#why he's so desperate to be relevant to him. why he has to give as good as he gets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

2K notes · View notes

evilminji · 11 months

Text

Sooooo.....

Like? We can all agree, that, all other factors aside? Given the life he's lived and the personality he has? The sheer NONSENSE he's been exposed too (from rays to oozes to powders to magics etc) AND the by definition unfinishable nature of his Life's Work/Obsession?

If Batman lived in a world connected to Danny Phantom's Zone in any way... he's DEFINITELY becoming a Realms Ghost.

Like? It's not even a "possibly" here. It's an inevitability. He HAS to protect just one more person. HAS to solve one more case. HAS to protect his kids one last time. He HAS Too, HAS Too, HAS Too.

He's Batman.

It's etched into his soul. The man's ghost will literally REFORM in that outfit. Batman with a glow. Batman the protection spirit. Kindness and grief and an eternity of "I have to save just one more."

He's not going to get to die peacefully or rest quietly. It would go against his nature.

But! Why is this relevant? Because of the Elseworld stories. Those AUs. The Multi-Verse at large. They ALL... Have Batman.

Consider: Ember McClain. Rocker. Remember that name. Yes, in some worlds she makes it big. But? Tragedy and betrayal in others. Death. Do you think the Ember's of those worlds are fine with passing on silently? Shrugging and being forgotten just because some other Ember got there first?

No. They are Ember. SHE is Ember.

Just as Clockwork is Time.

What makes a Realms Ghost different then someone like Deadman? Than a Shade? A poltergeist? Your average spook?

They are only themselves.

Singular.

Small.

A tiny little fraction, of a fraction, of a part, of a small bitty droplet, if even that. You only get one soul. But! You share it. There are many "You"s. Like the universe itself, exploding out, to live, to experience, BE, and then collapsing back together in the end. Running together like rainwater in the cracks of Realitys. Seeping back into one piece, one person, in the place between places.

It's why one forgets silly things like Names and Pasts. You had so, so many. All of them were yours. Made you. Shaped you. But are not why you refuse to let go. Why you still EXSIST. Outside of Creation and Rebirth, beyond any gods you could possibly recognize. Refined to your truest SELF.

Yet... you might still be Alive. You know that you ARE. Time exists for the living. To balance beginnings, middles, and ends. Why do you care? They aren't you yet. They will be. All of you will eventually come together. You'll become something... MORE.

Ancient.

The wisdom and complexity of a complete Being. More a Person then your average soul. Like giant stars compared to a barely burning dwarves. You know, assuming you don't give up first. Most give up. It takes a certain sort of patience, after all. A LOT of timeless time. Kinda sucks.

Yet! We consider The Bat. Persistence and Stubborn Hope made manifest. Compassion born of terrible grief. Dead. Again and again and again. Dead for those who needed him. Who hated him. Who cursed or forgot or lamented him. In every imaginable age, a story played out the same. Ending the same.

Himself instead of another.

Himself FOR the others.

Himself because none other could.

Sacrifice and Sacrifice and Sacrifice. Desperation to save. Worlds burning and cities falling. Waking up, reaching out, to shield sons and daughters that are not there. That live because he does not. Dragging himself through the stubborn walls of world after world, like a haunting final curse, upon those who harmed his family, his city. His world.

A wraith. Gothams final curse upon those who damn her.

What must it be like? To keep saying good bye? To drag your aching soul, fuller and fuller of terrible memories, across the fields of jagged glass that are portals you tear, to world's on fire. Just to save friends and family. Enemies and strangers. All of whom, must in the end... bury you anyway.

Because you must kill the hope in their eyes. Must die before them again. Because you can not stay and they can not come with you. Or worse... they can, and will soon.

Sitting on fields of battle where you tried. Gave all your spirit could muster. But... it's over now. And all you can offer is the knowledge is that they should not be afraid. You will carry them home.

And are there? Nightwings and Robins and all manner of other family, waiting back in the Zone? In a Manor where Pennyworth lives eternal? Do they also hurt and fight to save their friends? Each new piece of them coming with some great tragedy that they must put right?

Do they give Walker and the Observants migraines? Probably.

Imagine, though: Time travel added to the mix. Dying in the future. Your son managing to turn everything back to before the world ended. The Ghost King is suddenly a Baby again. Every one is freaking out. "Oh no! The king!" Blah blah blah.

But you and your family are more concerned about the world ending threat that kills a part of you. So is the baby ghost king, when you tell him. You show up in your own Cave, freak yourself out. Team up time. Though you ARE growing concerned by the Baby Kings self-neglectful behaviors. Hey, Me, are you seeing this?

.......he.... you know, he COULD use more Parental Oversight. He's a good kid. Seems lonely though. Underfed. ("BRUCE, NO." "Hmmm.")

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones @the-witchhunter @cyrwrites

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

419 notes · View notes

gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 4 months

Note

Hello again! LOVE op's posts about static moth so so much they are giving me ungodly amounts of serotonin ... It's genuinely been such a joy reading your interpretations of their relationship and what makes them work the way they do. Even with the limited amount of content we have of them I believe you've nailed their respective personalities and behavior patterns spectacularly and every single post has been extremely interesting to go through and to analyze off of!

Regarding the reasons as to why Valentino likes vox as a romantic partner, I also believe part of it has to do with some of Vox's more stalkerish tendencies as well? His (not yet canon but close) Voyeurism, his constant need for control, etc.

This is more of a head canon than anything else, but I do genuinely believe Valentino enjoys the obsessive attention he can get only from Vox as it does wonders to quell his constant sense of emptiness, his subsequent feelings of abandonment, and the anxieties that follow. The fact that he knows Vox enjoys stalking him, (probably) gets off on it and is actively deriving pleasure from simply watching him go about his day may be adding to the thrill and content as well. The thing is, as generally absurd and problematic it is, this behavior seems to bring a sense of security for both Partys involved: Throughout the show during all 4 episodes that feature Valentino's presence, we have yet to see a single scene with him without at least one camera tracking his movements. They are everywhere. They follow him wherever he goes, Vox can follow him wherever he goes whenever he so chooses, even to Vals own personal quarters. They are a massive, glaring red flag and quite frankly would bring a suffocating amount of pressure and sense of captivity to any other person under the same circumstance. But Val never brings this up, so I feel he either doesn't think he's in a favourable condition to complain, or he likes the idea of Vox always having his eyes on him. For me I think it's the latter, and I think for him to act so nonchalant around vox's cameras and his potentially constant, 24/7-hour surveillance, it has to have offered him some form of comfort. It has to have made him feel good, either about himself, about the state of their relationship, or both.

(apologies for the sloppy wording, hope you have a wonderful day!)

Awww, Anon, you are so sweet! Reading your question brought me so much joy <3 I think your perspective is spot on, and I wholeheartedly agree with it. I must admit I initially omitted this aspect of their relationship from my initial response because the question specifically focused on love rather than "sexy and toxic stuff." For me, voyeurism and stalking kink are more closely related to the latter category.

That being said, Val undoubtedly enjoys having Vox's eyes always on him. Being a diva and a performer, he relishes performing for Vox, especially knowing Vox's likes all the deranged shit but desperately tries to hide it underneath his clean façade. So he’s basically like “I’m going to hit this bitch for you, Voxy. As a treat.” recognizing that Vox couldn't do it himself without tarnishing his image. In return, Val receives even more attention and admiration, perpetuating the cycle.

Since you've given me the opportunity to delve into Vox's voyeurism further, I'll add some additional insights (I've been meaning to write a proper post about it for some time now but that rabbit hole is just too deep). It's fundamentally about control, of course, and it's simply a kink. However, kinks are not merely about arousal; they involve complex psychological dynamics. People a lot smarter than me wrote a shit ton of essays about voyeurism, especially since it is a very relevant topic in the visual media era. One sentence about Lacan's interpretation of it grasps really well what I have in mind when I think about Vox:

By appropriating the other as image, the voyeur makes it an object of pleasure*, while remaining uninvolved in the other's intimacy.

It’s a parasitic relationship. A voyeur gets symbolic control over their object and it gives them the sense of being powerful. And they don’t have to offer anything themselves – no effort that is required to gain control in situations with two subjects involved, nor the vulnerability necessary in consensual relationships. They can just freely feed on others without offering anything in exchange.

Without delving too deeply into philosophy, Vox's inability to live authentically stems from his obsession with his image, his guardedness, and his need for control. This sets a lot of limitations about what he can allow himself to personalmy experience. So he derives dopamine from "stealing" others' experiences and emotions, while avoiding the effort and vulnerability required in genuine connections.

*In a broader sense, voyeuristic pleasure isn't necessarily sexual; it can manifest as the thrill some people experience from watching macabre imagery in movies, eavesdropping on neighbors' drama, or even watching overly personal vlogs.

#vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #Valentino #valentino hazbin #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #headcanon #ask

179 notes · View notes

little-diable · 7 months

Text

The Porcelain Killer – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 2/?)

Chapter two, here we go! Promise there will be lots of smut (you know me), but please show some love to this chapter which has barely any smut in it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, masturbation (f), Aaron is an asshole, authority kink, university professor x student relationship,

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.4k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Three

“Excuse me, professor?” A guy had raised his hand, interrupting the professor‘s monologue, abruptly cutting it short. The professor’s dark eyes zoned in on the student, taking in his appearance for a few more seconds before he nodded his way, waiting for him to keep on talking. “How is this relevant to us? You said we’d work on active cases, not stuff that is over hundred years old?”

“You already have your answer, don’t you?” Professor Hotchner’s deep voice forced (y/n) to straighten her posture, grateful that she wasn’t his target of annoyance this morning. It had been exactly one week since their first class, since the exchange of emails that had left her fuming, torn between anger and embarrassment. But today (y/n) had decided to find her way to her usual seat, in the second row, staring the professor down at any given chance.

The guy only looked at professor Hotchner with confusion swimming in his pupils, not understanding where the professor was going with this. “Your question alone gives us enough reason as to why it is important to learn from old cases, just like our Jack the Ripper readings. Does anybody here have an idea why this case is so important for us to talk about?”

(Y/n) counted the seconds fading by, wondering if anybody would dare to answer the question, not wanting to be called out by the professor with an awfully cold demeanour. (Y/n)’s hand was slowly raised, forcing his eyes to meet her hesitant ones, pondering over her words carefully before she started to speak, “There are many reasons, but I would assume it’s also because of the big gender debate it still is focusing on. As profilers we need to keep options open, we can’t just focus on one theory without taking others into consideration, just like the possibility of Jack the Ripper actually being a woman.”

“Obviously he wasn’t a woman, he was a classical serial killer.” The guy who had asked the question had spoken up without raising his hand, once again interrupting professor Hotchner before he could give his thoughts on (y/n)’s reply. The professor turned away from her, focusing on the guy who wore a smirk on his lips, finding pride in the way he had spoken out about (y/n)’s idea.

“What is your name?” Professor Hotchner’s voice boomed through the room, forcing all other students to quiet down once again, attention drawn to the tall, brooding man like moths drawn to any source of light. He’d burn them all before they could even start to realise what was happening, falling victim to his games.

“Josh Lorey, professor.” No longer was the guy smirking, tightening his grip on his pen as he began to realise that speaking up hadn’t been his smartest move. (Y/n)’s heart picked up its beat, pounding in her chest as she watched the scene unfold, unable to bite down the anticipation thumping through her veins, hoping that the professor would defend her – not that she couldn’t defend herself, yet she desperately hoped that he’d be on her side, just this once.

“If I were you, Mister Lorey, I’d be careful with my assumptions. Next time think before you speak up. Miss (y/n) has made a valid point, we can never know for sure what will expect us, theories change, just like our unsubs may change their behaviour all too suddenly. I want you to keep this in mind for this week's homework, it seems like time has once again cut our lesson short.” (Y/n) kept watching the professor for a few more moments before she started to pack her bag, eyes flickering back to his features every few seconds. She hurried down the steps, towards Aaron Hotchner before he could disappear down the hallway.

“Professor?” His eyes met hers, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin, making her breath hitch in her chest as if an icy wind was teasing her limbs, freezing her from inside out. “I didn’t get any feedback on my homework, will we still get some in the upcoming days?”

Her voice wavered, trembling with every syllable rolling off her tongue. The way he stared her down forced (y/n) to tighten her grip on her bag, fighting against the urge to take a step away from him.

“I don’t give feedback on homework that isn’t outstandingly good. Yours was basic at best. Do better next time if you are craving validation this desperately. And take some more time before turning it in this early, careless mistakes don’t look good on you, miss (y/n). Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

……

“Okay wait,” a chuckle left Mandy, taking another sip of her drink. “So, you called him an asshole to his face? You apologised for it, but he’s still an asshole to you? And this is the same guy you’ve been horny for since year one?”

A tipsy laugh left the two girls sitting in front of (y/n), sharing knowing glances as they watched (y/n)’s expressions change, hiding her face in her hands with a sigh leaving her. The two kept staring at her, wondering what to make out of the mess (y/n) now found herself stuck in, desperately trying to drown her embarrassment in her fourth drink of that very evening.

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, I can’t let this rest, not before he understands that I’m not just some stupid, clueless girl.” Vivian’s hand found (y/n)’s, tightly squeezing it before she let go once again, hoping to ease some of her friend's pain.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, just keep on proving your intelligence in class, then he simply won’t be able to treat you like this!” Neither (y/n) nor her friends seemed to notice the group sitting close to them, neither of them noticed the tall man staring at (y/n) from afar, watching her ramble on – oblivious to her surroundings.

Aaron Hotchner had joined his BAU family for a few rounds of drinks, wanting to catch up since he hadn’t joined them on their last cases, staying behind to teach his classes, only supporting them digitally. And yet, even though he wanted to pay attention to the stories his colleagues told him, he couldn’t help but study (y/n).

He could still remember the first time he had seen her, when he had given his first talk at the university. She had been sitting in the second row, scribbling down every word that had left him, as if this was some lifesaving ritual she needed to follow. Back then Aaron had cursed himself for being interested in a student, unable to stop himself from studying her, the gorgeous features he had been thinking of every now and then since that very morning.

But now, as she was his student, he desperately needed to keep his distance, giving into the annoyance thumping through his veins whenever he crossed paths with her, hoping that his annoyance would distract his mind from the schoolboy crush he fostered on her.

“One last round?” Derek patted Aaron’s shoulder, ripping the man out of his thoughts, following his colleague to the bar. He tried to keep his distance, tried to not pay any attention to the conversation he now could pick up on all too clearly. But the second he heard them speaking his name, he couldn’t help but listen in, giving into the frown tugging on his features once again.

“Honestly this Hotchner guy sounds like the worst asshole, you should stop thinking about him, (y/n).” Aaron’s heart clenched at the words leaving (y/n)’s friend, making him freeze in his step, waiting for her to speak up.

“He is, fuck, he is the absolute worst, such a stuck up asshole, but why does he have to be this handsome?” Before Aaron could even pick up on what his body was forcing him to do, he left Derek behind, walking up to (y/n) and her two friends, instantly catching the attention of the three women. He picked up on the way (y/n)’s pupils grew dilated, almost choking on the sip of her drink, watching him approach them.

“Miss (y/n), in case you don’t remember my word of advice, I’d like to remind you of it. Going around and openly calling your professor an asshole isn’t a strategically smart move, especially not when talking about your possible future boss.” He stared her down for a few more seconds, wondering if she’d speak up, but (y/n) kept quiet. “Well, have a good night, ladies.”

No word left the three women, watching him turn back towards the tall man who had watched the scene unfold with a confused expression. (Y/n)’s heart was in her throat, begging her to speak up, to profoundly apologise once again, but no word managed to leave her as she watched the two men disappear in the crowd.

……

The two cups of coffee (y/n) was carrying were hot in her hands, just enough to warm her cold fingers, guiding her on with the sound of her shoes meeting the ground echoing through the hallway. Her eyes were focused on the doors she kept walking by, searching for the number 3.57, the office she hadn’t set foot in ever before.

Only as (y/n) found the office she was searching for did she come to a halt in front of the closed door, inhaling a deep breath to hype herself up. She shuffled the cups around before she raised one hand to knock on the black wood, pushing it open after a dull “Come in” had echoed through the evening.

Professor Hotchner was sitting at his desk, working on some files. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, fuelled by surprise filling him. Slowly (y/n) closed the door, walking closer towards him with her trembling hands carrying the coffee.

“Peace offering?” She placed the cup down for him, watching him study it for a few seconds before he reached for it, nodding towards the chair placed close to his desk. He took a sip as (y/n) sat down, not expecting the satisfied hum leaving the man, not used to seeing him this calm, relaxed almost.

“Thank you, (y/n). That’s very nice of you.” She fumbled with her fingers, struggling to express the words she had rehearsed for the past hour, no longer able to remember what she wanted to say to him.

“It’s the least I can do. I am sorry for calling you an asshole twice, that wasn’t very considerate of me.” He placed the cup down before he leaned back in his chair, no longer covering the file he had been working on, giving (y/n) a chance to look at the rather cruel looking pictures. One of the pictures showed a woman’s body, surrounded by a circle of lit candles, her throat had been slit, but she was wearing a porcelain mask with an almost theatrical expression. The other four pictures showed victims in other positions, killed differently, and yet they were all wearing a porcelain mask.

“Is this a recent case you’re working on?” His eyes flickered down to the pictures before he looked at (y/n) once again, only nodding his head, waiting if she would comment on what she could see, giving her a chance to prove her knowledge. “They almost look like a work of art, don’t you think? I mean, besides the masks, look at the dramatics used in these scenes.”

Professor Hotchner reached for one of the pictures, studying them for a few moments before a hum of approval left him, “You’re right, does it remind you of something?”

“Have you ever heard of Goya’s Saturn drawing?” Silence engulfed the two, filling the room like fog, growing thicker with every passing second. He kept staring at the pictures, eyes flickering between the different victims, seconds (y/n) used to move closer, getting a better view.

“That’s really good, (y/n), thank you. I’ll have to make a few phone calls now. Feel free to come by in the next few days, I’m sure I’ll have a few updates on this case by then, if you’re interested.”

……

Ever since she had left Professor Hotchner’s office, (y/n)’s mind hadn’t been able to stop racing. While one part of her kept thinking of the case the agent was working on, the other part of her couldn’t help but think about him. She could still smell the expensive scent of his cologne, could still hear his raspy voice rumbling through him, pushing waves of heat through her.

And while that one part of her wanted to make her feel ashamed for what she was about to do, the other encouraged her fingers to keep on moving. Arousal was covering her folds, dripping from her at the mere thought of Aaron Hotchner, of the tall man with hands that would fit around her throat all too nicely.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder what he could do to her, how he’d touch her, if he’d still be as cold to her, or if he’d allow her to see more of the kind man she knew he was. Her fingers circled her pulsing bundle of nerves, adding more speed with every passing moment, back arched off her mattress.

The thought of professor Hotchner guided her, pushed sinful pictures through her racing mind, making her burn in pleasure. The big shirt she was wearing covered her upper body, and yet (y/n)’s mind painted a picture of Aaron Hotchner touching her naked chest, fingers tugging on her hardening nubs. A high pitched “Fuck” left (y/n), knowing that she’d cum soon, with moans and groans leaving her.

She pushed two fingers into her tightness, curling them against her swollen spot, pushing herself even closer to the edge. Goosebumps covered every inch of her skin, making hairs rise on her arms, giving into the intense sensation she had been desperate for ever since this afternoon.

With a shaky breath exhaled, (y/n) came around her fingers, head thrown back against her big pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Her orgasm thumped through her, with as much strength as a bullet piercing through her skin, leaving never fading marks. She kept moving her fingers for a few more seconds before she relaxed, still imagining Aaron Hotchner towering over her.

Fuck, she needed to get over her crush, quickly, before she’d do something stupid, something that could easily force her to leave his class.

#Aaron Hotchner imagine #profiling 101 #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner smut #criminal minds imagine

260 notes · View notes

sadtonight · 1 year

Text

"Smile, my bunny, smile!"

Summary: looks like someone lost a bet and now he has to wear bunny themed clothes and pretend to be a bunny as a punishment!

Characters: Riddle, Vil, Epel, Idia, Lilia;

Warnings: none, reader is gender neutral, just a bit suggestive, implied established romantic relationships;

Side notes: easter has kind of passed but whatever. Bunnies are ALWAYS relevant if you ask me 🐰

Riddle

— it's beyond him how he could even lost that bet. What put Riddle off wasn't the sour taste of defeat, but how thrilled you were at the prospect of him being an "easter bunny". It exuded Ace's mischief, which the boy was unfortunately all too familiar with and which was a harbinger of a disaster;

— and his gut feeling was correct: from Seven-knows-where you handed over the... night wear: white plush pyjamas with middle sized bunny ears and flat tail behind. The shorts barely covered his knees, yet sleeves were so long that even when rolled up, only the tips of his middle fingers were visible. You also gave him few accessories, like a rose red bow, and considered applying make-up, but his natural pink blush that wasn't coming off his face due to his bunnyfication, making him the cutest bunny boy that you have ever layed your eyes on;

— unsurprisingly, Riddle took the whole bunny business very seriously. If he is to be a bunny, even for one day, he's set on acting like one: that's why he learned behaviour patterns and even bunny language beforehand. Poor Ace joked why if he was a rabbit, he wasn't munching on a carrot, earning an hour long lecture about "rabbits" and "making assumptions" until you dragged Riddle away by using embarrassing themed bunny pet names. "My rose I'm in the middle of something- and cease calling me "fluffy ears" already!...*sigh* Alright I'm coming. Ace, I presume you have learnt your lesson, I do hope you won't make same mistake ever again"

— the pocket clock you gave him turned out to be broken!! Initially, Riddle couldn't grasp why would any animal need a clock, broken one for that matter, but know the boy suspects that it's was just a tasteless joke on your part. No wonder he was running late everywhere all day long!

— it wasn't the worst punishment Riddle has ever experienced for losing bets, but he will definitely try his best to never be a bunny again. Being a laughing stock for his dorm wasn't pleasant, and your sudden bursts of affection and photoshoots throughout the day were embarrassing him more than usual. If someone were to ask Riddle, the bunny role was tailored for you better: you circled around him happily, just like bunnies did when they were excited. The thought warmed his heart — he couldn't help but to gently pat your head when you were sitting down on the lounge sofa, admiring the photos you took today. Hmm, you wondered, what was the red haired boy thinking about?

Vil

— ah, to think that Vil would lose such an easy challenge. He really did give it his all, however, it looked like whatever drove you to victory was strong enough to beat the queen himself. It was fair and square, so he had no choice but to face the punishment that you prepared for him;

— whatever the "easter bunny" was, the male prayed it was nothing obscene. If you think he would jump into those skimpy bunny suits and walk around like that, you are dead wrong. Upon listening to your explanation, Vil mentally signed with relief, and to your astonishment agreed to whatever you were going to throw at him;

— he claimed, but when you motioned to the big brown furred bunny's head and the body's suit of the same maner Vil suddenly felt cold breeze on his neck. "My dear potato flower, would you please mind telling me why do you have this...suit? You don't say you have spent money on that, or have you?" his words held certain notes of desperation in them;

— the suit turned out to look quite passable, Vil has seen cuter mascots than this one, but at the very least it didn't look cheap and the fur didn't make him sneeze. One positive thing about this get up was the fact that his face was concealed, so no-one could recognise him unless he spoke. Except for Rook, who threw his arms in surprise upon distinctly hearing Vil's footsteps but meeting tall brown bunny figure instead;

— if bulky head and paws could be worked around with precision and magic, the heat and stuffiness were extremely hard to deal with. At the end of the day, Vil's head was filled with lamentations and grumbling: you clearly wanted him to suffer, since if it hadn't been your intentions, you would have give him plain old bunny ears to wear and be done with it;

— male's body was finally blessed with cool air that enveloped him like a blanket when you unzipped his suit from behind. The whole undressing process was rather "heated", you would joke around, if it wasn't the sharp eyed glare that Vil had, like a dagger pressed to your neck threatening to slide if you voiced the joke out loud;

— however, the "heated" part came from the state in which the man was: hair slicked back to stop it from sticking to his sweaty face, which had pouty expression, and glistering chest rising up and down in a quickened pace. You were having your hopes up by assuming you two would be taking a shower together, yet Vil in a honeyed voice flat out refused your company, as a punishment for his punishment of course.

Epel

— huh?? No way he lost.... and the punishment.... Golly, here Epel was raking up all the manliness he could and now you were telling him to dress and act like a cute bunny. It was so unfair he actually teared up a little;

— but he wasn't going to give up! The most unmanliest thing he could do was to run away, he literally had no choice but to bite the bullet and go through with it. He would show you and everyone else that bunnies and rabbits are not to meek animals and shouldn't be messed around with!!

— shame, so much shame. Scratch everything he was saying before, when he saw what he was supposed to wear for the whole day he wanted to set it on fire. How can he strike fear in anyone while wearing frilly white nightgown and huge frilly hat with a bow and a pair of bunny ears sticking out from the top??

— "Ugh, I can imagine everyone's reaction. I'm doing this only because I've lost to you alright? Next time you will be a cute little animal, not me!". Just like the boy has expected everyone, EVERYONE was laughing and cooing. Vil and Rook gave him stupid smirks all day, his first year friends were rolling on the floor from laughter, other people would point fingers and throw words "cute" and "adorable" at him. He wanted to pick up fights so badly, however, he knew that he could use this situation to his advantage;

— and used it he did. Epel got special treatment from just about everywhere. Discounts in cafeteria and Mystery Shop? Check. People letting him get stuff first? Check. Teacher being more merciful and lax towards him? Pretty much. What Epel had to do was to play coy and move his hands like paws. The power of cuteness is a force to be reckon with. It got to the point where some people offered to carry the boy around in their arms but he had to awkwardly decline;

— currently, you were watching how eagerly lavender haired boy sprung out of the nightgown, while retelling the events that happened to him today. Epel didn't even notice you cutting fresh red apple that you took from the bunch. You brought up the the fruit to his face, surprising the boy, who took the piece from your palm, only to get hit with another wave of elation: the slice was cut just like a rabbit!! It's settled, you were the cutest one today after all!

Idia

— ?! What?? The game definitely glitched, Idia was right at the finish line, but instead the "Player 2 won" announcement popped up. He wasn't going to let that slide, the man literally started to search for any evidence that suggested that it was a glitch and not his defeat. It was his little brother Ortho who denied Idia's proclaims, proving your victory with footages;

—ughhhh, why Ortho couldn't just keep silent for his older brother's sake? Now he had to go through the stupid punishment for losing the stupid bet he-- h-huh?? "A bunny suit"?? Don't tell him you mean "those" bunny suits which beautiful girls wear in anime, manga and cosplay. Idia won't-- he can't-- that's impossible and ridiculous, literally the worst thing he had ever heard in his entire life;

— you had to shake your hands on front of him to stop the flame haired male from going any further. You assured Idia that you had no ill intentions: just the bunny ears and tail. Phew, thankfully his lifestyle made it easier to complete the challenge, else he would cringe and die on the first step out of his room from shame;

— and all of the sudden, Ortho butted in again but this time the robo-boy brought up the fact that Idia had a cosplay of a character who happened to be a bunny. Oh-uh... Great, just great, now Idia had to wear "that" outfit. Admittedly, he himself has forgotten about the impulsive purchase, so now it backfired;

— Idia whined and complained but the white dress with blue elements, a carrot tucked in a pocket, stylish fluffy bunny scarf, white bunny ears and tail, black tights, and two braids with same plastic carrots sticking out of the hair were sitting on him like a glove. You asked him who was the character, and in his usual fashion Idia went on a full blown speech, even unconsciously replicating movements and a catch phrases out of habit. After realising his mistake, the male squealed just like a small wild rabbit, his hair igniting pink;

— Idia fumbled around for a few minutes straight, yet you still couldn't recover from what you have just witnessed. God, he was so adorable yet pathetic simultaneously, you couldn't wrap your head around how a man can be so endearing. You crashed him in the tight hug, promising to take care of the poor bunny, but Idia didn't find the promise to be amusing and instead deeply signed in exhaustion;

— for the rest of the day, both of you just hung out in his room. The only difference being Idia's cosplay, the funny picture of him crouching to grab another chip from the bag on the ground that you took while he wasn't looking. Little did you know, he was going to clear your phone tonight when you would be fast asleep, just after Idia conveniently suggested you to stay for the night.

Lilia

— aww he was so close to winning. Being young certainly has it's fair share of advantages doesn't it. That said, Lilia has been wondering what kind of punishment you got for him. The old fae doubted that you would be able to humiliate or flustered him— it was impossible to faze the person who has been living for centuries already;

— though he sort of predicted that one of the punishments could be connected to dressing in a certain way, what Lilia couldn't anticipate was to be a cute bunny. How delightfully innocent! Despite him supposedly having to act cutesy, you were already as charming as a bunny. Really, the idea sounded so good that the man wanted to include his little family in the picture, but each of them refused for different reasons. What a shame....

— good thing Lilia had his little bat companions that would never refuse him, right? Right. So now it was one big bat wearing oversized black hoodie with two bunny ears sewn on the sides of the hood and round black tail in the back, black slim jeans and black fluffy boots, and a bunch on small bats floating around wearing tiny white bunny ears. Lilia has always possessed a cute appeal but now it was turned up to the maximum!

— truth to be told, the fae had met rabbit beastman and the rabbits before, but couldn't really figure how he ought to act at that moment. First thing first, he forbade himself to fly, opting to run around like the small animal does. Residents of Diasomnia dorm believed they were under some weird spell that day when they saw black flashes dart left and right;

— secondly, all the kisses were transformed into so called "bunny kisses". Whenever you whined that you needed a real kiss and tried to smash your lips together with Lilia's, Lilia would counter this by dodging your advances. "No no, I'm a bunny now remember? And bunnies don't have the same lips like we do. Don't give me that look, of course I love you very much~" he would tease;

— other pranks from Lilia included stealing all vegetables and fruit from fridge, occupying space by spreading the entirety of his body on the surface and making "bunny" noises and scaring poor unknowing Sebek into screaming and Silver, who assumed that some animal was dying somewhere in the building;

— but obviously, most of time Lilia spent with you. It was almost midnight, which meant that you soon would get your good old bat fae back and not his bunny version. So when it has struck 12 on every single clock in the dorm, you finally met Lilia's lips, which were arched in a wide smile.

#twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #epel felmier x reader #idia shroud x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

671 notes · View notes

most-datable-datable-bracket · 3 months

Text

ROUND 4 MATCH 1

Qiu propaganda:

“i love them sooooo much i was completely head over heels for cove but then i found out about qiu lin and ol2 and they took that spot in my brain IMMEDIATELY. that should say enough. also i just really want them to win this time </3”

“They're my beloved :] and also the only OL character not disqualified so I had to hdjdbdj I just wanna see how far they can go now :]”

“Genderfluid ADHD monarch. They enjoy mountain biking and ballet. As a kid, if they're set to Crush, they'll desperately try to find a way to link the MC's favorite color to themselves in an attempt to impress. They're the most popular kid in town and for good reason. Can be sharp as a tack, especially in social situations, but also can be so endearingly stupid.”

“Listen. Listen to me. Here's why Qiu Lin deserves the win (ha)

- They're a trans POC love interest (specifically genderfluid and chinese-american)

- They spend a lot of time in Step 1 (the first part of the game where everyone is a kid) being super nice and trying to accommodate for you

- They specifically try super hard to bring you (and Tamarack) into their already established friendship group

- (It doesn't work out super well initially but they're trying, be nice)

- Qiu's also just. Super sweet when you're set to have a crush on them in Step 1

- Like, their word count almost doubles when they have a crush on your MC

- There's one part of the game where you can bring up your favourite colour

- On a friendship route (or if you're set to neighbours), Qiu will maybe make a short comment about something related to your favourite colour

- On crush? Qiu stretches so far to tie your favourite colour back themself. Your favourite colour is green? That's the colour of their jacket!!! It's black? Like their bike, did they mention their cool bike!!! It's white, [imagine this is in italics] the inside of their house (no, really)!!! [end of imagining this is italics]

- They're also set to have an arc about much they accommodate for others and how they go from over accommodation in Step 1 to no accommodation in Step 2 to finding a balance in Step 3

- Also, like, they do in fact go through gender identity issues. In fact, they spend Step 2 not quite knowing their gender identity fully

Now, vote for Qiu!!!!”

"Genderfluid and uses they/he pronouns.

Their hobbies are mountain biking and ballet.

Most popular kid in town by, like, a mile. And for very good reason.

Immediately devotes themself to making sure their new neighbors (the MC and Tamarack) feel welcome in their new town.

Loooooves teasing their friends.

Is genuinely confused if the MC doesn't immediately consider them friends because. He considered you friends.

Not canonically ADHD (yet. things can change.) but like. The ADHD vibes are strong.

Forgetful and writes stuff down in a notepad to remember it, then proceeds to lose the notes. This happens constantly.

They have a whole arc about going from being overly accommodating and giving too much of themself to others, to closing off and not giving anything, to finding balance and figuring out how to be kind and caring without overexerting themselves.

Also, one of their closest friends is a trans woman. This is relevant simply because I love Renee and had to mention her."

Halsin propaganda:

“I haven't played the game but he's hot, and that's enough for me”

“Big sweet dude who’s a bit of a daddy and a bit horny. He’s also really chill and the potential poly route for this game, which datable games hardly ever do. Also, apparently he might not originally been meant to be a full companion and romance, but then people were so horny for him in Early Access they memed him into the full game like Sans Undertale in Smash? I think that should just say it all for why he should get in.”

#qiu lin #our life #our life now and forever #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #BG3 #Round 4 #MDDC 2

121 notes · View notes

renthony · 1 year

Text

I've seen plenty of folks express the opinion that it doesn't matter where the adults are in stories written for young audiences, because the point of the story is to give children an escapist fantasy.

But to be honest, both as a child and as an adult, I've always preferred it when family/youth media answers the question of, "no seriously, where are the parents?" because it adds so much to the story even if the parents aren't fully fleshed-out characters. The parents don't have to be present, or good, or helpful, but it always feels like a richer narrative when the question, "where are the adults?" is actually addressed.

Answer the question of "where are the adults," but more importantly, give the younger characters opinions about those adults and why they aren't present (if they aren't present).

In Gregor the Overlander, the answer to "where are these kids' parents?" is answered by having Gregor's mother Grace be an overworked single mom who has to delegate household labor to her eldest kid, and having Gregor's father be mysteriously missing as part of the story. Gregor's grandmother has dementia and the family has to worry about her care while also living in poverty. Gregor's mom being frequently absent because they're desperate and she has to struggle to feed the kids adds so much depth to Gregor's characterization, and explains why he's so hyper-independent, protective of his sisters, and determined to find their dad. Gregor's mom doesn't go on his adventures with him, but we know exactly where she is, how Gregor feels about leaving her behind, and what their relationship is like.

In The Owl House, the answer to "where are the adults?" is answered by having the adults be important parts of the narrative even when they're not on-screen. Luz's mom Camilla is deeply relevant to the narrative even though we don't see her much until season 3, and we know where she is and why she's there even while Luz is off adventuring without her. The story of Luz's dad Manny is slowly revealed through the show and casts an entirely different light on everything as we learn about him. Luz's relationship with Camilla is a core part of Luz's personality and story, even when Camilla isn't present. The other adult characters have their own narratives, too, that add to the core story in some really fun ways.

I've never liked stories where the adults are just Mysteriously Absent and it never gets addressed. How does it affect these kids to be Kids Against The World? That feels like a big form of characterization that just gets completely ignored most of the time! Even if the adults aren't around, we should at least know how the kids feel about that absence.

A kid who's happy to be free of the adults is a different character entirely from the kid who's scared and wants to go back to their mom, you know?

#original post

619 notes · View notes

celestialholz · 10 months

Text

The Resurrectionist (or 'Crowley's dying briefly because character-building, and here's why')

I should start off by saying, friends, that I have written exactly zero books. (Bloody lot of fanfiction, but no actual novels). And I like coffee, but not particularly with oat milk. (The poison's metaphorical, not physical), but... well, you guys can keep both of 'em, because they're just not relevant to this conversation. I am also, as you may have already guessed, not Neil Gaiman. A chick can only speculate, but she does like to back it up with actual evidence.

No, I'm simply here to ask you a question.

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

What would drive our angel so far from the clutches of Heaven that he would never, ever wish to return? What would set him unequivocally free from six millenia of assumed responsibility; what would make him realise that God can never change? What would strip everything away from him?

Because of course, this is what we have to do next series. This is Aziraphale's whole arc. If he doesn't try and change things and fail, he will always wonder. Always have a 'what if.' Will never be able to truly move on, will never be free from the eternal abuse cycle.

And so the severing has to be monumental, and everlasting. Then we get our happy ending. Storytelling, loves, done flawlessly. (Again, not a novelist... just a girl who's been writing for over half of her lifetime.)

And so, I ask again:

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

And, well, it's a manifold question isn't it, with lots of potential ans - no I'm just kidding. Very simple question, very simple answer.

So congratulations to the very likely hundreds of you who have just said 'murder Crowley,' because a. you're very much correct and b. we've all just predicted the end of series three.

(... I mean, probably not the very end. But the emotional crux, definitely.)

And naturally, I'm not talking discorporation. I'm talking 'wiped from the universe altogether, leaving our angel eternally alone' kinda murder. The real shit. The good shit. Never mind any of this 'editing the Book of Life leading to an ineffable paradox' kinda bullshit - this is Heaven, the natural source point of holy water. One miracled Supersoaker and our demon's ancient history, friends.

Because y'see guys, severing Aziraphale's connection isn't the only problem we face in terms of narrative romance. We've also got Crowley, who has spent six millennia being in love with a guy who just takes, takes, takes... him for granted.

And this is NOT to say that Aziraphale gives him nothing back - he so very clearly does. (I am a consummate Aziraphale apologist, Crowley's just as much of a fool post-series two as our angel is, and Aziraphale needs this, as I've mentioned.) But... Crowley is his teacher. His moral guide. His protector. It mostly goes one way, and despite all of that and him being happy to be that guy for all this time... right when it matters most, Aziraphale (to Crowley, at least) has abandoned him. He's told him he isn't good enough.

(... Which is bollocks. That's not what Aziraphale's said at all, they're both as overprotective as each other and have a desperate, painful longing to keep one another safe in their own best way. But it sure fucking looks like it to CROWLEY, which is what matters.)

And so, we have two issues in achieving our happy-ever-after.

Sundering Aziraphale from Heaven forever;

Ensuring Crowley trusts him fully and knows completely that he is Aziraphale's only choice.

(And also by GOD do they need to have a proper conversation, but that one kinda goes without saying. It'll happen.) We have to even up this relationship; we have to make it absolute narrative equilibrium, and I am absolutely sure Neil knows this probably far better than I do.

... And so, how do we achieve both these things in one hit, whilst also telling a Second Coming story and holding a celestial war?

Well, we kill Crowley. Obviously. Not until episode five or six and after an emotional, romantic reunion of mutual understanding, but... we kill Crowley.

... And then Aziraphale brings him back. Yes, from complete death.

I would like at this juncture to remind you that miracles, apparently (and this is a thing we've just learned guys, almost like it's suddenly going to be relevant ongoing) are measured in Lazarii.

(Great thanks to the Aziraphale to my Crowley, @porgthespacepenguin, for these few screenshots I'm showing off here today. You'd never leave me, not even for my own good. <3)

Lazarii is very obviously named after Jesus' apparently greatest miracle, of raising Lazarus from the dead in the book of John. They managed to achieve twenty-five times the necessary amount of energy it takes to bring someone back from death... without actually fucking trying.

Let's take a look at the book of John a sec. Or more specifically, its eleventh chapter and twenty-fifth verse.

Jesus told her, "I am the resurrection and the life. The person who believes in me, even though he dies, will live."

My thanks to Neil once again for murdering me like Heaven's going to murder Crowley. Cold blood, point-blank.

'Who believes in me.' Huh. Only for the past six thousand years, Aziraphale dear...

Here's a little of what the internet has to say about the number 25 in numerology, by the way.

And may I also remind you at this stage that there is a pub in this series called The Resurrectionist, and only Aziraphale goes into it.

I mean sure, Crowley's booksitting and trying to make the ladies hilariously like him and Aziraphale fall in love in the same way he himself did, but the fact remains... one relevant pub name. One guy. (We all need a narrative excuse sometimes Neil, I get you.)

Considering all this, friends, let me ask you another question. This one's a little more wordy, that's on me.

What do you think would happen when a being capable of raising someone from the dead twelve and a half times over for the sake of his beloved's protection loses said beloved beyond all doubt?

... And this will be after he gains the ultimate celestial power-up, by the way. In case we'd forgotten that that alone is also about to boost Aziraphale to the fucking stratosphere, and finally put him on an equal footing with Crowley. (Who is clearly an ex-archangel, but not Lucifer, so Neil's since said.)

... And I think we know the answer, don't we? The kind of miracle that

(You can't see me, but I'm staring into the camera like I'm one of The Office main cast right now.)

This is the kind of power that fucks with reality - the kind of power that scares Heaven and Hell to absolute death, hence Metatron being in the DMs. And crucially, this miracle was boosted because of love. Because of a desire to keep the status quo, their 'own side'. You amplify both those conditions to the nth degree by destroying one of them? It's over, lads. Resurrection is the beginning.

Resurrection evens up a playing field. It destroys Aziraphale and renews him in one hit; it proves to Crowley once and for all that Aziraphale loves him exactly as he is.

... It's a no-brainer, pals.

And what do they do after this? Well, fuck up the celestial order, naturally. I have theories, the main one of them being that they're going to be God and Satan respectively and unite Heaven and Hell in eternal marriage, but... that's just a theory. A television theory.

The resurrection thing? Not so much.

... See, this is the thing, my friends. You don't need to have written a 16k essay to predict the future.

All you need is the ability to tell a story, an observant eye for that which is already present, and a simple question. (Followed by a mildly more complex one. It's a working allegory.)

... I'm just going to leave you with this one shot of Aziraphale picking up his own destiny. Because poetic cinema.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #and even a little bit of #good omens season 3 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #the nice and accurate prophecies of celestialholz #good omens meta

325 notes · View notes

ahsoka-in-a-hood · 10 months

Text

If we are willing to take the parts of previous movies in the trilogy that remain unsaid in following ones into our interpretation of the one we are watching, then the tusken massacre is relevant in RotS. Shmi is not mentioned by name, Anakin's actions are not spoken, but his dreams of Padme's death form a perfect echo of his dreams of Shmi. We can come up with sensible in-universe reasons for the callback, like how maybe Palpatine knew and induced the dreams to trigger Anakin, or perhaps the Force at work, but maybe it's just a fairytale, a parable, a rhyme.

Maybe it's a fun echo because it induces a sense of dread in both the audience and in Anakin. We've seen this before, we know where it leads. But while he's thinking about Padme, we're thinking about what he will do. Well, I am.

Anakin begins RotS as a liar. First, we watch him lie to Obi Wan about why he killed Dooku. The lie comes easily enough, Obi Wan believes it even more easily. Anakin Skywalker, exemplary jedi knight, hero of the hour, follower of the code. He feels uneasy about it though, he says so to Padme. When Obi Wan give his farewell and tells him how proud he is, and how Anakin has grown to be a greater jedi than he, Anakin cannot look him in the eye. It works on it's own, just about, but back to back with AotC it works better.

Of course, a lot of his lies are about Padme. (A lot more sympathetic, but also a far more absurd reason to clam up in a way; we know that the people who love him will still love him if chooses marriage over the Order.) But as he goes to Yoda and begins to tell him about his dreams, he stops himself. He does not tell the whole story. He cannot. We know why, we just watched aotc. Those dreams led to that death which led to that fall. We've seen it all before. He is so afraid.

I don't think it's controversial to say that Anakin's isolation and unwillingness to go to anyone except Palpatine for counsel contributed to his crisis in RotS. Palpatine definitely took advantage of that, and Anakin eschewed several onscreen attempts to get him to just. open up.

His actions in aotc were a foreshadowing of what was to come, but they also began a pattern of behavior of repression and denial and deceit. If he had come forward- if he had faced his actions which genuinely did cause him some horror at the time- he would have faced more immediate consequences. He would have disappointed and horrified Obi Wan (and the other jedi), he would not have been knighted, and he would not have been given positions of authority, at the least. But considering how much damage he did and how much he lost when he committed to the dark side, I would say the consequences of his deceit were far greater in the end.

Something that comes to mind is both the ending of the OT- with the darkside being something he could choose to just… stop doing, and also Yoda saying 'forever will it dominate your destiny'. I can see how they might sound contradictory, but to me they are in harmony- it is a choice, you can walk away, but there are always consequences. If Anakin had been held to account, there would have been immediate consequences, consequences he desperately wanted to avoid, but that wouldn't have been the end of the world for him either, not really. They wouldn't have actually stopped him from ever being okay again. (let's be real, even if Obi Wan were disappointed, he'd still have loved him, and Padme certainly did. ) Anakin didn't commit to the darkside when first he fell, he wanted to go on as he was- he wanted to keep the things he had- and so he could continue to act as a jedi for several years because he chose to act like one for the most part, but he did not fully commit to being a jedi either, and his dishonesty, and his lack of remorse, eventually had consequences for him. And for everyone else.

#tonight is an intoxicated night but i think i said what i mean to say #anakin skywalker

222 notes · View notes

lovemyromance · 3 months

Text

Azriel, the "entitled incel" of the Bat Boys

So I started laughing my head off as soon as I typed the title for this post. Because it's honestly so, so ridiculous this is even an argument people are using against Elriel.

Let's take a quick trip down memory lane, because people are calling Azriel entitled because of the following excerpt:

This man, is so desperately obsessed with Elain, that he is questioning his religion, their GOD (The Cauldron) on why the woman he loves was given to another. He is tortured over it, losing sleep thinking about it.

How does that scream entitlement? Is it because he says the "third sister was given to another"? Because Rhys assumes "You believe you deserve to be her mate?"

Azriel did not even consider the possibility of a future with Elain because she already has a mate. Not because he's only lusting after her, but because he is convinced that he will not get the woman he loves. He has such low self-esteem and image issues that he doesn't think himself worthy of even touching her skin, and you think he feels entitled to her?

Or is it the fact that you decided he just wants a mate? Nowhere in this bonus chapter does Azriel say he just wants a mate, btw, so not sure where that argument came from. Also, if Azriel just wanted a mate, why tf would he go for the only mated female in his proximity?

Wouldn't he, I dunno, latch onto any available single lady in Velaris over the mated and now forbidden Elain Archeron? I believe a relevant analogy is:

If I had a group of friends I hung out with, all consisting of married couples, basically, and I was the lone single friend. OF COURSE I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE AND OF COURSE I WANT TO BE MARRIED TOO? But....even if I wanted these things so desperately, my first choice for love would not be the married guy in my friend group, whose wife lives far away. Like, no. That's not who I'm going for first, or second, or ever, even.

So then why is Az only showing feelings for Elain? He's had sexual relationships before, why can't he just find someone else, why is he still obsessed with Elain?

Also, the incel thing is such a joke. Yes, he has romantic, sexual thoughts about Elain. And that somehow...makes him disgusting and toxic?

Are we just choosing to ignore Rhys's thoughts about Feyre? How these two mfs nearly risked their lives from a trauma-bargain because they were too horny to show enough self-restraint to not f*ck in the goddamn sky?? Those poor pedestrians of Velaris.

Are we just choosing to ignore Cassian's thoughts about Nesta? Like literally every other sentence from his POV was about her thin frame and massive tits, for ffs. He was absolutely chafing for her 99% of the day. But no one had a problem with that?

Cassian even stated he's jealous of Rhys, what Rhys has with Feyre, their bond. But we just decided to ignore that little tidbit too, huh?

And I know this entire argument is just performative. Because if Azriel had shown any even mildly romantic thoughts about another *ahem* character, that side would be screaming from the rooftops in joy. That's just a guess though, given how much they reacted from just platonic banter and something about sparky glow glow warmth in the bonus chapter. If you give a mouse a cookie, I guess.

Either way, I actually read the books, so Elriel is the only answer for me.

I mean, I thought it was obvious.

#elriel #elain #pro elain #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar

140 notes · View notes

utilitycaster · 7 months

Text

(this is tagged for it as well, but putting it here: the below involves some non-graphic mention/discussion of suicide in relation to episode 3x78)

I think it's important to keep in mind, regarding the most recent episode, that while Ashton's behavior was extremely dangerous and reckless, it was not suicidal in intent. Ashton thought it would work. They thought that they would fix things, and they ignored all the smart people warning them against it because it would imply a lot of negative things about their parents. That doesn't mean it wasn't an action taken out of a certain lack of self-regard (Ashton's realization of this is what drives much of his conversations in the first half of the episode); but it's much more akin to an accidental overdose, or a drunk/reckless driving, or other dangerous choices. It feels very true to the idea of punk that Taliesin is going for, in which dying young is always very much a possibility, even perhaps an expectation; but not necessarily a goal. Ashton did not expect taking the shard to result in their death, and is incredibly shaken specifically because it did.

With that in mind I think the party's reactions seem very real and very understandable. The fact is, when someone does something very risky and nearly dies (or even is briefly clinically dead, using real-world terms) but ultimately survives it's extremely normal for one of the emotional responses to be anger that they put themselves in such danger. It is not, perhaps, rational, but most emotions aren't. It hurts a lot when someone one is close to does something that harmful to themselves. I don't judge the other members of Bells Hells for expressing those feelings. Frankly, them not expressing similar feelings in the past might very well be why Ashton made the decisions he did: the party lacking trust and walking on eggshells around each other is why he didn't confide in them, and why they fell apart so completely here.

I think it's relevant that Chetney tells Fearne, after stating he likes Ashton, that either she or Ashton can talk to him if they "want out", and he pretty heavily implies that this indicates not just leaving Bells Hells, but suicide, and that he has considered the latter in the past. It's clear that initially Chetney considers that a possible reason for Ashton's actions. He then gives Ashton the "You should leave" speech only after everyone present has been talking at dinner, after Ashton has indicated that he will help find Laudna. It only comes out after Ashton's emotional state is made more clear to him: it's pretty bad, but not actively at risk of self-harm (and indeed, desperately trying to avoid it and to change).

Finally, it's worth considering how important anger is to Ashton. Obviously I don't think having Imogen, FCG, and Chetney yell at them feels good. I also think it's going to feel better than apathy, and more honest than any other option. I don't think a forced gentleness would be better; in fact it might be worse, with them taking a break because clearly Ashton is having a hard time and needs to recover (shades of how Marisha mentioned Laudna feeling like a burden following her resurrection), rather than "we are clearly all in disarray and all have been not dealing with a lot of emotions, and this could have been any of us, and we should all regroup." I mentioned before that ultimately what's important is, angry as they are, Bells Hells undeniably stayed, and FCG and Imogen at least made it clear early on that they would, even if they were angry. Ashton was abandoned in the past by people who weren't even angry, is the thing. I don't think they cared enough to be.

#tw suicide #let me know if you need other tags.#critical role spoilers #critical role #ashton greymoore #truly the flat out stated similarities between ashton and fcg and some people's responses have been. unfortunately enlightening.#some who claimed FCG was going to sacrifice themselves/destroy others in the grand disc and were pretty vile about a hypothetical #are quick to paint ashton in a light so sympathetic it demands no one else feel any emotions #Ashton even states his shittiness about the changebringer was bc he thought this would lead FCG to do...exactly what he did with the titans #really it brings us back to a core question: is it action or is it intent. the answer is both but action matters more.#but also. much more bluntly. some of you have never either fucked up real bad or had a friend do so huh.#this felt extremely true to life; that's really it in the end.

146 notes · View notes

brf-rumortrackinganon · 27 days

Note

I’m legit curious why the British press is so dedicated to sucking this Dipshit’s dick with such devotion. He’s shat on them consistently and they are still so desperate to do his bidding at turn. Why? Also, what did William do, because they are clearly so against him. I never thought I’d see a day when the british press treats an heir’s entire existence as an affront to the non-spare.

The press likes it when they have a leaky royal. They prefer it, in fact. Because leaky royals give them content and things to talk about, which gives them bylines and clicks, which makes them a shit ton of money.

So they cover Harry because he gives them scoops, leaks, and something to talk about. Harry even famously used to go out to pubs with them. William doesn’t. William keeps them at arm’s distance; he’s courteous to them on engagements and is a proper host on foreign visits but distant and not as easily accessible. The press ignoring William’s work to cover Harry is meant to be a punishment: “become our bestie like your brother is and we’ll cover your work but don’t talk to us, we’ll ignore you.”

Because the press is threatened by the fact that William doesn’t need them to do his job. He’s the heir, the future king, generally well-liked by the public, and has a huge income now from the Duchy of Cornwall. He can sidestep the press by using his social media or his own comms team. He makes the press irrelevant, which terrifies, frustrates, and angers them.

Harry makes the press relevant. He lets them do their job. He gives them that ability. Which is kinda…ironic, I suppose. For as much as Harry hates the press and has bullied them for what they do, he doesn’t realize that he enables it. So while he wants to be the great modernizer who revolutionized how the monarchy engages with the press, it’s actually William doing that by not talking to them or engaging with them outside of his work. If Harry had just kept his mouth shut and cared more about the work than getting positive, friendly coverage, then he’d get all the credit.

But he isn’t, he doesn’t, and once again it’s Big Willy getting all that Harry wants.

Anyway.

I see from the coverage yesterday that:

1. Harry and Earl Spencer patched up whatever disagreement they had that made Earl Spencer nope out of going to Lili’s christening with his sisters. Perhaps it was Earl Spencer’s own vomitsastic memoir…because like nephew, like uncle: oversharing on private details about his virginity no one gives an absolute shit about.

2. Harry clearly isn’t that worried about his safety in the UK if he can do a surprise walkabout to meet his fans. Can’t wait to see that backfire on him in his RAVEC appeal.

3. Is Harry setting William up as a controlling husband to try and smear his reputation? There was an article yesterday about how Harry can’t see Kate or support her through her cancer battle because William forbids it. 🙄

#brf #sussexes #waleses

52 notes · View notes

bonefall · 3 months

Note

I just wanna say that I LOVE all the detail you’re giving side/background characters. My favorite part of wc is getting to read about generations passing by, watching the young scrappy main character turn into the next main character’s funny grandparent or something. Canon is really bad about acknowledging this but god, you’ve done such a good job with BB. Reading about Jaypaw and Owlpaw’s rivalry knowing the life Owlpaw is going to go on to live in the background later is so cool. Imagine an alternate universe where BB was the real warrior cats and 14 year old you reads a scene where some background character is casually mentioned and realizing it’s that guy Jaypaw beat the shit out of. Shit like that doesn’t happen in canon, they would forget who Owlpaw is and he would never do anything else in his life.

The one thing that WC has over any other xenofiction brand, and most other book series period, is the fact that you are able to watch several GENERATIONS of characters pass by in basically in real-time. So it's a shame that they kinda neglect it in the main series!

I LOVE when WC does do neat things with its cast, like how Harepaw gets trounced by Brambleclaw in Po3 and becomes Leader later. Or how Firestar's recurring background buddy, Onewhisker, became a major character in TNP and beyond. It's honestly a major reason I still follow the books, and why I've never found something that quite scratches the itch like WC does.

Unfortunately, it's ridiculously rare outside of WindClan LMAO. Owlpaw DID get forgotten. He was one of Jaypaw's bullies in his canon training, but then the writers lost track of his age and made him an apprentice on a patrol Tigerheart was giving a lesson to in a field guide; problem is, Tigerheart is younger than him!

Which is not too big a deal, dgmw, but my point is that they forgot. ShadowClan in particular is really lacking in-canon, especially considering they're the neighbor of ProtagonistClan. Ivytail and Owlclaw were part of the Po3 apprentice generation and should have been at least a little relevant going foward, y'know?

I desperately crave the Clans feeling like communities. With petty drama, watching characters gain skill and shuffle around the ranks, every family struggling with how they define their legacy under the emblem of the Clan, that sort of stuff. So that's how I approach it.

#It's actually something I really wish Ratha did #Because like... the structure is perfect for it.#And it's almost told that way with every book essentially introducing a new 'invention' or beast to tame #But unfortunately we're ''stuck'' with Ratha and her loser ass boyfriend.#(Ill die salty they didn't just let the nimravids be an aromantic species)#If i had a nickel for every time a xenofiction series about the stone age invented monogamy like a technological advancement...#id have 2 nickels.#which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice #also to be clear i love ratha still. Both the series and ratha herself this is not ratha hate tags #Bone babble #Anyway thank u

105 notes · View notes

fellthemarvelous · 6 months

Text

Aziraphale my love

Please enjoy my WHOLE ASS OPINION AND META ANALYSIS.

I support Petty Bitch Aziraphale for season 3!! The angels have been talking down to him from the very beginning and mocking him. Every single person in his life has insulted his intelligence (yes, Crowley has done so several times). I want to see him GO OFF!!! (I posted this part as a tweet but Twitter doesn't give me enough room to write it all in one big place like Tumblr).

Like I am ready to GO THE FUCK OFF myself!

All of Heaven has been emotionally, verbally and physically abusive to Aziraphale since the very beginning. They never listen to him, and the only one he ever really wants to talk to anyway is God, but she is nowhere to be found.

Gabriel came to Aziraphale because he experienced something that Aziraphale is very familiar with. He couldn't remember why he was going to Aziraphale, but hiding away his memory in a fly ended up being just as much for Aziraphale's protection as his own. It ended up being the only way he could actually explain to Aziraphale and Crowley what was really going on.

Aziraphale was there to witness Gabriel's open expression of love for a demon and it lit a fire in his heart. He and Crowley could be together.

Aziraphale wanted Crowley to be by his side in Heaven so he could stand in front of all the angels and tell them how much he loves Crowley so they can see that there is more to life than death for humans.

Aziraphale thought taking Crowley with him meant he could continue to protect Crowley from ever going back to Hell. It's not like he's forgotten how Crowley was acting after being dragged down into Hell for saving the life of a human and persuading her to be not just pretend-y good but actually good. Aziraphale giving her the money was the temptation to always be a good person. They saved her soul together, Crowley with the angelic act, and Aziraphale's act was the temptation. They were so used to doing each other's jobs by this point that they switched roles in that scene.

Despite their last fight, Crowley came back and saved him from the Nazis in the church, and Aziraphale had that moment of realization. "Oh my God, I'm in love with my demon." Crowley wasn't interested in the holy water when he saved Aziraphale, and he saved Aziraphale's books. They also killed three Nazis in the process, which is the most romantic part of it all. The Nazis were a source of evil for Hell, so you know Hell told him to keep an eye on the Nazis. Hell was full of Nazis! We saw Furfur complain about processing 52 men called Otto. It's not normal for that to happen in Hell, and it's really starting to piss Furfur off!!

Aziraphale and Crowley working together in 1941 is the first time we see someone in Hell say WE ARE FULL GO AWAY. Hell turned some of the worst of the worst against humanity by turning them into flesh-eating zombies. "The dead shall rise from their graves and roam the Earth once more." Furfur was the first one to set Hell's prisoners free, and in true demon style, his plan backfired against him, but he'd already set the ball rolling on the Second Coming.

The man who owned the magic shop did not want to sell the Bullet Catch to Aziraphale because he could tell right away that Aziraphale was in desperate need of help as he'd just knocked down half the things on the front counter and he would absolutely die just like that Lovely Chinese Fellow (and that seems like a pretty relevant clue). The shopkeeper only sold it to Aziraphale after Crowley handed him money from Aziraphale's wallet (Aziraphale didn't even try to stop him) and used it to tempt the shopkeeper into going against his instincts.

And in true demon fashion, that immediately backfired because it was only then did he realize Aziraphale was going to need a partner, and he was the only one who could do it. I don't think either of them were thinking about what the trick actually entailed. Aziraphale just saw a gun and was like LET'S DO THIS!

They survived the Bullet Catch in a very human way. They couldn't perform miracles and had very human reactions to the situation, but Aziraphale trusted Crowley with that gun pointed at his head.

And when Aziraphale used a human magic trick to save Crowley from being taken back to Hell by Furfur, he proved that he was willing to go to great lengths to keep Crowley safe even though Crowley was a demon.

This entire time he has been trying to give Crowley a place to call home. He painted the walls of the bookshop yellow because they are the same color as Crowley's eyes, which are also the least human thing about him. He has written about him in his journals and he's openly affectionate with Crowley. He always gives Crowley gentle touches and praises him. He loves Crowley and he's showing him in the most human way he knows how.

And when Crowley is losing Aziraphale, he shows Aziraphale his love in the most human way he can think of.

Heaven and Hell have invaded Whickber Street and put the lives of all the humans at risk. The problem is worse than he thought, and he's going back to try and fix it so that Heaven will actually try to be good for once. Not just pretend-y good, but properly good. Everyone is in danger, and I think when the Metatron mentions the Second Coming, Aziraphale completes the puzzle he's been trying to put together since hearing Jim singing a human song. It makes him understand what Gabriel was running away from, and he's the one who gave Gabriel the freedom to run away with Beelzebub.

And the Metatron is not pleased. Aziraphale introduced free will to demons and angels just as Crowley had introduced free will to humanity.

Aziraphale wants to help spread the idea of love and free will around Heaven so it can be better. He's doing something he believes is right with all his heart. He's been on Earth for more than 6,000 years. He remembers the lessons he learned. He knows shades of grey exist and he wants to use this to make Heaven a better place.

But the other archangels have never respected him, and now he's the Supreme Archangel. He has a chance to make things better, and he has done Crowley's job before. He wants to talk to God. He wants to know what it is she wants. He's tired of hearing everyone else speak for God when no one has spoken to God in thousands of years.

And when he told Crowley his idea, Crowley became angry with him and called him an idiot. What he was saying was not what Crowley was hearing because Crowley was trying to confess his love while Aziraphale was trying to tell Crowley his plan to save everyone.

He only wanted to go back to Heaven when he believed he would be able to take Crowley with him, and he thought reinstating Crowley as an angel was the safest way to keep him from ever having to return to Hell.

None of Aziraphale's actions were malicious. None of his actions were to hurt Crowley. He didn't realize how bad his words sounded because he was saying something completely different than what Crowley was hearing.

All of it was a big misunderstanding. If Aziraphale had not taken the coffee from the Metatron, he would have been choosing death. The Metatron is punishing him for going against Heaven by forcing him to go back. Aziraphale only believed it was a choice when he was told he could bring back Crowley.

Aziraphale had the illusion of choice. He knew the Metatron wasn't taking no for an answer, and when Crowley rejected his offer, he still had to go back anyway. When he looked back at Crowley before stepping on that elevator, he knew he was breaking Crowley's heart by not going back to him, but he had no choice. It broke his heart too.

So now he's stuck in Heaven after having the worst fight with Crowley. He probably feels like no one believes in him. Crowley had called him an idiot and then Crowley kissed him. He's confused because he doesn't understand why Crowley is upset with him, but he's probably tired of everyone underestimating him.

Let Aziraphale be done with this shit. Let him be petty about it. He's not holding back anymore. I want him to push back just as hard and stand up for himself. He has earned the right.

#good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #this is my OPINION #aziraphale defense squad #i am not going to shut up about him until fandoms starts treating him better

126 notes · View notes

ystrike1 · 1 year

Text

Remarried Empress - By Alphatart (9.5/10)

I've waited a long, long time for this. I'm not sure if this review will offend anyone, but here I go. I am not insinuating that Remarried Empress is a traditional yandere story. Obsession is not the focus. Especially not during the first season, but longtime readers know the drama eventually boils over. Delusion, denial, and love all clash during the fabulous finale. The line between villain and hero blurs in a beautiful way halfway through the story.

Spoilers for everything (I mean it) ahead!!!

Remarried Empress is well known for its seamless magic integration. Fantasy webtoons are infamous for clunky, wordy spellcasting systems and magic schools with zero charm.

That is not the case here.

Magic is a plot point that has little to no relevance during the first quarter of the story. We get hints. The issue grows. We get drama from the very beginning, from the perspective of a powerful woman trapped in a toxic marriage. The woman in question is the Empress, Navier, who has no magic whatsoever. Magic is an important political power tool. It doesn't magically make you more important. Lots of badly written stories love to give their protagonists fantastical magical powers, as if that power gives you the ability to rule.

This is not the case here.

Navier gains magical powers at the very end of the story. It is part of her happy ending. It is not the reason why she is successful in her political endeavors. Navier loves ruling. She was raised for it, and uprooting corruption gives her joy. Drama and sparkles are not her source of power. She is a borne and true politician who recognizes that the nobility cannot prosper without happy, healthy common people. She receives magic when her duplicitous and extremely loving husband decides she is worthy of it. It's sort of a wedding gift. Yes, it's a very morally dubious part of the story. The magic imbuing process starts without her permission.

(I won't spoil all the details. Don't be too mad at Heinrey.)

Navier is from the Trovi family. Her family line has produced multiple Eastern Empire ex-Empresses. Magic is on the decline. The Eastern Empire has less active wizards than ever before, and they can't figure out why. Luckily the nation has a steady Empress and Emperor to rely on. Naiver and Sovieshu have a good relationship. She loves him more than he loves her. They mostly live separate lives. They don't even eat together every day, because they are both so busy, but Navier trusts Sovieshu. They were raised together as children. The priest who married them thought they would be different. A rare, happy royal couple.

Souvieshu ruins that lifelong relationship when we brings in a runaway slave. The lovely young woman, Rashta, got caught in one of the Emperors animal traps! How awful! He takes responsibility for the terrible accident. He carries her to the doctor on horseback the way any decent man would.

He almost immediately makes her his Official Mistress. There is a formal title, as mistresses are common for Emperors. Naiver has to go through a humiliating process. She has to welcome, and give a spending allowance to, the woman her beloved husband is sleeping with. She even has to throw parties for the woman her husband is currently spoiling instead of her.

Ouch.

(Yes. You are correct. It is revealed later that the accident was no accident. Rashta jumped in harms way in a desperate attempt to escape her shackles as a slave. A slave who had a bastard child with her owners son. When said son decided he didn't want to lower himself and marry her Rashta dolled herself up. She ran into the royal woods looking gorgeous on purpose. She would have been a cool protagonist, in another life, but she's just not tough enough to survive royal intrigue. In her desperation she loses everything. It does sound tragic, until you get to know her. Rashta is a child abusing, bloodthirsty, narcissistic tattle-tale by the end of her story. I'm sure you can guess how it ends.)

Throughout season one we see how integral the Empress is to the East. At first it seems like everyone favors the Emperor, but things are not what they seem. Empress Navier runs a tight ship. She doesn't need to be babied like Souvieshu. A gap slowly begins to grow between them. His incompetence starts to shine bright when he lashes out at his Empress. He blames her for every little problem his Mistress encounters. Including the problems Rashta makes up to cause unnecessary drama. Rashta makes little mistakes that pile up over time. Her allies aren't very strong, and she is never honest with anyone. She talks like a cute idiot on purpose, but that backfires when she can't find a teacher willing to put up with her as a result. She can't catch up to Navier. A genius couldn't. Navier has been privy to national secrets since her youth. Trying to catch up on that much reading...just isn't possible for a regular, but gorgeous, slave. Also, Rashta is desperately hiding her slave status. Rashta starts to copy Navier in obvious ways, and Navier is refreshingly human about it. She hates it. She tells Rashta to learn on her own, and she isn't always diplomatic about it. Her complaints push her into an intimate but platonic friendship with the Prince of the Western Kingdom, Heinrey.

Heinrey has a special kind of magic. He can turn into a bird. He uses his bird form as an excuse to stick close to Navier, because he's carrying a MASSIVE torch for her. It is not just a crush. He's bitter about being younger than her. If they were the same age he would have gotten the chance to woo her, but Souvieshu was the most convenient and familiar choice for her family. Navier was a couple years out of his reach. He thought he would have to sulk about losing the chance to have her forever, but then Souvieshu stirs the pot. Sidenote Souvieshu is very insecure. He expects his Empress to love him over everything. He got upset when Navier...you know...did her job well. He wanted his wife to be drooling over him constantly or something. It's weird. He is also quite sexist. This becomes more obvious as the story goes on. He treats Rashta like an object, and he loses interest in her after less than a year. That's suspiciously fast. He is only using Rashta to satisfy his craving for cute attention. It's quite pathetic. They both are.

Anyway moving on.

Heinrey "visits on diplomatic business", but in reality he's planning to take over the East. Yeah. That's something. The writing is really on another level. I had no clue whatsoever until later on. He also stole the magic by the way. Yeah. Heinrey is the reason why their magicians just can't cast anymore. An adorable young student despairs before the Empress about her crushed dreams in tears. All while Heinrey is just standing there, in the background, completely aware of the fact that he is the cause of her suffering.

He's a pretty scary guy.

Navier eventually agrees to flee the country and marry him.

Rashta's lies leave no other choice for her. Rashta falls pregnant. Navier has never been pregnant. As the woman, she has always received the blame. Cough. Sexism. Cough. Souvieshu is actually infertile due to a childhood accident. He, of course, is completely convinced that Navier is the infertile one. Rashta is carrying another baby that belongs to her masters son. She is willing to put an illegitimate child on the throne to get power, because she doesn't know any better. There are certain things peasants just don't know. A magical paternity test exists. It involves droplets of blood and a mixture of special water. After Rashta gives birth to a child that looks nothing like Souvieshu he gets wise. Souvieshu makes Rashta Empress (temporarily) for the sake of "his" child. He always intended to remove Rashta from the Empress seat, as soon as "his" child was seen as legitimate by the court of law. His callous attitude is what convinces Navier to leave. She has always loved her husband. She loved him more than she thought she did. She put up with real pain to support him, but he decided to remove her from her Empress seat. She didn't know he graciously planned to take her back after the divorce, but it doesn't matter.

The incident proves he never respected her, so she leaves with Heinrey to become the Western Queen.

The West isn't really as powerful as an Empire yet, but oh! Wait! As soon as Navier is crowned and by his side Heinrey proclaims that the Kingdom is an Empire now.

How convenient!

Heinrey is pretty and morally grey, but he is a good husband. He worships the ground Navier walks on. When rumors about her infertility start spreading he does not give a crap. He has ways to fix the issue if it's true, and if she's actually not the infertile one he's ready to kill whoever started the story. His bird form is cute enough to be a marketable plushy. It's shitty that he lied about being a bird for the entire first season, but Navier needed comfort. He provided it how he could. As a pet. Yes I know it's weird. Navier wasn't willing to befriend him at first though. He had to use his adorable bird body to bring her guard down!

Wait.

That makes him sound worse...

He's a good husband though.

I swear...

This is Christa. The young dowager Queen of the newly formed Western Empire. Heinrey's sick brother kicked the bucket. Now Heinrey is Emperor and he's brought a foreign Empress home. Slight problem. Christa is in love with Heinrey. She uses a spiked love potion, and a man who is madly in love with Naiver, in an attempt to seduce him and destroy the couple. Christa is pathetic, like Rashta, but she's a little smarter. Her love for Heinrey is the weakness that brings her down. She kills herself after she boldly claims that Heinrey slept with her, in an attempt to become his Mistress. Heinrey produces proof that the affair doesn't exist...and Christa doesn't recover mentally.

Fair warning.

Remarried Empress gets darker and darker until the ending.

Heinrey throws a party, to celebrate Navier's pregnancy, right after her death.

Suddenly I don't think Heinrey is cute anymore...

This is Grand Duke Kaufman. He falls in love with Navier. He accidentally used a love potion he was experimenting with. It turns out that the potion effects are extra strong when you already have a crush. Kaufman never intended to act on his feelings, but the potion eventually turns him into a madman.

His story ends after he attacks the Empress.

I think you already know how that ending looks.

Rashta ties everything together really well as a villain. She looks like an idiot, but for a commoner who didn't even know how to write she does pretty well. Her idiotic copycat act is a distraction. It cleverly hides the mastermind behind the scenes. Heinrey. Navier had no clue Heinrey was in love with her when she accepted his proposal. She accepted it because she was desperate to rule. She didn’t want to watch Rashta take her place, and Heinrey took advantage of that.

He sweeps her off her feet. They live happily ever after, but the pile of bodies behind them is quite steep.

(Souvieshu realizes he made a mistake as soon as Navier marries Heinrey. He starts drinking heavily. He travels to the West again and again to beg her to take him back. He quietly goes insane and he eventually loses his memories. He lives on thinking Navier is still his fiance, and everything is the way it used to be. Navier will always love him. That's his drunken dream. When his memories return he begs yet again and he says he'll accept Heinrey's children as his own, because they have her blood. Her goes seriously insane in six different ways. He also basically forgets Rashta ever existed.)

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #fantasy novel #light novel #Remarried Empress

309 notes · View notes