#without grappling with that legacy?

[chubby-bun-bun]

heavy is the crown

As princess, you are bound by duty to marry the notorious and elusive Onichynus general, in exchange for his protection of your kingdom from an impending war. On the night of your wedding, tradition demands that you undergo the consummation rites, sealing the fate of your marriage—and your future.

tags: sylus x reader, NSFW, MDNI, royalty!au, general-of-powerful-nation!sylus x princess-of-kingdom-in-trouble!reader, first time sex (mc is a virgin), unprotected sex, afab!reader, fem!reader, slight voyeurism & somno & cockwarming at the end, lowkey breeding kink, gender-based stereotypes against women due to the time period, writing this has been a fever dream, word count: 2.7k~ worldbuilding and 5.5k~ smut lmfao

read on ao3

You dared to dream once upon a time.

You dreamt of crossing oceans beyond your shores, sailing aboard majestic galleons you’d only seen in textbooks. In the quiet solitude of your bedchambers, you imagined laughing with the townsfolk of distant cities, dancing in cobblestone streets to the melodies of traveling minstrels, and finding love in a modest man who'd want nothing more than to offer you freshly picked blooms every morning.

In the sanctuary of sleep, your dreams would lull you with visions of a simple life. A stone-walled kitchen warmed by the glow of a crackling hearth, a garden vibrant with blossoms and fresh produce, and a cozy reading nook nestled in an arched window. A loyal companion would sometimes join you—a slothful cat, a melodious songbird, a high-spirited pup, or a darling mare to carry you through grassy plains and wildflower fields.

"Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to share in life's trials and joys, to love and honor, till death do you part?"

But such dreams have no place in the heart of a woman whose shoulders bear her kingdom's fate.

And so, as you take in the muted glow of the setting sun through delicate ivory lace, you finally put those girlhood fantasies to rest.

“I do.”

—

Being the youngest and only princess came with its fair share of trials and triumphs.

Unlike the elder princes, whose lives revolved around grueling expectations and fierce competition for the throne, your position spared you such burdens. Born to a queen who had long believed her childbearing years were behind her, you were nothing short of a miracle, arriving over a decade after your last sibling. This had earned you the undivided affection of the entire castle, leaving you thoroughly indulged and doted upon.

However, growing up without siblings near your age, you often grappled with bouts of loneliness. While you had fostered polite acquaintances among the daughters of many nobles, you found their company wearisome. The endless succession of balls and garden parties always seemed to revolve around the same gossip: politics, fashion, whispers about some baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter betrothed to a forty-year-old viscount, and, of course, the inevitable question: had anyone received a marriage proposal yet?

You naturally had many—to your dismay.

The idea of marriage filled you with profound dread. As a girl tagging along in your mother’s tea parties, you had often overheard the confessions and lamentations of the noblewomen. Stories of infidelity, neglect, and abuse spilled from their lips—duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; women who stood at the very summit of high society. To you, marriage seemed less a sacred bond and more a cruel sentence—one far grimmer than the gallows.

At least the gallows granted the mercy of a quick death.

But as a princess, you were bound to uphold the ideal image of a young lady. One who radiated beauty, yet with grace and poise. Intelligent, but subservient to your intended husband’s authority. And, most important of all, fertile—to bear him strong sons who would carry on his legacy.

It sickened you. You would rather succumb to the plague than endure such a miserable life. But given your title, you could only try to delay the inevitable.

And so, life continued as it was—a never-ending cycle of social gatherings, fending off suitors, reading through your library, mastering languages, and nurturing a growing collection of hobbies. It was a life of privilege and routine—one that, despite its predictability, offered you a quiet sense of fulfillment.

Alas, nothing holds constant in the world, and change arrived in the form of a looming war from enemies across the sea.

Though small in size, your kingdom of Noir was a veritable treasure trove. With its abundant mountains and rivers, the island was never in short supply of precious metals, gems, and rare minerals. It was renowned for producing the finest artisans, who crafted the most exquisite jewelry, armor, and weapons. While modest in territory, it more than compensated with a thriving and prosperous economy.

The ultimate conquest for any conqueror.

Through the town streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, the bustling plazas lined with charming merchant stalls, the outskirt villages tucked among lush woodlands, and even the weathered stone walls of the towering castle, whispers had always flowed like an unrelenting tide—the most persistent being rumors of the neighboring kingdoms readying to seize Noir at any moment. But your father never addressed such hearsays, and life within the island always seemed as jovial and peaceful as it always did.

Until one night, as you sat engrossed in some book about Noir folklore, a series of sharp knocks on your chamber doors shattered the stillness, echoing sharply through the room.

It was your father, the king. Dropped to his knees, grasping your untainted hands in his rough, weathered ones, head bowed down at your mercy.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” he said in grief. “For the sake of the people—please, forgive me.”

For months, naval scouts had reported sightings of warships at the docks of two neighboring kingdoms, suspected of plotting to raid Noir and usurp the throne. Only a few weeks ago, those suspicions were confirmed when spies returned with dire news. The enemy militaries, vast and far stronger than your own, were preparing for a siege. Noir's true power had always been in the arts and commerce, not in its military might. Should your shores be attacked by an enemy nation—let alone two—the island would fall.

So on the very day the confirmation arrived, your father and the high court conspired to seek assistance from a nation on the mainland: Onichynus.

Conversations about the state were always hushed, spoken in whispers and laden with caution. It was rumored to be an immensely powerful dominion, even surpassing that of the hostile forces looming beyond your shores. Drunk sailors boasted of its staggering wealth, built on the spoils of their wars and ceaseless conquest. With an unmatched army of hardened warriors and mercenaries, it stood as a force to be reckoned with, its presence both feared and revered across the seas.

At its pinnacle stood their elusive general, a shadow whose name and true face remained unknown. Tales from sailors, traveling merchants, and tavern songs painted him as a ruthless figure, demon-like, who laid waste to rotten cities and beheaded corrupt kings. Some claimed he was a hero, purging the realm of wicked men in power, while others saw him as the embodiment of evil, leaving destruction and death in his wake.

Negotiations with Onichynus were a success. In return for their protection during the impending siege, Noir pledged to deliver three ships laden with its most prized metals, minerals, and gems—every year for the next century.

But to ensure Noir upheld its end of the bargain, their beloved princess would be bound in marriage to the general.

You could only keep your gaze steady, chin held high, as the king knelt before you, weeping, begging for your forgiveness.

You had your time to relish the pleasures of living as a princess. Now, it was time to fulfill your duties as one.

—

The night before the long-anticipated siege had arrived. After weeks of frantic planning and tense negotiations between Noir’s high court and the Onichynus war council, warriors and mercenaries had taken their positions across the island. Some blended seamlessly with the civilians, while the majority remained hidden in plain sight, their numbers concentrated along the docks.

In the king’s throne room, select members from both factions gathered for final preparations. Clad in his battle regalia, your father seemed a shadow of his former self—skin ashened, eyes hollow with exhaustion—yet his voice remained firm as he issued his commands to all present.

The Noir court members could hardly conceal their unease under the watchful eyes of the Onichynus war council. Towering and broad-shouldered, they seemed almost otherworldly. Their dark, burnished steel armor bore engravings of monstrous creatures, and many donned cloaks of crimson or black, their edges deliberately singed to resemble fire's touch. Helmets, adorned with jagged horns, cast grotesque shadows, while those who forwent them revealed faces with jagged streaks of war paint, as if to mimic claw marks.

Then, the heavy doors groaned open, spilling thick tendrils of black-red mist into the chamber. A hush fell as all eyes turned toward the towering figure that emerged from the haze.

The general.

For all the whispered tales of his demonic appearance—horns as tall as claymores, wings that spanned the heavens, and a tail that stretched like a river—you were stunned to find a face not of a monster, but of an angel.

Against the backdrop of his dark cloak, his striking silver hair stood out in sharp contrast. His features were sculpted with precision—high, defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, all framed by an expression that revealed little, save for full lips drawn into a tight line. The people of Noir gawked openly, stunned to finally see the man from the tales in the flesh. His gait was languid yet exuded confidence as he strode toward the throne where you sat beside your father.

His gaze found yours, and you stilled.

The deep scarlet of his eyes was piercing. You almost felt naked under it. Instantly, you straightened in your seat, fingers twitching to smooth the fabric of your dress.

“Expect the warships to be visible in six hours,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. The low timbre of it sent a chill racing up your spine.

“General, are you certain our forces are enough to handle their fleet?” your mother asked, voice quivering as she addressed him from your father’s other side.

The general's lips curved faintly, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him.

“Rest easy, Your Majesty. By dawn, their remains will have joined their forefathers’ ghosts beneath the sea."

—

You had come to realize that Onichynus truly deserved the fear and respect it commanded. Just before daybreak, the gut-wrenching blare of Noir’s watchtower horns finally shattered the unnerving stillness of the island.

The enemies had fallen.

You had been locked away in one of the castle’s tower chambers, away from harm’s reach. As the kingdom’s key to securing this alliance, it was critical that no harm befell the general's betrothed.

After the second wave of victory horns, your door creaked open, revealing your maidservant—frantic, breathless from the long climb up the spiral staircase.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, voice trembling. “We’ve won.”

You could see the restraint in the way her nails dug into her apron, her blown pupils amidst her ragged breaths. She was restraining herself, her elation held in check, out of deference to you.

After all, Noir’s freedom had come at the cost of yours.

With a wistful smile, you turned toward the window, watching the flickering torchlights snake through the streets below. The chorus of jubilant cries and chants carried through the valleys, their voices rising to the heavens and echoing back from the mountain’s deepest crevices.

“It seems we have,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the chorus of celebration below.

You heard her hesitant shuffle behind you. "Several of the servants have been briefed already. They shall be ready tomorrow morning to begin preparations for the wedding."

You spun toward her, pulse pounding in your ears. "So soon?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Onichynus wanted to complete the rites as quickly as possible, so they could sail for the mainland the following day."

You let out a slow exhale. "I see."

Your maidservant hesitated, her eyes flicking toward you, before she spoke again.

"If it offers you any comfort, ma'am," she said softly, head bowed, "you saved all of us."

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

—

Like your mother, grandmother, and all the royal women before you, you had always envisioned your wedding as a day of grandeur. You pictured riding through the town streets in the royal carriage, flanked by guards, waving to the cheering crowds. You imagined wearing a bespoke gown that sparkled in the light, a train so long it would sweep behind you like a royal procession.

You imagined trumpets announcing your arrival, their triumphant notes echoing through a hall packed with dignitaries and nobility from across the realm. And at the altar, a man of honor and equal standing would wait for you, his gaze warm with affection as you joined in a union built on love, not duty.

But now—the sun has nearly set, painting the grand temple in muted amber light. Inside, the space feels hollow, adorned only by a few hurriedly arranged flowers, their disarray a testament to the servants' exhaustion from cleaning up the siege’s destruction. Your gown, though lovely, is no custom-made masterpiece—just a window display piece hastily altered by the royal dressmaker. The pews stand mostly empty, save for your crestfallen family, a handful of somber faces from the Noir high court, and the ever-stoic Onichynus war council.

Your husband-to-be, still clad in his dark battle regalia, stands steadfast at your side, his expression an impenetrable mask as the archbishop intones the ceremonial rites. You had imagined him to be someone hard to look at—perhaps as old as a grandfather, his years as a general etched into every line of his face, and his figure weighed down by indulgent vices. Yet, to your quiet relief, he is nothing of the sort. Even if he proves unsavory as a husband or father to your future children, at least he’s pleasing to look at.

“By the will of fate, you are now bound in union,” the High Priest finally says, raising his palms toward you both. “May your allegiance to one another be as steadfast as the duties you carry, and may this union bring the future of your realms to prosperity.”

—

You wince as an elderly maidservant struggles to loosen a particularly stubborn knot in your hair, the pull jerking your head painfully. She pauses, her hand gently patting the spot in apology.

Your gaze stays fixed on the cold, flatstone floor, and you hardly notice the other maidservants bustling around you. One smooths out the faint creases in your satin nightdress, while another tugs at the neckline, pulling it lower to expose more of your cleavage and collarbone. Beneath the thin fabric, your undergarments have been removed, leaving you vulnerable to the biting chill of the room. You’ve been scrubbed clean, coated in the silkiest lotions, each scent more intoxicating than the last—all for your first night with your new husband.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” the elderly maidservant asks, her hands gentle as she brushes through your hair.

You pause, the question settling in your chest as you ponder how to answer.

“I can’t say I’m confident,” you say, twisting your fingers together. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

In the mirror, you catch the discreet glances exchanged behind you, their pity and concern barely hidden. You force yourself to look away, but the weight of their silent judgment lingers.

“The Onichynus general… he seemed like such a massive man,” a younger maidservant whispers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I do hope he treats Her Highness with kindness.”

Another maidservant scoffs, her tone sharp with bitterness. “All men are beasts, driven only by their lust for control—and for anything with a pair of breasts.”

There’s a collective hiss of disapproval from the others, but the harsh words still echo in your mind. You fight to keep your face composed, though your heart aches with fear.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the elderly maidservant says, her voice light. “The men from that state may be known for their ruthlessness, but with your likeness, the general will surely find himself a changed man.”

You can only hope the same.

Soon after, you begin your walk to the matrimonial room. The maidservants fall in step around you, their presence a quiet shield.  The lively chatter from your earlier preparations has faded, replaced by a tense, almost somber silence. Despite the considerable distance between rooms, the walk feels too short, each step too swift. Before you can fully gather your bearings, you now find yourself alone, sitting on the bed, the weight of the night settling in around you.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. Women across the realm are bound to face this, especially those of royal blood. Consummation on the wedding night is an expectation, a duty. No matter how much you’ve dreaded or tried to avoid it, you’ve always known it was inevitable. All that’s left now is to steel yourself, strive to please your husband, and to embrace your role as a future mother—for Noir’s sake.

The doors swing open, and you flinch. The general steps inside, his damp hair clinging to his face, a clear sign of a recent bath. His attire for the evening is simple: loose trousers and a tunic that, despite its modesty, does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strong lines of his chest. Your gaze betrays you, lingering longer than it should, tracing the way the fabric shifts with his movements. His towering height seems to diminish even the vast expanse of the room, making the high ceilings feel incredibly small.

His ember-like eyes catch yours and you suddenly feel too exposed.

“Good evening, princess.” 

“General,” you greet, wincing at how weak it sounds as it leaves your lips.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders beneath the delicate straps of your ivory nightdress, the soft swell of your breasts pressing gently against the neckline. The fabric cinches at your waist before flaring out around your hips, emphasized by the way you sit at the edge of the mattress. Your posture is rigid, hands clasped in your lap—a result of all the etiquette drilled into you from childhood.

He notices the tension in your form and lets out a sigh, turning toward the couch at the far end of the room.

You blink.

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your Highness,” he drawls, settling into the couch with a lazy grace. “We don’t have to do this. You look like a kitten with her hackles raised. We could ruffle the bedding, spill some oil on the sheets, and pretend we had a night worthy of the chamberlain’s inspection.”

A flash of panic rises within you. You stand, words tumbling out in a rush. “Nonsense! Marriage is not recognized before the temple unless consummated on the night of the ceremony.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Such peculiar customs you have here on Noir.”

You had imagined a thousand ways this night could go, a thousand versions of the man you’d just married. Not one of them prepared you for this.

You flush, frustration building in your chest. “General, I would appreciate it if you respect the customs of Noir. We are a proud people, and we honor the traditions passed down to us by our forefathers.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, he stands and makes his way toward you. For every step he takes, you fight the instinct to hunch your shoulders, to shrink away. Next thing you know, he’s standing before you, his imposing size forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your gaze.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently cupping your face. The heat of his touch burns through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You finally avert your eyes. “I’ve never been with a man before,” you manage to say with as much indifference as you can muster, nails digging into your palms.

“Really? Not even a stolen kiss in your youth?”

You clench your teeth. “There are far more pressing matters to focus on than indulging in childish flirtations.”

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that resonates through the air, stirring an unexpected warmth low in your belly.

“Alright,” he concedes, his finger tracing a slow path along your cheek. Without warning, he grips your jaw, the touch both commanding and tender, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. None of those absurd rules from your royal handbook.”

You pull back slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “The act is the same, is it not?”

“Do you agree, Your Highness?” he presses, lips grazing your ear ever so slightly. The warmth of his breath against your skin is unfamiliar, and the rush of heat that sweeps up your neck sends electrifying pulses deep within your core.

“Yes,” you grit out.

After studying your expression one last time, he lowers himself slightly, then grips the back of your thighs and lifts you with ease. You gasp, scrambling to find your balance. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers digging into the firm, broad muscles of his shoulders. With a smooth shift, he adjusts your position, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips, before carrying you to the vanity desk at the center of the room.

You struggle to speak, words caught in your throat as the sensation of being so high up in the air makes you dizzy. He finally sets you down on the desk, his large palms slowly dragging down your legs, gently pushing your knees apart.

“G—General,” you stammer, eyes wide as he pulls his tunic over his head, revealing a tanned expanse of skin and the hard, defined muscles beneath. “The bed is over there—why are we here?”

A flicker of a smile plays at his lips as he tosses the fabric carelessly to the floor. “Trust me, princess. Now close your eyes.”

You want to argue, remind him that asking you to trust the most notorious figure in the realm—whom you’ve barely known for a day—is no small request. But the gravity in his scarlet gaze quiets any protest. With a reluctant breath, you close your eyes.

There’s no movement at first. Then, his calloused palms find your knees, the rough calluses a stark contrast against the smooth stretch of your skin. Heat blossoms under his touch, searing its way upward as his hands glide along the curve of your hips, the taper of your waist. You fail to suppress the shudder coursing through you when his touch pauses just below the swell of your breasts, lingering for a heartbeat before sliding to your sides, his broad palms more than spanning the width of your back.

Then, you feel the faint brush of his breath against your mouth, a fleeting warmth before his lips capture yours in a tender kiss. The hot, wet sensation has your back arching instinctively, your hardened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of your nightgown against his hard chest. A deep, throbbing ache pulses at your core, and you clamp your thighs together in a futile effort to suppress the damp heat pooling between them.

The overwhelming rush of sensations draws a whimper from your lips, your trembling hands clutching at his shoulders for stability. His response is immediate—a low, guttural groan before he deepens the kiss, his mouth returning to yours with even more fervor.

You’ve read about kissing in your sparse collection of romance novels, tried to envision the mechanics behind the act. But the mental images always fell short, awkward and unappealing, leaving you unconvinced of its charm. You’d dismissed it as unnecessary, even pointless—especially when it came to something as pragmatic and straightforward as sex.

But now the general is sneaking in the hot, wet glide of his tongue between your lips and you panic, not sure what it is he’s doing and what you’re supposed to do. He must sense your uncertainty, because his large hand moves to steady your jaw and nape, holding you in place. When he feels the accidental brush of your tongue, he wastes no time and sucks at it, the lewd sound echoing in your ears, forcing soft, strangled sounds from your throat.

You no longer feel the seeping chill from outside the castle walls, body now feeling like it’s on fire, the wetness dripping from your entrance sliding down your inner thighs. You feel like you’re drunk and about to pass out, so you push his chest back with a gentle palm.

“General,” you say, heaving through swollen lips. “What… what are we doing? The bed…”

He takes a moment to steady his breath, eyes squeezed shut, palms pressing firmly at your waist. Then, a low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“You’re infuriatingly naive,” he mutters, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder. “You must be the only woman of all arranged marriages eager to crawl into bed with a man she barely knows.”

You flush, indignant at the implication behind his words. “What are you trying to say?” you demand, mouth unconsciously forming into a pout.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. “What I’m saying, princess, is let me take care of you. I don’t know what your upbringing has taught you, but there’s more to this than just... getting it over with.”

You’re not used to being told what to do and deviating from the rules, so you force out a sharp “fine”—an unintended display of bratty defiance, considering the man before you. But he only laughs, and to your dismay, the sound makes him even more handsome than he already is.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, lifting you by your bottom this time, pressing you flush against his chest. His hands on your backside—so close to where you’re throbbing and wet—has you flinching forward. You suddenly feel the brush of something firm against the sensitive nub above your slit, and you jerk again in surprise.

He chuckles, before gently lowering you onto the soft expanse of the mattress. His lips find your collarbone first, then trail down to your nipples, where he suckles through the fabric. A soft whimper escapes you, your fingers curling into the sheets. You can feel his smile against your skin as his tongue sweeps over one of your sensitive buds, before continuing its journey down toward your abdomen.

But then he hovers his face above your groin that’s barely concealed by the bunched-up hem of your nightgown. Alarm jolts through you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, torso rising instinctively. You attempt to close your legs, but his hands hold them firmly apart. 

“General—”

“Sylus,” he interrupts, lips brushing along the inside of your knee. “We’re married now, sweetheart. Use my name.”

A twisted sense of pride coils within you, knowing you hold both the name and face of the most infamous man in the realm.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing. “Sylus,” you echo, the name oddly satisfying on your lips. “Not that I’m… doubting your expertise, but is all of this really necessary?”

He exhales heavily, saying nothing at first. Then, he takes your hand—its size utterly lost in his grip—and guides it down your body. His movements are deliberate, stopping only when your palm meets the undeniable hardness of his cock, straining against his trousers.

You struggle to contain the jumbled stutters tumbling from your lips. “What are you—”

“I’m a big man,” he states matter-of-factly, his gaze unwavering. “And this is your first time. As you are now—you won’t be able to handle me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means, but the statement silences you nonetheless.

He chuckles, letting go of your hand, and you immediately pull it back to your chest. “May I?” he asks, his voice low as he hovers below you once again.

You flash a glare, before nodding reluctantly.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, his gaze shifting downward to the space between your legs. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until the cool air brushes against your exposed skin. You watch, eyes heavy, fighting the tremors rushing through you, as his hand moves along the inside of your thigh. When his fingers brush against your folds, a sharp exhale escapes you, and your head falls back onto the mattress.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his words.

“Shut up and get on with it,” you snap, covering your eyes with your forearm.

You hear a quiet laugh escape him before two fingers press against the sensitive nub above your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively as he slides his fingers up and down against your entrance. The motion, slick and sinful, leaves you gasping, and you struggle to keep your legs open, body trembling from the unfamiliar pleasure.

Sylus’ eyes darken, flicking between the way his fingers tease your slick folds and the way your breasts strain against your dress. His breathing grows heavier as he reaches up, pulling the neckline down to expose your chest. A soft whine escapes you when his hand cups one swell, firm yet gentle, while the other continues its relentless ministrations below.

“I’m pressing one in, alright?” he murmurs.

You barely register the words before he pushes a thick finger past your folds.

“Wait—it feels—ngh—it’s strange,” you stammer, voice hitching on a whine.

He stills immediately, digit only halfway in. “Does it hurt?”

“I… kind of? I don’t know…”

You’re panting. The pressure is peculiar, and quite unpleasant. Your body tenses at the newness of it, the unfamiliar stretch bordering on discomfort.

He remains patient, finger unmoving. Then, you feel his thumb press on your nub, drawing gentle circles against the sensitive lower hood of it. The obscene sound of slickness fills the space and you’re mortified, toes curling at the wave of arousal soaking his hand.

“This better?” he whispers, drinking in every detail—your heaving chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the tremor in your thighs, and the glistening mess pooling between them.

You can’t respond, overwhelmed by the spiraling pleasure.

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and pleased, as he presses the rest of his finger inside. This time, it slides in smoothly, and the high-pitched moan that escapes you is muffled by your trembling palm. Now knuckle-deep, he gently strokes upward, pressing on a rough spot that makes you jerk in his hold.

“I’m going to try something, alright?” he says softly, breath brushing against your knee as he plants a tender kiss.

“Okay,” you croak, struggling to process the pulsing sensations building deep inside you.

The circles on your nub stop, and you almost whimper at the loss. But before you can voice your complaints, something warm, wet, and utterly foreign replaces his thumb. Your head snaps back, a raw, choked cry tearing from your lips.

“General—hah—Sylus… What are you—?”

He doesn’t answer. Dazed, you prop yourself up and the sight before you is almost too much: the most powerful man in the realm, kneeling between your legs, his mouth worshiping you with unrelenting fervor. His tongue laps at your folds, drags it languidly up to your engorged nub before closing his lips around it, sucking in a way that sends sharp, electric pulses straight through your core.

Panicked by the unbearable pressure building inside, you try to push his head away. “Stop—it’s strange, I feel like I’m going to—”

Before you can finish, he slides another finger inside, stretching you further. His fingers curl, stroking that spongy spot with unrelenting precision. His mouth works in tandem, alternating between suckling and lapping at your overstimulated nub.

Tears blur your vision as the intensity peaks. You scream into your palms, hips bucking against his mouth and hand as you feel yourself tip over the high he brought you to.

Sylus watches, entranced, as your legs open wider, cries muffled as your body convulses under his ministrations. Even as you shatter under him, he doesn’t let up, prolonging your fall at his mercy. And when you’re finally sent over the edge, your release flooding his eager mouth, he drinks in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh, feeling the delicate tremors rippling through your body as you struggle to steady your breathing. His eyes trail over your folds, soft and swollen, slightly parted as your essence continues to glisten and drip. Unable to hold back, he dips his head and presses a slow, deliberate kiss, groaning as your intoxicating taste lingers on his lips.

Your cry pierces the air, hands flying to his hair as you tug with desperation. “W—Wait…! I can’t… it’s too much… please…”

He only chuckles, low and teasing, before placing a final kiss on the sensitive nub above your folds. Then, he moves upward, settling his weight against you. His chin rests between your breasts, arms locking yours in place as his eyes meet yours, heat and satisfaction dancing in his gaze.

As clarity slowly returns, the enormity of what just happened hits you. He—the Onichynus general, a man who strikes fear in nations across the realm—had just laved at your most intimate area with his tongue. Such an act is nowhere to be found in the guides you’ve read on sex, not even as a distant suggestion. And yet, you enjoyed it. Far more than you care to admit.

An embarrassed huff escapes you as heat blooms across your face. You throw your hands up to cover it, unwilling to meet the insufferable smugness you can practically feel radiating from him below.

Suddenly, you feel the neckline of your dress being tugged down again, catching beneath your breasts. Then, you feel the flat of his tongue gently press on a nipple, circling it with the tip before pulling it into his mouth to suckle. His hand slides up to your other bud, palm brushing over it in slow, deliberate motions. Breasts are meant to nourish, to sustain future generations—mere vessels for the creation of life. Yet the hairs at the back of your neck raise on end as you feel the return of the persistent pulsing deep within you. You bite your lip, stifling the sounds threatening to escape, back arching as you desperately chase the sensation of his mouth on you.

“We can stop now if you wish, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

Fighting the heaviness taking over your body, you grab his jaw, forcing him to meet the fire in your gaze. “Do you have a problem with consummating with me, general?”

He responds with a particularly sharp suck at your nipple.

“Ngh—! Sylus! I meant Sylus!” you cry out, correcting yourself with a gasp.

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before moving to the soft curve of your breast. His mouth alternates between harsh sucking and teasing bites, leaving a trail of bruised blooms in his wake.

“While intercourse may be a mere formality to you Noir people, in Onichynus, it’s an act of passion and love,” he says, voice low as he shifts to giving attention to your other bud. “I wish to ensure that Her Highness, my wife, has a memorable first experience. So, if you feel spent for the night, we can always stop. At any time.”

His words settle deep inside you and you feel warmth spread in your chest. Perhaps Onichynus is more than the tales of its ruthless reputation, after all. Hesitantly, you caress his cheek, heart aching at the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm. He almost seems like a clingy pet feline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to finish the rites,” you say softly. Then, you flush, struggling to find the right words. “And, um, I didn’t expect things to be this… good. I don’t mind experiencing more, if it’s alright with you.”

It takes a moment for your words to register, and when they do, Sylus smirks—a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends heat coursing through your body. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, and this time, you grant him easy access. You mimic what he did to you earlier, tentatively wrapping your lips around his tongue and sucking gently.

Immediately, a low, visceral groan escapes him as his hips press forward, grinding his restrained arousal against your soaked folds. The rough fabric of his trousers drags against your sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through you. You whine into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as you pull him impossibly closer.

Sylus seems barely in control now, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he adjusts his movements, angling his hips so that the ridge where his shaft meets the head rubs directly against your overstimulated nub.

Without warning, he breaks the kiss, leaving you on the verge of a whine as a string of spit bridges the space between you. He steps back, tugging his trousers down in one swift motion. Your gaze drops instinctively, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

Broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and every inch of his sculpted body radiates strength. But it’s the thick, throbbing length between his legs that holds your attention. He notices the starstruck look on your gaze and he chuckles, walking closer to you until you're face level with it. Taking your hand, he gently wraps it around his girth. The sheer thickness overwhelms your grip, and your breath catches at the realization.

“Feel free to take a look,” he rasps.

You’ve never seen a cock before, but instinctively, you know this one is massive. The shaft is thick,  with prominent veins that seem to throb faintly, and the soft, rounded shapes below it look heavy and full. The bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip is flushed, beads of some kind of white, translucent fluid glistening at the slit. For some reason, you feel the urge to lean in and taste it.

Sylus takes your hand, shaping it into a loose 'O.' “This is you,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to glide along his length, spreading the slick fluid. “And this…” He pushes through the circle you’ve made, the thick head sliding in and out. “…is how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.”

Slowly, he begins to move, sliding his shaft through your grip. The sensation is intoxicating, and you’re mesmerized by the sight of him—his cock pumping in and out of your hand, each stroke leaving it sticky with his arousal. You don��t even realize your lips are parting until you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the leaking tip.

Sylus lets out a guttural moan, one hand tangling in your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. His taste—salty and slightly bitter—is heady, and the heat of him against your tongue heightens your arousal. He bucks into your mouth, and though you gag slightly, you fight to take more of him, desperate for the connection.

You feel too empty.

“Princess—fuck—this is torture,” he groans, his deep voice rough with restraint.

You can only moan in response, lips stretched around his cock as he begins thrusting into your mouth. His large hands steady your head, guiding your movements. You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, and you feel your folds quiver at the sinful sight of the Onichynus general panting, eyes shut, sweat-covered muscles taut as he pistons in and out of you.

You are Noir’s beloved princess—revered and envied for your beauty, grace, and intellect—yet now you’re barely coherent, delirious over the addictive taste of your husband as he fucks your mouth over and over.

One particularly deep thrust hits the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus curses under his breath and withdraws immediately.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he pants, taking in the sight of you—tears streaking your cheeks, saliva glistening on your lips, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve your ache.

“It’s okay,” you croak, voice hoarse and small.

Sylus pauses, taking a moment to steady himself and pull back from the frenzy consuming him, before climbing onto the bed, positioning himself against the headboard. His hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly to straddle his lap. Movements frantic and barely restrained, he aligns your slick folds against the length of his shaft. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding, while his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock against him. The friction against your sensitive nub draws a cry from you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Let me have you, princess,” he practically begs against your lips between heavy breaths.

You barely have time to process his words before he lifts you slightly, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Then, you feel an immediate, sharp stretch as he breaches your folds, pushing deeper until the full length of him fills you to the hilt.

A strangled cry escapes you and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck with stilted sobs. Sylus remains still, large hands massaging your rear soothingly, coaxing your body to adjust.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It hurts,” you gasp. He shifts slightly, and a sharp sensation makes you wince, like he’s hitting a spot that feels too far, too much. “T—Too big…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, breath hot and uneven against your ear. His hands move carefully, gently parting the delicate skin of your folds in an attempt to ease the stretch and make it more bearable.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, he reaches for the hem of your now sweat-soaked nightgown, lifting it with as much gentleness as he can muster. His eyes trace the path of the fabric as it reveals the slick mess of fluids dripping from where you're joined, the soft curve of your belly, the delicate bounce of your breasts freed from constraint, and finally, your tear-streaked face—beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly his. Guilt flickers through him as he feels himself twitch and grow even harder inside you, despite your pained whimpers.

After tossing the fabric aside, his lips find your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the spots that make your walls flutter around him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from your lips. 

“Once you’re settled in our home on the mainland, you’ll have everything you could ever desire,” he murmurs, hands gliding up to rub gentle circles over your hardened nipples.

“You’ll have servants at your beck and call, and you’ll be free to do whatever you please. No one will dare defy you—no one will even think to.”

The vivid imagery of his words wraps around your mind like a spell, pulling you deeper into him. The sharp discomfort of being stretched begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache that shifts to faint blooms of pleasure.

“And when you finally swell with my child,” he breathes, tone thick with promise, “I’ll find endless delight in claiming you over and over, until the first light of dawn touches us.”

You flush at the picture of him taking you like this, with your belly round and full with his heir.

He chuckles low against your ear, the sound dark and rich. “Oh? You like that idea, don’t you?”

You huff, landing a light smack on his chest. “Do not tease me,” you protest, voice carrying a hint of authority despite your half-lidded gaze. The sight of you perched on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while you fix him with a stern, regal expression befitting a princess is enough to have his hips bucking up to you.

With a strained groan, he crashes his lips against your neck, his cock throbbing almost painfully within your tight walls. “I need you, princess,” he rasps against your skin, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into you.

The pressure of the stretch still lingers, but the sharp pain has melted into pulses of pleasure. You place your hips back, grinding your sensitive nub against his groin, desperate for more. “Please do something,” you plead, hips moving in frantic, clumsy circles, chasing a bliss you don’t know you’re craving.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He lowers you back onto the mattress while still buried deep inside you. Propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze locks onto yours as he slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip nestled at your entrance. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he sinks back in to the hilt, filling you completely in one long, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, this time in response to the delicious friction of his cock dragging against your walls. Driven wild by your reaction, he pulls back again, then thrusts deeply into you with another slow, deliberate plunge. A hiss escapes him as the head of his cock presses against your deepest depths.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans, lips brushing over the bruises left by his earlier kisses on your neck. “You’ve been such a darling for me, haven’t you?”

To his twisted delight, you remain incomprehensible, helpless sounds pouring from your kiss-bitten lips as you scramble to steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, nails digging painfully into his skin. He’s almost feral at the way your flesh ripples from the impact of each thrust. The princess of Noir, coveted by men all over the realm, now lies beneath him, sweat-slicked, legs spread, and taking his cock so wonderfully.  But beyond that, he sees the most perfect queen—one whose unparalleled intellect and sharp wit can stand beside him in his pursuit for power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, and you whine, tears staining your cheeks at the dizzying emptiness. He merely shushes you soothingly before gently turning you over onto your stomach. Before you can garble out a question on what he’s doing, he plunges into you once more, hitting a spot against your front that has you curling your toes and screaming into the sheets.

“I—It feels s—strange again—!” you manage between broken whimpers, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his movements against your sore walls.

“Wanna feel good again, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

Your answering sob is all the reply you can muster.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted up on your knees, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand grips your jaw, holding your face up. His thrusts quicken, erratic and desperate, and you gasp as his tongue traces the outer shell of your ear. Then, his hand slides lower, fingers finding the swollen nub above your abused folds. The sudden burst of pleasure at the rubbing motion has you crying out, body tightening as a familiar heat coils low in your belly.

You begin to thrash in his hold at the overwhelming sensations. “Sy—I think—I think I’m—”

“Let it happen, princess, I got you.”

With those words, your hands tangle in his sweat-damp hair as a violent shudder wracks your body, exhausted sobs escaping your lips. His relentless pace doesn’t falter, eyes locked on the harsh bounce of your breasts as he pounds into you from behind, chasing his release. The tight grip of your walls and the slick heat enveloping his cock finally push him over the edge, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic before burying himself deep with a final, forceful motion, spilling his seed inside you.

Sylus takes a moment to catch his breath, pressing soft, chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“You alright, princess?”

You don’t respond.

Confused, he gently tilts your head back, only to find your peaceful, sleeping face, soft snores escaping your lips. He huffs a small laugh. How adorable.

Carefully, he shifts against the headboard, settling you onto him with his half-hard cock still nestled inside, twitching faintly. Draping your legs over his knees, he starts massaging your inner thighs, soothing the soreness he knows must be there.

A series of sharp knocks echoes through the room.

“This is the chamberlain. I must confirm that the consummation rites have been fulfilled for your marriage to be deemed legitimate by the Grand Temple.”

Sylus scowls, eyes scanning over your sleeping form. “Can’t this wait in the morning?”

“This is necessary to eliminate any possibility of deceit in performing the rites.”

“Damn uptights,” he mutters. Then, a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Well, come in then.”

The door swings open, revealing the old chamberlain in his faded temple robes, his attention fixed on his ledger. He mumbles the schedule for the following day as he approaches the bed. When he finally looks up, expecting to see the usual ruffled, soaked sheets, he freezes, almost stumbling backward in shock.

You—the cherished Noir princess, known for your beauty and headstrong grace—lie exhausted, nestled against the imposing form of the feared Onichynus general behind you. His scarlet eyes glint as he sucks a mark onto the side of your neck, and beneath you, his impressive girth disappears into your swollen, intimate folds, generous amounts of your combined essences coating his base.

“This is evidence enough, no?” Sylus taunts, sneaking in a shallow thrust up to you, drawing a soft, breathless whine from your throat.

The chamberlain stammers, his words fumbling as he backs toward the door.

“Y—Yes, the rites are confirmed. Good night,” he rushes out in a single breath before slamming the door behind him.

Chuckling, Sylus pulls his sleeping wife closer, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You’ll need the rest for the long journey ahead, and for whatever adjustments await you back on the mainland.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

He’s just grateful to have found his beloved kitten again.

check out my other works!

[amyzworldds]

Part Two: Thirteen Cheers for Fourteen

Masterlist | Part 1

In a whirlwind of hate and heartbreak, Y/N, the lone female maknae of Seventeen, faces relentless backlash from fans, pushing her to leave the group and vanish abroad. After a year of silence, she returns to Korea, forging a solo path with a powerful comeback, while the thirteen boys grapple with her absence. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, lil bit of angst

The past few months had flown by in a whirlwind for Y/N. Her solo comeback was locked and loaded—tracks mastered, choreography polished, music video edits finalized. The announcement had dropped a week ago, a sleek press release from her company that sent shockwaves through the industry. News outlets picked it up fast, headlines flashing her name: “Y/N Returns: Solo Debut Set to Redefine Her Legacy.” Carats—those who’d loved her even through the storm—flooded social media with support. “We’re so proud of you, Y/N.” “You’ve always been enough.” “Welcome back, uri maknae.” She’d scrolled through the comments late one night, her chest tight with something she hadn’t felt in years: gratitude.

Seventeen had finished their world tour a month ago, their triumphant return splashed across every K-pop platform. She’d watched clips—Seungkwan’s goofy waves to the crowd, Mingyu’s dimpled grin, Hoshi’s wild energy. They were back in Seoul now, back in the HYBE building, but their paths never seemed to cross. She’d linger by the elevators sometimes, half-hoping to hear Dino’s laugh or catch Joshua’s quiet hum, but it was always silence. She wanted to see them—God, she was ready—but the thought of texting first made her stomach twist. What if they were mad? What if they’d moved on? She’d left them without a word; maybe she’d look like a fool reaching out now.

That afternoon, she’d been halfway out the door with her manager, headed to a meeting, when she froze. “My laptop,” she muttered, patting her bag. “I left it in the practice room.”

Her manager sighed, glancing at his watch. “Hurry. I’ll wait in the car.”

She bolted back into the HYBE building, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she darted for the elevator. It dinged open just in time, and she slipped inside, tapping her foot impatiently as it climbed to the fourth floor. The practice room was down the hall—she’d grab the laptop and be out in thirty seconds. No big deal.

She shoved the door open, breathless, expecting an empty room. But then she stopped dead.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The Seventeen practice room was a mess of noise and motion, the kind of chaos only thirteen boys could create. Hoshi and DK were mid-argument over who’d eaten the last protein bar, their voices overlapping in a ridiculous crescendo. “You’re a human vacuum, Dokyeom!” Hoshi shouted, flopping dramatically onto the floor. Vernon lounged against the mirror, scrolling his phone, while Seungkwan tried to mediate, yelling, “Can you two shut up for five seconds?” Mingyu and Jun were laughing at something on Mingyu’s phone, and Woozi sat at the table, scribbling notes for Carat Land, their annual fan event just weeks away.

They’d seen Y/N’s comeback news. It had popped up on their group chat a few days ago—Joshua had sent the link with a simple, “She’s back.” The room had gone quiet then, each of them processing it in their own way. “I’m proud of her,” Seungcheol had said, his voice firm but soft. “She’s doing it on her own terms.” Jeonghan had nodded, twisting that old “Hannie” bracelet around his wrist. “Wonder why she hasn’t said anything to us, though.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re pissed,” Dino had mumbled, kicking at the floor. “We’re not, right?”

“Never,” Mingyu had replied, his eyes sad. “She’s still our maknae.”

They’d spotted her laptop earlier—a sleek silver thing left on the bench. “Someone’s gonna come for it,” Wonwoo had said, moving it to the table. They’d assumed it was a staff member’s.

Until the door flew open.

The room fell silent, a collective breath held as thirteen pairs of eyes locked onto her. Y/N stood there, frozen in the doorway, her chest heaving from the run, her hoodie slipping off one shoulder. She looked different—her hair shorter, dyed a soft ash blonde, her face sharper but brighter, like she’d shed a layer of weight. But those eyes—wide, startled, glistening—were the same ones they’d known for a decade.

She stared back, her mouth parting slightly, no sound coming out. ascended into chaos. The boys didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched her, as stunned as she was.

“Uh…” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, breaking the spell. She glanced at the table, spotting her laptop. “My laptop.” She stepped forward, grabbing it with shaky hands, and offered a small, nervous smile. “Sorry, I just—forgot it.” She turned to leave, her heart pounding, her feet itching to flee.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol called, his voice rough but warm, stopping her cold.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned back. He stood up, his eyes locked on hers, and the others followed—one by one, rising, closing the distance. She didn’t move, couldn’t, as they surrounded her.

“You’re back,” Jeonghan said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. He reached out, hesitating, then pulled her into a hug. “God, you’re really back.”

That broke the dam. Mingyu was next, wrapping his long arms around her, lifting her off the ground slightly as he laughed, wet and shaky. “We saw the news. You’re killing it, huh?”

“Proud of you,” Joshua added, his hand resting on her shoulder, his smile gentle but teary. “So damn proud.”

Hoshi barreled in, nearly knocking her over with his hug. “You can’t just leave us hanging like that again, okay? We need updates!”

One by one, they piled on—Dino clinging to her arm, Seungkwan sobbing into her hair, Vernon ruffling it with a quiet, “Missed you, kid.” Woozi hung back, but his nod and small smile said everything. DK squeezed her hand, Jun draped an arm over her shoulders, and Wonwoo just stood close, his presence steady and sure.

Seungcheol stepped forward last, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re still ours, you know that? Doesn’t matter if you’re solo. We love you. Always will.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and the tears came—not the broken, jagged ones of before, but soft, warm ones, spilling over as she looked at them. Her boys. Her family. “I missed you,” she choked out, her voice cracking. “So much. I didn’t know how to—I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” Mingyu’s voice broke, incredulous. “You’re our maknae. We’d never.”

“We’ve been waiting,” Jeonghan said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Whenever you were ready.”

She laughed through her sobs, a shaky, real sound, and pulled them closer, the laptop forgotten on the floor. “I’m sorry I left. I just… I had to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

“Good,” Seungkwan sniffled, clinging to her. “Don’t you dare disappear again.”

They stayed like that for a long time, a tangle of arms and tears and laughter, the chaos she’d missed so fiercely. The silence was gone, replaced by their voices, their warmth. She wasn’t alone anymore.

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The day Y/N’s music video dropped, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. She’d barely had time to process the release—her album Unraveled hitting streaming platforms, the sleek, cinematic MV racking up views—when a group chat she hadn’t opened in over a year lit up like a Christmas tree. The culprits? Her thirteen former bandmates, now self-proclaimed presidents of her fan club.

“WHERE’S OUR MERCH, Y/N?!” Hoshi’s message screamed in all caps, followed by a string of tiger emojis. “I need that hoodie with your name on it YESTERDAY.”

“Album too,” Mingyu chimed in. “Signed. Limited edition. I’m framing it.”

“Photocards!” Dino added. “I call dibs on the sparkly one.”

Y/N laughed, typing back, “You guys are ridiculous. I’ll bring stuff over later.”

“Later?!” Seungkwan wailed, voice-note dramatic as ever. “We’re dying out here! Do you know how long we’ve waited for this?!”

She showed up at the HYBE practice room that afternoon, arms loaded with a box of merch—hoodies, albums, photocards, even a few keychains she’d thrown in for fun. The door swung open, and she was met with a chorus of shrieks that could’ve shattered glass.

“IT’S HER!” Hoshi yelled, diving for the box like a kid on Christmas morning. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

“Chill, dude,” Mingyu said, elbowing him aside to grab a hoodie. He held it up, grinning. “Look at this—‘Y/N: Unraveled.’ I’m wearing this everywhere.”

Seungcheol snatched an album, flipping it open. “Sign it. Right here. ‘To my favorite leader, love, Y/N.’ Go.”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed a marker, scribbling personalized notes as they crowded around her. Jeonghan slid up, smirking. “Make mine pretty. Something like, ‘To the prettiest handsome man alive.’”

“Dream on,” she shot back, writing, “To Hannie oppa, don’t lose the bracelet.”

Joshua hovered politely, holding a photocard. “Can you sign this one? It’s the one where you’re winking. I’m keeping it forever.”

“Forever?” Vernon teased, snagging his own card. “I’m putting mine on my phone case. Look—bam!” He slapped it onto the back of his phone, grinning. “Now I’ve got Y/N watching my back.”

Minghao, who’d been quietly sorting through the pile, held up a hoodie with her logo and name. “This is cool,” he said, his voice soft but his eyes bright. “Sign it for me? ‘To Hao, the chillest brother.’”

“Finally, some class,” Y/N said, winking at him as she signed it. “Why can’t you all be this calm?”

“Because we’re your hype squad!” DK bellowed, pulling on a hoodie that was a size too small. “Look at me—I’m a walking billboard!”

Woozi, ever the practical one, inspected his album. “This production’s insane. Did you write all the tracks?”

“Most of them,” she said, and he nodded, impressed. “Sign mine ‘To the music genius.’ I’m stealing your tricks.”

Jun grabbed a photocard and gasped. “This one’s holographic! Y/N, you’re too cool for us now.”

“Never,” she laughed, signing it as he danced around her.

Seungkwan clutched his chest, holding up a signed album. “I’m crying. This is my most prized possession. Sign it again!”

“You’re so extra,” Wonwoo said, but he was grinning, slipping his own photocard into his wallet. “This one’s mine. No one touch it.”

Dino pounced on her next, waving a hoodie. “Sign the sleeve! I’m wearing it to carat land so everyone knows I stan you!”

She obliged, laughing as they turned the room into a fanboy frenzy—Hoshi posing with his keychain like it was a Grammy, Mingyu snapping selfies with his hoodie, Minghao twirling her keychain with a rare, goofy grin.

--------------------------------------------------------------

That night, her phone exploded again as the boys flooded their Instagram stories. Seungcheol posted a mirror selfie with her album, captioned, “Proud leader moment. Stream Unraveled now—link in bio.” Jeonghan shared a pic of his signed bracelet note, “She’s back, and I’m crying.” Joshua’s was simple: a shot of his photocard with a heart emoji.

Mingyu went overboard—three stories in a row: him in the hoodie, him with the album, him pointing at her photocard on his phone case, “My bias forever. MV link below!” Hoshi filmed himself dancing to her title track, screaming, “Y/N, YOU’RE A LEGEND!”

DK posted a blurry selfie with her in the background, “Caught her slippin’. Support our maknae!” Seungkwan’s was a tearful video: “I’ve waited YEARS for this. Stream it or I’ll haunt you.” Vernon’s was chill—a pic of his phone case with, “She’s fire. Check it.”

Woozi shared a studio shot of him listening to her album, “Respect. Link up.” Jun posted his holographic card, “Too shiny, like her.” Wonwoo’s was a quiet flex—his wallet photocard with, “Always with me.”

Minghao, ever the aesthetic king, uploaded a minimalist shot of the keychain against a sunset, “Her vibe. Stream Unraveled.” Dino rounded it out with a hoodie selfie, “Pi Cheolin approves. Go watch the MV!”

Y/N watched it all unfold, laughing until her sides hurt, warmth spreading through her chest.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Her first Music Bank appearance was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. She stood backstage, adjusting her mic pack, when she heard it—a roar from the crowd that sounded suspiciously familiar. Peeking out, she nearly dropped her water bottle.

All thirteen Seventeen members were in the audience, squished into the front row, waving lightsticks they’d clearly stolen from carat land prep. They were loud—louder than the actual fans.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Hoshi chanted, jumping like a maniac. Mingyu held up a handmade sign: “OUR MAKNAE SLAYS.”

“Go off, queen!” DK hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Seungcheol, trying to keep some dignity, just clapped like a proud dad—until Seungkwan elbowed him, and he yelled, “That’s our girl!”

Jeonghan waved his lightstick with a smirk, shouting, “You’re prettier than me now!”

“Sing it, Y/N!” Joshua called, grinning ear to ear.

Vernon gave a cool nod but ruined it by screaming, “Woo!” mid-verse. Woozi whistled, sharp and piercing, while Jun and Wonwoo chanted her name in unison.

Minghao stood out, waving a glowstick with quiet intensity, then yelling, “You’re the best, Y/N!”—a rare burst of volume that made her laugh mid-note.

Dino was the loudest, bouncing on his toes. “That’s my twin maknae! Kill it!”

She nearly fumbled her choreo from giggling, but she powered through, her heart swelling. After her stage, they swarmed her backstage, sweaty and beaming.

“You were insane!” Mingyu said, pulling her into a bear hug.

“Sign my forehead next time,” Hoshi begged, pointing at his face.

“Voice was perfect,” Woozi said, nodding. “Remix collab when?”

Minghao smiled, soft but genuine. “You glowed out there. Proud of you.”

Seungcheol ruffled her hair. “Told you—you’re still ours.”

She grinned, surrounded by her thirteen fanboys, their chaos the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s solo album Unraveled was a steamroller. It clung to the top of the charts like a stubborn barnacle, sold out its first run in weeks, and forced her label to scramble for new batches. Fans—especially carats—were feral, hyping her every move and dunking on her old haters with savage glee. “Where’s the ‘talentless’ crowd now, huh?” one tweeted, alongside a clip of her MV hitting million views. “Y/N’s out here proving you wrong, stay mad!” another crowed. She’d scroll through it all late at night, grinning at the chaos she’d unleashed.

The MAMA Awards rolled around, Seoul’s biggest night of glitter and glory, and Y/N was a bundle of nerves. She’d been assigned a solo seat in the third row—standard for a soloist—but Seventeen had other plans. The second she stepped into the venue, all thirteen of them descended like a pack of overexcited golden retrievers.

“No way you’re sitting alone,” Seungcheol declared, grabbing her arm as they swarmed her.

“You look like a lost puppy over there!” Hoshi added, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s sad vibes,” Mingyu said, pouting dramatically. “We can’t let our maknae suffer!”

The organizers tried to intervene—“She’s scheduled for—”—but Seungkwan cut them off, clutching his chest. “Do you want her to cry? On camera? Is that what you want?!”

Joshua flashed his angelic smile, disarming them. “She’s with us. It’s fine.”

“Family seating!” DK bellowed, dragging her toward their row.

Minghao, ever the voice of reason, chimed in with a sly grin. “She’s basically still Seventeen. You can’t argue with that.”

The staff threw up their hands, defeated, as thirteen dorky boys hauled her to their table near the front. Vernon plopped her between him and Wonwoo, while Jun and Dino fought over who got to hold her water bottle. “It’s mine to guard!” Dino insisted, hugging it like a teddy bear.

“Give it here,” Jun countered, yanking it back. “I’m the responsible one!”

Woozi just sighed, sipping his water. “You’re all embarrassing her on live TV.”

“No, we’re hyping her!” Jeonghan shot back, adjusting his hair in the nearest camera lens. “She’s a star tonight.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The night rolled on, awards piling up, until the big one—Album of the Year. Y/N fidgeted in her seat, sandwiched between Vernon’s chill vibes and Seungcheol’s tense dad-energy. When the presenter opened the envelope, time slowed.

“And the MAMA Award for Album of the Year goes to… Y/N, Unraveled!”

The crowd erupted—cheers, claps, gasps—but nothing was louder than the thirteen idiots beside her. She froze, jaw dropping, as Seventeen leapt to their feet, turning the elegant event into a frat house rager.

“THAT’S OUR GIRL!” Mingyu roared, fist-pumping so hard he nearly knocked over Jeonghan.

“BODYGUARDS, ASSEMBLE!” Hoshi shouted, and they formed a circle around her, each one striking a dramatic pose—hands to their ears like Secret Service agents, faces deadly serious.

Seungcheol barked, “Protect the queen!” and shoved Dino forward to clear a path.

She burst out laughing, stumbling as they “escorted” her to the stage. DK flexed nonexistent muscles, yelling, “No one’s getting through us!” while Seungkwan wailed, “I’M TOO PROUD TO FUNCTION!”

Vernon gave a lazy salute, muttering, “VIP coming through,” as Minghao smirked and whispered, “We’re so extra right now.”

The cameras caught it all—thirteen dorks in tuxes acting like her personal hype squad, while carats in the audience screamed their lungs out. She climbed the steps, still giggling, and took the mic, the trophy gleaming in her hands.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N took a deep breath, the laughter fading into something heavier. The spotlight burned, but she felt the boys’ eyes on her, steadying her.

“Wow, uh… I didn’t expect this,” she started, voice shaky. “This album—it’s everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve fought for. I didn’t think I’d make it here, you know? There were days I couldn’t get out of bed, days I thought I’d lost myself forever.”

The crowd quieted, hanging on her words. Back at the table, Seungcheol gripped his chair, eyes glistening. “She’s killing me,” he muttered.

“I’m here because of the people who never gave up on me,” she continued, her voice rising. “My fans—carats—you waited for me, believed in me when I couldn’t. And… Seventeen.” She glanced at them, and the boys erupted again.

“WOOHOO!” Hoshi hollered, waving his arms like a windmill.

“THAT’S US!” DK yelled, jumping so high he nearly fell over Mingyu.

Mingyu cupped his hands, booming, “YOU’RE THE BEST, Y/N!”

She grinned, tears pricking her eyes. “These thirteen idiots dragged me through hell and back. They’re my brothers, my chaos, my home. Seungcheol, who wouldn’t let me quit. Jeonghan, who made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Joshua, with his quiet strength. Jun, who’d prank me just to see me smile. Hoshi, the loudest cheerleader alive. Wonwoo, my silent rock. Woozi, who taught me music is power. DK, my sunshine. Mingyu, who fed me when I forgot to eat. Seungkwan, my drama twin. Vernon, who kept me grounded. Minghao, who showed me calm in the storm. And Dino, my twin.”

Each name hit like a punch, and the boys lost it:

Seungcheol stood, clapping like a proud dad, shouting, “That’s my maknae!”

Jeonghan fanned his face, yelling, “I’m blushing!”

Joshua grinned, calling, “Love you too!”

Jun pumped his fist, “Prank master approved!”

Hoshi spun in a circle, screaming, “I’M YOUR CHEERLEADER!”

Wonwoo gave a rare shout, “Always here, Y/N!”

Woozi smirked, “Music power, baby!”

DK beamed, “Sunshine reporting for duty!”

Mingyu flexed, “Food king forever!”

Seungkwan sobbed, “DRAMA TWINS UNITE!”

Vernon waved, “Grounded and proud!”

Minghao laughed, loud and bright, “Calm storm, that’s me!”

Dino bounced, “Pi Cheolin loves you!”

“I wouldn’t be here without them,” she finished, voice cracking. “Thank you—for loving me, for waiting. This is for us.”

The crowd roared, but Seventeen drowned them out, cheering like they’d won the award themselves. She stepped off stage, and they swarmed her again, a laughing, teary mess of hugs and shouts.

“You made me cry on TV!” Seungkwan accused, wiping his face.

“Speech of the century!” Hoshi declared, spinning her around.

Minghao squeezed her shoulder, grinning. “You named me. I’m honored.”

“Thirteen bodyguards at your service,” Seungcheol said, pulling her into a bear hug. “Forever.”

She laughed through her tears, surrounded by her dorky, loud, perfect family. The trophy was heavy, but their love was heavier—and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I think what I love the most about Reverse Robin AU TimJay is the absolute potential for hero worship with Jason toward Tim. In canon we often forget that Tim didn't really care for Jason as Robin, meanwhile as I never shut up about, Jason has been weirdly respecting and obsessed with Tim since finding out about Tim's existence. So if you flip their order, make Tim Red Hood and make Jason Red Robin, there's so much room for hero worship from Jason.

As Robin, Jason has always teetered that edge of being pro-murder or not. Whether you believe he killed Felipe or not, even in his Post-Crisis introduction as Robin, he almost kills Two Face. Those concepts of lethal justice have always been brewing inside him, just reigned in by Bruce. So if you have Robin!Jason witnessing Red Hood!Tim start killing people and quickly making noticeable change in the landscape of gangs in Gotham, Jason would take quick notice. I think Tim as Red Hood would still be lethal, but there'd be a different application than Jason's Red Hood. Heads in duffle bags isn't Tim's style, even if he kills. I think you'd see something much more akin to that time Tim almost killed Boomerang, where it's such an elaborately thought out set up, it realistically doesn't even look like Tim killed anyone. It'd take months for Bruce to connect this string of deaths as anything other than coincidental, let alone link them to Red Hood. And Jason is wickedly smart, even as Robin. Jason, putting those pieces together before Bruce does and witnessing the undeniable positive change for Gotham it's enacting? Robin!Jason would be incredibly drawn in by that, and then even more-so, a Red Robin!Jason who has to grapple with being replaced to make room for the next Robin would I think, in anger, turn to Red Hood. And Tim would push him away at first, his plans don't have room for a scorned teenager who's trying to get back at Bruce and Nightwing!Damian like this- but I think Jason would wear him down. Prove to Tim that Jason can think on his wavelength.

Slightly related, what interests me about Red Hood!Tim is how it'd implicate his closeness to Ra's. Jason is taken into the League by Talia in Lost Days and Ra's doesn't necessarily approve of Jason's presence, especially not of Talia dunking him in the Pit, but Ra's has always canonically been A Little Weird about Tim. I think in a world Tim dies as the second Robin, it would be Ra's who dunks Tim to preserve his mind that Ra's thinks shouldn't be wasted, and you have the potential for 'apprentice of Ra's' Tim wrapped up in it all, even without him experience the Red Robin arc. So when it's Jason as Red Robin, instead of him going to Ra's when he's scorned by the Batfamily, he goes to Tim. The person he once idolized, because I think Tim would've been Jason's Robin. Smart, competent, a strong legacy to live up to. And now he's back, and he's pro-killing, an edge that Jason has always teetered on and would feel even closer to when he's replaced by a young Dick. I think Tim wouldn't ever be able to get rid of Jason.

Then on Tim's side, I think his reaction to being replaced after his death would be a complicated one. Objectively, being the Robin who believes Batman needs a Robin, he'd respect the logic and know Bruce was always going to replace him eventually. But still, there's always going to be that instinctual emotional reaction of betrayal and replacement. I think he'd view Jason at first with anger and distance, but then, seeing Jason as this street kid with begrudging potential, I could see Red Hood!Tim testing Jason. Constantly throwing things at Jason, seeing how he reacts, if he lives up to being Robin. Tim has a need for analyzing people, understanding their strengths and weaknesses. And he seems the Robin mantle very uniquely, he'd need to have it proven to him that Jason can handle it.

So you would have this dynamic of Jason hero worshipping Tim, slowly believing in Tim's methodology. While Tim is at first dismissive of him, but then starts to test him, see what makes this kid tick. And I think the TimJay potential of Jason trying to prove himself to Tim could be Neat.

[daydreamingoveracupofcoffee]

Pro-Heroes as flower

Toshinori Yagi (All Might):

Sunflower

In my view, sunflowers capture Toshinori’s radiant, uplifting spirit. Their towering height and bright yellow petals reflect his commanding, hopeful presence as All Might, standing tall as a beacon for society. In hanakotoba, sunflowers symbolize “adoration” and “radiance,” aligning with how he’s revered and his ability to shine even in dark times. The flower’s sturdy stem mirrors his enduring willpower, persisting through injury and weakness to pass on his legacy.

Shota Aizawa (Eraser Head):

Lavender

I see lavender as Aizawa’s flower for its understated elegance and calming essence. The flower’s soft purple hue and soothing scent reflect his quiet strength and ability to defuse chaotic situations with his Quirk. In hanakotoba, lavender symbolizes “devotion” and “silence,” fitting his unspoken loyalty to his students and subtle heroism. Lavender’s association with rest also nods to his constant exhaustion, tying into his sleeping bag moments, while its resilience in tough conditions mirrors his tenacity.

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic):

Marigold

Marigolds feel right for Present Mic because of their bold, fiery colors and lively presence, matching his energetic, attention-grabbing nature. Their vivid orange and yellow petals echo his bright hair and flashy style. In hanakotoba, marigolds symbolize “passion” and “creativity,” reflecting his dynamic performances as a hero and DJ. To me, the flower’s warmth captures his ability to energize others, while its protective connotations in some traditions align with his heroic duty and steadfast loyalty to friends.

Keigo Takami (Hawks):

Hawkweed

Hawkweed, a vibrant yellow flower with delicate, feather-like petals, feels perfect for Hawks. Its name and appearance echo his bird-themed identity and winged Quirk, while its bright color matches his lively, confident persona and striking eyes. In hanakotoba, hawkweed can symbolize “freedom” and “sharpness,” reflecting his soaring independence and keen perception. The flower’s ability to thrive in varied environments mirrors Hawks’ adaptability, whether he’s charming the public or navigating dangerous undercover missions.

Enji Todoroki (Endeavor):

Red Camellia

Red camellias capture Endeavor’s fiery, complex nature. Their bold, flame-like petals align with his Hellflame Quirk and intense personality, while their elegance reflects his status as a top hero. In hanakotoba, red camellias symbolize “love” and “perseverance,” fitting his relentless drive and his evolving efforts to rebuild familial bonds. The flower’s fleeting bloom also hints at the fragility of his redemption, as he grapples with past mistakes while burning brightly to prove himself.

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fat Gum):

Dandelion

Dandelions feel like the ideal match for Fat Gum’s warm, resilient spirit. Their round, golden heads evoke his bulky, cheerful presence and love for round foods like takoyaki. In hanakotoba, dandelions symbolize “cheerfulness” and “resilience,” reflecting his upbeat attitude and ability to bounce back from attacks using his Quirk. The flower’s ability to spread seeds far and wide mirrors his role in nurturing and inspiring young heroes, while its unassuming strength aligns with his deceptively powerful, protective nature.

Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko):

Red Poppy

Red poppies strike me as Mirko’s flower for their vivid, untamed beauty and fiery spirit. The bright red petals match her intense eyes and fierce energy, while the flower’s wild growth reflects her free-spirited, independent nature. In hanakotoba, poppies symbolize “fun-loving” and “passion,” aligning with her thrill-seeking, battle-hungry personality. Poppies also stand tall yet sway freely, mirroring Mirko’s strength and agility as she leaps into fights without hesitation.

Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca):

Blue Iris

Blue irises feel right for Gang Orca, evoking his aquatic nature and dignified character. The flower’s deep blue petals and sleek, upright form mirror his marine-inspired design and commanding presence. In hanakotoba, irises symbolize “courage” and “trust,” reflecting his heroic resolve and reliability as a mentor. The iris’s association with water and its ability to thrive near it align with his orca traits, while its quiet elegance captures his underlying honor beneath a fearsome exterior.

Tsunagu Hakamada (Best Jeanist):

Cornflower

Cornflowers resonate with Best Jeanist for their subtle elegance and denim-blue hue, which matches his stylish, fabric-focused identity. The flower’s smooth, structured petals reflect his precise control and polished appearance. In hanakotoba, cornflowers symbolize “delicacy” and “refinement,” fitting his sophisticated demeanor and attention to detail. To me, the cornflower’s understated strength—blooming vibrantly yet simply—captures his ability to wield immense power with grace while guiding others to refine their raw potential.

[invinciblerodent]

This is going to be very ranty and disjointed, probably borderline incomprehensible post, but with the "return" of Dragon Age Discourse (and really, did it ever go anywhere?) and me repeatedly seeing the complaints and dismissals of DA:I as a "chosen one"-type of a narrative, I just.... I keep finding myself thinking about the relationship of truth and lies within the game.

Throughout the course of DA:I, the idea of a malleable, flexible personal identity, and a painful confrontation with an uncomfortable truth replacing a soothing falsehood, follows pretty much every character throughout their respective arcs.

There are some more obvious ones, Solas, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, their identities and deceptions (of both those around them and themselves) are clearly front and center in the stories told about them, but this theme of deception (both of the self- and the outside world) is clearly present in the stories of the others as well.

Like, for example, ones that come immediately to mind are stories like that of Cullen, who presents an image of a composed and disciplined military man, a commander- all to hide the desperate and traumatized addict that he sees himself as.

Dorian grappled with the expectations of presenting the image of the perfect heir to his father's legacy, the prideful scion of his house, his entire life (he even introduces himself as the result of "careful breeding", like one might speak about a prized horse)- all while knowing that his family would rather see him lobotomized and obedient, than anything even just resembling his vibrant and passionate self.

Cassandra calls herself a Seeker of Truth, and takes pride in that identity- only to learn that in reality, she has been made a liar, a keeper of secrets, without her knowledge or consent, and it is up to her to either uproot the entire organization and painfully cut out the abscess it is to build it back from the ground up into something respectable, or let the information she had revealed sit, and continue to fester.

And this theme continues and reframes itself in, among others, things like Sera's own inner conflict between her elven heritage and her human upbringing, or in Cole being caught in this unconscionable space in-between human and spirit, between person and concept, etc.

The Inquisitor isn't exempt from this either.

I feel like this is where the core of the many misunderstandings of this plot come from, why so many people continue to believe that Inquisition is a "chosen one" or "divinely appointed" type of story, because I think many might just... not realize, that the protagonist's identity is also malleable, and what they are told in the setup/first act of the game is not necessarily the truth.

The tale of the Inquisitor is the exact opposite of that of a "chosen one" story: it's an examination and reflection of the trope, in that it is the story of an assumption that all wrongly believe to be the truth, and thrust upon you, even if you protest. The very point is that no matter who you choose to say that you are, you will be known as the Herald of a prophet you don't even necessarily believe in, and then that belief will be proven wrong, leaving you to cope with either a devastating disappointment if you believed it, or a bitter kind of vindication if you didn't.

There's a moment just after Here Lies the Abyss (when you learn of the lie you've been fed your entire journey in the game) that I don't often see mentioned, but I think it's one of the most emotionally impactful character moments, if you are playing an Andrastian Inquisitor who had actually believed themselves chosen (which I realize is a rather unpopular pick, lol): it's when Ser Ruth, a Grey Warden, realizes what she had done and is horrified by her own deeds, and turns herself in asking to be tried for the murder of another of her order. As far as she is concerned, she had spilled blood for power, and regardless of whether she was acting of her own volition at the time, whether she had agency in the moment, is irrelevant to her: she seeks no absolution, but willingly submits to any punishment you see fit.

And only if you play as an Inquisitor who, through prior dialogue choices, had established themselves as a devout Andrastian, can you offer her forgiveness, for a deed that was objectively not her fault- not really.

You can, in Andraste's name, forgive her- even though you, at that point, know that you have no real right to do so. That you're not Andraste's Herald, that Andraste may or may not even exist, and that you can't grant anyone "divine forgiveness", because you, yourself, don't have a drop of divinity within you. You know that you were no more than an unlucky idiot who stumbled their way into meddling with forces beyond their ken.

You know you're a fraud. You know. The game forces you to realize, as it slowly drip-drip-drips the memories knocked loose by the blast back into your head, that what all have been telling you that you are up to this point, is false. And yet, you can still choose to keep up the lie, and tell this woman who stands in front of you with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes, that you, with authority you don't have, grant her forgiveness for a crime that wasn't hers to commit.

Because it's the right thing to do. Because to lie to Ser Ruth is far kinder than anything else you could possibly do to her, short of refusing to make a decision altogether.

There are any number of criticisms of this game that I can accept (I may or may not agree depending on what it is, but I'm from the school of thought that any interpretation can be equally valid as long as there's text that supports it, and no text that contradicts it), but I will always continue to uphold that the Inquisitor is absolutely not- and never was a "chosen one".

They're just as small, and sad, and lost, as all the other protagonists- the only difference is that they didn't need to fight for their mantle, because instead of a symbol of honor, it acted as a straitjacket.

[sapphoscreature]

Caitlyn and the Grey- Symbolism

I think it’s interesting to consider the Grey, within the narrative, as symbolic of Caitlyn’s character arc throughout Act 1, and how she is influenced by and influences the wider context.

The Grey is, I think, a morally grey choice. Its symbolism and use encapsulate the tensions at the time both within Caitlyn’s character and within the wider context of Piltover and Zaun. It also preludes the outcome of Act 1, and where this leads Caitlyn, Piltover, and Zaun.

I’ve tried my best to unpick the threads which twine together in the narrative, but this is only my interpretation and there are aspects I may have missed. Along the same line, I have decided to focus on Caitlyn, so my analysis of why other characters (like Jinx and Vi) make their choices is not as in-depth, and definitely deserve their own analysis.

(I made an earlier post about Caitlyn & the Grey, but some of my wording was a bit shoddy and the analysis not as explored as it could have been. I hope this offers something better.)

Caitlyn- loss, the crown, and vengeance:

Following the attack on the council which kills her mother, Caitlyn is grappling with her emotions.

She feels a deep, deep grief for the loss of her mother. She is also guilt-ridden, blaming herself for not stopping Jinx whilst she could- ‘I had the shot.’

And she is angry. Incredibly angry. Jinx is the target of her anger- literally; Caitlyn fantasises about shooting her. ‘I want to tear that laugh from her throat forever.’ Clearly, she wants some kind of vengeance.

On top of this, she now has the ‘legacy’ of the Kiramman house sitting on her shoulders. Guilt-ridden, she admits to her father she feels neither ready nor deserving of becoming the matriarch. But nonetheless, people are now looking to her. Her father can collapse at the funeral, but she must stand tall. The only people she admits vulnerability to are those closest to her- Jayce and Vi (especially Vi emotionally, crying in her arms).

The crown is heavy, the grief is drowning her, but Caitlyn does recognise that her anger is having a negative influence on her thinking. ‘I know,’ she says to Jayce he expresses alarm at her desire for revenge (this is a line I will come back to later).  

And that self-reflection is important to consider, too. Caitlyn in season 1 is intelligent and perceptive, and recognises in her succinct, direct manner both her own ignorance to and the extent to which the Piltover/Zaun divide stretches. ‘This city needs healing. More than I ever realised.’ ‘Please,’ she asks Ekko, ‘let me help you,’ or else, ‘the cycle of violence will never stop.’

Following the council attack, some kind of conflict does, unfortunately, seem inevitable between the two cities. Whether this be all-out war or not, the cycle continues. But whilst Caitlyn is impacted by the attack, she retains being driven by the same empathy and perception which made her open to recognising her own ignorance.

Both Caitlyn and Mel are reluctant that a full-scale invasion of Zaun occur, knowing this was the act of a ‘single deranged individual’ and that ‘innocents could be caught in the cross fire.’

With Ambessa’s interjection, however, the invasion is set to go ahead, although without the use of Hextech.

Ambessa fans flames further by aiding the chem-baron attack on the memorial service. And this attack exacerbates all of Caitlyn’s negative emotions.

The pressure on her shoulders as the Kiramman heir, her guilt, her grief. Her anger, absolutely. I think that this is when they become the prevailing emotions which influence her choices and cloud her self-perception, as well as her perception of others.  

And this is when things get grey.

Establishing the Strike team:

Caitlyn and Vi’s relationship in Act 1 definitely deserves its own deep dive. I’m painfully aware I’m not giving it the attention it deserves here. But, for the sake of brevity, I think, for Caitlyn, Vi anchors her to the self-reflection she is beginning to lose sight of.

Following the memorial attack, Vi is looking for the Caitlyn she knows, the Caitlyn who took on the council in season 1. The Caitlyn who, after that failed, was ready to make a new plan and ‘fix’ things. The Caitlyn who was a misfit to her own society. The Caitlyn she fell for.

But Caitlyn is hemmed in by the Kiramman pressure and her emotional struggles. Vi urges her to stop the invasion- this will only lead to more hurt on both sides- but Caitlyn cannot think of how to ‘fix’ things. ‘She dies and leaves this giant hole, and I’m just supposed to fill it.’

She needs Vi to anchor her. ‘Everything is falling apart,’ she laments. ‘We won’t let it,’ Vi promises. She retains that connection, that grounding and belief in Caitlyn, in the woman she knows (and loves). They can stop the invasion, take matters into their own hands.

This holding onto their optimism to ‘fix’ things remains important, even as tensions are incredibly heightened after the memorial attack. Even as they are trapped in these tensions, part of the cycle. The choices they make becoming part of the cycle.

It’s a battle within itself. Vi is trying to hold onto Caitlyn for as long as she can throughout Act 1. And Caitlyn is still there, but she is battling with herself. With her grief, guilt, and anger.

And as they devise their plan, we see Caitlyn at the Kiramman archives. She is taking up the mantle. She uses the literal symbol of her family- their key- to discover the archives, the vents, and the Grey.

The Grey reflects back on her face, her pensive expression. In an earlier post, I said this represented the dark path Caitlyn is going down. However, I think it is more complex. I think it reflects her struggling to grapple with her emotions and the pressure and tension of the current situation and how these are convincing her to make a morally grey choice.

It is important to place the establishment of the strike team and their use of the Grey within this context.

The Strike Team and the Grey

The Grey is indicative to me of the situation in which it is used. This is reflected in how it is used, and in its very nature itself. It is a morally grey action because of the what, why, and how.

The wider context is also important, and we are invited by the framing to consider the comparisons and contrasts in the strike team’s use of the Grey the historical precedent of its presence in Zaun.

I want to explore what the Grey actually is and the strike team’s use of the Grey first before turning to Caitlyn specifically and why she chooses the Grey and what it represents.

There are a lot of layers you could consider when breaking down the moral greyness of the Grey. In the process of writing this I saw more and more from other people (I will link an interesting reddit post at the end). I have included some, but I think I’d rather this just add to the conversation than be in any way an attempt to make a ‘definitive’ post about the Grey.

Zaun: Context:

First, a brief summary of what is happening in Zaun when the strike team enters to provide context.

Jinx puts it best- ‘it’s all going to shit.’ Fighting has broken out amongst the chem-barons now vying for power in the vacuum Silco has left. The ‘Sucker’ sequence shows fighting on the streets, fires breaking out. Children like Isha are running from the chem-barons’ goons, part of the child labour they employ in the shimmer factories. The Firelights are bringing people to their safe haven because of all the fighting. Deaths are referenced in a meeting with the chem-barons organised by Sevika.

Sevika calls these ‘turf wars.’ I have inferred that different chem-barons control different areas of the city- ‘you started this dance when you raided the Rapturewalk.’ Innocents are getting hurt because the conflict is in the city itself.

(I will discuss Jinx later)

What is the Grey?

There is actually a lot of grey area when it comes to the Grey in the specifics. But we do know:

Air in the fissures became increasingly toxic owing to the rise of industry, this toxic air became known as the Grey

This can lead to negative physical effects- reddened eyes, irritation of the lungs; long periods of exposure can lead to the deterioration of the affected areas

Kirammans installed ventilation systems to prevent the air from being so polluted  

We do not know whose industry created such pollution. We do not see anyone die as a direct result of the Grey, but clearly, ‘factory smog’ is not a healthy thing to be breathing in over long periods of time. 

How do the strike team use the Grey?

The strike team have three key objectives:   

Locate Jinx

Dismantle shimmer

Neutralise any agents still loyal to Silco

The Grey is used by them to target these three objectives. We are shown this both in episode 2 and through the ‘Hellfire’ sequence in episode 3. They deploy the Grey on Silco’s goons, then the chembarons’ bases and the shimmer factory (destroying amounts of shimmer), before seeking out Jinx in the arcade.

To an extent, their actions could actually benefit Zaun. Destroying shimmer, something which stems from the damage Cait and Vi see shimmer cause, because of Silco and Singed, during season 1, would be to destabilise the power struggle going on between the chem-barons causing violence on the streets.

The literal use of the grey does de-escalate the violence. When chembaron Smeech reaches chembaron Margot’s base (a big statue of her face- someone’s got power), he comments that the Grey has ‘cleared the place out. Might have made our jobs a lot easier.’ They were anticipating confrontation, but it has been prevented.

The use of the Grey is not a long-term nor Zaun-wide affair. The strike team moves from one spot to another (using the vents to do so, something you could argue allows them an element of surprise on their targets which prevents them from fleeing to a place where innocents might be put in direct danger, and also prevents alarm among people at the sight of the strike team in Zaun), targeting the chembarons and their lackeys who monopolised the streets of Zaun for their violence and shimmer trade.

The Grey seeps from Margot’s base but the street itself is not flooded. As the strike team enter the arcade the Grey seeps in, but when Jinx escapes afterwards, the street outside is clear.

The Grey is used as part of a mission targeting specific objectives to prevent a full-scale invasion which could put civilians in danger.

And yet, the Grey is used. It functions as a weapon to debilitate their targets. It has unpleasant side effects, which alongside the strike team’s use of violence with their Hextech weaponry, allow them to incapacitate their targets.

(We can’t be sure how long the Grey takes to dissipate, or how long the chembarons’ people are exposed- we see some of the same characters at Sevika’s rally in episode 4, and they appear physically fine; I interpret it as short bursts of exposure- Caitlyn has control over the stopping and starting of the fans in the vents- we see her pulling levers, twisting handles).

The framing invites us to consider this morally grey approach through comparing and contrasting the strike team’s use of the Grey to its historical precedent in Zaun.

The Kiramman archive illustrations present it as a monster, a billowing mass which swallows Zaun. Through the eyes of both Jinx and Heenot, Smeech’s lackey, it also appears as such, as do the strike team who emerge from it.

This emphasises its harmful potential, which comes, more crucially, from the fear it derives. Vi argues with Jinx that they used the Grey to ‘clear the streets. To keep people safe.’ The violence has been de-escalated, there are no civilians being directly harmed by the Grey, but it has based itself on this fear owing to the historical precedent of the Grey in Zaun.

And yet you can also contrast. That the strike team are presented as part of the monster suggests they control the dissemination of the Grey, contrasting with the swamping monster, out of control, which floods through all of Zaun in the historical images.

A frame of Silco’s goons running from the strike team and their cloud of Grey is immediately followed by an historical image of innocents Zaunites running from a billowing beast. We are seeing once again the historical precedent of fear, but we are also noticing the differences- the Grey is controlled by the strike team, it follows them, and the only people in the frame are Silco’s goons, no innocent civilians.

(Once again, we don’t know how far it could spread but as others have suggested, the thick air of the undercity could impede its progress, and it never makes it down to the Firelight base. Combined with the targeted use, I think it is fair to therefore make this contrast).

All of this illustrates my earlier argument- the Grey is indicative of the situation in which it is used. The objectives of the strike team which could benefit Zaun intertwine with a way of going about those objectives which is morally grey and therefore underlines how the characters and their choices are becoming enveloped into the historic cycles of tension and violence which exist between Piltover and Zaun.

This neither makes them good nor evil- they are morally grey. It represents their interactions with their wider context, how they are influenced and influencing the wider context.

It represents how Caitlyn is doing this, how she is morally grey.

So why does she make this choice? What is influencing her which makes the good objectives of the strike team tainted so grey?

Caitlyn- Why choose the Grey?

‘Can I do the right thing for the wrong reasons? Is it bad that I’m making friends with my demons?’ - 'Hellfire'

What is key for me about the Grey in the narrative is how it symbolises Caitlyn’s emotions, her mental state. The Grey is a pollutant, and how its smog affects the physical body is a reflection of how Caitlyn’s emotions are affecting her mentally, and therefore how she in turn interacts with the wider context.

As I said earlier, the memorial attack exacerbates her anger, which is in turn exacerbated by her grief, her guilt, and the pressure of the Kiramman name.

As the strike team conduct their mission, we see how Caitlyn’s negative emotions influence her choices and cloud her self-perception, as well as her perception of others. This, for me, is why the Grey is the weapon of choice within the narrative.  

There are literal considerations you could take into account as to the why, and I’ve sort of explored these in the how- preferable to full-scale invasion, vents allow for targeted use, short-span use non-fatal etc. But for me the symbolic nature of the Grey reflecting Caitlyn’s emotions, and crucially how these push her to make morally grey decisions, is what defines the why- the above lyrics to ‘Hellfire’ encapsulates this nicely.

So, what is the ‘wrong reason’?

Vengeance:

Vengeance. That is what Caitlyn wants. Vengeance against Jinx.

It is born, crucially, from her grief, her guilt. It stokes her anger and soon becomes an all-encompassing smog which clouds Caitlyn’s thinking.

Jinx remains the spectre of Caitlyn’s fantasy as the strike team carry out their mission. She appears as a silhouette in the vents. She taunts them in the arcade with the shooting game. Caitlyn hyperventilates before taking a shot at a figure which mirrors her earlier fantasy in her hideaway. The impact frame of her eyes is pretty disturbing, evocative of how twisted Caitlyn’s mental state is becoming the longer Jinx remains elusive.

She becomes increasingly aggressive as their hunt continues. She shoves wanted posters in the chembarons’ people’s faces. She is cold and threatening with Heenot. And the ‘Hellfire’ sequence makes clear just how vengeance is twisting her as she appears a figure tinted red, eyes fiery.

Caitlyn is losing sight of herself. Losing sight of the wider context. This is affecting how she treats others.

Recall her conversation with Jayce in the hideaway, his alarm at her anger. ‘I know,’ she acknowledges, and confesses, ‘I just understand now how easy it is to hate them,’ she admits. The attack on the council has made bolder the line of divide cycles of violence bring- ‘them’- but Caitlyn is hanging onto her self-perception.

But the memorial attack changes things. ‘Animals,’ she calls the attackers. This dehumanising word demonstrates how much Caitlyn is losing sight of herself. Her empathy, her prior reluctance to see any difference, on a human level, between Piltover and Zaun (hiding in Vi’s childhood home in season 1 she says, ‘we’re people, just like you’).

Losing sight of the humanity in others means Caitlyn is also losing sight of herself. Her own humanity. And, if the Grey is depicted as a monster, and the monster is reflecting Caitlyn (and under her control), this says a lot about how vengeance is twisting her thinking, suffocating her person, and causing her to contribute to cycles which divide and hurt.

‘Leader of House Kiramman’:

This ‘losing’ of identity can be reflected further, I think, in how Caitlyn’s personal motives define her using the Kiramman name, her first taking up the mantle.

She utilises the power of her family name to assert her choices over the council. Once again, it is important to consider that this does prevent the full-scale invasion, but I think it is fair to argue Caitlyn is also being influenced by her need for vengeance. The Kiramman name is tool, a key, which can get her what she wants.

And I think it is interesting to consider how her reversing the helpful intentions of her ancestors in installing the vents, utilising the Grey instead of dispelling it, represents both Caitlyn losing sight of herself and her prior issues with her family name.

‘I know you doubt the merit of your birthright, Caitlyn,’ Cassandra says. In season 1, we see her resisting the stifling confines of what her mother expects and wants for her. She is a misfit.

After Cassandra’s death, the pressure of the name Caitlyn does not even want bears down on her, along with the guilt of perceiving herself as complicit in her mother’s death.

And Caitlyn struggles under this weight until the Kiramman name is twisted, too, into a tool not dissimilar to the Grey. She is not yet ready for the responsibility and how such power and privilege affect both Piltover and Zaun. It is her ‘legacy,’ but Caitlyn is losing herself.

This is even more impactful when considering that many of Caitlyn’s issues and arguments with her mother derive from her being a reluctant and unwilling heir. The Kiramman name came between them in life, and in death is twisted, as Caitlyn’s grief and love for her mother become twisted themselves by vengeance.  

There is irony in learning the Kirammans helped the undercity with the vents, something altruistic similar to Caitlyn’s own values when she is not choking on grief and vengeance. But the placing of the crown on her head happens at the hands of tragedy, and it rests twistedly for now.

The Grey becomes Black and White:

This is all key in why I think the Grey, what it represents, and how it is used, act as a prelude to the culmination of Act 1- Caitlyn’s appointment as commander.

Ambessa is impressed with Caitlyn’s assertion in the bunker, observant of her grief (and Salo’s) after the council attack, and perceptive of the power of the Kiramman name. As Salo says, ‘it bewitches people.’

By the end of Act 1, Caitlyn has failed to capture Jinx and left Vi after feeling betrayed by her for stopping her from shooting Jinx, therefore endangering Isha. By this point, I think there is no stopping the sliding slope into the black and white brooding figure of vengeance we see in the ‘Paint the Town Blue’ sequence.

She is choking on her emotions, and with Vi, her anchor, gone, is ripe for Ambessa’s picking. Caitlyn needs direction and Ambessa is offering it to her. She promises Caitlyn the thing which has slowly consumed her over the course of Act 1- vengeance. She steps further down this course.

Thus, grey turns to black and white. Caitlyn becomes complicit in, is the face of, the Piltover/Noxian occupation of Zaun, the violence this brings. Caitlyn has lost sight of herself in her hunt for Jinx and therefore others are harmed for her purposes (and Ambessa’s).

Caitlyn comes back to herself, slowly (from episode 4 we see her grappling her position), although of course, remains permanently changed (it’s interesting how the vengeance and idea of either doing the ‘wrong thing for the right reason’ or 'right thing for the wrong reason’ follow on in act 2 but that’s not my focus here).

Jinx and the Retaliation:

I think Jinx’s retaliation to the strike team’s mission and their use of the Grey underlines how its moral greyness feeds into the cycles of violence (I’m only going to analyse here her actions in relation to Caitlyn’s- this is already way too long and she deserves her own post).

Jinx is, like Caitlyn, motivated by her emotions, particularly related to Vi and her upset at seeing her as part of the strike team. She tells Sevika she is going to ‘finish what’s left of her family’ after their fight with Smeech, referring to their confrontation in the Temple of Janna.

She retaliates against the strike team to do so- setting trigger explosives in the vents, hanging vivisected dolls of them from a propellor she ties Heenot to in the first step of luring them down to the temple.

He says, ‘Jinx is off the rails, even for her. She’s got a real fire lit under her ass. She’s planning something big, right here in the pipeworks. She was heading towards the old tunnels. Something about rerouting the vents.’

Jinx begins using the Grey against the strike team. She breaks a pipe and, along with arrows, uses it to lead them to the temple. And, most significantly, at the conclusion of the fight, Sevika triggers explosives which puts Jinx’s ‘big’ plan into action. The rerouted vents drive the Grey up into Piltover, where it explodes in great plumes which flood streets and paint the town in a multicolour splash.

The cycles of violence have continued. Caitlyn wanted vengeance on Jinx, but Jinx has retaliated right back. In light of the ways in which Caitlyn and Jinx parallel each other near constantly throughout ‘Arcane’ (especially in season 2), I think this is suggestive of the futile nature of vengeance.

‘An eye for an eye,’ and you lose sight of yourself. Caitlyn’s hideaway is blasted with the Grey, the wind chime feature which had represented her feelings in episode 1 broken. There is no more space in herself, at this time, to piece apart her thoughts.

And the attack on Piltover allows Ambessa to consolidate her position as Piltover’s saviour and assert her will.   

There is so much more you could say about Jinx and Caitlyn, especially because of how they parallel each other constantly throughout the show (how their uses of the Grey contribute to them becoming symbols of something of which they are doubtful is really fascinating to me), but for the purposes of this deep dive on the Grey, I hope this suffices.

Conclusion:

The conflict which so much defines the shared history of Piltover and Zaun is growing steadily more volatile during act 1, and it is interesting to piece apart how characters impact upon this- there are good intentions in the strike team’s mission, but these are inseparable from the morally grey means through which they go about it.

Means influenced by emotions which have grown from the prior continuance of the cycles of violence. ‘Arcane’ is a tragedy, and there is certainly tragedy in watching Caitlyn be so changed by events.

The Grey is a reflection, a symbolic representation, of how Caitlyn changes throughout Act 1. How she is influenced by and influences other characters, and the impact this all has on the wider context. The morally grey path she goes down in her quest for vengeance.

By act 3, we see her having realised the error of her ways, knowing what she has done cannot be erased, but willing to fight against cycles of violence, walk away from her vengeance, and ‘trust in tomorrow.’

But in the smog of the conflict, everything seems grey.

I hope this exploration of the symbolism of the Grey was interesting. If you’ve reached the end of this, thank you so much for reading- I realise it is really long. I’m just very much fascinated with this show, so… I appreciate it!  

Reference: the reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/arcane/comments/1grizex/s2_spoilers_a_lot_of_people_are_misinterpreting/?share_id=6QplLMckmb2t4DnH3uGfw&utm_content=1&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1&rdt=56152

[tvlandofficiall]

You making me think about dess and spamton and their possible conections got me intrigued, seeing the spamton talks are also very interesting to me. I havent considered the fact that spamtons downfall is so so anusual compared to a lot of things. Somethign interesthing to think about

spamton definitely takes the cake for the sheer amount of characters he's mirroring; i'd argue second only to ralsei. (all of this is why i characterize my dess as a dirtbag too. they're shaking hands.) and i'm glad they're interesting! he's got a lot of thematic meat to his story; in part because it's the most blatant display of deltarune's core ideas of agency, personhood, and legacy&memory&nostalgia. spamton's big shot era is so fascinating to me because over the course of it he's grappling with a change in his fate that does not actually defy it; as well as a shift in his worldview that changes the way he sees both himself and the others around him. he was a celebrity during that time, too, spanning what seems to be multiple dark worlds (if mention of tenna, "big tv deals", and "big commercials" are any indication.) people knew him. he was inescapable. and yet afterwards, the world moves on perfectly without him, as though he never existed. like any darkner that's worn out their use, he was cast into obscurity — but unlike any other darkner, the reasons for his rise and fall also contain elements of something beyond the light world.

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Gwayne Hightower, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

Beneath the Mockery 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!)

A perfect day takes a turn when an encounter with the infuriating Gwayne results in an unexpected tumble into the mud. This mishap transforms their antagonistic relationship into a profound and passionate connection, uncovering unexpected depths in both characters.

Redemption 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!)

A spirited princess enchants the fallen knight, Ser Gwayne with her charm challenging him to seek redemption in the most tantalizing way. Their flirtatious banter ignites a heated encounter, driving him to extraordinary lengths in his quest for atonement.

Dancing With Our Hands Tied 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!)

They risk everything to indulge in their illicit passion, knowing their stolen moments could shatter trust, but as their hunger for each other deepens, so does the danger of discovery and the thrill of keeping their affair hidden may be the very thing that destroys them.

Sworn to Protect

• Violence

Who more fitting to protect the Queen than the King's own uncle, a renowned knight with a profound understanding of the solemn duty that his role as her sworn protector entails? His commitment is so steadfast that he would go so far as to challenge the king himself.

Rivalries

• Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

She is the object of affection for Gwayne, her devoted husband and her resentful brother, Daemon. As passion ignites and jealousy simmers, secrets and desires threaten to unravel, culminating in a game where love and power collide in the shadows of the palace.

Knight in Shining Armour

• Violence, Sexual assault (attempted)

Between familial resentment and favour she finds herself the target of an assault. Just as hope seems lost, Gwayne, the knight she's long regarded as an enemy rescues her. His actions unveil buried vulnerabilities and ignite a fragile new understanding between them.

Hate to Love

• Sexual content (smut!)

A defiant Lannister noblewoman clashes with her stoic guard, Gwayne. Their battle of wills ignites an undeniable attraction, leading to a passionate collision that shatters their defences and reveals that the true danger lies in the fire they spark within each other.

A Chance Encounter

• None

A mother's fear for her son's safety leads to an unexpected encounter with a charming stranger. A subtle connection sparks revealing deeper layers of grief and the promise of new beginnings, a delicate flirtation unfolds, offering a glimpse of hope and romance.

Wound of the Past

• Injury (brief)

They confront old wounds and unresolved feelings as their intimate conversation reveals the ache of lost possibilities reigniting buried emotions and exploring the complexities of loyalty, love, and the choices that shape their fates.

Bad Things

• Sexual content (smut!), infidelity

Torn between her unfaithful husband, the fiery Daemon Targaryen, and the calm, captivating Gwayne Hightower, she finds herself drawn into a dangerous, secret affair. As the tension between passion and guilt rises, she discovers a side of herself she never knew existed.

Shackles of Loyalty

• Violence, mild language

A queen, bent on securing her power, uses her loyal knight, Gwayne. As loyalty and fear intertwine, a dangerous obsession between them grows, revealing dark depths of devotion. In a world where power and manipulation reign, their bond threatens to consume them both.

The Quiet After

• Miscarriage

She grapples with a devastating loss, haunted by grief and a cruel family legacy. Her husband, Gwayne, fights to shield her from both external judgment and her own guilt. Amidst the sorrow, love and emotions offer a fragile lifeline in a world that feels unforgiving.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

[bonefall]

again looking over the reworked history what the hell happened with Ripwater, I wanna know. What *was* that? How did Riverclan kill it?

Oooooh, quite a request! Ripwater, Queen of the Lake, one of the episodes of BB!Po3!

Ripwater is a Wels Catfish, the largest freshwater fish in Europe. The biggest specimen EVER caught was just landed last year, in 2023, 9.4 feet long. It wasn't weighed, but smaller fish than this one have broken 300 pounds.

And it's not a good thing that we're catching so many big ones.

Wels catfish are extremely invasive across most of Europe, introduced for anglers who want to land record-setting catches. They're massive, intelligent carnivores, sometimes called the "freshwater orca" because they will lunge out of the water to catch land prey. They DESTROY the population of anything big enough to fit in its terrible mouth, including fish, amphibians, and even turtles.

They get that big from a mix of constant food and hot temperature. It's a sign that they're devastating their surroundings, and that nothing has been able to kill them for the decades it takes to get so large.

So of course, some dunderhead put them in British rivers, where they've been spreading upwards ever since. Thankfully they thrive better where it's warmer, so they're not too massive of a threat to BB's modeled regions in Northwestern England, but they're fucking coming.

Ripwater's name isn't an exaggeration. That's how they hunt. They gape their jaw and beat their fins like dragons, creating eddies and currents that suck their hapless prey in. When RiverClan names her, it's because they see her ripping the water in half. I was thinking about her recently, and came up with some new stuff. I'll take a brief break from my drafts to serve up some fragments for you.

[A gray cat with blue eyes, Lakepaw, later BB!Lakeheart, swims in bluegreen water surrounded by lilypads. Below her is the massive shadow of Ripwater, a gigantic Wels Catfish. Its eyes flash in the depths.]

SMALL RECAP OF BB!PO3: (to set the stage)

It is now a breather arc, just dedicated to some worldbuilding!

I feel pretty strongly that Po3's strength is how AWESOME of a slice-of-life arc it could have been. To this end, I removed the Kin of your Kin prophecy from it, until it's revealed only at the very end just before Cruel Season.

That's so I can focus on The Three and their adventures around the lake, without this big prophecy looming over them and making the lower-stakes conflicts look small.

Instead, the various episodes of Po3 are related to problems that their new home presents, with just a teeny bit of Sol's magical influence to spice things up.

While Lionpaw learns about the "meaning of strength" and ultimately learns a terrible lesson he will extend to his kits, and Jaypaw finds his limits and learns to prevent others from defining them for him, Hollypaw is grappling with Fire Alone and how to reconcile her grandfather's legacy with her strict dedication to the Warrior Code.

And SO we find ourselves in one of the earliest episodes of BB!Po3; Ripwater the River Demon. This is like... episode 3 or 4, it's a REALLY early one.

I'm just shuffling it around with ANOTHER RiverClan-centric episode; the Shinewater Plague. The oilspill from TNP is now going to be bumped up to Po3 so it's more about establishing Mothwing and her apprentice Willowpaw, to contrast Leafpool and her apprentice Hollypaw, before Holly swaps to being a warrior. Jaypaw completes warrior training before becoming a Cleric apprentice.

So I don't want them to be TOO close together. Maybe put Ripwater in Book 2 and have RiverClan comment that they don't really want to ask for help because of the last big event, Mistystar hates feeling indebted to ThunderClan.

After all, it could basically replace the "flood" episode from Canon Po3, which is often forgotten about anyway. I'm already having ShadowClan construct dams instead of RiverClan anyway...

ANYWAY RIPWATER

I want to start this episode off with Sol/Harry, who is unnamed, messing around near water. He has a bit of a fish motif going on that I want to establish, and I need to get him to start messing with the Clans good and early.

(Specifically his motif is going back and forth between the koi, also an invasive and notably domesticated species, and the atlantic salmon which is famous for its changing life cycle.)

The Wels Catfish is an invasive species to England, slowly making its way up the island from the South. The fish who will become Ripwater, at this point, is already HUGE but not cat-swallowing huge. She's an 80-pounder.

Sol hits her with some godly magic, which allows her to grow at a rapid rate.

The sort of thing where it wouldn't be COMPLETELY implausible. He just... helped it along.

When we get to her first true on-screen appearance interacting with RiverClan, she is nearly 300 pounds of monstrosity with a length of about 8 feet

I'm unsure how, exactly, ThunderClan comes to know of this. But I DO know that I want Hollypaw to be snooping, and heavily encouraged by her mentor Brackenfur to do so. So, somehow, SOMETHING starts going wrong across the lake and ThunderClan catches wind of it.

Thinking about it, this should probably be her first big action after swapping out of Cleric apprenticeship.

One of the few things she's missing about Clerichood is the way she could be close to Willowpaw without needing to sneak around so much. It's easier to just pass it off as "friendship" and "Clerics need to be close." Leafpool and Mothwing are a similar way.

Possibly work in that Hollypaw's also already seeing Heatherpaw in the tunnels, contrast the two things...

At this point, Hollypaw has a crush on Willowpaw, which is requited, but... it's kinda fading.

She still loves her like a friend, but she's liking Heatherpaw a lot more. It doesn't mean she doesn't CARE for Willowpaw, of course, but

Willowpaw is still IN love, and it's slowly becoming unrequited, when it didn't used to be.

And from RiverClan's POV...

The first disappearance is so sudden they have no idea what's happened. I'm planning for it to be Robinpaw.

(I go back and forth on if it's Robinpaw or Dapplepaw, but I'm leaning towards Robinpaw again, because I like Dapplenose too much to have her get killed off here.)

She went out clamming in the lake with her sisters, Lakepaw and Otterpaw, there was a swirl in the water, and that was it. She was gone.

Just like that.

She never came back up. RiverClan searched for her, following the currents, checking the shoreline, everything. It was like she vanished.

Mistystar is suspicious and doing everything in her power to figure out what happened, but... let's face it. It's the word of two apprentices, who were swimming alone, who swear Robinpaw just went under.

Misty JUST got done with the Shinewater Plague and isn't trying to make RiverClan look like it can't keep track of its own young. The most likely situation is that Robinpaw was sucked down by an undertow that the three of them were too inexperienced to recognize.

So... she's pretty adamant about not sharing this information until Robinpaw's body is found. Jaws Style. "We cannot let the other Clans be alarmed by this, else they might meddle in our affairs..."

(and she's still maybe a little paranoid that some snoop in another Clan is going to find out that Leopardstar wasn't killed by a rogue, y'know.)

I don't want it to be TOO much of a bloodbath, so I'm capping Ripwater's body count at three and just aiming for two deaths total.

I'm also going for a coincidence RiverClan is going to interpret as a pattern; this happens a lot, specifically, when they're hunting Freshwater Pearl Mussels.

Ripwater doesn't like the river as much as she likes the lake, but it has nothing to do with their clamming. They're just going to interpret it as such.

Anyway.

The next one she goes after was lucky. By some stroke, she opens her jaw, and the victim is able to grab onto something before they're sucked in. (Maybe toss in something here were it was Holly who was able to help save them.)

Since the WHOLE Po3 Apprentice Generation is going to be getting more focus, there needs to be more input from the RiverClan apprentices. Lakepaw and Otterpaw obviously need time here, but I also NEED to involve Ripplepaw, to establish how he's going to be seen as one of the strongest in RiverClan by OotS.

EDIT FROM THE FUTURE AS I FIGURED STUFF OUT:

It was Ripplepaw, Otterpaw, and their two mentors on a raft who were attacked next. They were fishing for mussels in a shallower part of the lake.

Otterpaw was tethered to the raft with a flax lead, so it wouldn't float off. Or just tugging it in her mouth. Either way she had a line.

When Ripwater attacks her, she is swallowed on the line like a worm on a hook

And it starts pulling the WHOLE RAFT down, just a crummy bundle of sticks

One of the mentors started shouting to cut the line, else it would drag all of them under, but Ripplepaw dives right down to beat its ass without telling them he's not gonna cut it

Hollypaw just rushed right in, didn't think about it, forgetting she was supposed to be trying to sneak around

Taking control as the natural leader she is, she ordered them to shut up and start pulling the opposite way

Underwater, Ripplepaw braced himself against the fish's lips, grabs Otter's tether, and YANKS

Abovewater, the adult warriors are pulling together, Holly grabs the raft and pulls too

Once their paws touch the bottom of the shallows it's over, one last HEAVE-HO and POP!

Otterpaw is FREE

And when it's finally known that the apprentices weren't mistaken, there's a monster in the water, THAT'S when the debate really starts up. Mistystar does NOT want ThunderClan meddling, and she'll already be pissed off that Hollypaw (and any OTHERS who tagged along with her, I wouldn't put it past Honeypaw to wriggle her little yellow butt into a later draft, or Lionpaw for his massive strength) witnessed something that's not her business.

There's a moment from canon I desperately want to keep; where Squirrelflight comes to fetch her daughter.

(more reason to just say this is replacing The Flood Episode from canon lmao)

It's such an interesting moment, and so forgotten. In a nutshell, Squilf is both furious and concerned that her kit went missing and meddled in another Clan's affairs, but... understands the impulse.

Because it's something she would have done.

So when she scolds Hollypaw, there's this aching feeling that she's scolding a younger version of herself. Calling her arrogant and disloyal, that an apprentice's opinions mean less, and that she needs to listen to "older and wiser" warriors within her own Clan.

In BB, I want to do something big with this. Firestar is the figurehead of Fire Alone, who encouraged Hollypaw's behavior through his deputy, Brackenfur, who he set as her mentor for a reason.

But Squirrelflight is being abused. By Brambleclaw.

This is one of the lowest points in Squirrelflight's life, and she is walking a line between self-worth, the warrior code, and her personal beliefs, just like her daughter is.

SO, since I'm already using Brambleclaw's enabling of Ashfur's physical abuse as one of the contributing factors to Hollyleaf's descent, I ALSO want to show how he acts on other characters.

Brambleclaw, Clan Culture, the pressures of their strength-obsessed social system. So it's gotta be Squirrelflight that reminds her, or even plants the seed in her head;

"What you did isn't consistent with the Warrior Code."

Maybe even have Mistystar herself state this earlier, to be echoed by Squirrelflight, offering an alternate perspective to Hollypaw. Make her realize that ThunderClan's political leanings are not universal or even popular.

But when Hollypaw comes back to ThunderClan, whoever set her to be a snoop wants her to spill the beans. This is also a big WIP part, as Hollypaw struggles with if she's going to obey or not, and I still need to set all the political "players" in this moment.

I know for sure, though, that Firestar's IMMEDIATE desire is to meddle like it's an episode of Scooby-Doo. Though he's savvy enough to be smart about how he phrases it and what actions he takes, his ultimate goal is to put his little cheeto-dust paws all over this. And Hollypaw is starting to question how appropriate that actually is.

This is where it starts to really be a rip in Holly's mind. Clans aren't JUST big, blanket groups with united opinions, they're collections of individuals. Mistystar doesn't want meddling, but Willowpaw is in danger. Otterpaw and Lakepaw went all that time without being believed, after they watched their sister die, because they're lowly apprentices like her. Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw are angry and disappointed, while Firestar and Brackenfur are secretly lathering her in praise.

Now imagine me standing in front of a big board where I'm writing ??? because there's a missing chunk here.

I need to connect THIS part to what comes next, which is where ThunderClan DOES come in and help out. Here's the thought process going on in RiverClan;

Willowpaw comes in to do something important. She adores Hollypaw, knows her value as a Cleric, and knows that StarClan can sway Mistystar.

I want her to have a couple of pieces of a vision... BUT. She decides to interpret it in a way that's convenient, and add a few details.

It's not a tooootal lie lmao. It's just 75% true.

This is the true power of Clerics, when they realize it. No one can actually challenge them without just ignoring them or stripping them of power. They are accountable to StarClan alone.

A mentor simply doesn't say this out loud to their apprentice. It's a quiet secret. And Willowpaw just realized it.

and thinking about it... this should be the thing that finally breaks the budding romance Holly and Willow had. Holly is sickened by this, when Willow confesses how she convinced RiverClan to work with ThunderClan.

But, without even being a full Warrior, the apprentice leverages her power as Cleric of RiverClan, and 200 skill points of Improv Acting, to tell them these things;

"StarClan is so angry with us that they've sent a hog to the water! It's why they've sent a ThunderClan apprentice, we must work with them to eliminate the beast that lurks in our waters. With spears and plans, we must hunt it honorably!"

(Mistystar is defensive, but it's not known why) "We haven't disobeyed StarClan in any way. We'd already accepted their help once before, when sickness drove us to weakness, and it's only let them think they can disrespect our borders as they please. This can't be the holy will of our ancestors."

"It's-- We've been disrespecting this bountiful new land that they've so generously given us. That's what the pile of shells in my dream was. Think about it! The last attack was on the shore where we collect mussels. The second attack was on a cat latched to a raft, and it was only the tether that saved them. And the first..."

IVE GOT AN IDEA, Robin, Lake, and Otter WEREN'T clamming when they were attacked. She gestures over to Lake, knowing that if she doesn't back her up, the theory crumbles.

(Otter is in the Cleric's den, unconscious.)

Lake hesitates, not wanting to lie. Willow jumps back in,

"It's why Otterpaw was attacked," does those little jazz-hands to be like 'come in bitch work with me,' "And it's why Lakepaw has to be involved in killing it, to end what she started, and appease StarClan."

Lakepaw more like I LIKE-what-you-just-saidpaw, "It's true, we were so ashamed to admit it, Mistystar, this is all MY fault, I wanted my siblings to dig up mussels, PLEASE let me atone by stabbing the fish to death"

AND AFTER THAT IT'S NOODLIN' TIME

Mistystar, begrudgingly, accepts Firestar's help, or perhaps reaches out to him. Ripwater is a "Hog in the Lake," a beast too big for them to kill honorably on their own.

ThunderClan is the ONLY Clan that uses spears, and only for boar hunts. To protect themselves and to give their quarry a quicker death.

No other Clan touches weapons for dishonor reasons, as they're heavily associated with the demon Shredtail.

I should have Willowpaw explain her half-truth to Hollypaw here, and it's where Hollypaw just... so very suddenly can't look at Willowpaw the same way.

Jaypaw would definitely face an ableist moment from someone, but it's going to have to be one of those times where he accepts that there IS a very real limit to his ability here. Spears are range-weapons and his whiskers don't reach that far. He can't tell where he's stabbing, and the water is going to make it too hard to smell where Ripwater's dangerous mouth is. He can't be chosen for this hunt.

Meanwhile Lionpaw learns from Willowpelt how to make a spear and it is one of the most satisfying things he's ever done in his life, he's like "this is so awesome oh my god i love weapons"

just gently setting up that he's going to eventually become ThunderClan's head of hunting, and also that he's a lil violent

I feel like him and Lakepaw should hit it off a little because they both think the idea of stabbing a fish in the face is super cool, only for someone to growl at them that they shouldn't be enjoying themselves so much

Maybe Blackclaw, fuck that guy

(absolute tangent but BB!Lionblaze is kind of evolving into a little dork and I love that for him. Local himbo only capable of making friends or enemies, all Clanwide opinions on him are polarized, more at 11)

THE PLAN

So how DO they kill that thing? First of all, it's all about strategy.

Immediately they started making a couple of specialized spears. Most spears they make are exclusively for boar-hunting, so they have a distinctive "lug" that prevents a boar from impaling itself down the shaft to get you.

Someone in RiverClan explains that you don't want a fish having the chance to get off a claw. If Ripwater escapes, they might not find her again until she kills someone else

The solution is that these need to be custom-made, with special claw-shaped prongs, so they're chevron ^ shapes instead of tear-drop points. They stab in, and don't pull out.

So they need to make spears from scratch, which is an intensive process, and they don't have time to waste. RiverClan doesn't want to hunt by water that has a chance of having a freshwater orca spawn and drag you in; they'll starve

And there's only so many artisans in TC that can MAKE spears. Glue, twine, shafts, blades... these are all things that take hours of labor to create.

And MORE IMPORTANTLY, they realized from the Raft Rescue that a tether, attached to a floating object, can be very useful. Each weapon has rope tied through it and is tethered to a raft-- which is even MORE intensive, RiverClan had to repurpose several nets to create so many lines, and they only own three rafts, so the rest have driftwood.

So they only have time to create 3 special water-spears, and bring in 2 modified boar-spears.

Lionpaw is like visibly disappointed he can't have one lmao

The only apprentice given a spear is... Lakepaw. And it's a boar-spear

Because she's gonna be bait. They believe the litter is cursed for their "sin" and she'll be the next target.

But still, they chum up the water near the last sighting with blood and crowfood, like hog slop, and wait.

(Heavy WIP stuff here as we get to a play-by-play I haven't fully figured out yet)

Their plan is to get it on the shore as quickly as possible.

Four cats could pull Otterpaw from its mouth, so 5 spearcats and a dozen strong warriors could pull it onto the shore. Surely.

shorely.

It comes as expected, lunging at Lakepaw. She leaps back and tries to use her spear on it, but she is NOT properly trained with it, she stabs its face, but can't break the skull

RiverClan manages to toss a net at the beast, but it's NOT heavy enough

And they managed to get LAKEPAW with it, pressing her to the beast, her spear is dropped into the water

Someone shouts that it swims like an eel, able to just reverse course unlike a REAL fish which must turn

In the panic, warriors start mobbing it.

she thrashes, and splashes and the net is barely holding her back at all

She smashes a warrior with her tail, buffs another with her powerful head

She's stabbed in her side by a ThunderClan warrior (probably Sandstorm), and she turns on the raft they're standing on, breeching and SMASHING it to bits. Lionpaw and the rest of the cats on this raft get dunked

In the water, ThunderClan cats are useless, and RiverClan cats can't properly handle spears.

Someone from RiverClan, probably Blackclaw, tries to free Lakepaw but is scooped up in Ripwater's mouth.

He's screeching and yowling and trying to hold onto its upper jaw, regularly cut off as she dives under

When Willowpelt gets her spear in, she holds onto that damn stick with her LIFE, getting swung around and dunked in the water and then going back up into the air

Thornclaw, holding the other boar-spear, aims for its tail

But it's not enough; Even with several warriors of RiverClan, five spears, a net, and the weight of the two remaining rafts, Ripwater's managing to pull them towards the depths

She's too big to bite, too large to claw, and too strong to hold down

LIONPAW TIME

He grabs the spear that Lakepaw dropped

Ripplepaw seems to zoom right passed him, running away from the fish. He thinks he must be some kind of coward, the fight's NOT OVER YET!! WE NEED TO HELP LAKEPAW

(In a later draft I might have Lionpaw be on the smashed raft, and Ripplepaw brings the spear to him before turning and bolting back to shore. Either way he doesn't explain himself)

He paddles near one of the rafts, and is pulled up onto it

Firestar calls him a WONDERFUL BOY for bringing the spear

Lionpaw mumbles something enthusiastic around the stick in his mouth, wriggles his butt, and jumps back into the water

Grabbing the net sticking to Ripwater and using it like tree bark, he pulls himself on

Bites the spear by the lug like a handle

And stabs it in like a knife

But it's already starting to pull out, too shallow

Filled with anger and resolve, he bites the shaft, and PUSHES

Harder and harder and harder until there's a crackle, the twine breaks loose, and the lug snaps

The rest of the spear slips in as if Ripwater's made of butter

Figuring that's probably deep enough, he lets go of the net, breaching the surface, sputtering and hacking

He's about to dive again to go get Lakepaw, but to his surprise, she breaks the water next to him

and then he feels the fish bump his paws

His name is called from the shore, and there's Hollypaw and Ripplepaw waving. Ripplepaw TOOK HIS SPEAR'S ROPE. Like a GUY WHO THINKS.

Now there was a team of cats on the shore, all the spent warriors who got thrown off, pulling Ripwater to the shore.

And from the feeling of slimy fish under his paws, it seemed like her fight had been all but spent.

And more cats were swimming to shore now, with the ropes attached to the other spears.

Once on the shore, they're able to discover that, tragically, Blackclaw has died. Mistystar in particular looks deeply torn by this, as their relationship was notoriously toxic. But still, he had been the father of her children, and drowned trying to save a Clanmate. She jumps up onto the massive fish, giving a speech about sacrifice, how Blackclaw and Robinpaw would be honored, and that RiverClan has learned its valuable lesson.

Ripwater was symbolic; it's the greed they had unleashed upon the lake by over-exploiting one resource. From now on, they would be respectful of StarClan's bounty. She thanks ThunderClan for helping to fulfill a prophecy, and offers that their debt be repaid by splitting the meat of the hunt.

Hollypaw, internally: "Oh she's doing that on purpose. She knows ThunderClan hates fish and it would be rude to refuse."

Firestar: "well. how could we refuse."

Sandstorm, quietly, in the distance: "easily actually ew"

CLOSING STUFF

I kinda want some kind of "epilogue festival" where the two Clans legitimately celebrate with a somewhat somber meal sharing. Some of these episodes in Po3 will result in lasting traditions and holidays that are celebrated annually.

At that little "fish festival," it works for Holly to officially break it off with poor Willow, to leave this episode off on a bit of a sad note.

This was one of the first times Lionpaw's power becomes obvious, and it's the sort of thing that wasn't really noticed. I figure it would be good for Lakepaw to ask how that lug snapped, she could barely even get the spearhead in. Lionpaw just brags and says it must be because he's SUPER STRONG.

For some reason he's just making a ton of friends whenever I write these out, I think I'm going to lean into it. Lionpaw's got friends when he's a kid lmao, starts losing them over time as he gets more violent.

It's probably because I really need a comic relief in The Three's dynamic. Hollypaw is very dramatic, Jaypaw is dealing with legitimately stressful social issues, and Lionpaw is violent. Someone has to lighten the mood up a little and it's probably because he's The California Girl himself lmao

At this fish festival he also discovers fish isn't actually that bad. Everyone's being weird about this. It's not really that slimy. It's got a strong taste but that's kinda nice, actually?

Could use some berries but like... "damn why don't we do this more often. this would go great with blackberries."

Ripplepaw: "You think so? I can taste sweetness, can I try to make it at home and tell you how it works out at the next Gathering?"

Lionpaw: "It's not hard, you just mash the berries and stew them in a little water before pouring it over your meat. I learned it from Willowpelt, she's got a mad sweet tooth."

Lakepaw: "No offense Lionpaw, but I always thought you were a total lunkhead. I never thought you'd like, cook?"

Lionpaw: "I mean not really, I'm an awful cook, I can just make simple stuff. Willowpelt's just nice enough to be patient with me, my mentor Ashfur says if I can learn something anyone can, haha."

Just a nice little moment for him.

Blackclaw is being mourned in the mortal plane, but secretly, getting a SCATHING trial up in StarClan. His death was heroic, but his ENTIRE LIFE was treacherous.

From teaching Hawkfrost to follow in his father's pawsteps, to joining him in WindClan's Civil War, and his constant arguing and undermining of Mistyfoot back when she was just a deputy trying to do the right thing.

He goes on trial for a bunch of things he did in TigerClan, too, facing his victims who took his misdeeds to their graves. He's not the only cat in RiverClan who is getting a review like this.

Leopardstar is already in the Dark Forest, and soon, Blackclaw's sent there too.

I decided to kill off Blackclaw here so he could have a VERY cool Land Mar;

(context: all Dark Forest demons now get a cool little evil playset area just for them, where they spawn into after they're thrown out of StarClan. These are called Land Mars)

It's still unnamed, but it's basically an even BIGGER Ripwater. It goes above and below the river and lakes of the Dark Forest, popping up in any body of water big enough to hold her.

[pinkcowzz]

hey. so sorry. i've been thinking about jpv and dick non stop for the last few days and im making it your problem.

they both want to be able to live up to bruce's expectations and ideals sooo badly. they both hate the idea that someone else could do it better than them. they don't know how to communicate. when they meet, it is under the absolute worst conditions possible.

bruce already handed off dick's legacy and changed it, and now he has done the same with the batman legacy? without asking him, again? dick has to find out from tim again that bruce has almost died?

jpv is trying to grapple with the fact that his father used him, his father brainwashed him all while trying to live up to another mans ideals.

as nightwing, batman is supposed to be an equal but jpv is anything but that. jpv is mocking dick's childhood, he is ruining bruce's legacy, ruining the only good he had in his life.

dick has lost starfire, he has lost his team, he has lost his faith in himself as a hero and now he is losing his childhood and it's all jpv's fault. (it's not even a little bit but im certainly not going to tell him that).

they should fuck. like, it should be mean, and nasty, and cruel, and there is no kindness there. there is no love or admiration.

one of them (dick) calls the other 'bruce' and things just go downhill from there. it's a fight for dominance the entire time. jpv is actually taking psychic damage from his catholic guilt about the whole thing. he can't stop thinking about how he is wasting time being involved in this cardinal sin. he's thinking about how he was able to deny himself of catwoman, why not of dick?

dick is choking jpv asking him "how he likes it? did he enjoy it when he choked robin"

[intpstyle]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review Pt. 1 - "How to move on?", The Companions

DA:TV Spoilers ahead!

So what does DA:TV want to say, or rather: to ask?

I think the question at the lyrium-red heart of the game is “How do you move on?”. It does not only make sense narratively, for Solas and his complicated relationship to his own past actions, the companions’ story arcs, and the “good ending”, but also for a game that has been trapped in development hell for 10+ years. How DO you move on?

Specifically, the question seems to be: “How can we move on from guilt/an unjust/imperfect past into an uncertain future?”

We see this theme echoed in all companion quests, to varying degrees.

It is in Bellara literally being faced with a manifest regret from her past (her brother) and having to choose how to honour the legacy of their work for their people.

It is in Davrin taking responsibility for the guilt over and future of the last surviving griffons whose species almost died because of his organisation’s, the Grey Wardens’, abuse.

It is in Emmrich finding the courage to do what Johanna (his more extreme, unethical mirror) could not do: to face the uncertainty and walk across the threshold of death with peace of mind, either in his ritual or later in life, because of Manfred’s sacrifice.

It is in Harding waking up to the injustices towards her and her people that have been buried deep underground and choosing how to unearth them and carry them forward.

It is in Lucanis moving beyond the reality that he was betrayed by one of the very few people he trusted - that he crawled out of a year of torture by the skin of his teeth, forever changed and fuelled by Spite, and choosing to break the cycle by not murdering Illario.

It is in Neve being haunted by (yet another) criminal from her past, grappling with the age-old noir questions of who a detective would be without their murderers, whether the fight with/ against corruption can ever stop and what it means to be “a force for good”, so that she can fully embrace who she is and wants to be for Minrathous in the future.

And it is in Taash, walking the many tightropes of traditional expectations (man or woman? Rivaini or Qunari? Honouring the past and their mother or carving their own path into the future?) only to realise that some choices are not binary, that one can only discover options beyond that which one has been taught by “struggling with oneself” (shokra toh ebra), and that embracing certain parts of oneself does not mean dishonouring others.

All companions must face something that they were afraid to confront in their own lives, made unavoidable through the appearance of Someone Who Is What They Are Not (Cyrian for Bellara, Isseya for Davrin, Johanna for Emmrich, her own unbridled rage for Harding, Illario for Lucanis, Aelia for Neve, and, the Dragon King, but also, surprisingly, I think Neve for Taash?)

What I find most interesting is how this question (“How can we move on from guilt/an unjust/imperfect past into an uncertain future?”) seems to be answered along a sliding scale of personal vs systemic failing and also personal vs systemic responsibility.

The quests that intrigued me the most were the ones in which the personal and the systemic were deeply intertwined and were also acknowledged as such: Davrin’s (his own struggle with individuation vs being shaped (and potentially abused) by a community/ organisation mirroring Assan’s and the griffons as a whole; both he and the system must change), Emmrich’s (his own deep intrinsic fear of death as the driving force behind his a) appreciating and b) being terrified of the Mourn Watchers’ philosophy of going beyond death is beautifully thought out), Harding’s (her own supressed rage as the price for being ever-pleasant, useful, and building others up by mirroring the long-forgotten suffering of the tranquilised Titans who were literal building materials for the elves? *chef’s kiss*) and Neve’s (her constant fear of losing control (which is highlighted in her romance) while still being drawn to the thrill of the chase is mirrored in Minrathous’ constant chaos where just one slip of vigilance can cost you at best a leg, and at worst your life, or your loved ones – but Neve’s quest marries personal and systemic responsibility by asking: would you rather shape the system’s chaos or be shaped by it?).

The quests that fell a bit flat for me had either side of the equation slightly underbaked: Bellara’s (yes, she and Cyrian were deeply invested in Arlathan and Anaris was a Forgotten One, but how does his death directly relate to Bellara keeping or “freeing” (?) the Archive?), Lucanis’ (there is such potential in an assassin re-evaluating whether murder is always the best solution for everything and especially betrayal (and especially-especially because family members assassinating one another seems to be just another Tuesday for the Crows (and especially-especially-especially because it’s heavily implied that Lucanis knew that whole year in the Ossuary who put him there)). But sadly, the game doesn’t really go into Lucanis’ deeper thoughts on the Crows as an organisation, assassination as a moral quandary or the potential culpability of Caterina – which makes his final decision all the more baffling. Him struggling with his “inner demon” would have been a great set-up for struggling with the title of Demon of Vyrantium; what makes him more or less of a demon now than before? But alas), and Taash’s (all the ingredients are there, but the lack of systemic emphasis really dragged down Taash’s story, I felt. Taash explicitly exists between systems, and yet we don’t really see them engaging in either culture and/or going beyond them except for rather shallow markers, like food, clothes, and jewellery – I really would have liked to experience that moment in which Taash talks to Neve, Maevaris and their friends and reflects on their views on gender. I also really would have liked a moment between Isabela, Rowan and perhaps an Antaam defector on what being Rivaini, in-between, or Qunari meant to them, and for Taash to pitch in. In the end, it was not narratively satisfying for me why Taash must now make a choice (or, even weirder, why Rook must now make a choice for them) between being more Rivaini or more Qunari when them thinking through being more man or more woman ended with “neither/both/a third option, actually”.)

Pt. 2 is here, Pt. 3 is here

[traincat]

i yearn for more clone stories…. but honestly i don’t trust editorial to not fuck it up… what would u want to see in a storyline about peter’s clones?

ps there’s this one fan thread outline for ben on twitter and im sort of loosing my mind i need it!!! u should def check it out

https://x.com/fitmarshmellow/status/1889026535878795311?s=46

The People Demand Clones. Thank you for the twitter thread rec! It was an interesting read.

I think for me what haunts me with the clone storylines as of late is how incomplete they are. The lack of any emotional payoff. We didn't get a reconciliation scene between Peter and Kaine, a chance for Kaine to learn that it wasn't Peter who said that clones were worthless mockeries of humanity. We don't get any real fallout from Kaine reaching out to Ben in Vegas and Ben stabbing him in the chest in such a cruel and brutal fashion. And now we have Peter and Ben trapped in this weird dynamic where Ben wants his life, his memories, to fill the void the Beyond Corporation left in him, but the void goes so much deeper than that, doesn't it? After all, Ben was never the real one. Ben was always grasping at a life that wasn't his. And Ben was tortured, tormented all those years, hunted by Kaine, never allowed any rest -- and for what? Because Kaine believed he was the real one. So there's all these gaping emotional holes and no one seems to know, or perhaps even want, to address them.

For me a real point of frustration with recent clone storylines has been the comics not knowing how to tell a story. When Ben's memories were failing, when he was falling apart at the seams because of someone else's machinations, who was the obvious narrative choice to help him? Kaine. And Kaine, who had such a brilliant storyline about becoming his own person and learning how to actually live, now gets relegated to a four issue miniseries that was, at best, tonally inconsistent. And Peter, who loved Ben, who put the word brother on Kaine's tombstone -- you're telling me he wouldn't go out of his way to help Ben? That he couldn't see past the current state of Chasm? Peter, who always gets back up, is just going to put that on the backburner? Even on the flipside, he's going to let that go and potentially get his life stolen again? Like, the thing for me about Spider-Man as a series, up until the last decade or so, is that it's a superhero story that is extremely emotionally grounded. The things people do and say and care about make sense, even among the backdrop of Otto Octavius marrying Aunt May to inherit a nuclear power plant. And now suddenly things just -- stopped having real emotional weight behind them. And I think you really see that with the clones.

I think, like, yeah, generally, to get back on track: we have to kill Peter Parker. I've said it before, I'll say it again. We don't have to kill him permanently, just for like, five years or whatever. It's not that long for comics. But kill Peter, and leave Kaine and Ben to grapple with their grief and their anger and what that means for both of them individually, as well as their connection to each other. Spider-Man's clones, without Spider-Man, and the weight of his legacy and the gulf of his absence. The real chasm between the clones.

Also someone get Kaine some expensive conditioner again because his Depression Ponytail is too much for me.

My sweet baby angel 6'4" murder kitten you're better than this.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Thoughts on Liam

Sometimes I hate people. After Liam’s death, all I keep hearing is "check on Harry" or "check on—"

Stop.

Regardless of who anyone preferred most in the band, the fact remains: every single one of those boys lost a brother that day.

Yes, check on Harry. He and Liam had a bond, and I'm sure he's hurting. But also check on Louis—he's lost so many people in his life, and losing someone he considered a brother must be devastating. Check on Niall—he was the last one to see Liam, and he didn’t know it would be their final goodbye. Coming off the high of his tour, he’s probably grappling with the emotional whiplash of such a shattering loss. And check on Zayn—yes, they may have clashed, but read his note. He admired, respected, and loved Liam. He’s likely carrying a heavy heart, wondering if he could have done more, whether he could’ve had one more conversation.

Survivors' guilt is real, even if they weren’t there. The rumors swirling around Liam’s passing only add to that pain. Those men are now living with the knowledge that a son lost his father, a family lost a brother, a son.

So, please, stop singling them out. Let them grieve and process in their own time. Grief is a long road, and it may never fully fade, but give them the space to learn to cope with it.

As heartbroken as we are- Directioners, Casual fans, the world- I can confidently say they’re hurting far more. They loved him closer, deeper.

Liam was a pivotal part of their lives and making it into a debate of who is grieving the most out of the boys is useless and disrespectful.

For the fans as well the hurt can be real. I’m sure for some the world feels a little darker for some of you without him here, but take comfort in knowing he brought so much joy during his time with us. Music is like a time capsule in a sense- and if you ever find yourself missing his presence know that you’re a few clicks away from bringing him here with us.

And for Liam if he’s listening- rest in peace. Find comfort in the fact your voice, your music, and your heart touched millions around the world. You were a beacon of light for so many, and your legacy will live on in the songs and memories you've left behind. You will be deeply missed, but never forgotten. Thank you for everything. You were too young, and will forever be missed. Enjoy peace now and finally rest.

[vague-humanoid]

espite his towering influence, particularly on the academic left, Edward W. Said today seldom shows up on the list of dangerous thinkers loathed by conservatives or blamed for undermining the Western academy. Whether intentional or not, this conservative ambivalence about Said’s legacy is merited. While he is considered the godfather of postcolonialism, a theoretical approach toward accounting for the legacy of colonialism, Said’s personal life and intellectual output defy any simplifying labels that might be placed upon him — whether by the left or the right. Rather than a mere critic of the Western canon, Said was a sophisticated thinker who saw both colonizers and the colonized as inheritors of a shared cultural patrimony.

Said’s universalism shone brightly in his passion for classical music, a conservative artistic milieu if there ever was one. In addition to his university responsibilities and political activism, Said was the classical music and opera critic for The Nation from 1986 until shortly before his death from leukemia in 2003. His writings on music are less widely known than his political and scholarly output, though Columbia University Press has dutifully collected and published them over the years, including in a collection released this year, titled “Said on Opera.”

Said’s love of classical music was not merely a pastime. Toward the end of his life, Said attempted to blend two of his worlds — politics and music — by co-founding the East-West Divan Orchestra, which sought to unite Israeli and Arab musicians within a shared cultural project. The decision to create such an organization, not without controversy, was a unique distillation of Said’s perspective on culture and politics. While he excoriated the injustices of Western imperialism, including the way that systems of knowledge were often deployed to crush the oppressed, he remained an ardent universalist. Said saw the cultural achievements of the West as part of a shared cultural heritage to be critiqued and grappled with, not an alien imposition to be rejected. It is that legacy, expressed in his love of opera, which makes revisiting Said as a scholar and humanist more necessary than ever in an era of political polarization and cultural turmoil.

Said was a talented pianist, having practiced as a child during his upbringing in Cairo and played to small audiences while an undergraduate at Princeton University. His rapid scholarly ascent in literary studies and his simultaneous work as a public spokesperson for Palestinians in the United States did not allow him to develop his musical abilities. Yet he remained an avid fan and critic throughout his life. In Said’s near-worship of Glenn Gould, the Bach performer extraordinaire, one could see the lingering allure of the piano virtuoso and even a potential alternative life path.

Though his appreciation for classical music and opera predated his academic interests and political concerns, Said brought his unique critical sensibility to bear in his essays on the subject. As the theater and opera director Peter Sellars writes in his preface to “Said on Opera,” “If you have spent the day, the week, the month, and the year opposing, with every cell in your body, the ratification of the Oslo Accords, which go through in spite of your opposition, and inaugurate an era of unprecedented Palestinian suffering and oppression, you come to Beethoven’s Opus 110 Sonata ready for the heights and the depths, the heartbreak, the despair, and the unfathomable consolations, generosity, and relief of this music.”

[daydreamingoveracupofcoffee]

The reaction of the U.A. Students, Class 1-A to their soulmate is a villainess:

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku would be stunned to learn his soulmate is a villainess. His idealistic view of soulmates—nurtured by his hopeful, All Might-inspired worldview—would make him question how someone destined for him could be on the wrong side. He’d likely mutter to himself, analyzing every detail of the soulmate bond.

Izuku’s core trait is his empathy. He’d dive into understanding why she’s a villain, researching her backstory, motivations, and any injustices that led her down this path. He’d see parallels with others villains and believe she’s not inherently evil. For example, if her villainy stems from pain or betrayal, he’d feel a personal responsibility to reach her.

Izuku would struggle with the conflict between his hero duties and his soulmate bond. He’d confide in All Might or Uraraka, seeking advice on whether he can save her without compromising his principles. Ultimately, he’d resolve to confront her, not to fight, but to offer her a chance at redemption.

“I know there’s good in you. I can feel it because we’re connected.”

Izuku would approach her with kindness, dodging her attacks while pleading for her to open up. He’d risk his safety to prove his faith in her potential, possibly even taking a hit to show he won’t give up. His goal would be to bring her to the hero side, even if it takes years.

Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo would be furious upon discovering his soulmate is a villainess. He’d see it as a personal insult to his ambition to be the top hero.

“A villain?! No way in hell my soulmate’s some lowlife!”

He’d initially deny the bond, assuming it’s a mistake or a trick. He might even lash out at anyone who brings it up, like Kirishima.

Beneath his rage, Bakugo would grapple with the soulmate bond’s pull. His pride would clash with an instinctive need to understand her. He’d stalk her battles or interrogate others about her, pretending it’s for hero work but secretly trying to figure out why she was chosen for him. Her strength or defiance might begrudgingly impress him, especially if she matches his intensity.

Bakugo would track her down, ready for a fight. His approach would be aggressive.

“You think you can drag me down with you? I’m gonna win this!”

However, if she taunts him or shows a spark of vulnerability, he’d hesitate. Her ability to stand up to him might earn his respect, planting seeds of doubt about her “villain” label.

Bakugo wouldn’t admit he cares, but he’d become obsessed with defeating her and proving she’s not just a villain. He’d see her as a challenge to his strength and ideals. Over time, he might grudgingly acknowledge her skills or reasons, but he’d never go soft—his goal would be to drag her to the hero side through sheer force of will.

“You’re mine, so you better shape up!”

Shoto Todoroki:

Shoto would react with calm but deep unease when he learns his soulmate is a villainess. His stoic nature would mask his turmoil, but the revelation would hit hard, especially given his complicated family history with villains (Dabi). He’d stare at the soulmate mark or feel the bond’s pull, wondering if fate is mocking him.

Shoto would reflect on what this means for his identity as a hero and his past. He’d draw parallels to his father’s rigid views or his brother’s fall, questioning whether his soulmate is truly irredeemable. He’d approach the situation logically, seeking her out to learn her story rather than jumping to conclusions. When confronting her, Shoto would be reserved but direct.

“Why are you doing this? What made you this way?”

His calm demeanor might unsettle her, especially if she expects hostility. If she reveals a tragic past or a cause she believes in, Shoto would sympathize, seeing echoes of his own struggles with Endeavor’s legacy.

Shoto would aim to understand her without immediately trying to “fix” her. He’d believe in the possibility of change, influenced by his own journey and his mother’s recovery. However, he’d set firm boundaries—if she endangers others, he’d fight her as a hero, but he’d always leave room for dialogue. His long-term hope would be to guide her toward redemption, even if it means facing her as an opponent first.

Eijiro Kirishima:

Kirishima would be shocked but not disheartened to learn his soulmate is a villainess. His "manly" ethos, inspired by Crimson Riot, emphasizes heart and courage, so he’d see this as a challenge to his ideals.

“A villain? That’s rough, but I bet she’s got a good heart deep down!”

He might feel the soulmate bond and take it as a sign to act. Kirishima’s all about understanding people’s struggles, as seen with his support for Bakugo and his own past insecurities. He’d try to learn about her—why she’s a villain, what drives her. If her villainy stems from hardship or feeling outcast, he’d relate, recalling his own doubts about being a hero. He’d likely talk to Mina or Tetsutetsu, hyping himself up to “save her.”

Kirishima would approach her with enthusiasm and sincerity, hardening his body to block her attacks while grinning.

“Hey, we’re soulmates! Let’s talk this out!”

He’d try to appeal to her better nature, emphasizing that she doesn’t have to be alone. If she mocks his optimism, he’d double down, refusing to give up on her.

Kirishima would see her as someone worth fighting for, not against. He’d work tirelessly to show her a “manly” path to redemption, even if it means taking hits or looking uncool. His unwavering belief in her potential could wear down her defenses, especially if she’s drawn to his genuine heart.

Denki Kaminari:

“A villainess?! No way, I’m supposed to get a cute hero girlfriend!”

Denki would freak out when he realizes his soulmate is a villainess, probably short-circuiting from stress. He’d joke about it to hide his nerves, maybe whining to Sero or Jiro about how unfair it is. The soulmate bond would make him jittery but curious.

Denki’s not the most serious guy, but he’s got a good heart. He’d be torn between fear of her villain status and intrigue about who she is. He’d probably stalk her on social media (if she has any) or ask Kirishima for advice on being “cool” about it. If she’s charismatic or flirty, he’d be flustered, thinking:

“Okay, she’s kinda hot, but villain!”

Denki’s approach would be awkward but earnest. He’d try to play it cool, tossing out cheesy lines like, “So, uh, soulmate, huh? Wanna ditch the villain gig and grab ramen?” If she attacks, he’d zap back defensively, yelping, “I’m not good at this!” Her reaction—whether she teases him or shows a softer side—would determine how bold he gets.

Denki would struggle with the hero-villain divide but lean on his friends for support. He’d try to charm her into switching sides, using humor and kindness to break through her walls. If she shows any hint of goodness, he’d latch onto it. His laid-back vibe might unexpectedly disarm her over time.

“See? I knew you weren’t all bad!”

Hanta Sero:

Sero would be surprised but take it in stride, keeping his cool.

“A villainess? That’s… unexpected, but I’ll figure it out.”

He’s level-headed and adaptable, so he’d accept the soulmate bond as something to work with. He’d probably joke with Kaminari about their “bad luck” but stay focused.

Sero’s not as intense as Bakugo or as emotional as Midoriya, so he’d approach the situation practically. He’d gather intel on her—her quirks, motives, and crimes—while reflecting on what the soulmate bond means. If her villainy is driven by circumstance (poverty or betrayal), he’d sympathize.

“Life’s not black-and-white.”

Sero would engage her with a mix of caution and charm, using his tape quirk to swing around and keep distance.

“So, you’re my soulmate? Gotta say, you’re making my job complicated.”

He’d try to reason with her, appealing to her logic or any shared connection from the bond. If she’s defiant, he’d stay calm, dodging attacks and looking for an opening to connect.

Sero would play the long game, believing he can sway her through persistence and understanding. He’d show her he’s reliable, not judgmental, hoping to build trust. If she’s redeemable, he’d work to bring her to the hero side; if not, he’d reluctantly accept they’re enemies but still feel the bond’s pull, making it bittersweet.

Ochaco Uraraka:

Uraraka would be deeply shaken to learn her soulmate is a villainess. Her warm, optimistic view of soulmates—likely tied to her dreams of a brighter future—would make this feel like a betrayal of her hopes. She’d clutch the soulmate mark and tear up.

“How could my soulmate be someone who hurts others?”

She’d confide in Midoriya or Iida for support. Uraraka’s drive to help others, rooted in her desire to ease her parents’ burdens, would push her to understand the villainess’s reasons. If the villainess’s actions stem from poverty or desperation, Uraraka would relate strongly, thinking: “I could’ve ended up like her if things were different.” She’d see this as a chance to “save” her soulmate, much like she admires Midoriya’s heroism.

Uraraka would approach the villainess with determination but kindness, using her quirk to evade attacks while pleading:

“You don’t have to do this! We’re connected for a reason!”

If the villainess mocks her optimism, Uraraka would stand firm, showing her resolve. Her earnestness might catch the villainess off guard, especially if Uraraka shares her own struggles to connect.

Uraraka would hold onto hope, believing the soulmate bond means the villainess has good in her. She’d work tirelessly to show her a better path, even risking herself to protect her from other heroes. Her goal would be redemption, driven by the belief that “no one’s too far gone,” especially her soulmate.

Tsuyu Asui:

Tsuyu would be surprised but maintain her composure upon discovering her soulmate is a villainess. Her straightforward, level-headed nature would keep her from panicking.

“This is complicated, kero, but I’ll deal with it.”

She’d process her feelings privately, maybe discussing it with Tokoyami or Midoriya. Tsuyu’s pragmatic mindset would lead her to investigate the villainess’s motives and backstory. She’d consider whether the villainess is driven by ideology, trauma, or necessity, drawing on her own experience of staying grounded despite challenges. Tsuyu’s empathy, seen in her care for her siblings and classmates, would make her open to understanding rather than judging.

Tsuyu would approach the villainess calmly, using her frog-like agility to dodge attacks while keeping the conversation focused.

“You’re my soulmate, kero. I want to know why you’re doing this.”

Her blunt honesty might disarm the villainess, and Tsuyu would look for any sign of remorse or doubt to build on. If the villainess is hostile, Tsuyu would prioritize protecting others but leave the door open for dialogue.

Tsuyu would take a steady, patient approach, believing the soulmate bond suggests a chance for change. She’d try to build trust through small, consistent acts of kindness, like protecting the villainess from harm during battles. If redemption isn’t possible, Tsuyu would accept it with quiet sadness but never fully sever the emotional tie.

Mina Ashido:

“No way, my soulmate’s a villainess?! That’s so not cool!”

Her vibrant, upbeat personality would make her see the soulmate bond as a wild twist. She’d rant to Kirishima, half-joking about how her “epic love story” got so messy, but her excitement would mask genuine concern.

Mina’s outgoing nature and belief in second chances (seen in her support for her friends) would drive her to learn about the villainess. She’d be intrigued if the villainess has a bold or charismatic edge.

“Okay, she’s kinda awesome, even if she’s bad!”

If the villainess’s actions come from feeling outcast or misunderstood, Mina would relate, given her own quirky appearance and past insecurities. Mina would dive into the encounter with energy, using her acid quirk to slide around and keep things light.

“Yo, soulmate! Wanna ditch the evil vibe and dance with me instead?”

If the villainess is aggressive, Mina would match her intensity but keep trying to connect, throwing in humor to break the tension. Her infectious positivity might throw the villainess off balance.

Mina would treat the villainess like a friend she hasn’t won over yet, refusing to give up. She’d invite her to see the fun, heroic side of life, believing her soulmate just needs the right push. If the villainess shows any spark of goodness, Mina would amplify it. Even if redemption takes time, Mina’s relentless cheer would keep the hope alive.

“See? You’re totally hero material!”

[zan-the-second]

Brainrot so bad I'm making a Taylor Swift playlist AND I'm making up song titles for the cover

Made in here

Ramblings about the songs and what I think they sound like below the cut :P

Most of the titles are straight from the movie and book, the others are my own personal naming convention for certain themes and scenes.

As for the tracklist it mostly follows the plot of the movie and book in Aldo's pov. Each song loosely based on a Bellini scene.

Sound-wise I thinks it's like if Midnights and TTPD had a baby with a sprinkle of folkmore. I just think Aldo's got that Midnights vibe in him.

NOW FOR THE SONGS(yes there are 13 of them ;))

Track 1-Secrets Of The State

Loosely inspired by State of Grace

Just Aldo's musings about his tenure as Secretary of State and also being one of if not the closest to the late Holy Father

Lowkey Lucky One and Nothing New coded

Sound-wise it's like if Lavender Haze and I Can Do It With A Broken Heart had a baby

chess metaphors(of course) with Aldo feeling like a pawn in his mentor's game

Lord, what would become of me when I've lost my novelty?

Track 2-Loved More Than Anyone

First of all, I need to preface that I'm INSANE about this line WHY DID THEY CUT IT

Heavily Maroon-inspired(which is funny bc it's also the track 2 of Midnights)

that's a real fucking legacy to leave vs that's a real fucking legacy, to leave HAUNTS ME AND IS SO ALDO WITH THE PREVIOUS POPE

Those two make me insane THOMAS WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LOVED HIM MORE THAN ANYONE

very my tears ricochet core with the mentor-mentee relationship

what am I supposed to do when there's no you?

Imagine you loved someone so much and believed in their ideas and now they're gone and you don't know where to put this love

no other notes other than imagine Maroon but about this gay cardinal

Track 3-No Sane Man

Lowkey his I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

him just going 'bro why do you all WANT this???'

His Anti-Hero really

Basically just his auditorium speech in the movie of being like these are the things I stand for and I will not change them take it or leave it

But with an undercurrent of WHY IS IT NOT ENOUGH WHY CAN'T I BE ENOUGH

I stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

I can go anywhere I want just not home

Track 4-Know In My Heart

This is his marjorie

Him asking for advice from either God or the Previous Pope

Production style similar to The Archer

Just the mounting dread and anxiety

In a way also very Dear Reader

never take advice from someone whose falling apart

my fourth drink in my hand, these desperate prayers of a cursed man

Him grappling with his ambitions and dreams all the while knowing he isn't brave enough to pursue it so he just pretends he doesn't want it

Lowkey a denial song imagine him going 'I swear I don't want this thing I swear' then it's just him telling how wonderful must it be to have this thing(Is this about Lawrence or the Papacy?👀)

Track 5-Precious Doubts

NOW FOR THE DIVORCE

Some TayLore for those unfamiliar: Track 5s are her most vulnerable/personal songs

A lot of her heartbreak songs are Track 5s think All Too Well, Dear John, and So Long London

This is THE So Long London of the album

If tolerate it was in Midnights

Highkey very loml coded

This is the song that dives into his relationship with Lawrence and the trust and grief and heartbreak and doubts they both carry

HE WAS SUNSHINE I WAS MIDNIGHT RAIN

he wanted it comfortable I wanted that PAIN he wanted a bride I WAS MAKING MY OWN NAME CHASING THAT FAME

Track 6-It Is War

The Great War but without the reconciliation at the end

lowkey You're Losing Me

I'm fading thinking do something, babe, say something, lose something, babe, risk something, choose something, babe, I got nothing to believe

somewhere in the haze got the sense I've been betrayed

Him just BEGGING Lawrence to pick a side. Either support him or break his heart just be DONE with this

Track 7-Search Your Heart

Very Question...? inspired

I Wish You Would coded

Regret and all the feelings that come with it

A more subdued version of It Is War still bitter but less angry

Lowkey him wishing Lawrence would apologize LMAO

How You Get The Girl and The Other Side Of The Door core

doesn't everything feel like second best after that meteor strike?

Track 8-Breaking Of A Seal

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS!!!!

HE WAS MY BESTFRIEND AND THAT WAS THE WORST PART

Just the metaphor of breaking things. Trust between him and Lawrence being broken when Lawrence broke Vatican law and when he refused to continue his candidacy.

I can kinda hear sounding like Down Bad

just the eraticness and otherworldly sound

first verse is very subdued and quiet but then the seal cracks before the chorus and the production shifts into a heavier synth

once I fix me he's gonna miss me

Track 9-Burn Them

High Infidelity coded

I bent the truth too far tonight I was dancing around it

Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th? Implying he took Tremblay's offer

His entire convo with Lawrence about the simony papers

Conflicting feelings of knowing what he's doing is wrong BUT also being so fucking tired and cannot deal with the alternative

Track 10-Pope John

Ngl this is only here because of Dear John

Afterglow coded

tell me that you're still mine tell me that we'll be just fine

Apology WITH tears

is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head?

Similar to ivy production-wise ESPECIALLY the bridge

Track 11-Firm Hand Of Yours

Quite possibly the horniest song in the album

Think So It Goes..., Guilty as Sin?, and I Can See You vibes

If that Eras Tour Dress x Afterglow mashup was a singular song

LOWKEY I Can Fix Him(No Really I Can) because I find it funny

you're good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him no really I can

now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon

Production is very if reputation and TTPD had a baby

Track 12-Moth Of Holiness

Lawrellini's Labyrinth or Sweet Nothing production and lyric-wise

everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

lowkey invisible string with how they'll always return to one another

I drive down different roads but they all lead back to you

cowboy like me coded too

I got some tricks up my sleeve takes one to know one

Track 13-Checkmate

Basically Mastermind sound-wise

more chess metaphors(coming full circle from Secrets of the State)

Very Clara Bow lyrically especially with the ending kinda comparing Vincent to the previous Pope

you're the new god worth worshipping promise to be dazzling

YOU GOT EDGE SHE NEVER DID

THE CROWN IS STAINED BUT YOU'RE THE REAL QUEEN