#i just think the worst part of it at least for me was like. that it was true. right?
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DCxDP Fanfic idea: Rude Kryptonian
Danny Fenton is prepared for a lot of things when Vlad calls his parents and asks to take his godson for a summer. Things would have gone differently if Danny's hero business hadn't made him a "troubled" kid. He was failing a lot of his classes, sleeping or ditching most classes and not to mention all the random injuries.
They were worried he was becoming some kind of gang member. (It hurt a little they assumed the worst of him and not worried that something bad was happening).
His dad was convinced that Vlad could somehow set him on the correct path.
Now Vlad had moved on from trying to be his stepdad and forced Danny to be his son, but that didn't mean Danny liked him. Or that he could forget what he put him through.
So he was less than happy to pack his bags and be driven to the airport to board Vlad's private jet. His parents lectured him the whole time, warning him to not be a bother to his uncle Vlad, and to behave. Jazz just looked anxious, practically begging her parents to change their mind.
They did not listen, and Danny was thrown onto the jet after getting past security. He was not surprised the plane went off course due to "mysterious" wealther a hour into the trip.
It was like they purposely flew into a thunderstorm, complete with harsh winds and rain. His plane crashed landed in the middle of nowhere thirty minutes later.
He was less surprised he was the only human on board - Vlad had tricked him once before with a ghost pilot. Why not again?- But at least no one, but Danny was hurt.
Jeez, couldn't Vlad think of anything more original? Then again, the definition of insanity is doing something over and over again, expecting different results.
Danny sat in his chair, having escaped the crash with only a few scrapes thanks to his powers, fuming at his parents and Vlad. He was so distracted he did not notice the hurried rescue team that surrounded the broken metal.
He did however notice the man who ripped off the top part of the jet, floating in the air in the most ridiculous outfit he's ever seen.
"Are you alright, son?"
"Are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at you. Look at what you're wearing." Danny gestures to the stranger. He ignores how the stranger's blue eyes start to glow. "You can't honestly tell me you're alright in the head looking like that. "
The man frowns "You're not human"
"How dare you! I have rights!"
The stranger fumbles, looking suprised "no. No, I meant you're like me- a alien"
"I'm not illegal! I have papers!"
"Not that kind of alien-! I'm Kryptonian!" The man floats down to Stanford beside Danny's seat. He reaches out to carefully ripe away the metal trapping him. "I think you may be as well, based on your biology"
Danny squints "How do you know my biology?"
"I used my x-ray vision to-!" Danny gasps, reaching out to slap the man across the face before covering his body with his hands. The man seems more startled by the fact that he was able to push his face to the side and then the actual slap.
"Stanger danger! Creep! Fruit loop!" Danny cries, turning intangible and flying out of the wreckage. "Stay away from me!"
He flies at his top speed, ignoring the call from the man. He can feel him following, and yes, he may be faster than Danny, but he's also solid and visible. Danny uses his powers to his advantage, losing him after a twenty minute chase.
It's only after three days of trying to get home that Danny realizes he's futher away from home than he originally planned. As in an entirely different world? It feels like it since Amity Park doesn't exist, much less, his friends and family.
Thankfully, he finds a nice little city that reminds him of the ghost zone for him to rest in. His new neighbor is filled with colorful characters, and there always seems to ve something happening keeping him on his toes.
Maybe this summer won't be so bad after all.
Meanwhile, Clark is panicking that a new Kryptonian had fallen from the sky, crashing landing near Ma and Pa's place only to have the boy disrespect him and escape. Now it's a race against time to find him before it's too late.
Also he was a little mean.
But where would he go?
Gotham. Danny is in Gotham, and he's yelling at people who keep trying to spray chemicals at him. He's having the time of his life.
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Rude Kryptonian#part 1#dimension travel#Danny is nothing but sass and spite#Clark is not used to being bullied as Superman
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This isn't a gotcha, so please don't take it as such, but would yuou be willing to explain what it is about VAL that makes her such a favourite of yours? I can't stand her myself, she comes across to me as a bully given god-like power that she abuses for her own amusement, and I've seen you acknowledge as much, but we draw completely different conclusions from that. I just want to understand your perspective.
i've been anticipating a question like this for a while now, so i'm more than happy to answer for you!
you're right, VAL is in some ways a "bully given godlike power" as you put it, and there's no avoiding that (nor do i want to). and yeah, i do like her in part because of that, because i have a fondness for horrible fictional characters and in particular "bad victim" archetypes, of which VAL certainly is one. but i think what makes her compelling to me, rather than repulsive, is that she is fundamentally a cautionary tale and a tragedy. in-universe, she's the scapegoat. the example. the "make the right choices or this could be you". she's inescapably, heartbreakingly human in her awfulness, and that makes her terrifying, but it also makes her deeply sad (at least to me).
i also strongly believe in rehabilitative/restorative justice, so for me, wanting better for VAL is about my real-world principles to a degree. i can't and won't argue that VAL doesn't function as an uncomfortable allusion to a lot of atrocious crimes against humanity (by humanity) within the narative, and that anyone who finds her upsetting or even hateful for these reasons is absolutely justified in doing so. however, she's still a fantasy entity at the end of the day. she's not a 1:1 stand-in for real-world abuses any more than, say, a vampire or werewolf, which plenty of people are more than happy to explore the nuances of. and there's also the question of what punitive measures would even achieve in her case, beyond personal satisfaction for the one administering or spectating them (which is not to say that wanting to punch VAL makes you as bad as she is, just that her arc is, among other things, about how cycles of abuse and violence perpetuate). the worst that could possibly happen to her has already happened. she's been tortured. she's been taken advantage of for her mistaken belief that working for and with the system has the opportunity to benefit her, and died for it. there's nothing to be "learned" from her punishment that hasn't already been shown to us. that she hasn't already internalised. if she were ever to develop a stable conscience, that would be punishment enough in my opinion.
despite being a victim of people not entirely unlike VAL, i personally am not her victim, so treating her with sympathy and kindness whilst acknowledging the elephant in the room that is her many (fictional) war crimes is not something that requires any cognitive dissonance on my behalf. i would cautiously argue that the narrative agrees with me somewhat in this regard - the few times VAL is treated to a genuine act of kindness with no ulterior motives, it shatters her composure and outward conviction that what she's doing is necessary for her personal satisfaction, and even prompts her to reconsider on occasion (sparing the woodsman comes to mind). i'm not saying anyone needs to hug her and tell her she's valid, but if all it takes is some genuine good intent to get her to engage in introspection, i'm willing to be the person to offer it.
#ummmmm yeah. i like her. thank you so much for the ask though! id been wanting to talk about this#VAL thesiltverses
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Fine. LN- pt 2.
Part. 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/chgridlock/749224119672995840/fine-ln-series-1
Y/n and Lando were childhood best friends, an inseparable duo who knew each other’s secrets like the back of their hand. But then came F1. Lando transformed into a playboy prince, his name synonymous with champagne showers and a different model on every arm. Models just like y/n, except for her. Disgusted, she distanced herself, the warmth of their friendship replaced by a biting cold. Y/n, chasing her own dreams, blossomed into a sough-after model, gracing the covers of magazines right under Lando’s nose, well, at least that’s what she assumed. In taught, Lando followed her religiously on social media, a secret admirer hidden behind a facade of arrogante.
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, ex best friends au, Lando being a little dick
The torrential downpour caught me off guard, it was way worst now, transforming the picturesque cobblestone streets into a treacherous obstacle course. My flimsy jacket offered little protection against the relentless onslaught, and my heels sank precariously into the slick pavement with each step. I was a comical sight, a clumsy ballet dancer struggling against the elements.
Lando watched from the car, his initial annoyance replaced by a growing sense of unease. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt stab at his heart. Perhaps he had been too hard. Seeing you struggle, your once defiant stance replaced by a comical awkwardness, chipped away at his resolve.
He sighed, a heavy exhale that fogged up the windshield for a moment. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the car back into park, the engine sighing softly to a halt. The silence outside was broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain in the roof.
“Just get back in…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the downpour. I could sense the shame in his eyes, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before it was masked by his gruff demeanor.
I couldn’t help but scoff at his suggestion. “Oh, really?” I drawled, my voice dripping with sarcasm. With a flick of my damp hair, I sashayed past the car, the precariousness of my heel adding an element of defiance to my movements. “Who does he think he is for real…” I think to myself.
Lando watched me go, a wave of frustration washing over him. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound echoing hollowly in the car. “Damn it…” he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
“Can you just get back in the car?” He yelled, his voice laced with exasperation. “Do you have any idea how stubborn you are right now?” The rain blurred his vision as he looked out at my retreating figure, a sense of helplessness gnawing at him.
“You literally said ‘get out’” i retorted, my voice barely a whisper carried on the wind. I stopped, turning to face him, my posture stiff and defiant despite the rain cascading down my face. “It’s not my fault that you’re so-“
He cut me off, his voice rising in frustration. “I said ‘get out’ because you were being difficult…” he explained, the words tumbling out in a rush. But even to his own ears, they sounded hollow.
“Difficult?” I scoffed, the sound laced with a hurt that mirrored his own.
“It’s no my fault that you’re so stubborn and unreasonable that you’d rather walk in this heavy rain and get soaked to the bone than accept my help.”
I stood there, a defiant island in a sea of rain, my jacket clutched protectively around my shivering form. I met his gaze, a silent battle of wills playing out between us. The air crackled with unspoken emotions.
He glared at you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger. His patience had worn thin, freaked by your defiance like a threadbare rope. Dealing with this felt like navigating a minefield, one wrong step and the whole thing would explode.
“Fine,” he spat, the word laced with venom. “Walk home alone in the rain. Be an idiot. Just know that I don’t care if you catch a chill or a fever.”
He revved the engine, the sound growling in the quiet street. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his features as he glanced at you in the rearview mirror. But the satisfaction curdled quickly, replaced by something akin to worry again. How can you do this to him? You felt like a drug he can’t let go.
You stood there, a solitary figure dwarfed by the storm, your bravado slowly dissolving as the rain soaked through your clothes. Seeing you like that, shivering and defiant, chipped away at his resolve. He couldn’t understand why he care. He didn’t want to care.
But you irritated him so much, that the line between annoyance and concern became blurred. He slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. Before he couldn’t think twice, he was out of the car, his boots splashing through the puddles separating you.
He approached you, his jaw clenched tight. He wanted to scream at you, to shake some sense into your stubborn head. But the anger simmered just below the surface, overshadowed by a strange protectiveness he couldn’t explain. He stood in front of you, towering over your rain-soaked form, the unspoken conflict swirling between you thick enough to touch.
“Can you please come in the car now?” He finally managed, his voice rough around the edges. A hint of exasperation lingered, but beneath it, a softer note resonated- concern. Your Lan. “Your clothes are all soaked. I’ll drive you home.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a command, albeit a reluctant one. You sighed, the sound heavy with a concession he wasn’t entirely sure he’d earned.
“Fine,” you mumbled, defeat lacing you voice. “Just because my feet are killing me.”
He rolled his eyes, a flicker of annoyance persisting despite the relief that washed over him. “Then come on”
He extended his hand towards you, a silent invitation. His voice remained gruff, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.
“I can go alone,” you challenged, a hint of defiance clinging to your voice.
He rolled his eyes again, exasperation bubbling back up. “Don’t be stubborn. Take my goddamn hand.”
He barked the order, clearly annoyed. His anger, like a storm cloud, was threatening to engulf the fragile truce that had just been established. But the moment your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity sit through him, a forgotten memory come alive. Your touch, oh, how he’d missed it. Nothing in the world felt quite as right as the way your hand fit perfectly in his.
He gripped your hand tightly, the warmth seeping through your damp clothes, a silent reassurance in the midst of the storm. His eyes, however, remained stormy, reflecting the inner turmoil he refused to acknowledge. As he walked you back to the car, a grange protectiveness washed over him, a stark contrast to the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface.
He opened the car door with a flourish, a touch more dramatic than necessary. “Get in,” he mumbled, the gruffness in his voice a mask for the unexpected tenderness he felt. He gently guided you towards the passenger seat, his touch lingering just a moment too long before finally letting go.
Slipping into the car, you stole a glance at him. His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead. A tense silence, descended, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the steady hum of the engine.
Despite the anger radiating from him, you couldn’t but feel a flicker of a warmth blossom in your chest. The entire ordeal had been frustrating, a tempestuous dance that left you both breathless and bewildered. His irritation, however, was slowly morphing into something else, a concern he couldn’t quite disguise.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Finally, you felt compelled to break it. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the rain.
He didn’t respond, his gaze unwavering on the road ahead. You knew he heard you, the slight twitch of his jaw a silent acknowledgement. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a tangled web of emotions caught between the two of you.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the silence, his voice cold and curt. “Don’t thank me,” he muttered, his words clipped. “I just did it so you wouldn’t complain about getting sick later.”
He fell silent again, the car an isolated bubble in the storm outside. But beneath the gruff exterior, a flicker of something more complex flickered in his eyes, a secret he wouldn’t share, not yet.
“Great,” I muttered, the sarcasm dripping from my voice like the rain from the car roof. He glanced at me again in the mirror, his jaw still clenched tight. His grip on the steering wheel was a white-knuckled testament to his simmering frustration.
“You don’t even feel the least bit guilty about how stubborn you were?” He scoffed.
“And you?” I shot back, anger flashing in my eyes. He met my gaze for a fleeting moment, a flicker of confusion clouding his features.
“Me? What about my stubbornness?” He genuinely didn’t seem to understand. How could his actions be construed as anything but helpful? The unfairness of it all gnawed at him, fueling his irritation. He wanted to yell, to unleash the torrent of emotions swirling within him, but the words wouldn’t come.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please,” I drawled, the dismissiveness in my tone adding fuel to the fire.
“Don’t ’oh please’ me,” he growled, he stole another glance at me, his expression morphing into a scornful glare.
Silence descended one more, thick and suffocating. He focused on the rain-slicked road ahead.
“Then you shouldn’t have helped me,” I said, my voice laced with a bitterness that mirrored his own.
The anger he’d been struggling to contain flared up, a hot member rekindled. He let out a frustrated sigh.
“I shouldn’t have,” he conceded, the words laced it’s regret. “Now I just regret it because i was stupid enough to think you were sensible enough to realize that someone was trying just to help you…”
He refuses to look at me, the silence reminder of the tangled mess this whole ordeal had become.
“God, you’re so arrogant…” he muttered under his breath, his irritation spiking with every scoff and cold glance you threw his way. “You can’t even admit you were wrong and just stubborn as hell,” he pressed.
“Whatever,” you snapped, the frustration hanging heavily in the air. “Just get me home and that’s it.”
“Fine,” he muttered, his voice tight with barely contained anger. The car fell silent one more, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
“And, for the record…” he started after a long pause, his voice low and dangerous. He hesitated, weighting his words carefully. “I hope you catch a cold from the rain.” A childish taunt, but one laced with a deeper meaning.
“Touché..-idiot,” you countered, a sly smile playing on your lips despite your irritation. His words, though mean-spirited, held an undercurrent of concern that you couldn’t ignore.
“Shut up…” he mumbled, his annoyance flaring at your defiance. But beneath the anger, a flicker of relief sparked. He hated the way you got under his skin, the constant back and forth that drove him crazy, yet somehow, it was better than the suffocating silence.
He pulled the car to stop in front of your apartment building, the arrival a bittersweet relief. “Fine.” You spat, flinging open the car door and stepping out onto the rain-slicked sidewalk.
He watch you slam the door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet street. Part of him was glad to see you go, the tension within the car finally released. But another, deeper part, a part he refused to acknowledge, felt a pang of something akin to loneliness at your departure. He wanted to call you back, to follow you inside.
The urge to chase after you was a physical ache in his chest but his stubborn pride, a double-edged sword, wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat. He watched you walk away, your figure growing smaller in the distance, his frown deepening with each step, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. You cast one final glance over your shoulder, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and something he couldn’t decipher, and you left him alone, alone with the storm outside.
Author’s note: Tysm to everyone who liked the first part of the story. What do you guys think about these two childish idiots? More parts to come ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Tag list: @persiar9 @mia-rrrs @ssararuffoni @kapsylia
#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fic#lando norris one shot#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris mclaren#lando x reader#lando#lando norris#ln4#ln4 x reader#lando norris angst#mclaren#f1 x you#f1 fic#f1 fc#fanfic
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The Beast Wants to Tempt the Little Rabbit (Matias vs Clavis)
Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.
Part 2
Clavis: "This is rather unsatisfactory."
(!?)
Matias: "Is it? This is the first time I've been welcomed this warmly."
Clavis: "Haha, you should aim higher. After all, you should be welcomed by all the citizens."
Clavis: "But unfortunately, I've noticed some of them not paying attention. Therefore..."
Emma: "It's almost lunchtime!"
I grabbed Clavis' hand as he was about to put it inside his coat.
(I'm pretty sure he's going to come up with some kind of outrageous trap.)
Emma: "Prince Matias, are you hungry?"
Matias: "Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit hungry."
Emma: "In that case, let's have lunch!"
Emma: "Prince Clavis, your guest has a request. As your tour guide, I suggest we eat."
Clavis: "Hmm, you really know how to handle me."
(That's because I've made every mistake imaginable back when I was Belle.)
Clavis grasped my hand lightly with a pleased expression, his golden eyes gleaming seductively.
Clavis: "I've already made arrangements for lunch. Let's head there."
Emma: "Thank you, but what's with this hand?"
Clavis: "I'm just responding to your passion. You want to hold my hand, right?"
Emma: "I never said anything like that!"
Clavis: "Come on, don't be shy. Let's hold hands."
Emma: "I don't want to. Hey, your grip is too strong!"
Matias: "Are you two...?"
Emma: "No, absolutely not!"
Clavis: "Matias, stop asking such a bold question. You're making Emma embarrassed."
(This guy is trying to get back at me.)
Clavis gently held my hand and started walking, leaving me feeling embarrassed under the sympathetic gazes of the people around us.
(I tried to regain my composure and think about lunch, and yet...)
Clavis: "Now then, I will treat you to my homemade cooking."
Emma: "Why? Just why?"
I almost collapsed to my knees.
The place Clavis chose was one of the most famous restaurants in Rhodolite.
I thought that for entertaining a distinguished guest like Matias, he would have prepared dishes made by top-notch chefs, but for some reason, he declared that we were going to the kitchen.
Matias: "Miss Emma, you look pale. Are you alright?"
Emma: "Yes, I apologize for causing concern."
Emma: "I just remembered a lot of intense memories from the past."
(I've had Clavis' homemade cooking a few times before that's why I can say this with confidence: his homemade dishes are too unconventional to be served to a distinguished guest.)
(If by any chance someone got food poisoning and it turned into an international incident, then...)
For the royals, poison was the most important thing to take into consideration when it came to food.
(If I were to give up now, there would be no one to protect Matias.)
Clavis: "You should rest. When you're able to eat..."
Emma: "Prince Clavis, there's a dish that I really want Prince Matias to try."
Emma: "It's a classic Rhodolite home-cooked dish, but I thought there might not be another chance like this, so please, let me cook this time!"
When I said this in one breath, the two men widened their eyes, perhaps taken aback by the momentum of my words.
(My cooking isn't something that should be served to state guests, either, but I think it's better than risking an international incident with Clavis' unconventional cooking. Or at least, I want to believe so.)
Matias: "Home-cooked dish..."
(Hmm?)
Matias: "Clavis, I'm also interested in her cooking."
Again, I thought I heard him mutter something, but Matias' serious expression didn't change.
(I can't believe he's so interested.)
Clavis: "I see. Come to think of it, you've always had a fascination with home cooking."
Clavis: "Very well. Emma, I appoint you as our tour guide and personal chef."
Emma: "Thank you! I'm honored!"
(Thank goodness, I managed to avert the worst-case scenario.)
Clavis: "I thought something like this might happen, so I actually had an apron prepared for you."
Clavis pulled out a white apron from the cupboard.
When he unfolded it, I noticed it had a bunch of frills.
Matias: "A frilly white apron, huh?"
(What's with the occasional sigh-like voice I've been hearing?)
Even when I glanced at Matias, his expression remained unchanged.
(Well, whatever. I have a feeling I shouldn't pry.)
Gathering my courage, I put on the apron I received.
I pushed aside the suspicious ingredients on the counter and picked up only the safe ones.
Matias & Clavis: ".........."
Matias & Clavis: ".........."
Emma: "Since this will take some time, would you two like to chat elsewhere?"
Matias: "No, if there's something I can help with, I'd like to assist. I'll stay here."
Clavis: "It'll be lonely here by yourself, so we'll stay and keep you company."
(It's awkward and nerve-wracking!)
Still, I couldn't exactly chase them out, so I worked while receiving their intense gaze.
Clavis: "By the way, was your queen also good at cooking?"
Matias: "Yeah, it all begins with watching my queen in the kitchen every morning."
Matias: "Cooking together, tasting each other's dishes to understand the flavors, and laughing together after waking up."
(So Matias is already married. He looks so in love, it makes me smile.)
Matias: "But you know, even if she's bad at cooking, it's still fine."
Matias: "It makes it more worthwhile to cook together, and it'd be nice for me to cook for her and serve her as well."
Clavis: "Isn't there a royal chef at Acroite?"
Matias: "Of course there is, but the idea of homemade cooking is just romantic."
Clavis: "Haha, you're really saying that?"
Clavis: "I'm relieved to see that you still have the same perverted qualities you had as a student, even more so than me and Jin."
Matias: “I'm not a pervert. I'm just a regular guy who is devoted to his ideals."
(What's that supposed to mean?)
Their conversation was so outlandish that I couldn't help but stop.
Emma: "Prince Matias, you're married, right?"
Matias: "No, not yet."
Emma: "But a queen?"
Matias: "I'm talking about my future queen."
Emma: "Ah..."
(I see.)
(I've always wondered why such a kind-hearted person would be friends with Clavis, but maybe it's because they both walk their own paths and understand each other.)
Realizing this, I resumed cooking as if nothing had happened.
Matias: "Miss Emma, you're an undeniable genius."
Clavis: "Right? She really is a genius."
(Though it's not much of a dish, being praised like this makes me feel a little embarrassed.)
The main course was a simple beef and vegetable stew cooked in cream, accompanied by mashed potatoes with butter.
I also prepared a soup and salad consisting of tomatoes, and edible roses.
For dessert, I made simple madeleines.
It might seem lacking compared to the dishes the princes usually eat, but both Matias and Clavis were eating so happily that it made me feel happy.
Matias: "Rhodolite is a wonderful country. To be able to enjoy such gourmet food as home cooking is amazing."
Clavis: "Right? We should praise Emma even more."
Emma: "You've already praised me more than enough!"
Emma: "Anyway, Prince Matias, why did you come to Rhodolite?"
Feeling embarrassed, I quickly changed the subject, and Matias placed his cutlery on the table.
Matias: "I was invited as a legal advisor."
Emma: "Legal advisor?"
Matias: "Acroite is known as the country of snow and law, and I'm called the guardian of law."
Matias: "I'm well-versed in the laws of not only my own country but also those of the major nations, including Rhodolite."
(That's amazing.)
Matias: "I've heard that several new laws are being considered in Rhodolite this time."
Matias: "However, these new laws have few precedents. Setting them up requires the establishment of various systems."
Matias: "That's why they invited me. They seek the expertise of a legal specialist."
Clavis: "Originally, Jin and I were already good friends with Matias, so when I sent him a letter, he responded warmly."
(Ah, so that's why Clavis is personally putting so much effort into welcoming him.)
This was not a story that is irrelevant to me, either.
The law is a set of rules that everyone living in Rhodolite must follow.
Emma: "If you've come for the sake of Rhodolite, then we must put even more effort into welcoming you."
(We have to do our best this afternoon.)
Matias: "No, quite the opposite."
Emma: "The opposite?"
Matias: "I should be thanking you."
Matias: "This falls under the Asbrink family's 23rd precept, which states that one must always repay kindness received."
Matias: "So, could I have some of your time this afternoon? I want to repay your cooking."
Emma: "Please don't worry about it. Your sentiment alone makes me happy."
Clavis: "The Lelouch family also has a similar motto."
Emma: "Yours is just nonsense."
Clavis: "Haha! What are you saying? It's not nonsense. I just decided on it now."
(See? Nonsense.)
Clavis: "So, I also want to repay you for your cooking."
Emma: "Your gratitude is more than enough!"
Matias: "Clavis, I brought it up first."
Clavis: "Unfortunately, Rhodolite doesn't have a 'first come, first served' law."
Clavis: "We can't let a guest like you repay your gratitude."
Clavis: "So, let me express my gratitude to Emma on your behalf."
Matias: "Fair enough. But then it loses its meaning. Shouldn't you respect the will of your guest?"
Clavis: "Hmm."
Clavis: "Emma, what do you think?"
Emma: "What do I think?"
Clavis: "Between me and Matias, whose gratitude would you like to accept?"
(Huh? Is this what this is about!?)
Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Matias End ╎ Epilogue
#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikepri jp#ikepri translations#clavis lelouch#ikepri clavis#matias asbrink#ikepri matias
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a cage she'd live in forever
ignore me just randomly re-posting stuff into the vacuum i guess (i'll probably repost my rhaenicent fic next)
Aemond’s stoic manner doesn’t last.
Alicent took one look at her son during the confrontation with Rhaenyra, and understood he was pretending to be a man. He was forcing himself to grow up faster in the face of a cold, callous court, just as she once had. It broke her heart.
Now he’s back in King’s Landing, in the safety of his own chambers, and his voice cracks when he asks his mother to help apply salve to his eye. He doesn’t like the servants touching it.
Each crack in Aemond’s young voice drives her further into madness.
Madness to Alicent was never a legible concept.
It’s tucked away into the neat folds of her green sleeves, a problem for later.
She’s no Targaryen. There is no fire and blood to reckon with here.
And yet she sees her child suffer and she wants to burn down this cursed castle with herself in it.
You let this happen to him. You should have been more vigilant. You knew how obsessed he was with those beasts. YOU DID THIS.
Viserys plays no part in her judgements. The old man gave his seed and withered into the peripheral. These are her children. Alicent has the right to be possessive over them at least. Nothing else in her life has ever truly been hers.
Her title of ‘queen’ belonged to a woman more well-loved by her husband. Her name of ‘Hightower’ belongs to the men in her family. Her regal status could be snatched at any moment should the king die.
But her children she bore and birthed, they are hers.
Even so, they still ask for their father. They haven’t yet learned.
“Why does he like them more than he likes us?” Aegon mumbled to her when she can get a sober word out of him. “I thought he wanted us. I thought he wanted me.”
In a rare moment of affection – slapping Aegon was the worst thing she could have done in that room, she sees that now – she stroked the back of his silver head and made a soft, comforting sound.
“He does want you. He always wanted you.” She lies to her children with ease, just like she lies to everyone else.
When Aegon was born, no matter how it traumatised her to give birth so young, she had celebrated, thinking life would be better now that she was the queen who had managed to birth a male heir for the king.
It changed nothing.
Helaena was born and her depression grew worse.
She tries to forget what she’d done days after the birth, as if it were nothing more than a horrible nightmare. But she can’t forget the screams of her ladies-in-waiting, how they’d dragged her off the ledge. Helaena had been in her arms, shrieking miserably.
Alicent had begged her and begged her to stop crying, that she could do no more for her, that they were both helpless.
At some point, the crying faded into nothing, and the next thing she knew, she was standing on the window ledge, staring down at Maegor’s Holdfast, with her baby girl clutched to her chest.
There’s no doubt in her mind now that she would have jumped if they hadn’t found her.
She was dragged back to her cage, and her father came to rebuke her for her ungratefulness. She didn’t know how to tell him what was wrong. She didn’t know when everything went so perfectly wrong.
Aemond was born when she was happiest. She had grown a little older, become more well-adjusted. And a second son was further proof of her fertility, as well as another pillar to hold up both House Targaryen and Hightower. He was a beautiful baby, wide-eyed and gurgling. He was the happiest baby she’d ever had.
The happiness wears away the older he grows, but sometimes, when she cups his chin in her palm and makes a kissy sound, he beams, and she sees the precious infant again.
He isn’t smiling now. His shoulders are hunched, and he won’t look up, not even when she speaks to him.
Helaena sits on the corner of his bed, glancing up from time to time as she mumbles under her breath.
Alicent looks at her and doesn’t understand her, but there’s something about the girl no one can help but love. And Alicent does, painfully. The guilt of that window ledge will never leave her.
Helaena worries more than she lets on and will often wander into a room and sit in the corner like a watchful ghost when someone in her family is hurting. Alicent can’t count the nights she’s cried into her hands only to look up and see Helaena’s large eyes peering at her from the shadows. It never fails to make her laugh through the tears.
“Is Vhagar fed?” She coaxes Aemond on his favourite subject. She has no love for the dragon, but she uses her to get her son to speak.
He grunts, fiddling with his fingers. She wonders what confusion is now curdling in his young head. All her children are sad in their own ways, as sad as their mother, and she doesn’t know what to do. Leave well enough alone, Otto tells her, and Alicent can’t help thinking he might be right. He did the same with her after all.
“You were brave, Aemond. Your nephews would never have held their own the way you did.” Alicent wipes her fingers clean of salve and lifts his face up. He stares at her with his one, pale violet eye and she feels a burst of rage upon seeing the wound. It’s so strong it makes her nauseous.
“Even our uncle noticed,” Helaena hums. She looks up when she realises her mother and brother are staring at her. Then, she shrugs, stroking the dead centipede in her hand. It died this morning on her pillow. “I think he liked your bravery. But he would never say it.”
Daemon’s baleful, amused eyes flash across Alicent’s vision and she recalls her childhood infatuation with him. She grew out of it and happily so. It does not surprise her that Daemon would look at his brother’s children and see himself in them. He’s always boasted of himself as stronger than Viserys. It would entertain him to see a boy so like himself come from a woman he deems strait-laced and dull and a brother he considers weak.
“Our uncle,” Aemond scoffs. “He slept with her.”
“With whom?” Alicent’s head snaps around.
“Our father’s only child,” he spits out, venom in the words.
Rhaenyra.
“How do you know this?” Her eyes are wide and terrified, picturing a scenario where Aemond bursts out with this information at the wrong moment and gets punished.
“I was waiting to slip out and go to the beach, but I couldn’t find a good time. I saw them leave together. I know what they went to do. I’m not a child, mother.”
“Aemond, you must never speak of this again.”
“Why not?” He gets to his feet, all Targaryen rage and impulsivity. “Why must we always keep our mouths shut while she gets to do whatever she wants?”
Alicent breathes in, willing herself to stay calm.
Taking both his hands in hers, she kisses them and holds them against her cheek, reminding herself that all her children are still here. Daeron is safe in Oldtown. Her eldest three are here with her. They’re not gone yet. Daemon can’t do a thing to them. Daemon, not Rhaenyra, because even she knows her childhood friend would not willingly cut the throats of her own siblings.
“There will come a time when we will no longer live in fear of what Rhaenyra and her brood do or say to us,” she tells him. “But it is not that time yet.”
“Do you mean when father dies?” Helaena pipes up.
Alicent hushes her. “Don’t say such things out loud.” Her eyes dart to the door. Larys has spies everywhere, and though he might act innocuous with his crooked smile and haunted eyes, she knows him too well to think he’s loyal to her. He’s loyal to himself alone, as proven by the deaths of his kin. “But I assure you, Aemond, your patience will be rewarded, not just with a dragon, but by the respect of the entire realm. You are my warrior, my boy, my prince. Nothing will ever change that. Understand?”
Aemond grinds his teeth – it’s a habit she’s trying to help him out of – but he nods, slow at first, but then, with a greater degree of certainty. He believes her.
She glances at Helaena, a wordless signal that they should leave Aemond alone for a while.
At the door, she turns to look at him one last time, and smiles.
He brings peace to her heart, not because she loves him more than the other children, but because she knows he sees outside of himself, just like she was trained to. He will protect his siblings if Alicent is no longer there to do so.
Aemond is her favourite because he is exactly what she pictured when she imagined what it would be like to have a son.
Now they see you as you are.
Alicent wakes in a cold sweat, Rhaenyra’s vicious violet eyes burned into the backs of her eyelids. Her dreams are cruel to her. One moment Nyra’s head is in her lap, her young face alight with pleasure at the thought of flying away with Alicent and finding places no one else will ever reach. And then there’s a knife in her hand and Rhaenyra is bleeding out all over her green dress.
She can never control her dreams. Either she hurts Rhaenyra by the end, or Rhaenyra rips off her mask and shows her what she is.
A frightened young girl turned into a cold, enraged woman.
Her brother Gwayne used to reassure her she would be an excellent wife and mother to some very lucky minor lord. They were children of a second son, it was the most they could expect, even if their father was the Hand. And Alicent had revelled in the imagery. Gwayne was always kind to her, loving her the way younger brothers do, without question and without strife.
She never felt worthy of his simple love. She never believed she would be as good a woman as he believed she would. But often, on nights she can’t sleep, she thinks of all Gwayne told her and measures herself against it.
If she measures herself against what Rhaenyra promised she would grow to become, she’ll cry herself to death.
You are the sweetest person I’ve ever known. Everyone in this court looks at me and they see a princess, not a prince. They see what I am not, what I should have been. But you look at me and I feel strong, as if even I could bear the weight of my father’s crown. Do you know the worth of such a quality, Alice? You give strength to those who feel forsaken.
That last sentence was what echoed in Alicent’s mind the night she rushed out of the Great Hall, away from Rhaenyra’s bloodstained wedding, to find Criston Cole kneeling in the godswood, with a knife angled towards himself.
She wonders what Rhaenyra would feel knowing she herself is the reason Criston still lives.
A shadow stirs under her door and she hears the familiar clink of armour.
The guards change at midnight, and he comes to stand by her door, ever unable to sleep when the night is darkest. Alicent has memorised the sound.
Some nights, she can’t sleep until she hears the clink. Her heart doesn’t settle in the right place until Criston moves in front of her rooms, as if he’ll protect her from the hurricane waiting outside.
But no matter how she tries, tonight, sleep evades her.
She gets up and summons one of her maidservants, asking for a cup of mulled wine.
When the door opens, Criston moves an inch to the left, as if expecting trouble. Their eyes lock.
Alicent clutches her robe tighter around herself, suddenly aware of how little she’s wearing in comparison to her daytime garb. Her hair is loose from its coif, and falls in unruly curls down her back, large eyes betraying an age that is still not old enough for the troubles she bears.
“Ser Criston,” she calls, before he can close the door.
He walks into the doorway. “My Queen.”
She inclines her head to indicate he enter. He does so without a flicker in his expression, ever prepared to serve.
“Are you well, my Queen?”
Her palms are sweaty. She’s never been more aware of anything in her life. Whether it’s his presence or the lingering aftermath of her dream, she does not know.
“I could not sleep.”
His brown eyes peer at her through his lashes. They’re so large, they appear wholly sincere, but she’s seen them turn cruel at the mention of Rhaenyra. Never has a man confused her as much as Criston Cole.
Daemon, enigma as he seeks to appear, is fairly predictable within his impulsivity. If one wants trouble, look to the Targaryen prince with not a chip, but a giant oak tree on his shoulder. He’s always certain trouble.
But Criston can pass for serene and dutiful and be something totally different underneath.
Yet with her, Alicent believes he is at her service. She just often has doubts as to the precise reasons why. It can’t all be because she saved him from killing himself.
“The maid – “ he begins.
“Yes, she’s gone to fetch me a jug of mulled wine. I was hoping you would partake of it with me, Ser Criston.”
He bows his head in agreement.
Alicent’s mouth twitches in a sad smile.
He never suspects she may have ulterior motives.
Even to a man as guarded as this, she is laced so tightly, he would never suspect otherwise.
She’s never wanted to be like Rhaenyra – at least not to be in her situation – but now she does. To be able to say something charming, quick-witted, and break the ice, it would be a relief.
The maid returns with the wine and Alicent pours for the knight, setting the cup beside him.
“I appreciate how much you do for my children, Ser Criston.” She gestures for him to sit, and when he does, carefully seats herself beside him.
He keeps his eyes on the ground when he nods. “It is my duty, Your Grace. I will always work in the favour of the princes and the princess.”
“You go above and beyond.”
Now he looks at her and she sees a spark of surprise. “Have I overstepped, Your Grace?”
Alicent’s face softens, and she reaches to rest her hand on his gauntlet. “No. No, you have not. I am commending you, Criston. Not everything is a question of your ability. I will never doubt that.”
She hears him breathe out, but he still appears discomfited. She takes a sip from her own cup, hoping to encourage him to drink from his. A few seconds pass, and he mirrors her action. They smile at each other. Hers is wider, and his is small, but grows the longer he lets himself gaze into her eyes.
“May I ask what troubles you, my Queen?”
He knows. He must.
He was there in the room after the fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent was broken up. He’d watched her cry with Aemond’s bloodied face tucked against her neck. He was the one who had guided them both out, away from the court’s judgemental eyes, somewhere safe to grieve alone.
“I dreamt of Rhaenyra. Of our younger days.”
He keeps his face carefully smooth. “I remember that you were good friends. She always spoke highly of you.”
At least he’s not calling her a spoiled cunt anymore.
“She spoke well of you too,” Alicent admits. “Though I never saw when it was that she grew a particular affection for you. I was adept at reading those signs in her. With Daemon it was youthful infatuation. I was guilty of it too for a while. But you, I had no idea.”
A muscle in his jaw pulses. He’s staring into the cup of wine as if it will tell him what to say next, or what to do.
Alicent waits.
“I don’t think she held an affection for me the way I did for her,” he says at length. “I misread her cues. Had I known, I would never have offered what I did on our way to Driftmark. And she’d never had had the chance to prove just how little I meant in her world.”
“Did you – “ Alicent pauses, clears her throat, as if this isn’t something she should ask. Criston glances at her, expectant. “Did you like her a lot?”
His mouth tugs upwards with a tinge of bitterness. “It was my first time at court, away from war. And I was in the service of a princess. I’d heard one too many ballads, and she had a sweet smile. I saw everyone underestimate her. I saw her father harangue her to accept marriage proposals she didn’t want. It tangled up my views on love and duty, and my protectiveness grew into something more. It was youth’s folly on my part. It wasn’t until later that I learned she came to me after her uncle left her stranded in a brothel down in the city.”
Alicent nods, a knot stuck in her throat. She still remembers the pain in her stomach when her father first told her of the news, and that he was being banished from court for it. She remembers the way Rhaenyra’s voice trembled when she dubbed it a “vile accusation.” And yet it was never far from the truth.
Now Alicent understood exactly why Rhaenyra went to Ser Criston afterwards.
She knows this man has failed to forgive Rhaenyra’s youthful indiscretions, just as much as he refuses to forgive his own, but she feels pity for him regardless.
There’s no sense of betrayal towards the princess. Rhaenyra stopped feeling pity for Alicent the moment she was coerced into becoming her new stepmother. Alicent has ceased feeling that stab of guilt whenever she spoke against the princess in her absence. Life goes on.
“Everyone commits folly in their youth. It is of no consequence.” She says the words but doesn’t truly feel them. Her own youth was wasted in biting her cuticles till they bled and praying she did no wrong in her father’s eyes. Hardly a youth at all.
“Not you, my Queen.”
Alicent almost flinches in surprise. Criston has a look of amusement on his face. It takes her a moment to process, and then she laughs, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t believe you’ve ever committed a folly as a child.”
“I have. Plenty of them. My father was always admonishing me for them.”
“What your father deems follies, aren’t really follies. He watches Aegon with the same focus he once used on you.” Criston’s implication is clear.
Just like Aegon, Alicent was once a pawn to move around as Otto saw fit. It doesn’t feel right to allow a member of the Kingsguard to absolve her of her perceived sins, but she leans into the feeling, letting it envelop her in comfort.
“I regret one thing in regard to you,” she mutters, looking away before the heat of the wine reaches her cheeks.
“What’s that?”
“The way I referred to you when you took of your helmet during your first tourney here.”
“’Gods, he’s Dornish’?”
Alicent’s eyes widen. Criston’s voice ripples with laughter. “Rhaenyra told me. I found it amusing.”
“I did not mean it to denigrate you,” Alicent says quickly. “I swear. I just meant – I hadn’t seen many Dornish folk growing up, and I wasn’t expecting – “
“It’s alright, Your Grace,” Criston cuts her off, eyes crinkled at the corners.
He looks young again, the way she remembers.
Alicent heaves a sigh, and then laughs, embarrassed.
They both drift into a comfortable silence, each glancing up while the other isn’t looking. It happens three times before their gazes finally meet and then suddenly, neither can look away.
She tries, but the urge to drown in the dark chasm of his eyes is more enticing than anything her husband has ever said or done to her.
Criston looks away first, but it’s to reach under his gauntlet. “I brought something. I thought the young prince might like it. Losing an eye at such an age is a great blow. I know he wishes to become a better warrior, and I fear it may create problems.”
Alicent’s face falls at the mention of Aemond’s injury. “Yes, well, there’s nothing to be done. His eye is gone.” Her voice cracks, just like her son’s had.
Criston stops fiddling with the gauntlet and stares at her. It’s as if he wants to reach across and comfort her with something more tangible than words.
But instead, he removes what he was looking for and holds it out.
It’s a leather eyepatch.
“I had it made. It’s well-padded and it will fit the circumference of his head. I know he is self-conscious about the scar, but once the wound heals, he can cover most of it.”
Alicent doesn’t speak. Her eyes glimmer with an emotion she can’t put a name to and her fingers tremble as they take the patch from Criston’s palm. Her bottom lip quivers, and she sniffs, trying not to give into the weight of grief upon her chest.
“Your Grace,” Criston murmurs, troubled at her reaction.
“Don’t – “ she seals her lips, and squeezes her eyes shut, letting the tears fall free. “Don’t call me that. Call me Alicent for once. I hear the name my mother gave me so little these days.”
He swallows, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Alicent.”
She inhales, a shivering breath, and clutches the eyepatch to her chest. “He’s going to look like a Braavosi ruffian,” she laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “It would be highly improper.”
Criston shrugs and grins. “The boy deserves to go around however he wants after the trouble he’s had, no?”
She can already picture the scowl on her father’s face when he sees the patch.
It’s what convinces her to set aside her qualms.
Aemond will adore it. He has a knack for going straight for the thing he’s not supposed to, and just as with Vhagar, he’ll continue to make those decisions well into the future. At least Alicent can give him her blessing on this one.
“Thank you,” she says, and her voice barely breaks above a whisper. “You are good to me. To us.”
They smile at each other, and a picture of utter serenity invades her mind’s eye.
In it, her children don’t have silver hair, but red locks like her own, and deep, beautiful brown eyes like his. Their home is small, but happy, and each night when he returns, all four of them run to him, trying to tell him about their day at the same time. Alicent lingers in the back, waiting for her turn, knowing it will always come.
“Your Grace?”
The formal address shatters her vision like an arrow through glass.
She blinks, bringing herself to reality, to the quiet, dark room, so spacious and luxurious.
And him.
He’s closer now, and his hand is halfway up, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch her.
Alicent takes it without thinking and kisses the back before pressing it to her cheek.
He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say a word. His fingers tighten around hers and his armour shifts as he leans in.
Alicent doesn’t lift her head. She’s afraid of what she might see in the reflection of his eyes. She’s afraid she’ll see herself, yearning, something she’s long forced herself never to do.
“Alicent.”
“I won’t,” she whispers. “I won’t make you break your oath a second time. I’m not like her. I’m not her.”
“I know. I know.” He sets his other hand beneath hers, supporting it. “You’re not Rhaenyra. You are yourself. And I chose to serve you for that, not because I owe you my life and my dignity.”
“Rhaenyra made her choices out of youthful folly, and I am a grown woman. This is wrong.” She lets go of his hand, but he tightens his grip before she can take hers back. It’s not an aggressive hold, but it’s enough to keep her reined in close to him.
“I would never encourage you to do anything you did not want to, my Queen,” he says, and she now sees what Rhaenyra saw in him.
That wide-eyed devotion, the darkness stirring just underneath, as if he would do anything Alicent asked, no matter how cruel.
How could anyone say no to such intensity? Except Rhaenyra used him as a replacement, and Alicent has nothing to replace. She is a grown woman, but in this aspect, her experience is lacklustre.
“I don’t know what I want,” she chokes out, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.
“That’s not quite true, is it?” he says kindly.
She shakes her head. “I want a great many things, most of them to do with my children. But for myself, I don’t know what I want. Perhaps I want to sleep. Or to be at peace. Or maybe I want never to worry about another thing as long as I live.”
Her voice breaks as she remembers Aemond wiping his tears with haste so she won’t see them, and Aegon turning away to hide how her words trouble him, and Helaena – sweet Helaena – hoping her mother will understand what she means without having to try and explain it all the time.
And then she looks up at Criston and he is looking at her, only her.
Not Alicent the queen, nor Alicent the mother, nor Alicent the daughter.
Just Alicent.
She leans in for the space of a long sigh, and kisses his lips, seeking a taste of what it is that makes him see her that way.
Criston doesn’t let her pull back. His hand is behind her head – gentle, as if she were made of crystal – and his lips move like warm silk, pressed over her mouth. He kisses each corner, and then the bow of her upper lip, his breath soaked into hers. The scent of mulled wine is strong, but underneath, she tastes something sweeter. She wonders if she’s imagining it.
He manoeuvres her with an ease that steals her breath away.
One moment she’s on the seat, the next she’s half on his lap and his arm is braced around her slender waist.
She’s never been kissed like this before, like the centre of the universe is hidden between her lips and he means to steal it.
“Criston – “
His name is muffled in the wet slide of his tongue over hers, and she isn’t sure what she means to say next. He doesn’t give her the chance to think about it. His hand braces against the side of her neck, pulling her closer, until she’s caged.
This is a cage I would live in forever.
It takes the will of the gods to end the kiss.
The second she does, his mouth grasps at her chin, her cheek, her jaw, her throat, reaching for anything she’ll give him. And for a few heartbeats, she lets him have it all. She pretends her body is his to do with as he pleases, and that no one will ever come through that door to break them up.
She pretends she is his, and he is hers.
And then her body strains back, breaking the restraint of his arm.
Criston releases her immediately, breath coming short, eyes glittering with arousal.
Her own face is no better. Soft steps retreat, taking her back until she finds the bedpost. It’s the only thing keeping her knees from giving out.
Criston stands, and she’s suddenly aware of how much larger he is. It doesn’t help the heat spreading across her body, or the heartbeat pulsing in her throat. Her cheeks are still wet with tears.
“We can’t,” is all she manages to breathe out.
He nods, a sincere gesture. He understands.
Alicent thinks then that she might die to be understood like this always, that she’d die for him.
His white cloak whispers across the floor when he approaches.
A coarse hand rests ever so soft against the petal-skin of her cheek. It brushes down towards her chin, tilting it up. He studies her face as if she were a finely woven tapestry, each thread made of precious gold and silver.
“Your tears are as beautiful as the rest of you,” he murmurs. “But would that I could, I’d banish them from your eyes forever.”
Alicent trembles, trying not to let out the sob building up in her chest.
He presses a kiss to her forehead, chaste, and his hand drops away her face.
He leaves and behind him, lingers a poignant scent she’s only ever breathed in the godswood.
It’s holy.
“What’s this?”
Aemond looks confused at the velvet pouch she dangles before him.
Aegon is sitting on a nearby chair, sober for once, and Helaena is curled up by the fireplace, making swirling patterns with the corpses of dead bugs. Aegon keeps cringing and telling her not to bring them too close to his feet. She threatens to throw one in his open mouth when he’s asleep.
Their bickering continues in the background as Alicent pulls Aemond close. “Open it.”
He does, and removes the patch with a blithely confused face. “What is it?”
“It’s a patch for your eye, you dolt,” Aegon calls.
“Aegon, don’t be mean to your brother.”
“Why not? He told father I knew about the bastards. I got barked at.”
“I was protecting mother,” Aemond snaps.
“Yes,” Alicent says quickly, before it can get out of hand. “And I know you were as well, Aegon. Thank you.”
Aegon opens his mouth to say something, frowns, and then grunts. Alicent gaze lingers on him for a moment, feeling that familiar sadness, but then she’s distracted by Aemond putting on the patch. He laughs in delight as he darts towards the mirror.
“I look like a Braavosi sea lord!” he exclaims.
“This is what he’s giggling over!” Aegon laughs. “No more ‘I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon?’ Pretentious twat.”
Helaena chooses that precise moment to throw a dead bug at Aegon’s head, and the room erupts into chaos.
Alicent’s first instinct is to shout and stop them, order them to behave like the royalty they are.
But then she notices the maidservants giggling, and she lets it carry on. Helaena, emboldened by her initial attack, chases her older brother with a whole tray of bugs, and Aemond stands at the centre of it all, doing his best impression of a Braavosi water dancer.
Alicent smiles so wide her face hurts.
They look like children.
It won’t last, but they look like children again.
#alicent hightower#criston cole#alicent x criston#alicole#ser criston cole#queen alicent#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#helaena targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#daeron targaryen#viserys targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#scalyfreakswrites
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Chapter 3: Window of Opportunity
Pairing: Gojo x fem! reader
Warnings: language, Gojo being well Gojo, domestic violence, thank y'all for sharing your experience with me, it helped me so much understanding childhood trauma and made me transform it into this fic <3
Synopsis: Being the daughter of the Zenin clan made it your mission to defeat him. Him, Satoru Gojo, the honored one. Him, who makes your life a living hell. Him, who begins to get so much more than your curse...
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Hurt to Comfort
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„Oh, did you say something? I can’t understand you when you’re crying like a baby”, you purr as the eyes of the man who writhes in front of you like a little worm fill with tears of sheer fear.
Your grin grows wider and wider, satisfaction filling you to the brim. Maybe that mission isn’t so bad after all when you’re finally able to use your special abilities again.
While you are a skilled combat fighter, the director strictly forbids you to use Phobia Projection against another member of Jujutsu High since your former classmate almost hung himself because of it. You roll your eyes out of instinct.
As if it was his fault that his mind is so damn weak.
“I know he tried to kill us a few seconds ago. But don’t you think you’re going a little too harsh on him, (y/n)?”, Geto questions while manspreading the whole couch and eying you up and down.
“I’m not harsh on him. He’s seeing his own fears, I have nothing to do with that”, you defend yourself with a casual shoulder shrug.
How is it your fault that this guy acts like a baby? You let yourself sink next to Geto, watch from afar how the little bug continues to cry out in agony.
Unfortunately, your powers don’t allow you an insight into what your opponents go through. Is his worst fear a spider, a monster, or even worse…a human? Too bad there’s no way to find out since they never tell you afterwards. Maybe you’ll be able to torture it out of him. With a little bit of cutting and a whole lot of punching-
“P-please, make it stop!”, he yells out over and over.
The violent ringing of Geto’s phone rips you out of your chuckling and more than entertaining thoughts with an annoyed groan. Urgh, who the hell is interrupting that wonderful moment?
“Did you beat him already? I hope the dirty Zenin brat wasn’t in the way.”
You don’t have to look at the screen to know who’s calling, pulse rising to the rooftop. It’s him, the white-haired douchebag. Much to your liking, Geto decided it would be best if you accompany him instead of Gojo. But even if you’re not forced to be next to him physically right now, you’re still doing this mission together. Which means that he’s always there – like herpes.
“Spare your stinky breath. We were done before you decided to-“
“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!”
“Can you shut the fuck up? I’m having a serious call with a douchebag right now”, you bark at the man rolling on the floor.
“You’re an evil witch”, Gojo comments dryly on the other side of the phone.
“Evil, huh? Well, at least I’m not as dumb as-“
“Can you two just stop? We have him here as well as the vessel. I’ll send you the location. Don’t cause trouble.”
“Tell that this little-“
Oh right, the plasma vessel. You eye the girl lying opposite of you up and down, her dark hair falling into her closed eyes like a curtain. Must be rough, knowing your only reason walking on this planet is the stinging fact that a part of you will get killed within the next years.
How is she different from you, though?
You, with your family pressuring you into pouring your heart and soul into training, who never accepted you despite your heart work. You, who lost a part of herself in the process of forcing the best version of (y/n) onto you. You, who slowly but surely turned into a frightening resemblance of her family’s shadow, crossing a path she never imagined she’d land on as a kid. You sacrificed your smile, your dignity, your heart for the mission to become better than Gojo Satoru.
Aren’t you just like her?
“Hey, are you good?”
The sheer feeling of Geto’s warm hand resting against your shoulder rips you out of your daydreaming immediately.
“I’m not that Gojo weakling. You don’t need to watch over me”, you reply dryly, gifting him with the deadliest side-eye you have in store.
Well, maybe not the deadliest. That gaze is reserved for Naoya and Gojo only.
“Is there a reason apart from Satoru being a member of the Gojo clan why you hate him? I never understood what’s the deal between both of you.
You can’t help but tilt your head to the side, mind going blank for a second. Now that you think of it…Is there really a reason apart from the fact that your family taught you to hate him for your huge dislike? When you two first saw each other that one evening, he was nothing but a nice boy your age through your innocent eyes. A boy with a quite charming smile, who always had a cheeky reply in store. A boy with a strict family himself. Yes, you actually had a lot in common. And to some point, you began to like him in the few minutes you talked to each other.
Until you came back home and realized who exactly you were talking to.
“You did what?”, your father hissed through gritted teeth.
Another ruthless slap. Blood spilled to the ground, discoloured everything around you crimson. Eyes widen and teary, lips trembling when his flat palm crushed into your face again.
Over and over.
Again and again.
Until you weren’t able to feel your face anymore, eyes so swollen that your vision faded.
“Let me remind you of wrong little thing.”
He grabbed you by the hair Gojo complimented just a few minutes ago roughly and yanked you into the air.
“You are nothing, the biggest disappointment in my whole life. If it was for me, you’d be dead already. But because of your other lousy family members, you get the chance to surpass that Gojo brat. And you?”
Another slap, your feet tangled in the air like a wind chime.
“You actually befriend him. You disgust me, (y/n). And you always will. You’ll never bring honor to your family.”
“He’s himself, that’s enough”, you press out.
“What do we have here, dreaming about me, (y/n)?”
Speaking of the devil. Before you’re even able to accept his existence in the same room, he stands in front of you and grins you down.
That fucker, the reason for your suffering, for the fact that your family doesn’t accept you…
Your hand reacts faster than the rest of your body. A ruthless slap sends Satoru Gojo straight back to reality, echoes through the room without mercy. Your palm begins to burn like hell while your uneven breath hangs in the thick air between both of you.
“What was that, huh?”
He roams closer, his redden skin showing your act of violence way too clearly.
“Who the hell do you think you are, little bitch?”
Your throat begins to tighten uncomfortably, the veins in your arms throbbing in an all too familiar way.
Hatred. You feel nothing but hatred.
“You’d deserve even more than that, asshole”, you bite back.
He’s so close that you’re able to sense the heat radiating from his body and how his breath wanders over your face. You feel like burning alive, so unusual aroused that it’s hard to keep a straight face. Did he always look at you with his lips slightly parted, his eyes glowing like they normally do in serious fights? You are trapped between both of his arms, roasted by his heat, defeated by the way he looks down at you without saying another word.
What is that? And most importantly, do you want it to stop?
You can’t decide for yourself. In the split of a second you find yourself surrounded by broken glass, free fall down from the 15th floor.
Fuck, who’s responsible for this? Did Gojo go this far, would he actually throw you out of a skyscraper just to get rid of you? He might be the biggest asshole walking on this planet, but he’d never do something so damn basic. No, it has to be someone who is chasing after the star plasma vessel, someone who kept an eye on you this entire time.
Well, who’s responsible for this mess isn’t your biggest problem. At the moment, you are on your rapid way to crash into the ground, your guts feeling as if they’ll spill out of your mouth any given minute. And even though you’re able to inhibit the impact, this will still hurt like hell.
Do you have another way out of here, though? Getting hurt is better than crying for anyone’s help, after all. You close your eyes, embrace yourself for multiple broken bones and a wave of pain as soon as you hit the ground.
But it never happens.
“Aren’t so brave anymore, huh? If you only had told me that I would have to throw you out of a sky-high window to get you to shut up, brat.”
Just to let y'all know, I'm still over here giggling like an idiot over the title of that chapter hehehehe
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#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x geto#geto suguru#suguru#gojo#satoru#satosugu#enemies to lovers#gojo fluff#jjk fanfic#jjk fanworks#jjk fluff#jjk funny#jjk hurt/comfort#jjk humor#jjk hurt
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https://www.tumblr.com/big-gay-apocalypse/732547558666289152?source=share
how do these pannels make you feel. they make me feel sad
Hi anon!
For context these are the panels Anon sent me-
For starters, it's totally understandable that these panels make you feel sad! That's clearly what they were written to do.
However.
I can't take it seriously because it's RUDY WEST. Rudy West is not comparable to Oliver Queen! Rudy West is absolutely not a better father than Ollie!
I mean, aside from the fact that it's pretty hard to be a worse father than Rudy West and Roy would absolutely not be "a better person" if he was raised by the Wests, like. Ollie and Roy didn't have that much of a bad relationship when Roy was a teenager. Obviously Snowbirds happened and that changed their dynamic and created a whole lot of tension they had to work through, but this is clearly pre-Snowbirds, and since Ollie still has money+Queen Industries it's also presumably pre-Hard Traveling Heroes, which is where the idea of Ollie not being around stems from. Was there conflict? Sure! But not to the extent that the Teen Titans would be blaming Ollie for how Roy is (actually, the "its not his fault the way he was raised" angle is more accurate for Dick than Roy, but I'm not gonna get into that). And I am doing a lot of explaining and defending for a man who's competition is Rudy West.
Fundamental misunderstanding of Ollie and reducing him to "Batman with arrows" my beloathed.
Also another big issue is the fact that Roy's meant to be some spoilt rich brat, which doesn't really make sense?? I mean, Roy grew up on a reservation, and at this point he's living with Ollie who, based on this panel, is implied to still be at least kinda socialist in this timeline. He's not gonna be some disconnected nepo-baby who shames Wally for his parents' financial status, even at his most insecure, which I guess is the angle they're taking here.
And also why is Garth the one defending Roy? Garth doesn't care about Roy at best at this point, and actively dislikes him at worst. Especially considering Roy's treatment of Garth is arguably worse in this than in the original Teen Titans run. Idk, it feels like it's trying to make Garth into the quiet emotionally mature kid in this scenario, which i don't feel is very accurate to who Garth actually is (I'll admit I'm only recently getting into Aqua comics so I don't have a complete grasp of Garth's character, but I get the impression that he's definitely not as much of a pushover as this comic presented him as- in the original Teen Titans run he was bantering as much as the others were, and he did have moments where he'd get aggressive, such as when the Titans refuse to help him because of their 'vow')
I'm not gonna say I hate this comic. There are some parts of it I really love, like
These panels are cute as fuck and I adore them. I think that the comic really works as its own story outside of the main Teen Titans continuity, with its own interpretations of the characters and their stories. But if you try and apply it to the original Teen Titans series, it does get kinda messy.
So yeah, in conclusion, the panels are sad if you look at them within the story, but I just can't take it seriously in a broader scope because y'know. Rudy West. I'm not even that big of a Flash fan and I still know Rudy West is the worst guy.
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"I think Sam handles pressure better than Caitríona... As she said years ago about him being a calm center.: - Sam showed that when criticized, he's a woos. She never wrote a 3 page BS like he has, complaining how poorly he feels and including the mental affliction as excuse to make sure nobody would criticize him again. Cait is no push over and doesn't need Sam to "protect" her. He should fix his own problems as they didn't change since we've became aware of him in S1.
Anon...
Maybe your problem is assuming that Sam and Cait can't be similar (although even your dear Cait said that) and not admitting how they both support each other in all these (bad) moments.
I didn't say that Sam was exemplary, but the fact is he deals with "all this shit" better than she does... Okay, Hawaiigate 2.0 wasn't his best moment, but there's no way he could have come out of it well without resorting to the role of victim. And Cait supported him and his behavior in that moment. 😜
But Cait crossed the line, gave unnecessary answers in interviews and on social media over the years... Statements that did nothing to contribute to the image of the excellent actress that she is, and encouraged people to speculate much more about her personal life. Cait did nothing to benefit herself or her family. She let her sisters and mother get involved in this circus, until it culminated in the interview fiasco with her father.
Unlike Sam, Cait has the shield of her "perfect marriage" with Tony, so why would she need to be afraid of what the "small vocal group" thinks and says about her??? To the point that she mentioned, during an Oscar campaign for Vanity Fair magazine, something silly like a comparison of bedsheets?! 🤦🏻♀️
Okay, I've already made fun of Tony and I think that sometimes people cross the line, but Cait herself is the one who encourages this when she publicly treats her husband so coldly. She only seems to be an interested wife (and that on a few occasions) when the camera is in their faces.
If my husband were as uncomfortable as Tony is, I would be the first person to tell him not to go to these events with me.
Supporting someone you love is not being on their side out of obligation, to merely give a good impression as a couple... Support is understanding, accepting what the other person is and respecting that. Obviously, Tony didn't want to be at several of these events over the years... And the worst part? Cait ignored him and often appeared with that unhappy face next to him. And there are people applauding this. 🤦🏻♀️
I'm a mother and something I can't agree with is the talk of the happy family justifying that they had a son together. A child should never have this responsibility, be the reason to say that a couple is happy. This is not right and it is not reality.
And who are you in Sam and Cait's lives to say that Cait doesn't need Sam's protection, or that he has to solve his problems alone?!? Are you at least one of her or his family? We don't really know anything about these two actors and we're just here speculating and guessing based on the little they show us publicly. We're in the same boat, Anon. 😉
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Warning: spoilers ahead for both Red Dead games.
Dutch Van Dir Linde is one of the finest characters I've ever come across and that I think about a lot because in many ways, he is represents the dreams that people have and the awful reality of it too.
Heytham, what the hell do you mean that this manic, selfish, delusional piece of shit is like you or me?
Here is an example. When you were a kid, did your parents tell you that your dreams will come true if you worked hard? And did you believe it? I know I did. I studied often, got a great SAT score, joined many extracurriculars, did volunteer work regularly, got a part time job, had all high grades in advanced level courses and in AP/honor programs and I had one goal. To get into my dream college.
I made my resume. I did everything right. I listen to what people better than me told me to do and I waited for that acceptance letter- so confident that I would get into the university. Never once did I imagine that I'd get rejected, but I did. For a 17 year old kid, it felt like the world was ending. I remember sobbing myself to sleep, waking up, and then just laying on my bed disappointed in the world and the lies it fed me. In a perfect world, I'd have gotten accepted. Worst people than me got accepted, why couldn't I?
But I moved on. Life continued and I was fine. I was bitter, sure, but I managed to get over it and work towards better paths and a better future.
But what if I didn't? What if I got hung up on that forever? What if I fought the rejection? What would I have done? What would I have not done?
This little experience, one that many people have gone through, is kind of a microcosm of the much bigger human truth that the world will never be an ideal place due to the human nature.
If I was like Dutch, I would have fought the rejection- I would stick so diligently to the ideal that I believed in so hard, even though that failure was more than likely a guarantee. I wouldn't find an alternative to be better and do better things. I'll get hung up on a dream and never move past it.
That's his dilemma. He believes in the ideal, like we all do, but he will fight tooth and nail to make that ideal real while we will sigh and realize that life will never be the way we want it to be.
Dutch feels betrayed by the world, or at least by his vision of the world- especially America.
America was a country built on the promise of all men being born equal under God and under the law. All men.
That was the dream, the hope, and the promise.
What happened instead? The continuing of the institute of slavery, the massacre of natives, the monopoly of magnates, and the constant discrimination of those not considered 'white'.
It was disgusting and awful and it should've never happened- but it did and people tried to remedy it in ways that were gradual but real. They found different paths and different dreams and though there is still much work to be done, people are finding a way.
Dutch couldn't do that though. He refused to do that. He wanted the ideal and he wanted it immediately, even though it was impossible. He killed for his ideal, he robbed for his ideal, and he led people to hell for his ideal.
But it didn't matter. His ideal will never exist and he couldn't accept that- which leads to his end.
He won't be caught. And he didn't get caught by commiting suicide- a final fight. He wouldn't surrender to John or the Pinkertons, because that would mean admitting that his entire life was a struggle for nothing because his vision will never be realized if people like Cornwall or Favours or the professor continue to exist. Life was hell because of those people and the American dream did not exist because of those people.
"What a beautiful dream. So poorly rendered," - Dutch to Arthur.
And Dutch is right! From the very beginning that this country was created, it relied on an ideal that turned out to be a lie.
And Dutch couldn't handle that and wanted a perfect world that can never be realized and he tried to get that perfect world by lying and stealing and cheating and killing. What a depressing dichotomy.
Now, of course, when it comes to the personal motivations of Dutch, whether pride, hubris, narcissism, or any of that, they can all by factors to Dutch's pointless battle, but his motivation has always been clear and it never changed-
"Yeah, I know it's tough. You like Dutch. He's a charming fellow. He makes sense. He's like one of those nature writers from back East. Only he takes things a tiny little step too far. Rather than just loving the flowers and the animals and the harmony between man and beast, he shoots people in the head for money. And disagreeing with him. Now, I'm not a great intellect, but the metaphysical leap from admiring a flower to shooting a man in the head because he doesn't like a flower, is a leap too far." Edgar Ross to John Marston.
Dutch lived and died to create an ideal that would never be real because he could never accept reality and that is one of the saddest fates a man could have.
#Dutch's story makes me so sad#because his dream is such a beautiful dream#but he fails to realize that it is only a dream#and can never actually happen as long as people exist#how foolish he was#how valiant#and how terrible for he damned people for this dream like Arthur and John and Molly and so many others#dutch van der linde#arthur morgan#john marston#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#rdr#red dead redemption#character analysis#story analysis
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This is fully a personal preference thing honestly, but I've been turning it around in my brain why I don't like BingQiu specifically when I'm at worst neutral on almost literally any other ship and I think it boils down to this: it's really important to me that in a ship that's supposed to be lasting and stable at least one character can say "I see you for what you are and I accept you for all there is to you". And that's just not a thing with BingQiu.
Binghe literally can't know a huge part of Shen Qingqiu - the part that is Shen Yuan, the part that wears the scum villain as a mask that it can never even take off completely - because of the transmigration and the System. He also idolizes his Shizun and at the same time puts on mask after mask so that he can be Shen Qingqiu's lovely white lotus which also don't help.
And Shen Qingqiu's head is full of so many bees, so much denial and self-delusion that we watched him actively think himself in circles rather than admit that Binghe might be interested in him for three whole books. I don't trust him to have a reasonably realistic idea of himself, much less of someone else. Especially not Binghe. He will make up a picture in his mind about how things are supposed to be and it has to be an act of divine intervention for him to budge from it. He will deny reality if he has to, so he's incapable of seeing Binghe as anything other than the Perfect Protagonist.
I don't often see Binghe shipped with others (he's so singularly No Thoughts Head Empty Only Shizun that it's hard to put him with anyone else. Shen Jiu sometimes I guess, but he is shipped more with Bingge which feels like a distinctly separate thing to me and anyway, it's usually predicated upon the realization that they are both similar kinds of monsters, even if Bingge outdoes his scum villain by several orders of magnitude) but Shen Yuan has a few choice ships that either challenge his expectations enough that his denial and delusion breaks down eventually (Liu Qingge, Shen Jiu, etc.) or ship him with Airplane who knows him for what he is because he's also a transmigrator and he's familiar with Cucumber bro's acerbic inner self.
Other ships too. QiJiu/LiuJiu/QiJiuLiu any variations of these three tbh thrive on clearing up their misunderstanding and starting to see each other clearly again. MoShang get together once they start to properly pay attention to each other and their respective needs. Airplane in general has just an impossible understanding of whoever he's shipped with as only Author and his creations can have. Tianlang-jun's weird charm comes from it that he can't (or possibly refuses to) pretend to be anything than who and what he is beyond the most superficial disguise.
And BingQiu just doesn't have that. They are both too obsessed with an idealized version of each other to ever see things clearly and that's what makes their dynamic not very fun to me personally.
#svsss#like don't get me wrong#i enjoyed the novel a lot. it's a fun time and I don't mind the ship in that stage#their post canon dynamic is just not something I find fun and that's 200% a question of personal taste#if you love bingqiu I hope you have a great time and find only the best fic and art of your blorbos#it's not for me and that's fine#i guess if I wanted to make it work it would be Shen Yuan getting yeeted back into his own time#and Binghe coming after his husband#but losing the Protagonist Halo so he can. you know. suck in a lot of ways that the universe didn't let him before#and together they can work on bettering themselves and each other#but I would need to get in either of their heads to write it and no thank you. both of their heads are like full of bees or something#i would not have a good time#shut up tc
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imagine if they killed brooklyn just to make kenji and ben an item
i know ben and kenji are a fan favorite but with all due respect this woulddddd not be a great move on the part of the writers. i feel like it'd really cheapen any potential relationship between them, because ben would just look like kenji's second choice to brooklynn (since she'd have to die before kenji ever canonically considered ben in a romantic light). i think what bothers me more, though, is that killing off brooklynn to get ben and kenji together would just play into this weirdly pervasive idea in fandom that women are at best expendable accessories to the narrative, and at worst, direct obstacles to the male character's "true" love interest (another man in this case).
i'm not saying that a romantic relationship could never work between ben and kenji, but ... it just wouldn't land well under these specific circumstances. i'd need brookenji to have at least broken up before brooklynn died if they wanted to make ben and kenji a thing. and if i'm being frank, i'm more interested in how a brookenji breakup would affect kenji's feelings surrounding brooklynn's death (and maybe even impact their reunion, if brooklynn's death does end up being a fakeout) than what that would mean for kenji's future love life.
with all that being said, i very much doubt the writers would go down that route (killing off brooklynn for shipping's sake)! i have a lot of faith in them and their abilities to deliver a good story. ships aside, what camp cretaceous has always excelled at in my opinion is the found family dynamic, and the individual bonds that exist within that unit. i'm sure that'll only carry on into chaos theory, and i'm SO excited to see how the campers relationships will continue to change and grow
#i tried to be as careful as possible as to not name drop ben and kenji's ship name#just because i don't want shippers to find this in the search results and feel like they're being bombarded with negativity#but from a purely storytelling perspective ... yeah it's a no from me#answered#mayodayo#jurassic world chaos theory spoilers#chaos theory spoilers#jwct spoilers#jurassic world chaos theory#jwct#chaos theory
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absolutely unhinged rant about fertility treatments (specifically ICSI) below the cut
uhm... just watched a video of the process of an ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection) fertility treatment and they used a needle to inject one single sperm into an egg. that gave me the heebie jeebies as a biologist. like. the only reason 99.9% of us are alive at all is because 1) the egg we were made from was viable, 2) only the utmost fit sperm were able to reach the egg at all, and 3) naturally the egg has the 'final say' in which sperm 'wins' and it chooses which sperm is most fit to fertilize it.
like. injecting an egg with a needle can hurt the cell membrane and fuck up fetal development. what happens if the one single sperm you chose from the cum vial was one that wouldn't even be able to swim past the inside of the pussy lip, congrats, you just let a dumbshit useless disadvantageous sperm fertilize an egg. you have no idea if that egg was viable or not and what if it was fucked up before you even stuck a needle through the membrane.
idk this almost makes me sick to think about. the female body works so hard to protect you from pregnancy and has a system to try and get you only the healthiest of pregnancies possible, your egg shits on bad sperm and your endometrium tries its hardest to flush out the zygote if it doesnt implant correctly and in a safe location. i think there's only so far you can take fertility treatments until it becomes completely inhumane for everyone involved, but especially the mother and the fetus.
the absolute worst part of it all is that ICSI was created for couples that are having trouble concieving because of Male Factor Infertility. why the fuck are we making lab babies out of sperm that isn't even functional enough to do the only thing it was made to do: SWIM? imagine every single sperm this guy ever shoots out from his pathetic cum is too weak to swim up to the egg. idk if this is just the evolutionary biologist in me talking but i would rather die than willingly incubate, give birth to, and raise the poor kid who would end up being a result of absolutely abysmal sperm. if they can't swim to the egg then they don't deserve to fertilize the egg. i don't want to damn my own child to a life of genes that are actively working against its survival
even if i wasnt terrified of pregnancy and didnt hate kids and i really really wanted a family, i still wouldnt want to have my own biological child because there's an almost guaranteed chance that, regardless of its sex, it will have FXS or at least the premutation for it because that shit is on both of my stupid little X chromosomes and i would not wish this on anyone ever
Like. i know that fertility treatments are mad expensive and very few people get them but whyyy why why why would you let inept sperm fertilize something why are we even entertaining this it is sooo unethical in every way
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friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me
#It’s just so different#even though it’s public it still feels secret and safe. i feel comfy sharing a lot more on here than I do in my actual day to day life lol#in my head I’m also just speaking to myself 90% of the time which helps#if a friend off tumblr saw my thoughts I’d feel so weird ab it#esp bc they might get the vagueposting about certain situations and tell mutual friends#no thank u. this is for me. I’m not about to start censoring my thoughts bc someone I know knows my tumblr#u guys literally saw me have LIVE BREAKDOWNS#meanwhile I’ll have the worst fucking day in history and tell no one about it. I’m already cripplingly private but way more so in real life#this is basically a low stress journaling outlet for me. it’s so important for me to maintain the separation#like this is actually my diary & has been so handy for letting out emotions / articulating thoughts / staying on track !!#& I’ve met so many kind people on here who actually get me. which is so hard to find irl bc I’m surrounded by pre-med gunners/overachievers#who are by standard not very good w emotion & can be competitive/judgmental. or at least it’s hard for me to be vulnerable in front of them#and I’m part of that crowd so I reserve my emotions only to a handful of very close friends#it’s nice to hop on here and express negative emotions!! or positive emotions!! just whatever I want and it’s low stress and people get me#I don’t have to worry about judgment or competitiveness etc etc#like everyone on here is so kind & nice & understanding. & just a breath of fresh air from the types I run w. it’s just nice to have this#so idk that’s why I think I’ll always be strict about keeping the worlds separate. it just works#p
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Armandiel thoughts to cry about today
imagine Armand downloading Daniel's journalism class just to see him and listen to his voice
he hides it from Louis like porn, except that he'd have no reason to hide porn from him
one day he feels terrible and listens to it to calm himself down, and Louis finds him like that
and doesn't even say anything, just holds him
#i don't see them as 'in love' as such - definitely not anymore if they ever were to begin with#but their friendship is SO IMPORTANT TO ME#Louis being supportive of Armand's love for Daniel is EVERYTHING#but i still think Armand would try to hide at least the worst / (in his eyes) most pathetic parts of it from him#but he doesn't need to. of course he doesn't need to.#armandiel#devil's minion#armand#louis de pointe du lac#interview with the vampire#JUST LIKE I DON'T NEED MY HEART I JUST NEED THOUGHTS ABOUT ~THEM~ 24/7 😭😭😭😭😭😭
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aurghhh ok still rewatching '97 and the way guts and casca only have the room to breathe and really come to understand and care for each other in griffith's absence because he has such a strong hold over them both.... and the way their mutual dedication to him is what causes them to bicker for years (casca thinks he's not serving him well enough, guts thinks she doesn't get that he cares/how much he cares, casca's jealousy over griffith's feelings for guts, how he won his heart without even trying or being aware of it or doing anything with it) and is also a big part of what brings them together (earlier when guts deviates from the plan to save griffith and she commends him, in the cave casca opening up about griffith and her's past, showing that vulnerability, while it's mostly confrontational, leads to guts kinda getting her better, and his efforts to save and protect her (falling off the cliff with her, taking on the 100 men so she can escape, encouraging her to return to griffith so she can help him because it's what she feels she's meant to do (her dream, the direction in life guts shares and yet is questioning because of griffith's speech at the fountain, whether or not it's enough to serve him if it means he'll never be a true friend in griffith's eyes because he's not an equal), supporting the idea of her being with griffith/being his most important person like he won't because he doesn't view it as a competition like she has been since day one) leading to her realizing that he's kind of not that bad a guy and they have a lot more in common that she thought. and how the bonfire of dreams conversation is guts opening up to her in kind, the answer to her talking about how griffith saved her, how she feels. how neither of them ever call it love but it's something they know they both have for griffith. how it's something they're beginning to have for each other, different in ways they couldn't put a word to. because they're equals this time. the way griffith kind of becomes less and less important as they find other reasons to live and fight, as they become less singularly obsessed with him. how griffith is unable to stand it, guts' personhood, that agency and peer-to-peer equality he claimed to want (and perhaps truly did) that disappeared guts from his life, his plans, his side. how it barely even matters to griffith how casca changes because he never wanted her like she wanted him. god i can't fucking stand their shakespearean nonsense drama (<- hopelessly in love with their interpersonal dynamics)
#god they're the only healthy part of this unholy mind-palace love triangle/throuple aren't they#they could have been the worst qpr/throuple in your social circle. like just insufferable when they're not getting along#if griffith hadn't [oh god oh fuck oh jesus christ] all over everything even remotely good in his life anyway#poor casca's in love with a gay man and then falls for his not-quite-boyfriend and when not-quite-boyfriend reciprocates said gay man fucki#g. Does The Eclipse Stuff. at least partially to get back at you two. oh my godd#i'm sorry i'm so not normal about them. it's starting to leak out into the blog bc i'm finally having a Berserk Moment since starting tumbl#but whewwwww. gotta get this outta my system#hope this wall of text makes sense oops <3#berserk#berserk 1997#how do i even tag their thang. their disastrous just horrible agonizing 3 guy dynamic. hm.#gutsca#griffguts#don't even know if anyone tags for griffith and casca. fair because 1) he raped her. yikes 2) he just straight up isn't into her#and i don't know if there's a tag for the three of them but trial and error led to nothing#but i wanna talk about their dynamic. their. (gestures wildly) whatever. it's not about thinking griffith should kiss anyone it's about lik#the agony. the pining and the torment and whatever miura so beautifully crafted for me specifically. sheesh#hope it's clear that i Don't Want Them To Be An Uwu Little Polycule Bc Casca Should Not Be In A Cutesy Throuple With Her Rapist#it's more that i think they kind of are or almost are part of this (gestures wildly again). Thing. with each other and i wanna talk about i#same with griffguts like oh man they should NOT be in a relationship. but i have this deep intense Need to study them and frankly they're#kind of crazy about each other for a while. like they care about each other so so much it's crucial to all three of their characters.#so it's kind of unavoidable. and i wanna talk about it. and have this read by people who also want to talk about it. yeah? yeah.#(and yeah i think griffith raping casca was about her and guts. like 'fuck you for making him okay with leaving me' type of vibe. even#though it wasn't her fault he's just. god. but it sure as hell isn't Mostly about casca because griffith's making eye contact like the Whol#time with guts. he makes him watch. it's just. shooooooooooo aughhhhghhghh fucking. jesus christ. that or it's the fear that his two most#important pawns are going to leave him Together and he just. can't deal with that. especially after the torture internment thing.#he's so weak and he was so close to his dream and now it's falling apart and they're leaving him and he can't even move. it's about making#damn sure they can't escape him or forget him ever again.#or maybe it's even a 'you can't have her she's mine' to guts but it's still largely like. spiteful/about possessing her as a soldier/human#because i don't think you could convince me it's about having her as a lover or about controlling/hurting/possessing her body.)
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mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW
#thinkin too much about gortie side characters again.#sally this time and why she specifically talks about him the way she does#like dravo is obviously still shitty but to me he was. ‘just ‘neglectful#while sally actively hated and even felt terrorised by her own child#like. it’s not like i don’t understand her at all.#imagine you and your love don’t have much besides each other and your shop and you get pregnant and ready to raise a child#only for it to not be a child he didn’t and doesn’t cry ever and he learns everything so much sooner than most but then he never calls you#his parents and it’s not just a petty thing kids do sometimes you feel that he doesn’t see you as family and the worst part is that you#agree deep down#and as he gets older he doesn’t have any friends and actively rejects the notion of the entire concept#but then as time passes you hear about how he has entire groups of children following him and then several of them commit suicide#and that thing coming to sit with you and dravo at the dinner table says that he did what you did last week when the axe to chop wood broke#and you discarded it and got a new one#and he has these habits of ripping out flowers and making sure that they don’t regrow#and then you hear rumours about a friend’s daughter’s cat disappearing and think nothing of it#until you visit his tree house a month later and find a declawed cat and birds with clipped wings and crushed bugs that he keeps fondly#and then you see him with other children and they don’t know and his face is different and body language is entirely different#and were it not for the fact that you know better you would never see anything but a normal child#and you know that you are one who painstakingly brought this thing that should not be into the world and so you decide to end it all one da#and go to him as he’s asleep with the knife shaking in your hand#but he cries when you’re above him! screams at the top of his lungs!#so you beg for forgiveness even though you don’t deserve it through tears but as soon as the knife is put away you see the act drop and fee#his clever fingers having twisted your brain inside and out and you know that you can do nothing#and so the opportunity arises to at least remove him out of your life if not everyone’s lives and you take it immediately.#but you heard him talk. how he will close his fist around the world one day. and you know that it is not a matter of if but when.#like. imagine that. jesus dude.#like i hc her as someone that is messy and does not know a lot about life and she certainly wouldn’t have been a good mother but the love#or at least desire to love is there somewhere. and believing that having a child is really the only somewhat meaningful thing she can do#with her life. she’s not some hero or rich or anything of note. so there’s a lot obligation and not genuine desire for family here.#but she never really got the chance to be an actual mother in the first place so. who knows what that might have looked like
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