palpatine was able to make the CIS and the republic declare war on each other even though its citizens wanted the same outcome: political independence and survival. if not for palpatine’s schemes, the separatists would have been allowed to secede peacefully, the republic would have continued existing, and the war would have been completely avoided. but that was unfortunately not the case.

so in a galaxy thrown into an unavoidable war by its own secret dictator, with an army of sentient slaves suddenly at their command, and the risk of billions of deaths at the hands of the droid army imminently approaching, what do the galaxy’s official peacekeepers have no other choice but to do? be peacekeepers. why wouldn’t the sworn defenders of the galaxy be out on the battlefields trying to end the war? if they sat in the temple and did nothing, they simply wouldn’t be jedi.

the jedi were forced into a lose/lose situation. every religion and organization has faults, but that doesn’t place any blame on them for the catch-22 they were trapped into falling for. when the clone wars started—and the key point here is that it never should have in the first place—the jedi still needed to be jedi. unfortunately for them, that meant having positions of power not meant for them being thrust upon their shoulders. they couldn’t drop the burden, because that meant actively choosing not to save lives—but the other option, becoming soldiers despite the tenet of their beliefs that dictates they shouldn’t, was no better.

see what a cruel trap palpatine set? it’s like a fish being caught in a fisherman’s net. the net is spread out across the ocean floor, and the fish swim above it, not knowing that the trap is waiting to be drawn in around them from below. in the end, when the net starts to tighten, dragging them closer to the surface, they can’t swim fast enough to escape from the middle to the edge—and to safety—before the net is completely tied. it’s the cruelest kind of trap: the kind that gives you just the right amount of time to think you can escape while being sprung just quick enough to make actually escaping impossible.

in the end, the order actively chose to fight the war because they needed to. there was no other way to continue on as who they were. militarizing the order was not the right choice in a vacuum, but this was not that; this was a situation in which every galaxy-changing choice was the wrong one. the jedi knew they were making a decision that drew them farther away from their beliefs, but it was the lesser of an infinite list of evils, and they didn’t see the walls closing in on them until it was too late.

lucas himself has even said that the order was not corrupt or decaying from the inside, nor did they make a series of bad choices that ultimately led to their own destruction. they were always just trying to do the right thing—but unlike literally everything else in fiction, the jedi order’s death was completely unaffected by any of the choices they made. no matter what they did, they were always going to lose. the fall of the republic wasn��t caused by its defenders choosing what they saw as the least bad choice. it didn’t come down to any decisions, political or not, that the jedi council made with the limited tools that they had. it certainly didn’t come down to one emotionally unstable twenty-three-year-old’s slow descent into insanity, either. the republic and the jedi would still have been destroyed with or without anakin’s unhinged nervous breakdown.

anakin, just like the order, the republic, and the separatists, was taken advantage of by palpatine. even if a person’s choices are their own, they don’t exist in a vacuum.

anakin would have made better choices if not for palpatine, but he didn’t. the jedi order would have kept the peace if not for palpatine, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t. the republic, and democracy with it, would not have crumbled if not for palpatine. not the order, not anakin, not the separatists, and not the republic.

in the end, they were all just pawns in a decades-spanning plan, one that none of them saw coming until it was too late—and by then, it was already irreversible.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter ten : lunar interlude : briikase gote'tuur (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.1k

summary : reader and the mandalorian celebrate a birthday

warnings, etc. : language, angst, p in v sex, smut

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

He’s grateful for the break from you, even if brief. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isn’t real. 

Lines are starting to blur and he’s been allowing himself too much leniency in this little fantasy of his. He fetches you a glass of water before returning, catching a glimpse of your personal servant leaving the library.

He’s not a fan of Leodall. 

Not for any particular reason, he’s just odd. For a while he considered it to be jealousy, of another man working in such close proximity to you but that shouldn’t bother him to begin with. 

You’re married. 

He’s not allowed to be jealous of anything. 

Leodall doesn’t seem to be a fan of him either so it doesn’t really matter. But he’s always there. Lingering. Which is something to worry about when you’re trying to keep secrets. So when he sees Leodall fleeing the library rather swiftly with a piece of paper tucked into his palm of course he has to do something about it. 

He could be gentler. He should be. But he’s fully going on instinct when he slams Leo against the wall.

“Whatcha got there?” It’s effortless. To switch back on the hunter instincts, his voice turns that familiar low tone as his fingers easily snatch the paper from the Twi’lek. 

The last thing he needs is this guy delivering some kind of message revealing what the two of you have been doing. 

“Sir… that’s just a few things she asked-” 

He’s already stopped listening. Unfolding the parchment he sees your familiar handwriting.

dinner, skipped lunch bring enough for seconds

cake, simple flavor, maybe vanilla NOT TOO SWEET

candles

wine 

What?

It’s just a list, nothing on it raises any red flags so he hands it back to Leo. Without another word he’s opening the doors to the library and handing you the glass. Watching as you sip at it before holding it out to him.

You always think of him. 

All of this would be so much easier if you were less considerate. 

He shakes his head no and waits to see if you’ll bring up the list but you never do. You’re almost a little too nonchalant all things considered as you pick up your book and resume as if nothing just happened. As if you weren’t just begging him for an orgasm. He takes his usual seat on the chair across from you, keeping his visor trained on you. 

He likes watching you read, when you’re actually reading and not pretending. Your face is always so expressive, telling a story of its own as he watches eagerly. Do you know that he’s smiling under the Beskar? He hopes so. 

You look happier now. He likes knowing that he did that, likes knowing that you crave him as much as he craves you. He had woken up with a desire for you and in a pathetic attempt to seduce you, had made an ass of himself with some over the top compliments and kindnesses. Of course you had seen through that, you were too smart not to. 

Why do you have to be so smart? And kind, and beautiful, and just so you? 

He had been an idiot. Trying to convince himself that a taste of you would satiate him, it only made him need you more. It’s somehow a far more wretched fate. Knowing now just how good you can be and knowing that you’ll never truly be his. 

You have made something new of him. 

He has always had a dominant side, no sense denying that, but with you it’s different. Your presence alone has awakened something new. A carnal, animalistic need to consume whatever you are willing to give him. Everytime he touches you he has to fight the urge to call you his own. 

Because you aren’t. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon reminding himself of that fact. Anytime he lets his mind wander towards a fantasy of anything real he recalls that simple fact. You are married. He is “stress relief” to you, something to take care of your needs, nothing else. And maybe that’s okay, he’d rather have a piece of you than none of you. It would only be unbearable if you felt the same way he did. Wanting more. It’s currently only manageable for him because it’s one sided. 

Maybe he can live like this. 

Pining after you. Always offering you romantic gestures, showing you how you should be treated. And you, going to your weekly dinners with that slob you call a husband, and eventually raising a family with him. 

“I’m getting a little tired… could you escort me back to my chambers?” Your voice breaks through his train of thought. You’ve got that smile that you get when you’re scheming as you stand and make a beeline towards the door. He manages a nod as he follows behind you. 

The castle is nice like this, at sunset. Dark, lamp light flickering on the stone walls. And you, the yellow and orange tint of everything reflecting off that dress. There’s something intoxicating about when you wear green. 

He lets himself truly indulge in his daydreams when you wear it. That you do it for him, like you’re his. 

Would you want to go again before he leaves? Is that why you’ve got that grin? Maker he hopes so, it’s only been a few hours but he would happily service you again. You stop in front of your door and turn to him, there’s a glint of something in your eyes that he can’t place. 

“I have a surprise for you. I need you to wait out here.” 

Gods, he doesn’t deserve you. 

“Then here I will wait.” He would do damn near anything for you if it meant you’d keep that smile on your face. He settles his back against the wall as you disappear into your chambers. 

He’s already half hard at the thought of you still covered in his cum under your dress. Maybe you’ll let him fuck you like that, still marked by him in one of the few ways he can mark you. He doesn’t get a lot of time to wonder because you’re opening the door and ushering him in. Nothing seems different other than your outfit, you’re wearing a tightly closed robe. So far a good sign but he still isn’t sure what to expect as he enters the room, pretty sure he knows where this is going. 

“Okay, this is really cheesy and if you don't want to do it we don’t have too.” You’re nervously fidgeting with the edge of your robe as you say it and he’s getting more confused by the second as you walk over to the closet and hold the door open for him. 

Maybe he doesn’t know where this is going.

He only has to take one look inside to figure it out though. 

He stands in the doorway of your closet and the first thing he’s drawn to is the pile blankets and pillows against the back wall. Have you been sleeping here? He doesn’t wonder for long because his visor is now trained on everything else. You’ve set out dinner. Two plates of food and two mugs of wine are laid out on the floor but the dead giveaway to what this is is the cake in the middle of everything with a way too big candle pressed into the middle of it, the faint light of the flame flickering along with the glow from the singular lamp propped up on one of the dressers. He turns to stare at you almost in disbelief. 

People often think that he is silent for the sake of intimidation. And that was true. 

Until he met you.

With you, oftentimes there are just no words. 

Your face is turning red at the lack of a response as he watches you picking at your nails. 

“It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have done all this… but you said you didn’t keep track of your birthdays and I don’t know, it just made me sort of sad because back home my siblings and I used to always make such a big deal out of birthdays so I thought today could be your birthday. And we can sit back to back so you can eat without me seeing you and if you’re worried about your helmet being off I’ve got a lock on my bedroom door and the closet so no one’s gonna walk in and if that isn’t enough we can turn off the lamp and eat in the dark or I can eat in the bedroom and you can eat in the closet or if this is stupid I can pack up the food for you and you can take it with you and-” You’re babbling on and on anxiously trying to fill the silence and he can’t take it anymore as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Thank you.” He can feel the sigh of relief you let out as you return the embrace. 

It’s the weirdest thing but he can’t remember ever hugging someone. 

Maybe his parents, a long, long time ago. It’s new. He doesn’t want to let you go because he knows that this has drastically changed the dynamic he thought he was building with you. 

You did all this. 

For him.

And he’s so fucked. 

Because this is more than you using him for stress relief. This breaks rules. Rules that you had insisted upon. Maker, he never even cared about the rules. 

He would break every rule if you’d let him. Treat you the way you deserve to be treated, he would show you what a marriage is supposed to be. You’d never have to use him for stress relief because he’d keep you satisfied and happy. Truly happy. He’d even take off the helmet for you. Someday, after making you his and himself yours. He’d kiss you, as much and as often as you’d let him. He would have kissed you that first night you let him touch you if you hadn’t specifically made a point that he couldn’t. He’d give you children if that’s what you wanted. He’d spend every night with you, making sure that you’re never without him, he would let everyone know you were his. Not running off to some pleasure house and humiliating you like that pig of a husband of yours. And he wouldn’t have to change a thing to break that last rule. 

He broke it the first time you spoke to him.

He knows that now. 

He has broken it everyday since because he has loved you as long as he has known you and he had resigned himself to that life. A life where he got brief glimpses of you. You would be everything to him and to you he would just be a protector. 

But then you did this. 

For him.

With this one act of affection you’ve changed everything. 

You’ve ruined everything. 

Because he can’t act like this is just sex for you anymore. You wouldn’t do all this. Not if it was just sex.

He doesn’t want to let go. 

Because in a harrowing turn of events he knows that you have shifted his short lived plans to love you from afar for as long as you’d let him. 

But he isn’t perfect after all. He is just a man. That’s what he tells himself as he takes your hand and pulls you into the closet, closing the door behind the two of you and sitting. 

Back to back.

“I promise not to look.” You sound so happy. Pleased with yourself that this is working out. 

“I know you won’t.” It’s true. He has never felt trust that someone won’t try and look until you and without hesitation he clicks loose the airlock and sets his helmet to the side. 

It’s maybe the most intimate thing he’s done with a person as the two of you eat in silence. He eats quickly, feeling the familiar creeping anxiety that comes from being without his helmet for long periods of time. 

Once he goes to lift it to return it to its rightful place he hears you make a sound of protest. 

“Wait! You have to blow out the candle first and make a wish.” He watches as she slides it towards him. It’s simple, white frosting with a few berries on top of it, the large candle dripping a bit of wax onto the center as he leans down and blows it out before locking his helmet back on. “What did you wish for?” He can feel you leaning back against him as you ask. 

He wishes you hadn’t done this. 

“I can’t tell you. It’s supposed to be a secret.” He’s grateful to be back in the safety of his helmet because the modulator hides the way his voice trembles ever so slightly.

“Okay. Is it okay if I turn around? It’s time for your presents.” 

He should leave.

He should leave and get on the next ship off of this planet but he can’t even do that because he doesn’t trust anyone to protect you from your husband. 

He’s trapped here on this planet just as much as you are.

He should end this right now at the very least. 

But he’s not a good man. And he’s selfish. So why not revel in the dream that you are one last time. 

“You can turn around.” He feels your weight shift as he says it, at the same time he turns to face you. He isn’t sure what to expect but it definitely isn’t what you’re doing. 

You’re holding out one of the plastic lilies you had bought at the market. 

“I didn’t have time to get you anything because I only decided it was your birthday a few hours ago. But I thought you could use this to decorate your cabin, and have a little reminder of me there.” 

This is fucking brutal. 

“Thank you princess.” It rolls off of his tongue so easily that he often forgets he shouldn’t be using it until he’s reminded that it’s a title, not an endearment. He takes it from you before tucking it into a loop on his belt. 

“And of course that isn’t your only present.” You're raising your eyebrows suggestively as you untie your robe, sitting up on your knees you toss it aside and reveal a pretty little green satin set. He isn’t sure what to call it. It’s definitely too racy to be considered pajamas but it’s also rather classy. 

You’re perfect.

And he is a bad man, who should not touch you right now. He should tell you that he can’t do this anymore. That he will solely be here to protect you from now on. It’s what will be best for both of you.

That’s what he tells himself.

But he knows the truth.

He’s weak. 

And you’re perfect. 

“I bought this at the markets… I wanted to surprise you. I planned on saving them for a special occasion but honestly what’s more special than a birthday?” 

He could live a thousand lifetimes and he would never be a good enough man to deserve you.

You are everything good he has ever known all put into one deadly temptation wrapped in a pretty green bow. 

He takes in a deep, shaky breath as he stares at you. The warm glow of the lamp makes you look positively divine. More inviting than anything else ever has been. 

Think about what this means. 

This becomes a thousand times harder if it’s more than just sex to you. And a thousand times more dangerous. If you were to be discovered, Maker only knows what they’d do to you. He knows what would happen to him. They’d make an example out of him, that’s the kind of man Kodo is. But you, he has already seen how unhappy your husband makes you, he can only imagine the torment he would put you through if he discovered what was happening here. 

He needs to do something about this because it’s becoming more complicated by the second but he can’t focus because right now you’re staring at him with that fire he adores in your eyes and you’re wearing that just for him. 

He leans forward to pull you into his lap, still sitting on the floor of the closet. Letting his hands just roam your body for a few moments, watching in awe at how you stare into the visor. 

Like you see him through it, like you know exactly where his eyes are behind the steel. 

✩

Just like everything else tonight, it’s different when he touches you. 

He doesn’t tease because as much as he refuses to think about it. He knows deep beneath the layers of steel, and flesh, and bone, that he might not get a chance to see you like this again. He understands exactly what he needs to do. That for the both of you he needs to put a stop to this short lived love affair because he won’t be able to live with the brand new form of suffering you have introduced. 

Loving him back. 

Maybe you don’t love him today, or tomorrow, or maybe not even for years. But he has a deep and profound understanding of the fact that you will. 

And he can’t live with that. 

And not even for the reason he should. He should want to end it to spare your feelings, to prevent you from getting hurt over something that could never be. No, his reasons are so much more selfish. He simply couldn’t handle it. Knowing that you love him back would ruin him entirely. He couldn’t live with the fact that you wanted him just as badly and as deeply as he wanted you. 

It would fucking kill him. He’s certain of it. To know that’s how you feel and still not have you. 

So he’ll end things. 

But not now. 

Not tonight when you’ve given him this . 

Because he’s selfish and weak. 

And you’re you. 

So he’ll give you every part of him right now. As much as you’re willing to take. 

He can see it in your eyes. That you know that something has changed, but he can’t handle seeing that crease between your brows, not tonight. So he brings his hand between your legs, pulling your undergarments off gently and setting them aside before plunging his fingers into you, devouring the way your body reacts to him, the way your chest heaves and your back arches.. 

He doesn’t speak this time because he doesn’t want to interrupt you in his memories of this. The way he can feel you tense even through the thick material of his gloves as his thumb finds your clit. 

He doesn’t taunt you. 

He does exactly what he knows you want as he curls his fingers, as he drives you towards an orgasm without you having to ask for it because he wants to see it. He wants it branded into his memory. 

It doesn’t take long and pretty quickly you’re trembling in his lap, your hands bracing themselves on his shoulder plates. He keeps his eyes on your face. Positively enamored by the way you bite your lip as you mumble the word “Mando” over and over again. Your eyes look like they’re closed in concentration as he feels you tighten around him and watches as you let your forehead rest on his armor, your mouth opening in a small “O” shape. 

He lifts you up slightly to set you onto what he assumes to be your makeshift bed. He wants to ask about it. There’s a million things he wants to ask you about because he wants to know you better than anyone else ever has. He wants to be the only person who gets to know you.

But he’s already being selfish enough so he doesn’t. Instead he busies himself with making you feel as good as possible as he keeps one hand always splayed on your inner thigh, rubbing lazy circles onto your clit with his thumb as you keen softly, his other hand pulling himself out of his trousers as he wastes no time lining himself up at your welcoming hole. You’re always so ready for him. Your cunt weeps for him as he pushes himself into you slowly, working himself down to the base. 

He knows you know it’s different.

You’re too smart for your own good. He clocks the look of confusion in your eyes immediately when his hands entwined with yours instead of gripping your waist. When he started tenderly moving inside you instead of his usual play for total domination. Your legs wrap themselves around him as he watches your eyes roll back slightly when he snaps his hips forward again. You grind down against him, your legs locking him against you as you try and get a bit of friction against your clit from the curls at the base of his shaft. 

And he lets you.

He doesn’t tease. 

He just watches you with bated breath as you stay like that. Impaled on his cock, chasing your own pleasure. He feels like you were made for him, sex had never in his life felt like this, you took him so perfectly. And then you say those words that make his head spin.

“C-can I cum?” He’d give you anything you asked for at this moment as he nods. He’s fascinated by you as you use him, it only takes a few more moments of watching you grind against him before he feels that familiar squeeze, your hands grip his as you unravel before him. He drinks you in with his eyes before he starts moving his hips again, slowly. 

“Can you give me one more sarad’ika?” He ever so slightly picked up the pace as he watched your chest bounce with each thrust. 

You muddled his brain. Half the time he was with you he couldn’t even remember what language he was speaking. You gave him a meek little nod and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you. 

To tear his helmet off.

Abandon his creed.

And kiss you.

But he’s broken enough rules tonight. 

So instead he settles on resting his helmet against your shoulder as he slams himself into you. Letting out a low throaty groan as he watches your hands wriggle free of his and go between your legs to touch yourself. 

He will never deserve this. 

He reminds himself of that with every thrust and with every beautiful moan you let out. He buries the steel of his helmet in your neck as he mumbles to himself.

“Ner kar’taylir darasuum.”

Your free hand is resting on the back of his helmet and he can feel how close you are, he knows he isn’t going to last much longer so he pulls back so you can hear him clearer.

“Cum for me sarad. Please.” He knows he probably sounds a little too desperate but it works because you do, in an instant your head is leaning back and you pull his head against your chest as he barely slips out of you in time to finish on your swollen clit. 

He lays there longer than he should but you’re warm and inviting and he knows tomorrow will be different. So why not give you everything tonight. He wraps his arms around you in another embrace as you yawn into his shoulder. 

“Happy birthday Mando.” He so fiercely wishes you could see the soft smile that he only has for you. 

“Thank you cyar’ika.” He gently pulls himself off of you and finds a cloth to wipe you down with before re-dressing you. Laying you back down in the pile of blankets he swipes a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he sits up.

“Are you leaving?” For the love of gods. Your voice sounds so small at this moment he almost stays. 

Almost. 

“Yes princess. No sleepovers, remember?” You nod sadly as he traces your jaw with his knuckle. This shouldn’t be so hard. It’s not like he’s never going to see you again. He just isn’t going to see you like this. 

Tomorrow he will be your bodyguard. Nothing else. 

Because you deserve better than this. 

Better than him. 

So he stands and he turns off the lamp as he carefully steps over the remaining birthday supplies before opening the closet door, taking in one last sight of you, faintly illuminated by the lights in the main room.

“Don’t forget your flower…” You mumble it as he watches your eyes flutter open to stare at him. 

He pats the notch on his belt that it’s in.

“How could I?”

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[delphinidin4]

I just had a brainwave about Mansfield Park. This might be something that Jane Austen fans already know and think is obvious, but I've never heard it discussed, and I think it really clears up a lot of things about this book for me.

So scholars are always talking about how this book intersects with slavery. First of all, the Antigua property that isn't doing so well would have been worked by enslaved people (keeping slaves was still legal in Antigua, though selling them there was not). Also, at one point Fanny asks Sir Thomas a question about the slave trade, though it isn't really elaborated on. I saw this discussed again and again in the (admittedly little) scholarship I read on this book, and it always seemed weird to me that they zeroed in on that detail.

More recently, I read Margaret Doody's book on the names Austen used in her work, and she pointed out that the famous legal case that declared slavery to be illegal in England was called the Mansfield Decision. Any reader at the time, reading that novel, would have that information in the back of their head, and it would have informed how they read the book.

This much I knew. But I always felt like these arguments never really explained what slavery had to do with the love story of Fanny Price: even Doody never seemed to connect this factoid about the title very deeply with the novel's themes (a problem I had with a number of her discussions in that book).

More recently, I saw it pointed out that Fanny Price is treated like a slave by Mrs. Norris, and I thought, "Aha! Finally, an explanation!" But it still didn't feel complete to me.

But I just realized: you can take that metaphor a lot farther. (For this argument, please keep in mind that Austen, though on the side of the abolitionists, was a 19th-century woman who didn't have the same sensibilities about the discussion of race as we do now.)

--Like an enslaved person, Fanny is taken from her home and her family and moved far, far away (she isn't kidnapped, of course, but stick with me).

--The family that she joins considers her to be naturally stupider than they are because she has not had the advantage of their education. This is similar to African slaves, whom white people looked down on and thought intellectually inferior because they didn't have a western education.

--The term "family" at the time included the household servants and slaves, not just the actual family. Fanny, the poor relation, joins the household less like a cousin/niece, and more like a servant or an enslaved person. She is literally relegated to sleep in an attic, like a maid.

--Fanny suffers a great deal emotionally because she misses her family (especially Edward). Austen, as an abolitionist, would likely have read accounts like Olaudah Equiano's autobiography, which often described the intense emotional suffering of enslaved people separated from their homes and families.

--One of the justifications slaveholders gave for slavery was that they were "improving" the lives of the Africans they enslaved, by teaching them Christianity and occasionally, trades or other forms of education. Fanny is ostensibly being brought to Mansfield to give her a good education. And while she does get that education, she really functions much more in the household like a servant to Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris.

--Fanny IS taught a great deal of morality by Edmund, who is a bit of a prig. It seems hypocritical of him to be constantly "schooling" her in morality when it often seems like Fanny is more naturally ethical than he is. This mirrors the hypocrisy of white slaveholders who deigned to teach their slaves Christianity while acting extremely unchristian themselves.

--Fanny ends up with an inferiority complex because she is constantly torn down by Mrs. Norris and treated as inferior by Maria and Julia. In reality, she's very intelligent, well-read, and ethical in a way that none of them area. This mirrors the way black folks were unfairly treated as inferior by white society.

--The injustice of the Bertrams toward Fanny is so obvious to outsiders that even the morally deficient Crawfords are indignant about it. Mrs. Norris makes a snide remark to Fanny about "who and what she is" (a reference to racism?) and Mary Crawford is indignant on Fanny's behalf and rushes in to comfort her. Henry Crawford--at least, after he falls in love with Fanny--says that the way the family has treated her is disgraceful, and that he is going to show them how they should have been treating her all along. Austen may be pointing to the idea that slavery is SO wrong that it should be obvious to everybody.

I conclude that the book is titled Mansfield Park because Austen wants to point out that while slavery may be illegal in England, poor relations are still often treated like slaves by their families.

That being said, here are some questions this analogy throws up:

--Why is Sir Thomas so much nicer to Fanny after his stay in Antigua, where he would have been witnessing slavery on a daily basis? What does this say about him, both as an uncle and a slaveowner?

--Fanny goes home to Portsmouth, and finds that she doesn't like it and it isn't as neat and orderly as she would like. Is this Austen saying that if enslaved people went back to Africa, they would find that they still felt western society to be superior? How would we square that idea with the point above that westerners are not superior to Africans?

--Why does Fanny end up with Edmund? If he's analogous to the son of a slaveowner and she's analogous to a slave, why is she in love with him in the first place, and why does Austen seem to reify her choice by making them get together in the end? (Remember that even Austen's sister Cassandra felt strongly that Fanny should have ended up with Henry Crawford, not the priggish Edmund.) Is Fanny brainwashed by the Bertrams? How does that relate to the slaveholding analogy?

[nalyra-dreaming]

hello :) why do you think it was easier for claudia to go for louis and not lestat on board for her plan to leave in the finale of s1? do you think they may even show us a different retelling of murder night this season?

She thought him easier to handle, and knew Lestat would never hurt Louis.

That is... the very blunt truth of it.

Here is the diary entry from "Merrick", which I think will play a part at the trial:

Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart. "What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not. I look at Louis and I despise him totally for the making of me, and yet I do love him. But then I love Lestat every bit as well. "Perhaps in the court of my heart, I hold Louis far more accountable for my present state than ever I could blame my impulsive and simple Lestat. The fact is, one must die for this or the pain in me will never be scaled off, and immortality is but a monstrous measurement of what I shall suffer till the world revolves to its ultimate end. One must die so that the other will become ever more dependent upon me, ever more completely my slave. I would travel the world afterwards; I would have my way; I cannot endure either one of them unless that one becomes my servant in thought, word, and deed. "Such a fate is simply unthinkable with Lestat's ungovernable and irascible character. Such a fate seems made for my melancholy Louis, though the destroying of Lestat will open new passages for Louis into the labyrinthian Hell in which I already wander with every new thought that comes in my mind. "When I shall strike and how, I know not, only that it gives me supreme delight to watch Lestat in his unguarded gaiety, knowing that I shall humiliate him utterly in destroying him, and in so doing bring down the lofty useless conscience of my Louis, so that his soul, if not his body, is the same size at last as my own.

I think there is a high chance that "Murder Night" went differently as seen, and I think they may have filmed it already back then, since Sam supposedly filmed on for a while with Bailey, after Jacob had left, and there was this BTS pic of it.

Now in the book Louis more or less stood by as Claudia went and stabbed Lestat - I do think that this might have happened here as well. Since they said they would revisit murder night... I guess we might still get to see it. Or something about it at least.

Whatever it is - I bet it will be harrowing.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hello i hope this isn't too specific, may i request in the self aware au, for a player that actually is a god? ( Examples: God of love and beauty, god of time and or night etc, etc)And for whatever reason they use their godly powers to protect them?(the twst characters) Separately for lilia, vil and jamil! Thank you so much!

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

My works are for entertainment and not meant seriously!!!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, religion, suicide, obsession, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, death, war, blood, murder, violence, unhealthy mindset

Jamil Viper/Vil Schoenheit/Lilia Vanrouge-Player who is a real God

God of wisdom

The Octavinelle trio and the fire rat had failed

We all remember Jamils Overblot happening, right?

Unlike the game however, they weren't able to beat him and despite the servant already seeing black spots in his vision the feeling of power and freedom was too wonderful just to give up on it

Deep down he also knew that this was his end, having heard the stories about other Overblots that also went terribly wrong

And then there was warmth in the cold desert night his heart had become, lulling him into a dreamless sleep and your voice telling him that it was ok, that he could let go, that you would protect him from his sorrows

Cue next morning and a crying Kalim later

There he was, alive

The one's that were present told him that he suddenly fell asleep during their battle

All they could say about the situation was that they surely had luck, after all it did end things in a positive, non-violent way

But Jamil knew what truly happened

You were a real God, not just an all-knowing scholar like they thought, the God of wisdom

If it weren't for your warning gaze he would have dropped to his knees, thanking you that you had saved his life

But apparently you didn't want them to know, so he held his mouth shut

This wasn't the end though

From then on out he started to become even more obsessed with you and whoops! Was that someone saying that you were just am otherworldly being and nothing more?

They jumped off the roof of the school on the next day, ending their life very early

Not knowing who you truly were was no excuse for denying you the worship you deserved. You, who knew about worlds beyond the stars and even much, much more

He had to know, he had caught a glimpse of it in your voice on that fateful day after all, telling him who you truly were

This had to mean that he was so important to you that you would tell him who you truly were, right? RIGHT??!

Jamil had learned how to serve and obey and who would he be if he didn't use that to show his loyalty to you. Even of it meant that there were blood sacrifices for which you never asked needed...

God of beauty and kindness

Vil was at his end

He felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore

After going into Overblot and then even losing against Neige the dorm leader wanted to just delete his accounts on social media and burn his contracts with the film and modeling industry

I think it was your sixth sense as a God but you were there, in the room right when he was breaking down with him

And how could you not help him, he who was so lost and helpless

After all, you were not only the God of beauty but also the God of kindness

And that was the day on which the supposedly magic-less student made a miracle happen

Igniting the embers of determination of the Fairest Queen who was sitting slumped over in front of you you showed him who you truly were, showed him that he was worthy to witness the God of what he wanted to be sitting in front of him

Vil swore to never give up again

Ok he is happy, case closed. Want to drink something? How about- WHY IS THERE SOMEONE SUFFOCATING??!

Isn't that the model competing against Vil for a spot in that magazine?

In true evil queen... I MEAN FAIREST QUEEN fashion the man poisoned his rival

And then suddenly accidents happen all over the place to models and other figures in the beauty industry

Just yesterday a light fell onto an actor on a set, killing him in an instance

But there is no need to worry over Vil

He will make sure that he is extra careful!

And if you wouldn't mind, would you give him that bag with the screwdriver in it to him? Thank you!

Vil would be a fool if he were to ignore the blessing his God had given him, giving him the mission to become the most perfect one if them all

No need to wait for too long. He will make sure that he is worthy of you...

Just ignore the red makeup on his jacket. An assistant on set spilled it accidentally on his uniform

God of time

You and I, we both know that this will end in a tragedy and yet you still ask for him in this request

But ok, you are asking for it

Leonas Oveeblot, it happened so fast and unpredicted leading to him leaving for a short while to get help

And to what does he return? The other students lying knocked out on the ground and you standing there proud, not being afraid for a second

You stood there like the true God that you were

And it also ended so quickly, flicking the lion's forehead the student fell into himself like a house of cards

And then you turned around and oh... he was lost in time and space

Lilia is old. He has seen the rise and fall of kingdoms but there was nothing that could have prepare him for the eternity that he saw in your eyes

Suddenly he was nothing more than a child, suddenly realizing that all his joking about his age was truly nothing more than a joke to you

You were after all the beginning, the end and everything in between

The Headmage who had followed the general after the told him what happened seemed to be frozen in time, or rather was until you seemingly decided that it was time to move on in time itself

Of course everyone was confused why Leona was lying on the floor when he was the one beating others into submission just a minute ago

But Lilia knew, and Lilia knew that ou knew that he knew

This leads us to now, the time in which Lilia rests his head in your lap whispering with crazed whispers that all the bloodshed was worth it, that you were finally here

But for what happens next even you, a God, could do something against his next step

The Valley of Thorns is powerful if we are talking about magic

And they are more than looking forward to lay the world to your feet

It is like these peaceful times never existed, Lilia was once more a raging general who now even pulled his own son into the bloodbath he created

But even Lilia knows that you are just an excuse in his life. After all, worldly beings aren't meant to live so long as he already did, making him search for some reason in his life and if it is to end massive amount of life then be it that

And in all the sadness, in all the pain and blood there is a small, gentle part of him lost in time, cradled in your arms whilst it weeps tears of sadness and despair

[suzukiblu]

More of the wet nurse omegaverse for @qwertynerd97. 

“Is there anything you’d especially like to eat, then? Snacks or drinks or anything else we can keep on hand for you?” Clark tries, obviously still trying to make nice with Carl, who still looks both uncomfortable with and confused by the attention. Which is an odd reaction from the kid, Bruce thinks, but maybe he’s embarrassed to engage too much with an omega who so obviously has so much more experience with pups than he does, considering that even though Clark’s got a good fifteen or twenty years on him, he’s still the one who’s an actual childcare worker. 

Or maybe he lost a litter very, very recently, and is just having trouble being around an omega mother. 

. . . well. Another omega mother, in that case. 

“Uh, no,” Carl says. “I can get my own food, it’s fine.” 

“Well, there’s not a convenient local grocery store, to be honest,” Bruce says, because that’s a bit of a concern there. “Alfred only makes the trip once a week and just shops all at once. And it’s our responsibility to feed you, you’re staying in my pack’s den, after all.” 

“So?” Carl says, looking puzzled. “I can still do it.” 

“There’s not exactly a corner store in the neighborhood, is what I mean,” Bruce clarifies. “The walk to the nearest grocery store is a good two hours from here, being optimistic. And then you’d be spending another two hours walking back with the bags.” 

“. . . uh,” Carl says. “And that’s . . . a long walk?” 

“With groceries?” Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. This kid definitely spends too much time in the gym. “Yes.” 

“Oh,” Carl says, his expression turning a little awkward. “Um . . . could I maybe hitch a ride with Alfred when he goes, then?” 

Bruce can think of almost nothing Alfred would hate more than being forced to grocery shop with someone else, but if they have to ease Carl into letting them feed him, so be it. Maybe he does have dietary restrictions or allergies and just doesn’t want to explain them, but considering he’s going to need to be eating a lot of extra calories to make anywhere near enough milk for Lor . . . yes, they’re definitely going to need to either buy him groceries outright or at least give him some kind of a budget for them. An expense account. A fucking credit card; Bruce doesn’t even care, at this point, as long as he doesn’t have to watch Clark watch his pup starve to death. 

“Sure,” he says, already planning to order the kid a credit card for grocery-related expenses, even if just as a temporary thing. Again, he doesn’t have to watch Clark watch his pup starve to death. This kid can feed himself however he wants, as long as it helps Lor. He can exist on goddamn organic truffles and saffron and caviar, as far as Bruce is concerned.

Alfred and Travers come back with exactly one backpack between them, Alfred looking mildly pained about it, and Jon and Damian come back with a ridiculously high stack of linens, Damian looking incredibly pained about that. Bruce is in genuine disbelief that neither of them have dropped any of them, then makes a mental note to go check the hall and make sure there isn’t a trail of pillows and bedsheets leading back to the servants’ quarters. 

“Thank you, boys, but you could’ve just left those in the hall,” he says. Admittedly Carl doesn’t have an assigned room yet, but . . . 

“Uh, we just wanted to bring them!” Jon says, his face turning pink in embarrassment. 

Alright. So yes, he was deliberately bringing Carl nesting materials. Or–well, maybe not intentionally deliberately bringing Carl nesting materials, but all the same. 

Well, Jon is a beta, and it’s perfectly normal for beta pups to bring nesting material to omegas, presented or not, including ones they’ve nursed from. Especially nesting material they’ve scented, which Jon very definitely has. To the degree he probably rolled around in it, in fact, which would explain why none of it’s folded as neatly as Alfred would’ve. 

But yes. It’s perfectly normal for a beta to do that, even as a pup. 

Just it’s usually something done for packmates, not childcare workers they’ve just met.

“Thank you, Jon,” Clark says, looking just barely pained for just a flash and visibly forcing himself to smile. Visibly by Bruce’s standards, anyway. 

“It’s good?” Jon asks, not quite glancing at Carl as he asks. “We could go get more.” 

If there’s that much more to get in that specific linen closet, Bruce will be surprised, which is saying something in the manor. Carl could make a fortress of a nest out of all that, though. 

“Yeah, sure, that’ll keep me for a while,” Carl says, which is definitely not a response to the standard of pack manners, but he says it while looking besotted again, and Jon still beams in delight. Carl shifts Lor to his hip and grabs his bag from a visibly pained Travers to sling over his arm, and then does another odd little juggling maneuver and somehow manages to get all of the linens off both Jon and Damian and all precariously-stacked in one arm. Bruce has absolutely no idea how he didn’t end up under an avalanche of linens or how said stack is staying up, but Carl looks unconcerned. 

Well, omegas do have a lot more experience carting around large amounts of bedding without dropping it than the rest of them do, Bruce supposes. And given that Carl’s stray, he probably gets more practice than most. 

It doesn’t actually seem to have occurred to Carl to put down Lor, though. Which–there’s no reason he needs to, admittedly, and the two of them have just feral-bonded, but Bruce would’ve preferred Lor gone back to Clark. That’s probably a little too much to expect a pup who’s been slowly starving for lack of milk and can’t be expected to understand why his new dam didn’t get milked up for him after all this time to ask for, though, so it’s not as if Bruce blames the kid. 

He knows Clark doesn’t blame him either, but he still wishes the other didn’t have to feel like Bruce knows he must feel right now. Clark is an independent and practical omega, but he still grew up in a society full of people who have certain expectations for omegas, and more than that, he has personal nursing-related trauma and is the kind of person who’s willing to take the weight of the whole damn world on himself and himself alone. 

So of course he’d be bothered by something like this, and of course he’d feel like he was letting his pup down. 

That’s really not what’s happening here, of course, but Bruce knows better than to expect Clark to feel differently, whether he understands that fact on a practical level or not.