#will think me unfit to rule

[spiribia]

the prince. who still doesnt have a name yet

[yourqueenb]

I really don’t understand this. Why would she just assume that he wouldn’t want the throne after everything that happened to him and Juliana? And why would she think it’s so easy to walk away even if he doesn’t?? This is stupid

[tobiasdrake]

You know. Sometimes you look back at decisions made by entirely separate creators and it's like, fuck, with a more cohesive creative vision to connect these things together this could have been fire.

Like. Hear me out.

Thor 1 writes Loki as internally racist against the Jotuns. Upon discovering that he's a Jotun child taken as a spoil of war by Odin and then deciding that means he could never truly be worthy in Odin's eyes, Loki goes off. He creates an elaborate plan to give himself casus belli for complete unadulterated genocide against the Jotuns.

He's not trying to steal Odin's throne; He already has it. He even saves Odin's life as part of the plan, when it'd be so easy to let Odin die and then I guess Loki's king forever. Rather, he's trying to prove himself a Real True Son of Asgard by wiping Asgard's rival off the face of the map forever.

The Avengers writes Loki as a shameless fascist who thinks commonfolk exist purely to kneel to a strongman dictator, and that the natural state of people is to be ruled by their betters. The movie directly, on purpose compares his belief system to the fascist rhetoric of Nazi Germany so it can act like its take on Loki is deep.

Thor: Ragnarok says outright that Asgard is a colonizer state that became what it is through bloody conquest and subjugation. It asserts that any claim the nation may have to being this noble virtuous protector nation is just imperialist propaganda by an old fascist who ran out of enemies to subjugate and started to reconsider how he wanted history to remember him.

So. Like. Okay.

Loki is convinced that his ethnicity makes him unfit for Asgard and intends to commit a genocide against his own people to prove himself a Real True Son of Asgard.

Loki's belief system is directly called out as fascistic and reminiscent of Nazi Germany.

Asgard was secretly an imperialist colonizer state built on the bones of the subjugated, conquered, and enslaved this whole time.

...what a fantastic one-two-three punch this could have made if anyone involved in making any step of this process had been writing their film with the other two in mind.

There is a fantastic switch buried in these three films where it seems like Loki has a perverted idea of Asgard and then it turns out, no, actually, he really was behaving in the spirit of the culture that shaped him all along. Loki was the Real True Son of Asgard the whole time, and that was the problem.

[fumifooms]

Wait one darn diggity second what’s this about unmarried half-foot women being embarrassing for the family, what’s this about being unmarried as a half-foot being "different [worse than] for other races". Maybe Flertom and Puckpatti’s intensity about finding a husband is the norm, maybe Meijack, despite Chilchuck approving of her disinterest in romance, is the one who’s considered weird by social standards.

Maybe they’re less well-adjusted than I thought. Don’t misunderstand me I’m aroace, but if there’s a lot of societal pressure and it’s considered a failure if you’re not married, it is notable when all 3 of your kids haven’t married past the time that’s expected. For reference adulthood for a half-foot is reached at 14, Chil got married at 13, Puckpatti is 14 while Flertom and Meijack are 16. The other half-foot character we have is Mickbell who is also unmarried, unsurprising considering his situation. I don’t think them not having married is about their family being poorer, if anything I’d think Chil’s family is on the comfier end of half-foot families with the high wages he gets paid with and the nice living conditions we’ve seen (although we don’t know when he started being paid well). We know about Flertom having high standards, but she and Puckpatti are actively looking to date, so there’s something going on here whatever it is.

It is nice that it doesn’t seem like Chilchuck cares at all, he even seems to generally dislike the idea of his daughters dating. I imagine that their mother must have also not pressured them into marrying at all, maybe even encouraged them not to marry if they didn’t have someone, which is sweet. And understandable, considering she might not want her daughters to rush into it and live with…….. Being stuck in an unhappy marriage. And here comes in what I meant when I said well-adjusted, daddy issues. We aren’t shown a lot of Chil’s married life, but I would bet my life on there having been tensions and warning signs. Especially since, since the daughters and Chil hadn’t seen each other since the separation before post-canon, there’s an air of not having been very surprised or panicked about the whole thing: the separation wasn’t unexpected. Having to watch your parents fall out of love and growing up seeing them in a taxing marriage can be hard, and not exactly put you in the mood to try and find romance and marry. Fear of abandonment, fear of intimacy, stunted emotional intelligence, fear of commitment… Oh girlies I am about to extrapolate so much from this

Half-foot society has a lot of coding I don’t have enough specialized knowledge to pin down, but they’re a poor working class people, anglo peasant vibes. They have tightly knit communities, but then the double edge is that if your community has expectations and rules to belong, the pressure will be harsh and it can end up being more isolating if you deviate from it. Marriage historically and in Dunmeshi has a lot of economical aspects, in Laios’ Adventurer’s Bible profile for example dowries are hinted at.

So the pressure to marry might very well originate from the need to bring money in to your family, and to unite families as allies. And from there it grows into an expectation, and thus if they aren’t married it’s "an unmarried woman was deemed unfit by suitors, something with her must be off"/"This woman was unable to provide for her family, she must be a burden on them" which results into the family having a bad reputation. If Flertom says it’s worse for half-foots than other races, the reasons must be either social or economical or both. There’s of course their lifespan being shorter too, so that might play into it, expectations to go about things quickly and to have a fast life cycle and making sure to have kids. As we see with Laios, having kids is a pressure that does exist globally as well. Elves are another interesting example of how familial expectations are like in Dunmeshi with heirdom and whatnot, but free me I just wanted to bring up the possibility of Childaughters being societal misfits and having relational issues.

I will also mention that in a similar way, Chilchuck’s wife leaving him may have damaged the daughters’ chances, in a "what if they’re like their mother, the type of woman to abandon her husband!" way. Chilchuck also has a reputation especially as an union leader, which can paint him as dependable as much as it can paint him as someone harsh and stingy, which would be an intimidating. It’s possible they’re a bit more well-off from the rest of the half-foot community as mentioned, which could add to the intimidating factor or a bad reputation as an overall uptight family or one that has drama. Again, double edge of community being very tightly knit and important, with family as one of its highest values.

[bruciemilf]

I'm thinking of how parenthood shifted the public's opinion of Bruce, Battinson specifically, considerably -- but in the same way motherhood knocks a woman off the social pedestal.

He's not the elusive, mysterious, fuckable 20 year old billionaire in the media's eyes anymore because suddenly, he's aged.

Motherhood and fatherhood, on some scale, signify total maturity. It doesn't matter if you're unfit, or if you're too young, too old.

The second you acquire a child, you're known as someone's mother or father or guardian. You're under a different set of rules.

For Bruce, -- someone who's been sexualized and objectified by the media, the moment he signed the adoption papers, the second he prioritised his ward over fulfilling a fantasy, and breaks out of the pattern they tailored for him, committed the ultimate blasphemy; the sin of being undesirable.

Because that illusion is gone. I really wouldn't put it above sycophantic men and women to be jealous of a literal child. ' You picked him over us. You exist for something other me. You've gone bad. You stopped being young and we'll punish you for it.'

[teapartyprincess4two]

I. Inheritance

classification: sad, angst

warnings: death of parent

PREV, NEXT

—

The ceremonial jewels of the king’s crown glisten under the soft candlelight of Nick’s room. A heavy robe rests on his shoulders, adding to the growing pressure he already feels.

Nick’s nervous, anyone in his position would be.

A soft knock echoes through the room, the sound being followed by clacking heels against the marble floor. “Sir Nicolas, are you ready?” Johannes asks.

Nick gulps, of course he isn’t ready, he’s about to sign his life away to rule a kingdom he isn’t sure he’s ready to inherit. Johannes is met with silence.

“Everyone is waiting for you, Sir.”

‘Everyone,’ the word sends shivers down Nick’s spine.

Nick finally musters up enough courage to respond, “Give me a moment alone. I’ll be right down.”

Despite the annoyance that bubbles up inside of him, Johannes hums in response, elegantly leaving the room. As soon as the door clicks closed, Nick stares at his reflection. The longer he examines himself, the more he realizes how unfit, how unready, he is to become king.

“I can’t do this,” he says, choking on the words as he gasps for air. Nick’s fingers hook around the robe that’s buttoned around his neck, removing it in one swift motion before throwing it on the floor. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he knows that he can’t sit in this room any longer.

Johannes hears shuffling come from inside the room, becoming more suspicious and impatient with every passing second. “Sir Nicolas! We truly cannot wait any longer!” Johannes’ voice booms, a closed fist slamming against the aged wood of Nick’s bedroom door.

No response, in fact, the shuffling has stopped altogether.

Normally Johannes would never be this bold, but an entire church of citizens, ministers, priests, and even other royalty are waiting for Nick. So, he knocks one last time before opening the large wooden door abruptly. He’s fully expecting to find Nick in the same position from before, sitting in front of his large vanity with a pained expression on his face. But instead, he’s met with an empty room and the sound of sheer curtains flapping with the cold breeze that enters through the open window.

The room is desolate, but Johannes gives Nick the benefit of the doubt. Surely he’d never be negligent enough to abandon his royal responsibility, right?

“Sir Nicolas?” He throws the billowy comforter off the bed. It’s barren, only revealing a sunken mattress and wrinkly sheets. ‘That’s fine,’ he thinks, maybe Nick is elsewhere in the room.

“Nicolas?” Johannes crouches near the bed, pressing his face to the cold floor to inspect underneath. A dark void stares back at him. Now he’s beginning to get anxious, his quickening heartbeat a clear sign of the stress Nick was putting him through.

Still, he gives Nick the benefit of the doubt, muttering, “Surely he’s in here somewhere.”Johannes scavenges the large wardrobe, expecting to find Nick isolated in a corner, but instead finds elegant suits and shoes so shiny they reflect even in the darkness.

“Nicolas, this is no longer humorous,” Johannes’ voice is stern, almost like he’s scolding a small child. He continues searching the room relentlessly, eventually entering the adjourned restroom. A large, white tub sits in the middle and Johannes takes a quick moment to say a prayer. He prays that when he peers into the tub Nick will be laying in there, in need of nothing but a pep talk to up his spirits.

But as he creeps inside, all he sees is a dripping faucet and a bar of soap. “Sir Nicolas! The coronation is set to begin soon!” Johannes shouts, busting through the restroom door back into the main bedroom.

He does one last sweep of the room in hopes of somehow, someway, discovering an unexplored area. But as he nears the window, he finally sees it, a long make-shift rope made up of fitted sheets and expensive scarves. The rope hangs on the edge of the balcony, swinging back and forth with the cold, howling wind. Muddy footprints run across the courtyard, marking a clear trail into the foggy forest.

“Oh no,” Johannes gulps, all the color leaving his face. What were they without a king?

–

A church full of people awaits the future king's arrival, and although they should also be occupying a pew, Chris and Matt sit in the lounging room near the fireplace. The flames flicker, casting orange shadows on the pair as they recount stories.

“That armor looks good on you,” Matt jokes, delivering a playful punch to Chris’ broad shoulder. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other and Chris was only granted a temporary leave from the king’s guard for Nick’s coronation.

Chris is much burlier than he was when he left, long hair cascading past his chiseled jawline. He’d been through a grueling amount of training and it showed on his chiseled physique.

“Yeah, but not as good as that council cloak is going to look on you though,” Chris jokes in return, slapping his brother’s back with a strong hand. Matt offers him a sarcastic smile, the slap causing him to jolt forward slightly.

The slap twists the collar of Matt’s suit, nimble fingers quickly adjusting it. He felt so overdressed compared to his brother, but he knew Nick’s outfit would take the cake.

Moments like this were becoming scarce nowadays, especially after the passing of their father. The extenuating circumstance is the only reason Nick is even being crowned in the first place, he was nowhere near ready to become king.

“Nick’s going to look absolutely ridiculous in that crown,” Chris chuckles, glancing towards the stairs in hopes that the footsteps he hears are Nick’s. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone outside of the king’s guard and he wants nothing more than to engulf his two brothers in a strong group hug.

To his dismay, it isn’t Nick who descends the staircase, but Johannes. Nonetheless, he greets the old man with excitement. “Johannes! Long time no see, how’ve you been?” Chris shoots up from his seat, his metal armor clanging against each other as he goes in for a hug. His strong arms wrap around the man, only Johannes doesn’t hug back; his arms remain stiff and rigid at his sides, sweat visible on his forehead.

Matt notices the anxious body language immediately, “Johannes? Is everything okay? Where’s Nick?”

Johannes stares straight ahead, afraid to crack under the pressure that comes with making eye contact. He clears his throat, attempting to compose himself as he replies, “Sir Nicolas is–”

A nervous cough interrupts him mid-sentence, forcing him to start again, “Sir Nicolas is gone.”

Chris and Matt share a look, their faces painted with confusion and doubt. “Is he at the church already?” Matt inquires, peering up the stairs as if it would make Nick magically appear. But for some odd reason, he can already tell that this is more serious than Johannes is letting on.

Johannes shakes his head, too nervous and afraid to form coherent words. “Well, is he at least on the way there? The guests have waited long enough,” Matt continues, becoming visibly anxious. The guests have been waiting for over 3 hours, an hour longer and they were sure to revolt.

Once again, Johannes shakes his head, running his clammy hands down his sweaty face. This time Chris speaks, “So then where is he?!”

If being in the king’s guard taught Chris anything, it was how to scare someone and it seemed to be working because Johannes cowers away in fear, a small yelp escaping him as Chris’s commanding presence towers over him. Matt’s eyes blow open in shock, wiggling his way between the two to break the tension. Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt’s tone is much softer, slowly easing the information out of the scared man in front of him. “Johannes, where is Nick?”

The man clenches his eyes, shaking his head profusely. He lost the future king and is so unbelievably afraid to admit it out loud.

“Tell us where Nick is or so help me God!” Chris shouts, inching towards the terrified man in front of him.

When Johannes hears this, his words come out a mile a minute, “ I don’t know, Sir. One second he was in his bedroom and the next he was gone. I looked everywhere, I swear I did. You can check for yourselves, but Sir Nicolas is gone.”

“Wait, repeat the last part,” Matt instructs, finding it hard to believe that Nick would just up and leave. Johannes looks like he’s on the brink of tears.

“Sir Nicolas is gone,” Johannes repeats, his voice cracking slightly.

Chris is angry at Johannes, but mostly at Nick. His hands are running down his face as he scolds the older man for losing his brother, screaming something along the lines of “How do you lose the king?!” Each word he shouts emphasizes the importance of the day and the stupidity of Johannes’ mistake.

Matt slumps back into his seat in disbelief, he knew Nick wasn’t ready to become king, but he never realized it would lead him to make a decision as irrational, as dumb, as this. A stressed hand pushes his hair back only for it to flop back onto his forehead.

“So what are we meant to do now? Huh?!” Chris’ loud voice asks, the sound echoing through the walls of the room. It seems that the louder he gets, the brighter the roaring flames becomes. Chris holds Johannes by the collar, waiting for a response worthy enough to prevent him from becoming violent.

“Answer me!” Chris shouts, pulling the man up higher. Johannes whimpers, turning his face away from Chris’ piercing, fiery glare.

“If Sir Nicolas fails to return within three days, his coronation process will be nulled and the responsibility will fall on the next of kin,” Johannes’ voice is so high-pitched from fear and the information is so foreign to Chris that it might as well be another language.

“Stop using big words! What does that mean?!” Chris exclaims in frustration, his grip loosening on Johannes’ collar enough for him to fall to the floor. The many scurries away, opening his mouth to respond, but he’s quickly interrupted by Matt’s figure slowly standing from his seat.

Matt’s not dumb, he made the realization as soon as Johannes went on his nervous ramble. He knows that if Nick doesn’t return as soon as the third day comes to an end, the responsibility of this kingdom will be handed to him whether he likes it or not. So, for the past couple of minutes his mind has been racing. How could one small moment determine something as significant as his future?

“What does that mean, Johannes?!” Chris exclaims again, the question painfully bouncing around in Matt’s mind. What did it mean?

“It means that I would become king,” Matt says, jaw clenched. He’s upset beyond belief — Who wouldn’t be?— but somehow he can’t find it in himself to hate Nick for this. Matt knows that, if presented with the same situation, he’d do the same; he’d grab all his things and run, never daring to look back.

Yet, he finds himself in the same position and instead of being granted the freedom to run, he’s backed into a corner with no escape.

“Oh fuck,” Chris whispers, the gravity of the situation finally settling.

This was the inheritance Matt never asked for, but what were they without a king?

—

The air outside is hot and stuffy; it always is in Solara. It’s ironic how a feeling as comforting as warmth can feel so suffocating. The tears that stream down your face are the only thing cooling you down, but they also blur your vision as you watch knights lower your mother’s casket six feet under.

You knew this day was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The worst part, though? You couldn’t even allow yourself to fully grieve because there were so many wandering, judgmental eyes. Everyone here who didn’t know your mother personally viewed her death as a transaction; as a the loss of one queen, but the gain of another.

A singular sob, or even a strained whimper, would send these vultures into a hungry frenzy. They’d eat you alive if they could, but they’re waiting to catch you in a moment of vulnerability before they feast. So as the tears flow, your face holds a stoic expression.

Your younger sister Selma, the only other person you can still call family, sits to your left. Loud cries rack her small figure as her delicate hand lays on yours. Maybe if you were her you’d do the same, but you’re not and you never will be.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you pull your hand away urgently because the longer it stays there, the quicker your resolve is bound to break.

Martina, your handmaid, sits to your right with a handkerchief pressed against her face. She switches between sniffles and sobs, murmuring something along the lines of, “Oh what a tragedy.”

“Princess— Your highness, any last words to share about your mother?” the priest asks. He doesn’t even know what to call you, and the slight slip up makes your teeth grit. You keep your composure though, elegantly standing from your seat and preparing to summarize your mother’s life in a few words that everyone was sure to forget.

A part of you knows that no one here cared enough about your mother to listen to a heartfelt speech, and her passing was so devastating that you couldn’t bring yourself to prepare a eulogy, so you keep it short and simple.

“The Queen, my mother…” your voice falters. There’s a small pause as you gather yourself before the emotion can consume you.

“My mother was a fearless, relentless leader. She lead the people of Solara to greatness for decades and as her eldest daughter, as the heir to the throne, I hope to uphold her legacy.” A distasteful applause follows, the people watching grossly unaware of the sad twinge behind every word.

“All hail the Queen!” one shouts. The rest follow, breaking into a unified chant. The new title feels like a slap to the face but you don’t say anything, you can’t say anything.

After all, what were they without a Queen?

—

Three grueling days have passed since your mother’s funeral and the first summer rain is showering the ground. Your black dress soaks the rainwater completely, weighing the material enough to force you to collapse onto the muddy ground. Your mother’s tombstone stares back at you, urging you to be strong, to get up and be the Queen you’re meant to become. But you can’t do it, not yet at least.

Her name is chiseled in the marble, each letter reminding you of the great woman she was and the legacy she left behind; a legacy that you’re not sure you’ll be able to live up to.

Now that you’re finally alone, it’s easy to finally let loose and cry. A mixture of emotions is swirling inside of you, and in this moment you wish your mother would resurrect and engulf you in a hug.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper, fat tears flowing freely. Of course you couldn’t do this without her, you had no clue what it was like to rule an entire nation. And to top it off, you were now made responsible for your sister as well.

“Isn’t it ironic how I can’t do this without you, yet I wouldn’t have to if I still had you?”

It’s the cruel reality of your life, a reality you’d never be able to escape no matter how you flipped it.

A loud clap of thunder resonates through the kingdom, the bass of the sound vibrating in your chest. “Please… come back,” you whisper, resting your head on her tombstone like it would change the fact that she’s gone.

For a while all you hear is the pouring rain and your own cries. You’re wallowing in grief, the mourning color of your dress become darker the more water it absorbs. The faint sound of sloshing mud brings your attention towards the far end of the cemetery.

“Sister?” Selma calls out, her voice is drowned out by the thunder, but you still manage to hear her. She uses her hands to pick up the front of her dress, but the long train drags on the cakey ground. Martina walks beside her, quick steps attempting to keep up with Selma’s long strides. Martina holds a black umbrella, an extended arm casting it more over your sister than herself.

“Princess?” Martina speaks this time. Her voice sounds heartbroken, almost like she can feel everything you do.

They stop in front of you, feet sinking into the plush ground. Your disheveled appearance paints sad smiles on their faces. Selma kneels next to you, completely abandoning the security of the umbrella and bringing you in for a strong embrace.

As soon as her arms wrap around you, you’re burying your head in the crook of her neck. Loud sobs, strained breathing, and a string of hiccups is what you’re reduced to as you hold onto your sister like your life depends on it.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Selma murmurs, putting on a strong front as she delicately caresses the back of your head. You need her and she knows it, but all she wants to do is join you in crying.

“It isn’t fair,” you hiccup, finally pulling away. The rain gets stronger, camouflaging your tears. “I know, sister. I know, and it’s never going to be fair. But you need to be strong, okay? For Solara… for mother.”

Selma holds a firm grip on your face, forcing your glossy eyes to lock with hers. You take a deep breath, nodding your head as you try pulling yourself together. “Now come on, everyone is waiting,” Selma whisper, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing up.

She extends her arms for you, serving as your support as you stand up as well. Your dress is soaked and muddy, your face is red and swollen, and your hair is so drenched that it’s stuck to your face. Martina watches with a sad smile, taking in the bittersweet sight in front of her.

“I look pathetic.”

The three of you have begun the walk back to the castle and for the first time in your life you’re grateful for the mud, it makes the already long walk that much longer.

“You look beautiful, Sister. You’re the most beautiful Queen I’ve ever seen,” Selma says, whispering the last part. You appreciate her motivating words because without her you’d surely be lost.

“Selma, look at me,” you gesture towards your dress. She glances down, a tiny giggle escaping at the sight, “Okay maybe you do look a little crazy.”

“Yes, I’m the craziest Queen you’ve ever seen,” you reply with a dry chuckle, grateful for the mood shift.

“Oh that’s nothing a good bath won’t fix, Ma’am. Then you’ll be the cleanest Queen we’ve ever seen,” Martina chimes in, earning another giggle from Selma. You smile too, realizing that you’re at least not alone in all this; that your sister’s dress is as dirty as yours and Martina’s as drenched as ever.

But one thing remained true; you could be the prettiest, craziest, or even the cleanest, but you’re still the Queen regardless of the rest, and that was the inheritance you never asked for.

—

MASTERLIST, SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 💃🏻 we just getting started & I would love feedback babies 🌹

- L.A.MB👼🏻💗

—

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[littlemisssatanist]

on the topic of me being team green

a bit of a different post for me, considering what my blog is, but i was honestly so offended at being called a misogynist i made a fresh google docs page and typed out 1634 words of me ranting.

is there a real reason to post this? probably not, but i felt the need to establish myself as team green, considering all the posts i've been liking and commenting on lately. (if you are team green, and you see this, feel free to be my friend. in fact, i am begging you to be my friend. i have no tg friends and i need to see the light).

beware, typos and repitition are probably aplenty.

Whenever I see people talk about being TG, I always will see TB stans in the comments saying something along the lines of “Oh, you must be a misogynist, then.” And you know, it never happened to me until a few days ago when I commented on a TikTok post about Rhaenyra beefing with two-year-old Aegon. Someone replied to me, saying that I only brought it up because I’m a misogynist.

And. You know, I’ve been insulted before. I’ve been called ugly, stupid, immature, whatever whatever. But I honestly can’t think of a worse thing for someone to say to me, that I’m a misogynist. I know this isn’t that commentator’s fault, because they obviously don't know me. But the irony of calling me a misogynist when I am the most misandristic person to exist on this earth. I pray for the downfall of men daily. I make fun of them. Whenever I see an AITA post on TikTok, I am immediately on the woman’s side, regardless of what she may have done. 

It’s because I distrust men to a certain degree. You know what’s different for ASoIaF, though? It’s not real. It’s all fiction. TB stans will come on the internet daily and complain about TG existing, calling us misogynists, elevating the conflict between us to that of a literal genocide. Are y'all delusional? Are you guys stuck so far up Rhaenyra’s ass that you can’t tell reality from fiction? 

Y’all love to preach about how Rhaenyra is the number one feminist girlboss of Westeros, without realizing exactly how exactly you’re falling into the trap. You uphold a woman because she’s the heir, meanwhile she steals Rhaena’s and Baela’s inheritance in order to put her illegitimate sons on the throne (which, btw, is treason). But of course you guys wouldn’t care, because you like to think Rhaenyra is the exception to the rule.

That’s the thing. She’s only the exception because of her father, the king. After Viserys dies, she suddenly finds herself back in the same patriarchal world that y’all love to claim she’s trying to overthrow, that she’s trying to change. 

I don’t hate Rhaenyra because she’s a woman. I hate her because she’s a stupid woman. She knew exactly what it meant to be a woman in Westeros; she gets forced into an unwanted marriage (and even in that she gets far more freedom and will to choose than other women), she is undermined for being a woman, and others view her as unfit to rule. I would sympathize with her if she did absolutely anything to change that whatsoever. 

Y’all love to say that she’s so iconic with her dragon scenes, but what did that really accomplish aside from showcasing she is unfit to rule? She has three illegitimate sons who look absolutely nothing like her. Even if Viserys was on her side, everyone knows that they are bastards. Like, at least Cersei’s bastards looked like her. Rhaenyra was a white woman with white hair married to a black man with white hair, and her first three children are white boys with brown hair. Girl, if you were going to have bastards, at least do it with someone that bears at least some resemblance to your husband, or yourself. She purposefully made it harder for herself.

And for those of you guys who will bring up something about Laenor being gay. I genuinely don’t know how to tell you this, but if they truly cared about keeping up appearances, they would have had children. I say this as a queer person myself: If I were in Laenor’s shoes, I would have children with my coverup. Afterall, that’s what a coverup is for. And also: I could find nothing about Laenor being infertile. 

And for those who will also bring up Laenor accepting the Strong boys as his own, I literally couldn't care less. Everyone and their grandmother could see that those boys were bastards. Laenor accepting them and Viserys being delusional doesn’t change the fact that they were illegitimate, and everybody knew it. Secondly: Rhaenyra would need to admit the boys were bastards in the first place for anybody to claim them, something she did not do. In fact, she went so far the opposite way, I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to delude herself that they were legitimate. 

And this I don’t understand. How do you shoot yourself in the foot, not once, not twice, but three times, with three obvious bastards, knowing that people would oppose you, people already oppose you, and still think yourself fit to rule? Every decision Rhaenyra makes is so stupid, it’s almost mind blowing to me. To live in Dragonstone for years while your father, the king, is sick (in which case, btw, the heir is supposed to step in to rule). Instead, we see Alicent ruling the kingdoms from behind the shadow, because Rhaenyra does nothing but live out a couple of years of bliss and comes back to King's Landing expecting everything to be handed to her. She does absolutely no politicking, absolutely nothing in order to sway the lords to her side. Should she be so surprised, then, that she is met with such resistance? 

Y’all TB stands love to call TG misogynistic because we don’t worship your perfect little dragon lady, as if her uncle-husband isn’t Lord of Fleabottom and grooms and rapes her from a young age. As if Daemon hasn’t called women whores and bitches, and his first wife, Rhea Royce, ‘Bronze Bitch.’ Like, is that not disgusting to you? Y’all love to preach about how Daemon loved Rhaenyra, as if he didn’t choke her the moment she disagreed with his methods. As if his first instinct everytime is anger and death and war.

(In case y’all couldn’t tell, I am extremely anti-war. I am under the impression that if you can’t solve things by talking it out, then you are definitely not mature enough to be ruling a kingdom, and Daemon is one of the most immature rapist misogynists I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing).

(As an aside, I am not blaming Rhaenyra for her relationship with Daemon. Yes, I do find that most of her actions are stupid, but I cannot deny the fact that she was groomed and raped by him-- yes, raped, because she was a child, and children cannot consent. That is in no way her fault, and Daemon is the one responsible for this).

Y’all praise Rhaenyra for her maternal instincts while simultaneously hating Alicent for hers. Of course, an eye for an eye is unreasonable and far too much, but a son for a son is totally reasonable and to be expected. Rhaenyra protecting her children is being a good mother, but Alicent (rightfully) assuming that her children would be persecuted if Rhaenyra ascended the throne is her being a jealous bitch. Y’all blow her “sweet sister” line so much out of proportion, saying that she wouldn’t have killed her siblings if they just came over to her side. As if Alicent’s children, Alicent’s family, would choose Rhaenyra over her. Because “Helaena was the only good green” and “if only she just joined Rhaenyra”. Why would she ever do that? Because Aegon was a bad husband? The show literally stated that he only ever laid with her when he was drunk, because he couldn't do it otherwise. Obviously neither of them sought any pleasure from it, but they are still family. Helaena only had Aemond, Aegon, Daeron, and Alicent. Why would Rhaenyra ever be worth what her family is worth to her?

On a similar note, TB stans will constantly say how “oh, I feel sorry for younger Alicent, but not older Alicent.” As if Alicent wasn’t a 14 year old girl groomed and abused, as if she wasn’t twice pregnant by 17. As if Alicent wasn’t a victim doing her best in a world specifically designed against her.

That’s the difference between her and Rhaenyra. Both were victims to a much older man, but Rhaenyra considered herself an exception. Alicent had no choice but to be the bad guy, and despite how much y’all love to ignore it, Rhaenyra should have done the same. “Oh but Alicent was jealous of Rhaenyra!” Like you wouldn’t also be jealous of Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra, the perfect little princess, loved by her rapist daddy the king, who had everything handed to her on a silver platter. Would you not also be infuriated by her attitude, the entitled way she views the world? I’m sorry, but if your “strong female character” needs every other female character to agree with her, then she’s not that strong. Or a girlboss.

In conclusion, Rhaenyra sucks and is a terrible role model. True feminists love Alicent Hightower. Also, negative comments will be deleted, bc yk what is so fun about the internet? You can block people. I know, crazy concept. If you don’t want to see me or other TG on your for you page, consider blocking them. That tends to get rid of the thing you don’t want to see. I will also be doing this to anyone who thinks they’re smart enough to argue this topic with me. I do not care, hope your day goes terribly. <3

Btw, please never call me a misogynist again. In fact, you can call me Little Miss Misandrist, because there is no universe out there where I side with a man over Alicent Hightower. Or any woman at all, for that matter. 

(Except for maybe if the pickings were between Rhaenyra and Criston. If you’re one of the media illiterate TB stands who consider Criston to be an incel, you should also go ahead and block me, your stupidness is draining my brain cells).

Stay mad, xoxo.

[geekgirles]

The Interracial Wedding: Amalia's Convictions VS. Aurora's Hypocrisy

The more I think about it, the more convinced I am ToT never really intended for Aurora and her father to come across as having the moral high ground beyong Amalia's distrust of them causing her to jump the gun and suspect them of poisoning Yugo.

There are simply no instances where they are shown to be in the right aside from Amalia prematurely accusing them of trying to assassinate her husband and going after them.

In this particular case, what I want to discuss is Aurora's reaction to the Sadida/Eliatrope wedding from chapter 6 and how it reflects how little she actually knows about Sadida traditions, using every opportunity to try and smear Amalia's name without knowing what's really going on.

First things first, we have already discussed the sheer hypocrisy upon finding out about the interracial marriage and her outraged, almost disgusted reaction to it.

Said hypocrisy hinging on the fact that she is an Osamodas who had an arranged marriage with a Sadida, meaning she is the last person with any right to complain about Amalia allowing two different races to marry. Although it is true her problem seems to be less about it being an interracial marriage and more about the fact that the bride is an Eliatrope.

As per usual, we were never given an actual reason as to why she would hate the Eliatropes. Only being implied that she hates them solely because Armand hated them too and she has no agency or ability to make her own judgements, unrelated to the opinions of the men in her life. Thus, she greatly resents Amalia for seemingly allowing outsiders in despite how Armand, supposedly, would have never done such a thing.

(It's true he was adamant on not welcoming the Eliatropes after meeting their goddess, but given he, despite everything, still had a sense of honour and actually valued his sister's opinion, who knows? Hadn't he died, he might have actually rewarded the Eliatropes for their help, after all. Though this is just speculation on my part...)

Having said that, even if Aurora were trying to protect Armand's legacy, it still doesn't change the fact that this is coming from the same person who not only intended to rule the Sadida even without her husband despite being an Osamodas and, therefore, an outsider; but who actually brought her father, an even bigger outsider, with her to rule the Sadida by her side and raise the kid.

The very same person who values a random bat much more than the people she's supposed to serve and look after, as opposed to her husband, who actually gave his life in order to protect his kingdom.

But I digress.

The point is, hypocrisy.

However, what really seals the deal is her reaction to seeing the Sadida/Eliatrope wedding, more importantly, what she thinks of Amalia for it.

Regardless of whether Armand would have approved or not, Aurora's real issue seems to be that Amalia is allowing such a thing to happen despite her not approving of her ascension to power. More importantly, she resents the way she's managed to foster positive relationships between the Sadidas and the Eliatropes in such a short amount of time, and what it implies.

But as the above frames show, what really gets under her skin is Amalia's perceived hypocrisy. What she says about Amalia boasting about Sadida traditions despite going against Armand's supposed wishes (that last part is me reading between the lines) seems to imply these two have clashed over whether Aurora adhered to Sadida customs or not.

After all, while Amalia did indeed tell Yugo that Aurora was an outsider unfit to rule the kingdom due to not knowing anything about their customs, that was never brought up when the two women were in the same room. Instead, Amalia focused on the actual elephant in the room: the fact that they left them at the mercy of the Nécromes yet still have the gall to demand she hand over the throne.

Meaning they probably argued about Aurora not being fit to rule offscreen during the time between the OVAs and season 3. Otherwise, this comment just simply wouldn't make sense, as Amalia had never really boasted about her people's traditions before and, both until and during season 4, actually tried to be cordial towards her sister-in-law.

But most importantly, the way Aurora says this line implies she views Amalia as the hypocrite. If my theory is right and they indeed came to blows over Aurora not following the Sadida way of life, then it seems as she is taking Amalia welcoming the Eliatropes personally.

Something along the lines of "So I have to respect your culture but you can put your husband's people first?"

However, as we already hinted at early on, that's not really what's going on, is it?

If you look closely at this frame, then it becomes glaringly obvious that at no point in time is Amalia placing the Eliatropes before her own people and culture. Neither is Yugo, as a matter of fact.

First of all, Amalia is the one officiating the ceremony, not Yugo. He seems to be there simply to give his blessing as King of the Eliatropes and to support his wife like chapter 1 said he'd been doing since they got married and she ascended to the throne.

Then, there's the fact that Amalia is reading from what appears to be the Sadida equivalent of the Bible or, at least, an important ceremonial document. It's not as easy to see in this frame, but that book looks more like a flower with words written on its petals than an actual leather-bound tome.

And, last but not least, it's the actual ceremony:

To complete the wedding, instead of exchanging rings like Eva and Pinpin did (or, well, brass knuckles, in their case...), Amalia conjures up a flower that the groom must put on his bride's hair before they can share their first kiss as husband and wife. And then they're married.

Let's recap, okay?

Amalia is the one officiating the wedding, not Yugo.

The ceremony seems to follow Sadida guidelines.

The groom must present his bride with a flower before they're officially declared husband and wife...

Guys, it literally cannot get any more Sadida than that!

Seriously, Amalia and Yugo's own wedding was much more unconventional, compared to this. In theirs, there were at least portals!

So, what does this tell us?

Simple. It tells us that regardless of what that old Sadida from chapter 2 and Aurora say, Amalia is not going against Sadida tradition or giving the Eliatropes special treatment just because she welcomed them into her kingdom. In fact, she is still putting her people first, as the wedding shows their culture remains the predominant one (which can be either because the Eliatropes don't remember much of their own or because the bride and groom actually agreed on having a Sadida wedding; as always, that's only speculation).

Moreover, it shows Yugo is perfectly content with this. His main concerns being his people's safety and well-being and supporting Amalia without any ulterior motive, unlike the Osamodas and Aurora's political marriage to Armand.

Finally, I'd like to mention a point made by my good friend @alittlebookdust: the fact that Aurora fails to recognise Amalia isn't actually turning her back on her people's customs or Armand's legacy already implies she herself was never familiar with said customs to begin with. Either that, or she is just desperate to find fault in Amalia's way of doing things and feels compelled to criticise everything she does solely because she hates her.

Nevertheless, what this chapter proves is that despite the similar position she and Armand were in due to marrying outsiders, Amalia's actions are actually anything but hypocritical. As, unlike Aurora and her father, she has always remained true to her convictions and put her kingdom first without purposely harming her husband's.

(Thanks once again to @cocogum for the screenshots used in this analysis).

[yourfingeronmytriggers]

So I got something in my head that my brain won't let go of and thought I would inflict on share with you. :D

Imagine with me for a moment-

Lucy and Cooper on their New Vegas journey and they have a "moment" when he tells her about Janey and the way he's been looking for her for over two hundred years. And finally saying it out loud to someone has him getting stuck inside his own head and he starts thinking...

How he's not even fit to fill the role of parent anymore. Even back then, remembering how the public talked and whispered then shouted and booed, ending his career. How his wife turned into someone he didn't know and left him to die with a broken marriage and a broken heart in a broken world. How the media labeled him a threat to the public, turning him into a pariah almost anywhere he went. How Barb's powerful connections almost persuaded the courts to rule him "unfit", which nearly resulted in him losing all custody and never seeing his daughter again. How he's only become worse now, how he's a monster and a killer and if his daughter saw him now she'd probably scream in terror--

And then suddenly, just--

Lucy: "You're a good father."

And it's the first time he's heard those words in lifetimes.

[magicalbats]

Sanctuary

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,874

Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will

A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 

Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 

Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 

“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 

Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”

“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 

Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 

The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 

Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 

Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 

Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 

“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 

Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 

The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 

You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 

The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 

“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 

“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 

A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 

“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 

Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 

“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 

His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 

You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 

Was he really human? 

“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 

Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 

The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 

“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 

You lift your chin and tell him your name.

He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 

“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”

Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 

“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 

“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.

“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 

“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 

You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 

He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”

Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 

Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 

“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 

He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 

“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 

Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 

Just what was he? 

“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 

You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 

A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 

“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 

“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 

At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 

“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 

Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 

Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 

Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 

You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 

Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that’s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 

Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 

The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 

This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 

You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 

Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 

When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 

And then your eyes adjust. 

A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 

Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 

What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 

You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 

“You came.” 

Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 

All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 

“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 

Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 

The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 

“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 

“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …

Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 

If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …

“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 

“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 

The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 

“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 

You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 

It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 

You'd barely even seen it move … 

“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 

“W - what are you —“ 

The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 

“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 

It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 

“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”

“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 

“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 

You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 

But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 

You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 

Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 

“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 

“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 

“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 

Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 

Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 

“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 

It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 

“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 

“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 

You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”

“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 

Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 

“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 

“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.

Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 

“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 

“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 

Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 

Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 

“We shall see.” 

Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 

And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 

The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 

Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 

Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 

“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 

You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 

That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 

“Oh … that’s - -“ 

“Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 

You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 

But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 

“P - please … it’s too much!”

Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 

“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 

You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 

It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 

“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 

“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 

Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 

You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 

But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 

All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 

“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 

Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 

The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 

You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 

You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 

Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 

“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You remember everything, of course. 

And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 

What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 

Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 

Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 

You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 

“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 

It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 

Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 

Right? 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 

His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 

Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 

“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 

You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 

You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 

This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 

“W - what are you doing here?” 

Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 

“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 

You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 

Affection. 

Fidelity. 

Wedded love. 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 

“I did not ask for flowers.”

“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 

Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 

Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 

Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 

For him. 

For this. 

You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[animucrystal]

thinking about arthur and gwen and i think the best part about their relationship for me is the Choice. theyre two people with not alot of agency in their lives, for varying reasons. arthur obviously has a lot more privilege, but has to play a part in order to rule his kingdom properly lest he be seen weak to others and put his people in jeopardy. hes born and raised in one role, to be a prince then a king. he takes it on with pride, but you Know he feels stifled. gwen, on the other hand, is a black servant girl born in a lower class family. she may not have a certain “role” shes required to fill but she still has to work hard to provide for her family and for herself. she has to look and act like a proper lady lest people think shes unfit for her job, she has to be subservient in order to keep her already fragile status. the agency they do have is very limited, not just by society but by their own morals and beliefs. however, despite all of that, they both choose to take a risk with this one thing. they decide to take a risk Together, and they do it for Years!! they wait for YEARS!!! they work hard to be together, to Stay together, and while they may not have been eachothers first loves - they make it last because they Choose to make it last.

personally, thats way more romantic that being destined for eachother. they chose eachother and kept choosing eachother everyday, what else is there to say?

[ghostofharrenhals]

It’s baffling how so many people in this fandom have fully deluded themselves into thinking that Daenerys will burn down king’s landing when that’s not only completely unsupported by the text but also fundamentally misinterprets Dany as a character and the narrative as a whole.

Many people argue that Dany will burn down the city because the people of KL will prefer Aegon over her. This is an argument already built on shaky ground because this is an assumption that requires us to believe that Dany will even go to battle with Aegon. A claim which frankly, has very little basis in the actual story. A lot of fans latch onto GRRM mentioning a second dance of dragons, but they completely disregard his clarification that such conflict does not necessarily involve an invasion from Dany (I personally think it’ll be between her and Euron but that’s a topic for another day). And secondly, unlike HBO’s adaptation, to book!dany, family is important and she feels sad at the idea of being the last Targaryen. She wouldn’t go to war against her own family.

And the timeline for this is dubious at best and utterly fucking moronic at worst. The assumption that she will arrive in Westeros in time to confront a reigning Aegon overlooks the long journey she still faces in Essos. There is a lot of groundwork that GRRM laid that shows us her journey there is far from over. Essos is an insanely vast continent, moving through it will consume a lot of time and resources and events will continue to unfold in Westeros independently of her, just as they have in the 5 novels we have available.

And the belief that Dany will be rejected by the people of Westeros in favour of Aegon is another assumption that has absolutely no base in text. Aegon, as we’ve seen in Dance, is very far from being an ideal ruler, he’s shown as unlikeable and unfit to rule, with Tyrion even comparing him to Joffrey. Also the belief that Aegon’s reign will be peaceful and/or that he will be beloved is equally flawed. Westeros still is a fractured, war-torn continent with further conflicts still ahead. He has many potential enemies, his ascension will most likely provoke even more conflict, not universal love and butterflies. The claim that he’ll be a good king comes from Varys, who is the key mastermind behind all this and as the text has repeatedly shown us, and Varys is hardly reliable.

Why would the people of Westeros chose a potentially illegitimate Targaryen when all they have is his word that he is who he is (literally source: dude trust me) over a Targaryen with dragons who has Barristan the Bold with her and who has a history of ruling already, is ridiculous.

And onto my final point, the idea that Dany would just decide to burn a city to the ground because the people don’t like her is a fundamental misunderstanding of her character. Throughout ASOIAF she has been shown as a ruler who cares deeply about people, and to whom justice is important. The whole mad queen dany bs relies heavily on illogical plot developments and a version of Dany’s character that exists nowhere but in a season of Game of Thrones that was mocked by the entire world.

[artzychic27]

Tell me this doesn’t scream Akuma Class Energy

Caline Bustier’s Rules For Taking Care Of Her Students

If Marinette, Max, and Nathaniel stayed up late working on design/tech/art projects, you are to give them a shot of coffee. Just enough to stay up during class, but not too much to cause anarchy and make it everyone else’s problem

Do not touch Nino’s headphones. If he has a day where he wants to block out the rest of the world and you take his headphones, Alya, Adrien, Kim, and Marinette will make it your problem

There are to be fifteen stim toys in the classroom at all times. FIFTEEN

Do not scream, yell, or play music too loudly around Myléne

The words ‘Unexceptional,’ ‘Stupid,’ ‘Worthless,’ and ‘Disappointment’ are not allowed to be said in the classroom

If Juleka mumbles, she mumbles. Do not even think about getting upset when she yells after you tell her to raise her voice

Monopoly is forbidden, whether in board game or app form. If they insist on playing it, they must have adult supervision. No, M. Monlataing is not adult supervision

Nathaniel is allowed to draw during lessons. That is how he takes notes, and if you take away his note-taking sketchbook, Alix, Juleka, Rose, Marinette, and Marc will follow you home. In addition, there must be visuals when presenting PowerPoints. Some students (Nathaniel for example) are visual learners

Marinette, Chloé, and Lila are not to be left alone together for more than two minutes

Kim is not allowed to go downstairs by himself

Alya is not allowed to go out and record Akuma battles that happen during school hours, lunch, or study hall

Do not send Nathaniel alone to grab extra supplies without some form of supervision. Alix does not count as supervision

Adrien is allowed to eat during class whenever he feels like it

If Rose asks to see the nurse, you let her go

If you are sending any of the girls out of the classroom between 10:00am and 10:15am, make sure Ivan and Kim accompany them

If Adrien and Marinette need to leave during an Akuma attack during schools hours, let them leave, no questions asked

If you’re one of those dress code nuts, Alya cannot help her natural curves, and you have no place to to call her out in the middle of class and claim that her curves are a distraction

If any of them are having a panic attack in the bathroom, screw gender and let their opposite sex friend or significant other help them

If Nathaniel starts yelling in Yiddish, don’t bother or interrupt him. Just don’t.

Spiders are not allowed in the classroom, and do not show images of spiders

Markov is sentient and therefore, shall be treated as a human. If you attempt to confiscate Markov, expect many angry family members

If Adrien sounds British, spray him with water

If Marc Anciel walks into the classroom saying Mme. Mendeleiev needs to speak to Nathaniel, do not let Nathaniel go with him

If Adrien gets called in the middle of a test for a photo shoot, do NOT let him go until he is done with his work. Actually, don’t let him leave during school hours, period

In addition to Rule 24, Nino has a binder with multiple incidents of Gabriel Agreste proving he is unfit to be a parent. If you witness Adrien being abused in any sort of way, please fill out one of the blank incident reports

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[bonny-kookoo]

LO King Yoongi, how did Yoongi and MC meet? How did their relationship evolve?

A/N: Warning for injury, blood, this is LO we're talking about after all haha

You hiss at the rather rough manner the nurse is cleaning the large gash over your back, your tears just quietly falling by now. Neither this planet nor their ruling species do really care much for empathy- you've learned that over the years you've been working at the palace here.

It's better than earth however, since you do have shelter and food here, at least.

You notice how a door opens, and everyone moves away- probably to address whoever just entered the room accordingly. And from the way the nurse closest to you bows, you can only assume who it might be.

"Leave." His voice is the only thing suddenly heard, low and rather monotone. "I'll take over from here." He states, and with that, you simply believe he's probably talking about getting rid of you. After all, you probably embarrassed him to high heavens- you honestly don't know what you were thinking.

It's quiet, the only thing you can hear the jewels on his robes moving as he takes the wet rag to tend to your wound- surprisingly enough a lot more gentle than the people before him. "Do you think of me as a king unfit for his role?" He asks, while he looks around for the needle and thread to sew the worst portion of the gash shut.

"..no." You mumble, voice quivering as you try and control your breathing as you spot him pick up the utensils necessary. His hands are warm against your skin, and you like to pretend that he's trying to sooth you with his touch rather than just doing it to push your skin back together.

"Then why did you do what you did?" He wonders, stopping for a split second as he feels you flinch from the needle going through your skin.

"..you weren't looking." You hiccup, wiping your cheeks quickly before you cover your front properly again. "It.. it wasn't fair." You just say, unable to shrug since you know that would just hurt.

Yoongi simply continues to sew your wound, hand at your front pushing you into a more straightened position, fingers able to feel you trembling from the pain. Did they not give you anything for the pain?

How long can you endure this with your weak body?

What you're correct about is the fairness of it all. The fight had been done, finished as the young man had willingly admitted defeat- just to get up and try to end the King while his back had been turned to return to his throne. And that's where you came in.

Hired from earth as a cheap worker at the palace, you'd been a little bit of a troublemaker all the time. According to other workers, you cry easily, or you'd hug and smile even more whenever someone showed you just a minimum of basic kindness. You're very openly emotional, something that doesn't fit within the usual standard of this planet's ruling species-

but he dismissed it, because down the line, you never complained, and never slacked on your assigned role. In fact, more often than not, you'd work like a ghost- Yoongi had to truly sharpen his senses to even hear you move around in the palace sometimes.

You're not even in a high position at all. You're just a helper that the general staff can use whenever they need you.

So when you jumped entirely out of line and shielded him from the attack he didn't notice quick enough, he didn't really know what to feel at first. In his culture, this is nothing but an insult to his abilities- but you're not of the same species, let alone culture.

You're human, and humans do things that sometimes don't make sense.

"You could've died." He says, trying to make it as quick but thorough as he can.

"..you're more important." You say, shrugging now- and immediately whimpering from it, making the king click his tongue in annoyance before he pushes the front of your shoulder again to make you sit straight.

"Keep that posture or you'll rip the stitches." He scolds, and you just sniffle, continuing to cry. "...I'll order them to give you something to sleep later." he mumbles.

"I have to finish the palace floors-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You'll do none of that." He denies, quietly finishing your back before he moves to clean everything one last time, beginning to dress it. "You've earned your place." He simply tells you, placing the patches of dressing material dipped in medicine over your wound. He's silently impressed by how well you push through this- he's heard of humans passing out from much less than what you're experiencing right now.

"What do you mean?" You ask, as he wraps the gauze around you.

"You've proven strength." He explains, carefully finishing up his work. "And it's about time I chose anyways." He simply says, fixing the gauze before he let's go- making you turn a little bit, hands still covering your chest as you look up at him with eyes still full of tears.

"Chose what?" You wonder, and he reaches out to wipe your cheeks a little roughly.

"A fitting Queen."

[ordinarybry]

Repose

Your harem is made up of 3 men who think you are a goddess and who worship you as one. One of them comes to you to confess something.

Tw; underlying yandere tendencies, reverse harem, Fyodor Nikolai and Sigma are concubines, Female reader, no body or skin color descriptors, reader briefly mentioned to have hair, Nikolai is horny 24/7, all 3 have their abilities in separate AU, all 3 have done questionable things, murder, violence (brief), religious mentions, sexual themes, reader described as (Lady, Grace, Queen, goddess, light, love, dove, angel), bed described as a nest (non abo).

Hidden behind long wisps of curtain in a royal chamber three bodies lay entangled within the others limbs. Silken sheets weaved through and between warm skin and stray pillows around the large cushioned mattress. 

White and lavender cropped hair scattered along the torso his head laid on, ear resting upon his Lady’s navel as his lower body covered in a pair of soft briefs lay lax within the loose sheets along the curve of his lady’s calves and feet. A second body lay partially upon the woman’s upper body, his head curled downward as his lips kissed upon her roots. Soft waves of snow shortly curled around his features, the scar on his left eye distracted the dark haired man watching from the single section of long hair previously freed from its braid curling somewhere around the man’s back. 

Fyodor supposed the entire bed was a piece of art at this point, but the centerpiece was the beauty that laid bare between two of her concubines. A thin dew laid on her skin that reflected and shimmered in the golden light peeking through the stained glass directly behind the headboard of their nest. 

The sight reminded the man of what he and his fellow harem members had to do to get here, to step through the chambers of a goddess and be permitted to stay through the night; though, memories of their sins came and passed quickly. ‘A worthy price to experience this art, only a Goddess could be so perfect.’ 

Like a bend of flowing water, his lady had washed the blood staining their palms away. Their sins reposed in her wake, for sullied hands are unworthy of her skin. His body had moved to the side of her nest, fingers caressing her hair. “It is time to wake my love .” his whisper had been heard as her lashes fluttered, sleep slowly left her being.

Although Fyodor wished to continue watching her wake, he had come to confess.

Softly kneeling before her, Fyodor lowered his head. Eyes closed, he whispered solemnly “I wish to confess my sin, if you will hear me.” 

She turned her body slightly, rising on an elbow. This was not the first time Fyodor had kneeled before her with the intention of confessing a crime, and although she had continuously told him he need not be so formal, she knew the man needed this.

He needed her to listen, needed her to judge him, or he would not rest. 

Reaching for his cheek, she gave him her full attention despite the man behind her resting his arm under her breasts and nuzzling his nose into her neck. 

“I will hear you.”

“Your grace, I have sullied myself once again. After you retired to your chambers, I heard a conversation outside of the war hall. The king’s hand was speaking lies. He spoke deceitfully of you to the king.”

“What lies did he speak, Fyodor?”

“He said that you being named the heir to the crown was folly, that you are unfit to rule without a husband and that the king should marry you to the eldest prince of Kou to unite our armies and continue his strong line. He said that you must bear a child of royal blood or your worth would simply be wasted.”

“..and what did the king say?”

“The king denied you would need a husband to guide your people to prosperity and spoke of how much the people adore you. "The people’s heir” he said. He said he would not be insulted by his own hand undermining his decision to name you Queen and that he would hear nothing more. Then, his hand said that he had already sent a raven to the Kou and that the prince would be arriving within a fortnight to claim your hand.”

“I see. I don’t mean to rush this along but, Fyodor, to what sin are you confessing?”

“Murder.”

“Who has been murdered?”

“The hand of the king.”  

This confession caused Sigma, who had been only lucidly listening to the conversation, to turn onto his stomach and set his wide eyes upon the side of Fyodor’s face. As Sigma shifted closer to hear Fyodor better, Nikolai’s cat-like grin came to light as he too removed his focus from his angel to his friend. Nikolai, shameless and eccentric, had long since stopped bothering his lady with hearing his sins. He merely giggled, this confession is much more interesting than past confessions.

“Fyodor, do you mean to tell me that you murdered the hand of the king for speaking ill of me and sending an invitation for a suitor?”

“That, your grace, and, I have always hated him for never seeing you as you are and only being interested in you bearing children, as if he thinks of you as a breeding sow. I waited until the king left the room and used my ability to punish him for his crimes. Then I threw his body out the window.”

She thought for a moment. Of course, nobody would know it was Fyodor who killed her father’s advisor, she had Sigma purge any information about Nikolai and Fyodor’s abilities long ago in fear of being accused of using them to quicken her ascension. Although, one could say they are putting her coronation as Queen on the fast track, but if she were being honest- there was only one time she had asked for the punishment of another. Her Nikolai was quick to take the job and from how terrified Sigma seemed when returning to her after supervising Nikolai’s work, she could tell that Nikolai did his work well. That was the only time she had asked her harem to intervene with someone, all other times, even those she did not know of, had nothing to do with her and her wishes.

Oh the trouble these men have caused her in the past. Despite this, she had never regretted taking them in as her concubines. The passion they held for her, an eternal flame of devotion, had been what captured her interest. To put it simply, she did not plan to marry. She would rule as Queen with her harem at her sides, no husband needed.

There was no point in worrying about others finding the king's advisor dead, the murder could not be traced back to Fyodor. She truly had nothing to worry about, and if she were being honest, she wanted the man dead long ago anyways.

“You are forgiven for your sins. Now, please, join us. I could sleep a while longer.”

Nikolai giggled again behind her, “How today's confession was like poetry! I am envious of you Fyodor, you had our dove’s attention for so long this morning! I want some attention now my lady, please, I promise I’ll be good!” He spoke as he squeezed her midsection and rubbed his cheek along her shoulder. As he placed a few kitten licks on her neck, Sigma had untangled himself from the bedsheets. “Have you no shame, Nikolai? Her grace asked to sleep a bit longer and you are showcasing yourself bare and excited against her wishes!” 

Nikolai huffed as he was hit in the face with a pillow “Shameless am I? I disagree, I think myself free. Free to freely show how much I wish to pleasure my dove for freeing me. Besides, she has never refused me before..”

“Now, Kolya, if I am not going to get to sleep longer, I can think of someone in this room who could use my warmth more than you right now.” 

Fyodor looked up finally as his savior, his light, rose a single finger in his face and curled it in her direction twice. He softly smiled, Nikolai whining about ‘fairness’ as Fyodor rose softly. He reached for his tunic clasps, but it seemed his lady did not wish to watch him strip naked today. 

She rose to her knees and held his hands in hers over his tunic before leaning to his ear to whisper “allow me, love. Just lie down, let me forgive you and cleanse your body properly.”

Fyodor could have cried.

She always showed them gentle care, but seldom did she take the lead, and when she did, it confused Fyodor. She called it worshiping her boys, thanking them for their devotion to her, returning the favor for all of the times she has met her high from their tongues, showing her appreciation to how hard they work to protect her.

Fyodor knew as well as the others that she never had to do such things. It was always their devotion to her, they never expected anything in return, much less deserved anything in return.  But whether their lady wished to spend her day basking in her sheets, being railed all night long, riding them to completion, or simply curling her body into theirs while reading a book, they would never refuse. Whatever she wished, it was their pleasure.

As Sigma dragged Nikolai to the washroom by his arm, he mentioned that the bath would be warm for them when they were ready to wash up, but Fyodor couldn’t think of anything but the woman above him. Brushing the tips of her fingers lightly over his pale chest, parting his tunic while staring into his mulberry shaded irises she watched his eyes close. His long straight lashes seemed to darken as his ears and nose began to flush a rogue shade.

‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘he truly is most beautiful like this, they all are.'

Being their goddess wasn't ever all that difficult, dare she say it almost came naturally to her. She had three men so devoted and passionate they were willing to commit atrocities in her name without a second thought.

During her descent down to Fyodor's carved hips, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how her boys would react to a certain redhead and his bandaged brunette friend traveling to the capital city to join her harem on her cousin's request.

And, of course, what they're going to do about the Kou prince who is presumably on his way here.

Maybe, just maybe, her harem boys would use the prince as a bonding activity with the new arrivals. 'hmmm...'

Part 2?

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Eye Bracket — Finals

Propaganda

Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale):

Purple eye man <3

Hes like, THE eye narrator guy for podcasts imo.

THE tumblr sexyman

Not too short or tall, not fat or too thin. With hair, a nose and eyes. Look, hes hot and sexy because he's an ambiguous gendered male pronoun character who's openly gay imminently. His hotness comes from his lack of description and his silly, whimsical nature. As a "The idea of having sex with my physical body is kinda yuck" ace, I would have sex with him irl if given the chance. He is the ONLY exception for my own minds rule. While that might not be real propaganda or whatever it should have weigh of how hot he is.

Cecil Gershwin Palmer my beloved ♥️♥️

Jonathan Sims/The Archivist (The Magnus Archives):

I just think it'd be funny if an asexual character won

(im ripping this from the wiki btw) John has prematurely greying hair and looks older than he is. He often looks very tired and is physically unfit, as other characters refer to him as scrawny and he tires easily from physical tasks that others perform with little exertion. he also has lots of scars.

(propaganda, spoilers for The Magnus Archives) He's a wet cat and at one point dated Georgie Barker and does date Martin Blackwood. there is also a whole tag/movement for "hot Jon rights". he may not be like, 10/10 on the attractive scale but his far off gaze has captivated me

My votes for jon tho, that wet tired cat of a man has captured my heart. He gives dilf vibes and i got a thing for those 0.o

So Jon has EYEBAGS‼️‼️ I rest my case Your Honor. Vote Jon