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seravphs · 11 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

There are some forces greater than kings. Princesses do not happen to be one of them. What you desire will be your downfall.

wc — 5.7k

tags — royal au, mutual pining, forbidden love, childhood friends, retainer/royal dynamic, court intrigue, ballroom scene, protective Gojo, once again breaking etiquette for each other, complicated relationship (with your father), title from Upstream by Mary Oliver

part 2 of the hand which holds the knife

There’s a language you spoke as a child that you can’t seem to access anymore.

The only other person who remembers what it was is on the other side of this hall.

A hand on the pommel of his sword to ask are you okay? A flower tucked behind your ear to represent get me out of here. A shared look that meant I’m bored out of my mind right now.

That’s all you can remember. Like fairies and sorcerers, it’s a relic that’s faded into the distant memories of your childhood. All the magic has drained out of your life, and you’re left with this-

Gojo, looking regal and beautiful in his new armor, standing on one side of this massive hall built for receiving audiences.

You, as stiff and proper as a princess should be, standing on the other.

Even when you know you won’t be seen, the training you received as a child never quite leaves the set of your shoulders. You’re hiding from the court in a secret space above the hall. It’s less of a room and more of a balcony, disguised by masterful craftsmanship and perfectly placed decorations.

A long time ago, one of the sons of the Kamo clan had been a renowned architect. He had designed the windows in the Great Hall to reflect in such a way that even anyone who did know where to look would be confused by a trick of the light. In order to preserve the secret of this concealed viewing area, the king then promptly had him killed for his efforts.

Now only the royal family knows of it.

Somehow Gojo’s eyes still seem to pierce into yours, although you know that it’s impossible. Even knowing that he’s most likely just staring into space due to boredom, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching you.

After all, you’ve never been able to hide from him. Every single game of hide and seek that you played when you were children was only won because he let you. Even now, it feels like he’s watching you, camouflage or not.

If you still remembered your secret language, you might’ve been able to check. Scratch your cheek once for yes or rub at your ear for no. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected Gojo to respond to your mental summons, but there’s still an ache in your heart when he doesn’t react. It’s a fact of life for even that which you held most dear to erode with time, but it’s still difficult to forget the memory of how fantastical the world had been as a child.

Even now, there’s a painful longing in you for those days. When you still had cherubic cheeks and Gojo had missing teeth, the two of you had been inseparable. No matter where you went throughout the palace, you did so holding hands. The son of the Hand of the King and the daughter of the King, innocent playmates. Your father had loved it until it stopped being cute and started being improper.

Now, like everything else the two of you had shared, the language that had once been just for the two of you is lost to time.

From your vantage point on the balcony, you see a guard mount the throne’s dais to whisper into your father’s ear. A minute wrinkle forms between his brows. Seeing this, you gather your skirts to prepare for the long hike down the stairs. It’s the only way to get down from this balcony.

Things change. It’s time you accepted that.

You’re a little late to your father’s summons due to your delay in the secret balcony, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, at least to you. The first signs of thunderclouds gathering over his face break the instant you climb up the steps to the throne, dipping your head to kiss him on either cheek.

“Father.”

It’s a word that conveys so much in so little. He’s at once the king that you pay absolute respect to and the father that indulges you in almost everything. He receives your greeting warmly, not even chiding you for being late.

In a place of honor by his side, Gojo’s eyes dart to you. There’s an easy smile on his lips. “Princess,” he murmurs under his breath.

The king gives him a cross look. It’s an unspoken rule for the kingsguard to be seen and not heard, but as Gojo had learned through his childhood, there were few rules that applied to him, and fewer still that he couldn’t bend in some way. You don’t acknowledge him, but for him, just seeing you was enough. He melts back into being a statue once more, a beautiful if threatening decoration.

Below the podium, people shush themselves the minute they notice that your father has an announcement to make.

They know it must be important if he’s gathered all of them. Even a few commoners have been let into the throne room, albeit separated from the nobles with guards and other barriers. The news will inevitably spread like wildfire.

The princess is getting married.

Things change. You’re trying to accept that.

Your father isn’t so cruel as to throw you to the wolves immediately. The announcement is more for the sake of preparation. This is the beginning of your introduction to potential suitors. Historically, not every princess goes through such a formal affair. Your own parents, for example, had always known they were going to marry each other. A match between the richest house and the prince when the children were so close in age was easy.

You’re not so lucky. Since you were young, Gojo has spoiled you with too much attention for you to care about anyone else. Now you have no other convenient childhood friends to turn to.

Your father will want it to be a massive celebration. His only daughter, the blood of his blood, deserves music and dancing. Already, you can hear the faint sounds of the most talented opera singer in the kingdom warming up in the ballroom adjacent to the Great Hall. Some of those closest to the doors have already begun streaming towards the jubilant sounds.

That’s a relief.

It takes a little pressure off of you as you begin to make your way back down the steps. Logically, you understand why the throne is raised on a dais. In the moment, however, your heart is pounding as you begin your descent. The entire nation has been watching you since you were just a child, but a proclamation of marriage has raised the stakes.

You only exist for other people to envy. They scheme and fight for the rights that you’ve been endowed with since birth. You might at least make it worth their while. Piece by piece, you collect the fragments of what a princess who’s deserving of the jewels dripping from her neck and hair might look like. Hands that don’t tremble. A sweet smile. Perfect posture. You weave these disjointed wisps into the correct facade and slip it over yourself.

Royalty is all about showmanship. Like the balcony, hidden by a clever trick of light, everything is a feint of hand. You’re not any different from anyone standing below you in the crowd. You were just lucky enough to be born to the right parents at the right time.

You’re so focused on your appearance you barely register the sound of metal clinking. Before you, an armored hand stretches out.

It’s Gojo. He’s left the king’s side to come stand beside you. When you peek at him out of the corner of your eye, you see that his face is solemn, which it rarely is. Is the crowd whispering already, or is that just you?

It’s honorable, if you think about it. A member of the kingsguard, coming to escort the king’s daughter down the steps? It’s the very height of chivalry. But you know Gojo, and it’s anything but. His face is stoic, but his gaze is searing. How does he manage to get under your skin when such dense layers of fabric and armor separate the two of you?

Placing your hand on his gauntlet feels strangely intimate, even with thousands watching you. He doesn’t make a sound as you lean your weight against him. You suppose it’s nothing to him. No burden is too heavy for the mighty Gojo Satoru.

Your hand laid delicately atop his silver arm, he guides you back to the ground. It’s much easier when he’s by your side. Gojo is already part of the image of the princess that the people want. He looks good by your side, you know. A silver knight to match your charming court lady.

The milling bodies make a path for you even as they move towards the ballroom. No one dares to get too close, but they all want to watch you, even though you know they’ve been watching for years. It’s a bit sorrowful for you to know that in the end, everything you’ve presented for them is a lie. You’re not half as special as you pretend to be, and what is genuinely royal about you has been trained. In any other life, your positions could be reversed.

But a princess has her duties. You make no sign of this as you press forward, only looking back once to see that Gojo hasn’t returned to the king. Another one of his kingsguard brothers, much older than he is, has replaced him. It’s nice to see that your father still cares for Gojo in his way.

It’s good that he won’t be bound to his duty all the time. You had hoped he would be able to enjoy the ball. Gojo does like his revelries.

As for you, you only like them in good company.

It’s such a pity then that Zenin Naoya is the first person who dares to approach you.

He’s as sly as a fox as he asks for a dance you can’t refuse. House Zenin and your father aren’t on good terms, but that’s all the more reason Naoya circles you. Now there’s an easy way to mollify a crowd - a marriage alliance. You know he’s been pressing, as has Lord Zenin.

You’re not so easy to convince. Naoya has unsettling rumors surrounding him, and you’re loath to experience them for yourself.

Still, one dance in the public eye can’t hurt.

Like any son of a high born house, he’s a good dancer. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you.

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.”

Your father wouldn’t marry you to a man like Naoya if it brought world peace, regardless of how badly his family wanted a tie to the throne. There’s too many whispers about how he treats his servant girls and even cousins. Your father loves you. He wouldn’t put you through a marriage where your title could only protect you for so long.

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. “I find myself rather dizzy.”

Naoya tries to stop you, but another noble steps forward as he grabs your wrist. You don’t recognize him, but the motif of flowers on his clothes suggest he’s of House Geto.

“You shouldn’t harass women like that, Naoya,” he chides. “A man has to treat a lady with respect.”

Naoya’s eyes flash, but your mysterious savior is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction.

“Thank you, Sir…?” You let him fill in the silence for you.

“Getou,” he says. “I’m Gojo’s sworn brother.”

This is the man you’ve heard so much about, his partner in the guard. Their names are often brought up in conjunction. He’s as pretty as you expected of the man nicknamed the Flower Knight.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, satisfied now that you know he’s friends with Gojo.

“This is a rescue mission,” he says half-jokingly. “Isn’t anywhere but Naoya is fine? Now look impressed with me, please - I can’t have any potential wives thinking the princess finds me a poor dancer.”

It’s not difficult. Getou is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are usually adept at the arts. You wonder what happened to make him choose knighthood instead when he says, “Heads up, my lady. Someone’s watching you.”

To your right, Gojo is swaying with a beautiful woman in his arms. It only takes you a second to place her, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo, also known as the Lady Knight, is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear.

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge the other like they could.

Their bodies are sensual. Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them.

All but one.

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but Gojo’s eyes are on you. Scandalously, one hand slips just so, landing on Yuki’s lower back rather than an appropriate place just between her shoulder bones. For some reason, heat gathers in the same place on your body, as if you’re the one he’s touching instead.

It must be because he’s looking at you with such fervor. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His eyes are half-lidded, as liquid as a cat. Every move is sinuous as if he’s on the prowl. There’s something impossibly obscene about his gaze. It creeps slowly along your body as he and Yuki move in a complicated series of steps.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says with amusement. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.”

It’s impressive that he can keep up with you. Dancing is an art you’ve been tutored in by the very finest in the craft. But Getou matches you move for move, beat by beat. Your steps weave seamlessly together, creating an intricate pattern.

Unlike Gojo, he’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each beat. He knows all the most recent court gossip, and on more than one occasion, inspires an embarrassingly loud laugh from you. You’re surprised to find how much you enjoy his company.

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone replaces him. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were on your upper back down to your hip. He’ll be your last dance of the night.

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs against your hair.

Your father will be throwing an apoplectic fit if he sees, but when has Gojo ever cared about other people’s opinions?

“By whom?” You ask, all innocence.

“You’re such a handful, my lady,” he says as he lifts your hand for a spin. You hesitate. This is a move that’s much enjoyed in the Southern Kingdoms, but here, your dances are much more restricted. Like in all matters, propriety is most important.

But as always, Gojo’s freeing nature makes you more daring. You let him twirl you just once before he pulls you back to his side.

“I thought you liked that about me?” You bat your eyelashes at him in an intentionally over the top gesture.

He suppresses a groan that makes you giggle. “Don’t weaponize that against me, princess. You know I’ll fall for it.”

You’re the only person allowed to do this to him, and the knowledge of that fact pulls the corners of your mouth into a soft smile.

There are things that he only lets you get away with, and things you only let him get away with.

He’s the only person allowed to pull you closer. His hands bracket your waist, curled tightly against the dip in the fabric. Unlike Getou, his touch is firm. You’re nearly chest to chest, the intricate patterns of beads on your bodice reflecting against his breastplate.

He’s so familiar with your body it’s like touching his own.

Ruination.

He has ruined you utterly for any other touch. No matter which household you marry into, Zenin or Getou or Nanami, you’ll always be Gojo’s.

It doesn’t matter how chaste or depraved each touch is. Your body responds to him like it responds to no other. Everywhere he touches you throbs on impact, as gentle as he is with you. He’ll always be tender for you.

For the next leg of the dance, you separate. Your point of contact is slowly stripped to just your palms against each other, your bodies angled outwards. Like sharks, you circle each other - beasts on the hunt.

You’re touching but not holding each other. His palm is flat against yours, the touch barely there. You watch him. Light plays over his face like he’s been blessed. The candles burning against the encroaching night make him glow. Under his lashes, he’s watching you back, coy and seductive.

Slowly, each finger curls until you’re no longer just skin to skin, but he’s actually holding you. It’s devastating. Somehow, in this crowded ballroom, he’s managed to empty your brain of anyone else. All you can think about is him, his beautiful hands, the lean strength of his body.

At once, you feel horribly exposed. Anyone looking at you two would be able to tell how you feel about each other.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Cold. Deadly. Hinting at violence. You’ve never heard your father speak this way.

You pull back as if Gojo’s touch is suddenly toxic. His fingers cling to yours for a moment longer, and then he lets you go. He bows to the king, not nearly as low as he should. For once, you wish he’d just manage to know when to hide his true personality.

“Gojo Satoru,” your father’s voice is dripping with poison. “Care to explain why you, a member of the kingsguard, is dishonoring my daughter in such a way?”

Beside him, Captain Yaga stands stiffly. Only the smallest of frowns on his face gives away how he feels.

“He wasn’t!” You step between them. You can hear Gojo’s sharp inhale of breath behind you. He’s used to being the one who protects you, not the other way around. “We were just dancing.”

“You’re a child,” your father brushes you aside easily. “You don’t know these things. After everything I’ve done for you, you dare trample on my kindness, Gojo?”

He doesn’t say a word in his own defense.

“My king,” you try desperately. “Please, he wasn’t- he would never-”

Your father turns to Yaga. “Escort my daughter to her rooms.”

He’s treating you like a child on the day he’s announced that he’ll marry you off to another house. Your blood boils, but you’re no match for Yaga as he strongarms you away. Your father steps closer to Gojo, looking up to meet his eyes. He watches him back with an uncomfortable stillness. In the light, his eyes look almost reptilian.

“Looking at my daughter with those lascivious eyes,” your father hisses. He strikes Gojo across the face. The people in the ballroom, whom you had entirely forgotten about, gasp. Still, Gojo says nothing. “I should have you stripped of your armor and whipped in the square.”

“Father!” You struggle violently against Yaga’s hold as he carries you away. You only have one advantage. He may be strong, but he’s unable to hurt you. You, on the other hand, are willing to do whatever it takes to get free of him. When you push your fingers into his eyes, he drops you with a yell of surprise, giving you the opportunity to run back to the nightmare scene unfolding in front of you.

You cling to your father, both to ask for mercy and out of fear he’ll strike Gojo again.

“Please,” you whisper. “You can’t do this. He’s the heir to your Hand and one of the most powerful houses we’re allied with. We need him”

Your father looks down on you. He raises one hand to stroke your hair, but it almost hurts with how heavy the touch is. His fury is present in the room like another body.

“He dishonored me by dishonoring my daughter.”

“Father,” you’re weeping. It’s shameful. Everyone is watching you fall apart, something you’ve tried to avoid your entire life. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Your father turns to the rest of the ballroom. “Get out, all of you! Leave now!”

The kingsguard makes short work of them, hurrying everyone out the doors. It’s quick because no one wants to stay and face the wrath of the king. When your father realizes Gojo’s still here, he turns to him. “You too. Leave. And be grateful.”

Gojo’s eyes dart to you. In that moment, you feel an overwhelming affection for him, unwilling to leave you behind. “I’ll be alright,” you say, touching his arm. “Go.”

He frowns, but you insist, all but pushing him out the doors yourself.

“Scream if you need me,” he hisses in your ear as you finally get him outside.

When the massive oak doors creak close, it’s just you, your father, and Yaga.

“Thank you, Father,” you say.

“Don’t thank me yet. You promised me anything.”

You did, and it’s a price you’d pay over and over again to spare Gojo.

“You’ll take on a knight. I’ll find someone suitable for you. And Gojo will still have to be punished.”

Still? After everything you just sacrificed to keep him safe?

“How could you do this to me?” You whisper. You don’t recognize the man in front of you.

“You are a princess,” your father says, cold in a way he’s never been towards you before. “Act like it.”

You stare at him, stunned. There’s a beat where you think he’ll apologize. He’ll take it back. He has to. It’s always just been you and your father. You have no one else. When that moment passes, you storm out of the throne room.

It’s not just a slight. Your father has stolen from you. Gojo is yours. He has no right to him, neither as a kingsguard nor as someone to punish. You had been willing to forgive him the first crime, but the second is too cruel for you to bear. It’s spiteful, even, in a way you’ve never known him to be.

Somehow, while you weren’t watching, the world has changed. It’s as if you’ve been asleep for a long time and woken up somewhere slightly different, and you can’t get used to the little ways everything is wrong.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” your father calls after you. “That Gojo boy is dangerous.”

Danger.

You know it well.

All your life, you feel as if you’ve been trying to avoid a ledge. You keep yourself quiet and contained, stilted growth to remain a perfect member of the nobility. Now, in this moment, you feel yourself stepping off of that edge. Whatever lies below is unknown.

In your kingdom, there’s a common saying that love is strength.

There are many different sources for the aphorism, but the most recent is that of Sir Toji and Lady Fushiguro. Their love story has been dramatized into legend and plays, commercialized for an audience that devours the story of a common soldier’s rise to prominence out of love for a noble lady.

People choose to conveniently ignore the fact that they end in tragedy. Lady Fushiguro died a few years ago, and Sir Toji has never been seen since. You only know of what he looks like from a retelling your father took you to watch two years ago. Despite belonging to your court for years, he’s all but faded from memory. Toji is a man of myth rather than a real person.

That’s love, you think. His grief after the passing of his wife drew him into a seclusion so intense no one could remember his face, just that he was tall with a scar and black hair.

Love so powerful it could twist remembrance and distort the face of such a well-known individual - you like that. That’s love with real power, not the play kind that’s been half baked in roses and sugar dust to convince you to buy something. True love is paid for in blood, not cash.

You don’t agree with the proverb, not just because it’s not what you take away from Toji’s story, but because of your own experiences. Love makes you weak.

Still, you don’t hate it. It’s saved your life more times than you can count, after all.

Under Gojo’s armor, scars litter his body, one for every hurt he’s taken for you.

Some say that he’s the reincarnated companion to the first king, the greatest of all knights. Others say that he’s a demigod, born with half of a god’s power. Whatever you think, it’s undeniable that his strength is something of legend. In what other scenario would he come to harm but by defending the princess, so much weaker than himself?

There’s a healed slash across his ribs from the time you were six and assassins crept into the royal gardens. Gojo had been barely older and armed with only a dull training sword, but he still managed to cut down eight men twice his size to protect you.

When you were twelve, a horse tried to buck you during a parade, spooked by a mouse underfoot. Gojo, ahead by yards, ran to catch you. He was rewarded with the sickening crunch of his wrist turning sideways as he braced your fall with his own body.

There’s a jagged lightning strike on his lower back, a cut that never healed right. The ridged edges of scar tissue pucker, tugging the skin taut. It’s just another wound he’s received from you. He’ll use anything to shield you - not just his body alone, but his reputation. The first time someone challenged your honor in a trial by combat, spouting lies, Gojo put the rumors down with ruthless efficiency.

There’s no chink in his armor that’s as effective as you. Endangering the princess will always be the easiest way to get to Gojo, because he’ll throw himself in harm’s way to keep you safe. But if you’re revealing your cards, Gojo’s your weakness, too.

It’s a delicate position you hold as princess. Although you’re technically untouchable, you’re well aware of the way everyone around you is watching, waiting to take advantage of the smallest misstep. The higher you stand, the further you have to fall. Gojo only had to defend your honor because of the rumors surrounding the two of you. The fact that he was your champion only entrenched them further - it’s just that no one dares to speak of it openly now.

It’s a shame to your father and your royal house that you are likely the first princess with such a terrible reputation in years. Even you see the validity of the situation, though you can’t agree with your father’s methods of addressing it. Who wouldn’t question your bond?

Most princesses are chaste, delicate little things. As fresh as the royal roses and twice as unblemished. They keep men at an appropriate distance and smile meekly behind their fans, eyes downturned and as gentle as a lamb.

You’ve never enforced a boundary with Gojo. At this point, he’s a part of you rather than a separate being on his own, a strange two-headed creature with the same heart. He’s your ever present shadow, your most stalwart defender. The way he’s constantly circling you, never more than an arm’s length away, has given rise to whispers that a princess’s reputation would normally quash.

These things work in funny ways. Up to a certain point, it can be easily brushed away by the strength of your standing in court. No one would dare to besmirch your honor publicly. But you’ve long since crossed the point of no return, most likely before you even turned twelve. The closeness between you and Gojo eschews court protocol to the point that even your status can’t protect you. You’re no delicate rose, but a tainted bud.

Although it hurts you to know that your father suffers from your lack of discretion, you refuse to push Gojo away. Your protests are kept to a bare minimum, just enough so that all the rumors remain just that, rumors. Everyone knows, but no one can prove it. Gojo obeys, albeit unwillingly. Your word is his law, after all.

But although you own him body and soul, Gojo belongs to your father now.

In one way, it’s your father’s attempt at defending you. Kingsguards can have no romantic affairs. Any love Gojo bore you would be seen as courtly, the extended dedication of a knight to his king. It would be duty, not romance, that would make him honor-bound to protect you. It’s an easy explanation for all these years of blind devotion.

All of the kingsguard loves you, but in the way a follower worships. It’s not dependent on who you are, but rather what you represent. You could command them to kill anyone you pleased, or offer up their own lives. It’s not something you like thinking about, especially in conjunction to Gojo.

You’re not the god, anyway. In any scenario, they’d be forced to choose your father over you if it came down to it. As long as kings exist, princesses can be replaced. It’s much harder for you to produce a new king.

Your father loves you.

It’s just not an easy kind of love.

Despite taking Gojo, he offers you a replacement that you don’t want, but will be forced to take anyway. Sir Toji comes out of retirement for only the most noble and sacred of duties - protecting the one and only child of the king.

At the moment, anyway. Your father is still hoping for a male heir.

You didn’t think Toji was still alive, if you’re being honest. Although people constantly wondered what he was up to after the events of the play, you simply assumed he died of a broken heart. That was the easiest explanation for why he hadn’t been seen in years, but when your father calls you to him, there’s a man standing by the side of his throne.

Tall. Dark hair. A scar over his lip.

If the shoe fits, you suppose.

The smile he gives you is threatening, but you try not to be prejudiced from the very start of your relationship. It’s just the scar, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

“It’s an honor, your highness,” Toji says, and bends low to kiss your hand. His lips are dry and chapped, a stark contrast to Gojo.

It’s hopeless from the beginning. You’ll always compare him to what you lost.

Your father does, too. That’s precisely what went into choosing your dedicated knight. He wanted Toji because as a widower, an older man, and even because of his natural personality, he’s seen as an unlikely candidate to be your lover, especially if the main contender for the position is Gojo, classically pretty and elegant.

No one will question your relationship with him, unlike your relationship with Gojo, who every girl and even quite a few boys in the entire kingdom desire.

It’s the perfect move.

It makes you miserable.

Getting used to Toji’s presence is difficult. When you turn, you always expect Gojo, with his dancing eyes and sharp tongue, ready to make fun of the latest courtier who dared approach you.

Everything is strange, even his position. More often than not, Gojo walked beside you. You only had to turn your head to whisper something into his ear.

Toji remains a few steps behind, menacing people who approach you from the shadows. It discomfits you to turn, expecting shared laughter, and greet only air.

He notices, of course.

“I’m right here, princess,” he says the fifth time you do it.

“Of course,” you smile at him, a little pained that he caught you. “I’m sorry, I keep forgetting.”

“Do you miss that boy that badly?”

You stiffen. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever makes you happy, my lady,” Toji says with an easy shrug that clearly conveys he doesn’t care too much if he’s not being paid for it.

That’s not to say he isn’t good at his job. He’s fantastic at it, actually. You’d heard rumors that he was the only man in the realm who could possibly stand against Gojo, though you never believed it. Gojo had been untouchable for your entire life. There had never been anyone who could even close to him.

Toji is a total shift in your paradigm. For the first time, you begin to wonder if Gojo is truly unbeatable. You’ve never seen anyone as fast as either of them, or as strong. Toji has the potential to upset Gojo’s status as the best knight in the kingdom. But he hasn’t.

He seems to have no interest in court machinations. You have no idea what your father even offered him to come out of retirement for you. Toji’s no help, either. You’re afraid to ask him your questions.

You don’t trust him. Mainly because he seems like an agent for your father, but also because you’re afraid of him despite yourself. He’s a monster, and you’re not sure what your father was thinking when he assigned him to you.

The peace between you two is unsteady. It’s a mutual agreement based on a common understanding that no one benefits from making your lives harder for each other, but all the same, there’s no trust between the two of you. He’s not the choice you would’ve made.

In any life, it would’ve always been Gojo.

#sera writes #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojou x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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katy-l1988 · 2 months

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Chapater IV: The child

Zestial was momentarily paralyzed as he saw Carmilla standing, illuminated by the spotlight, her figure shining amidst the dimness of the venue. Their eyes met, and in that instant, everything seemed to stop around them. Buried feelings and forgotten memories resurfaced in his mind, reminding him of how much he missed her. Araziel, noticing Carmilla's intense gaze and reaction to seeing Zestial, felt a flash of jealousy ignite within him. His fingers slightly tightened on the edge of the table, and a cold, defiant gaze settled on the angel who had interrupted his night.

Meanwhile, Carmilla, standing in the middle of the restaurant, struggled internally, her heart torn between illusion and commitment. On one hand, she longed for the lost connection with Zestial, a spark of nostalgia and desire burning in her chest, something Araziel could no longer awaken in her. Asmodeo seized the opportunity for his own entertainment. Without hesitation, he took to the stage.

For him, it was all comedy, entertainment for his drama-hungry audience. However, behind his mask, there was a disdain for love he had never managed to feel, a belief that darker desires were superior to any romantic feelings.

"Listen up, everyone! Today, three great celebrities from Hell visit us!" Asmodeo exclaimed sarcastically, with a mischievous smile, relishing in the audience's attention. "Come here, Araziel!"

The angel combed his pink hair, which shimmered under the spotlights he loved so much. Among the Infernal Rings, he was known as the "Father of Titans," the first angel to break one of God's sacred rules by conceiving hundreds of Nephilim with human women. These giants were violent beings who wreaked havoc in ancient times, wiping out many human settlements. Upon their death, they became demons of great strength but little intelligence. Araziel gathered them all, turning them into thugs whose services would be offered to sinners and other renowned beings, including, of course, Asmodeo.

"This demon is a legend! The very embodiment of desire and rebellion!"

"If Sin of Lust says so, I'll take it as a compliment," he smiled, delighted that the audience praised him. "Remember, my friends. If you need protection, don't hesitate to call."

"Oh, Carmilla, how did you manage to snag such a stud?"

"Come on, Asmodeo, who could resist my charms?" Araziel continued, addressing his wife and inappropriately groping her breasts.

"Don't touch me!" Carmilla shouted, pushing Araziel away. "Is this why you brought me here? To humiliate me?"

"Look at that! You have a real firecracker, Araziel. These kinds of jewels are too valuable and desired. You should take better care of her," he declared, pausing dramatically before continuing his biting comment. "After all, a 'relationship' of so many years isn't maintained solely by good manners."

"Don't you know any other way to attract your customers?" Carmilla interjected, trying to camouflage her distress with anger, though the pain and shame were evident in her voice. "Or are you so miserable that you only feel powerful by playing with others' lives?"

"Carmilla, enough," Araziel warned, grabbing her arm, but she pushed him away.

The audience, surprised by the woman's audacity, murmured among themselves, some even discreetly applauding her bravery. However, Asmodeo, accustomed to being the center of attention and having absolute control over his stage, felt increasingly uncomfortable for being challenged in that way.

"Touché, Madame," he muttered under his breath, trying to regain his composure in front of the audience watching the tense interaction. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But don't forget who owns this place."

"Oh, I know who you are, Asmodeo. The question is, do you really know who I am?"

Asmodeo, momentarily taken aback by the firmness of her response, quickly regained his composure, though his eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and resentment.

"Mmm, a purposeless soul? Araziel's doll? A caged bird?" Asmodeo said, his tone sarcastic and contemptuous, echoing Carmilla's doubts and insecurities.

Araziel watched with a mix of amusement and arrogance, relishing in his wife's submission. For him, that moment was like punishment, punishment for always preferring an old man from heaven over him. Shame consumed her, as she struggled to maintain composure under Asmodeo's ruthless gaze and the scrutiny of the audience. Zestial, consumed by anger, chose to use his monstrous form, an imposing and threatening creature. With a quick movement, he moved toward Carmilla to shield her. His eyes gleamed with fierce intensity as he looked at Asmodeo, warning him in a grave and severe tone.

"Don't ever stick your venomous tongue where you're not called, Asmodeo. I won't allow you to dare insult Carmilla again," growled Zestial, his voice resonating with authority and determination.

Asmodeo, surprised by Zestial's intervention and the fury emanating from him, instinctively recoiled, though his expression remained defiant.

"Who do you think you are to give me orders? This is my house, and I do as I please here," Asmodeo responded disdainfully, though it was evident that Zestial's imposing presence made him uncomfortable.

Carmilla, sensing the tension in the air, gestured for Zestial to calm down and return to his normal form.

"It's not worth it," she said, giving Zestial a smile. "Come on, anyway, I don't like this place. It's just trash."

She and Zestial left, leaving the two demons behind. However, they had barely taken a few steps outside the establishment when Araziel quickly caught up to them. Blinded by fury, he pounced on Carmilla ferociously, his hands gripping her hair tightly, and with a swift motion, he pulled her back, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Zestial, witnessing the violence against the woman, could no longer contain himself. With a wild roar, he lunged at Araziel, and in an instant, the scene turned into a whirlwind of blows, grunts, and the dull sound of bodies violently colliding with the ground and alley walls. Their fists danced in a deadly ballet, each blow laden with fury and desperation. The golden blood splattered on the pavement, reflecting their true nature. The rage in Zestial's eyes was so intense it seemed to glow with its own light, while Araziel fought with fierce determination, fueled by indignation and wounded pride.

Carmilla, still dazed from the fall and the blow to her head, tried to get up from the ground, but a sudden sharp pain pierced her stomach, paralyzing her completely. The spasms of pain shook her as she clutched her abdomen with her left hand, feeling as if something was tearing her apart from the inside. Desperate and in tears, she screamed with all her might, begging them to stop the fight. As expected, Zestial was the first to react. He pushed Araziel away with a shove, freeing him from his tight grip, and turned to Carmilla. Without hesitation, he reached out his hand to her, offering assistance to help her up.

Carmilla clung to Zestial's arm, trying to alleviate the discomfort in vain.

"Stop pretending already!" Araziel exclaimed, visibly frustrated. "We're not fighting anymore."

"She's not pretending, Araziel," Zestial responded firmly, as he lifted Carmilla in his arms. "She's in a lot of pain. She urgently needs medical help."

Upon Zestial's words, Araziel nodded somberly. Without saying another word, he opened a portal to the Ring of Sloth and rushed Carmilla to the hospital. There, both Zestial and Araziel remained by her side as the doctor examined her. With a peculiar mask reminiscent of the plague era, the doctor asked them what had happened, but none of those present could offer a clear answer. They explained that they were in the middle of a fight, and suddenly she started screaming.

The doctor, with expert gestures, examined the affected area in Carmilla's stomach, causing her to cling tightly to the top of the stretcher, with Zestial holding her to prevent her from moving too much. The doctor didn't offer immediate explanations, instead, he positioned Carmilla in a specific way and ordered the nurse to prepare some additional supplies. He also requested that they call obstetrics, which further puzzled Zestial and Araziel.

Carmilla, feeling great pressure on her back and hips, spread her legs trying to relieve the discomfort. The doctor, observing the woman's unusual position, instantly understood what was happening. Without wasting time, he pulled out a pair of scissors and skillfully cut the pants she was wearing, revealing what was causing her pain.

"Do you want me to prepare her for the delivery room?" the nurse asked.

"It won't be necessary. The baby is already coming, and she won't let herself be moved," the doctor responded calmly, assessing the situation.

"A baby?" Carmilla, Zestial, and Araziel said simultaneously.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?!" Araziel exclaimed, his tone filled with anger and frustration.

"How could I tell you something I didn't know? ¡Carajo!" Carmilla responded, her voice trembling and on the verge of tears.

"Don't give me that! You should have known!" Araziel insisted, his anger growing with each word.

"Enough!" Zestial intervened, his voice resonating with authority. "Now is not the time."

The seraph fought to hold back tears as she clung to the edge of the stretcher, trying to endure the pain. She was aware that God, her father, had designed her with the ability to conceive, but she never thought she would face this situation so suddenly and overwhelmingly.

As Carmilla struggled to stay awake, Zestial approached her with tenderness. His presence was comforting, and his warm hand on hers offered silent support amidst the enveloping agony. Although Araziel was the father of her child and her husband, at that moment, it was Zestial who could help her. Their eyes met, seeking comfort. Despite everything that had happened between them, at that moment, Zestial was her rock, her refuge in the storm.

Araziel, feeling once again displaced by the presence of an elder, stepped away frustrated. Without saying a word, he headed towards the hospital exit, needing a moment alone to process everything he had just discovered. The cool night air greeted him, and with trembling hands, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his coat pocket. He lit the cigarette with brisk gestures, letting the smoke slip between his lips as he sank into his thoughts. On one hand, he felt hurt and angry by Carmilla's sudden revelation of her pregnancy and the apparent emotional bond between her and Zestial. On the other hand, a part of him knew he had no right to feel that way, given the state of his relationship with Carmilla.

As he took a deep drag, a wave of understanding suddenly washed over him. That woman he so desired was having his child. The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, momentarily clearing his mind of all worries and fears. He extinguished the butt, letting the night breeze dissipate the remaining smoke. With firm and determined steps, Araziel returned to the hospital with a clear resolution in his mind: that creature was his, and he would not allow Zestial to take his place as a father, having stolen his wife's heart.

With a quick gesture, the doctor turned back and exclaimed excitedly:

"There you are! Come, do you want to see?"

Araziel approached cautiously, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he watched attentively. As he leaned in to get a better look, he could distinguish how the baby's head began to emerge, with strands of white hair identical to her mother's.

With a gleam of excitement in his eyes, Araziel turned to Carmilla, his voice full of enthusiasm and astonishment.

"It's our baby, Milla!"

But Carmilla, still overwhelmed by the pain and surprise, looked away. With one final gentle push, the baby emerged completely. A beautiful girl with silver hair and a tan complexion, identical to her mother. She had no wings, but that was beside the point, as there was a precedent that Nephilim, and even the Princess of Hell herself, did not possess them. Araziel, momentarily forgetting his resentment, cut the cord with the doctor's guidance, and with the baby wrapped in a towel, he approached his wife. However, Carmilla, overwhelmed by confusion, was not ready to face reality. She shook her head, refusing to take the baby into her arms.

"No, I don't want to see it," she murmured, looking away and feeling a lump in her throat. Zestial, sensing Carmilla's distress, tried to reassure her by gently caressing her arm.

"Milla, it's a girl…our daughter," he insisted, his voice soft but firm.

"That's exactly why. What can I expect from her if you're her father? Will she inherit your lies and deceit?" Carmilla responded, with a hint of bitterness in her voice, as she diverted her gaze from the baby towards Araziel.

Zestial knew the child shouldn't bear the brunt of their issues, so he sided with Araziel, and after a few moments, Carmilla relented. With his large hands, she held the baby against her chest, while the little one instinctively sought her source of nourishment. Araziel watched in silence, while Zestial stepped back.

"I can't believe you want to name her that," commented Araziel, furrowing his brow.

"Why not? It's a beautiful and unique name," Carmilla replied, defending her choice with determination, though a hint of doubt lingered in her voice.

"But…Velvette? Don't you think it's a bit…extravagant?" Araziel persisted, not hiding his disapproval.

"What's wrong with that? I like it, and that should be enough," Carmilla retorted, maintaining her stance.

"Fine, I won't argue with you."

Five years passed since that event, when Carmilla and Araziel made the difficult decision to officially divorce. They agreed, of course, on a shared custody arrangement that allowed them both to spend time with their daughter. According to the agreement, from Monday to Friday, Velvette would be with Carmilla, while on weekends, namely Saturday and Sunday, it would be Araziel's turn.

However, Velvette still grew up under the predominant influence of her father. He was her idol, her role model, although let's say he wasn't the best. Under his rule-free upbringing, Velvette became a passionate young woman, with great energy that could sometimes turn into a problem. Araziel, though he loved his daughter, was not the conventional father figure. His approach to parenting was more relaxed, allowing Velvette almost total freedom to explore the world around her. This resulted in a close relationship between father and daughter, but also in the lack of boundaries and structure in Velvette's life.

On the other hand, her relationship with her mother was more distant. Although she lived with her and spent time together, Carmilla was immersed in her career and other responsibilities outside the home. This caused a gap in their relationship, and the girl began to resent her mother for what she perceived as a lack of attention and commitment to her. Arguments between the two were frequent, and the young girl openly expressed her dissatisfaction with the situation.

"I'm home!" Carmilla announced, placing her keys on the bedside table near the door. "Velvette?"

Carmilla went straight to Velvette's room, and upon entering, she was met with a dense cloud of smoke that made her nose twitch slightly. However, before opening the window to ventilate the room, she noticed the surprise on her daughter's face, who had obviously been startled by her sudden entrance.

"Mom! You have to knock," Velvette scolded.

"Not when you live in my house," Carmilla replied, looking at her, noticing the cigarette in her hand. "I've told you not to smoke inside the house; you should go out to the terrace."

"But it's cold outside," Carmilla picked up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill.

"It doesn't matter, there are rules in this house," she insisted, while picking up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill among the objects. "What's this?"

"A pill?"

"Don't play dumb, pendeja. Tell me, where did you get this?"

Carmilla, unable to contain her frustration at not receiving an answer, grabbed Velvette's face tightly, her hand covering almost her entire head.

"Mírame, mírame..." Carmilla insisted, shaking Velvette harder. "I'm talking to you!"

Velvette, annoyed by her mother's treatment, looked at her with defiant eyes.

"Since when are you involved in this, Velvette? Since when are you taking drugs?"

Velvette forcefully released herself from Carmilla's grip, turning her face away with fury. Her eyes sparkled with a defiant gleam as she faced her mother.

"Since when?" she repeated sarcastically. "For months now, what did you expect, Mom? We're in damn Hell."

"I don't care where we are. I didn't raise you like this!" Carmilla exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and anguish.

"You? Raise me?" Velvette scoffed, with a look of contempt on her face. "Dad was right about you being a proud, selfish bitch."

Carmilla felt as if a dagger pierced her heart upon hearing her daughter's words. Anger and sadness mixed in a whirlwind of emotions within her. However, Velvette wasn't finished.

"You don't even bother to leave your office to see what's happening with me," Velvette continued, not stopping. "Do you think I don't notice how you hide behind your work to avoid dealing with your own problems?"

Carmilla was overwhelmed by Velvette's barrage of accusations. The tension in the room was palpable as mother and daughter faced off in a battle of wills.

"¡Ya basta!" Carmilla shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. "I won't allow you to talk to me like that, do you hear me? I'm your mother, and I deserve respect."

Velvette let out a bitter laugh, her eyes filled with disdain.

"Respect. Do you think you deserve respect after everything you've done? You know nothing about me, Mom. You never have."

A heavy silence filled the room as Carmilla's words hung in the air. Tears of helplessness began to well up in her eyes as she looked at her daughter with a mixture of pain and resignation.

"If that's what you think of me, then there's nothing more to say," she said firmly, though her heart was breaking in her chest.

Velvette looked at her with disdain, no hint of remorse in her gaze.

"Fine by me. I don't need anything from you anyway. I've always been self-sufficient, remember?"

Her daughter's words were like a direct blow to Carmilla's soul. She turned away, unable to bear the pressure of the moment. With heavy steps, she left the room, heading to hers. Velvette stayed in the room, feeling a strange mix of anger and sadness for what had just happened. She knew that things between her and her mother would never be the same again, but for some reason, that didn't matter to her as much as she thought it would.

On Friday afternoon, when Araziel came for his daughter, Carmilla led him to her room to discuss in private. Velvette knew that her mother's anger wouldn't last long, as every time those two were together, their instincts took over. Anger turned into desire, into bites, and scratches. The teenager, aware of the situation, sought refuge in her headphones, trying to block out the noise emanating from the next room. The muffled sound of

music flooded her ears, providing her with a barrier of isolation against the intensity of the encounter between her parents. With closed eyes and a heavy heart, she swallowed a pill, letting herself be carried away by the sweet promise of oblivion it offered. The enveloping melodies of her music intertwined with the passionate whispers filtering in from the adjoining room, creating a separate world where she could temporarily lose herself. However, even in her self-destructive retreat, a thread of concern persisted within her.

Once her parents left, leaving behind a charged and messy atmosphere, Velvette felt a momentary relief. She sighed deeply as she removed her headphones, allowing the silence to fill the room, if only for a moment. The tranquility was interrupted by Araziel's voice.

"We're ready to go," Araziel announced, his tone firm and decisive. "But I need to talk to you seriously once we get home."

Velvette followed her father with quick steps, feeling Carmilla's gaze boring into her back. Though she tried not to look directly at her, she could sense the anger emanating from her mother like a stifling wave of heat. For the first time in a long time, Velvette realized that she had crossed a line, had hurt her mother in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Carmilla watched her with a mixture of pain and disappointment in her eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her expression was cold and distant. Though Velvette tried to read her thoughts in her face, Carmilla's gaze was impenetrable, hiding her true feelings behind her mask. For a moment, Velvette wished she could turn back time and undo her words, but she knew it was already too late. She had made a grave mistake, one that had angered her mother to a new level.

#carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel zestial #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbinhotel #headcanon #pregnancy #unplanned pregnancy #hazbin velvette #mother and child #hell is a teenage girl #fanfiction

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cloudyswritings · 4 months

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Hollow knight bugs and real world species: P2

Hornet: So we know that Hornet is the daughter of the pale king and Herrah, making her some sort of biological monstrosity. But what bug is she based on? My best bet would be a horned orb weaver, specifically either a long-horned orb-weaver or Gasteracantha versicolor based on coloration and her horns.

Zote: So the in game/logical answer is that zote is whatever type of generic beetle that team cherry concocted from stag, Hercules, and rhinoceros beetles. However I think that’s really boring, I personally subscribe to one of the single best crackfics in the fandom Camouflage of Great Renown and think zote is a nosk that left Hallownest and lost his memories before retuning and adopting his persona. It’d even explain how he’s actually really hard to damage(see coliseum) and how he keeps getting places before ghost does.

Midwife: So I’ve seen a lot of people headcanon that she’s a centipede of some sort, and it kinda makes sense? Like centipedes are actually really good at caring for their young and protect them until they’re able to hunt on their own, so I think it’s a plausible and likely theory. That’s said I’d like to present some alternative ideas. Midwife to me, looks a lot more like she has an earwigs body shape, based mostly on the width of her. That said her behavior matches up far better with a trapdoor spider and she lacks antennas. Overall I’d say a trapdoor spider is more likely as an alternative reading of her species.

Lord fool: So here’s the thing with lord fool, there’s a lot of evidence he’s a higher being of some sort. Most of it comes down to the way the fools, while infected, seem less damaged by the radiance and seem to keep a large portion of their mind intact. Plus his position-dead on his throne- seems earily similar to a certain pale wyrm. Interestingly however it seems like his mask is actually just a mask, because we can see the top of his head and it looks to just be soft carapace. He’s also got six limbs so we know he isn’t an arachnid, or crustacean. My best guess would be either a deathwatch beetle(the texture on them looks like a good match) or a more likely a green junebeetle. Him being a junebeetle also matches nicely with how the fools are regarded as invasive, or not belonging in Haloownest. My last theory is that the bug the colosseum is built in may be the Lord fools old shell, aka wyrm.

Bretta: She looks a lot like a hair soft-shelled beetle to me, but her colors are all wrong. Based on that I’d say she’s actually a female scarab of some sort(sorry y’all my beetle knowledge isn’t up to par just yet!!)

The Hunter: So I’m really and truly unconvinced that the hunter is a bug, or crustacean, or arachnid of any kind. Bro visibly has a spine of some sort and the only beings with hands remotely similar to his that we see are THK, The shade lord, and the collector. That said we do still know he has an exoskeleton. I’ll admit I’m kinda stumped, I’d love to hear what y’all think. Verdict: inconclusive.

Baldurs: So I’m pretty convinced that these fellas are a pill millipede of some sort, they have the right number of legs and do curl up for defense. Additionally they spit infection, which I imagine when non infected would be some sort of toxin— something millipedes are well known for.

Mosskin: So this covers the mosskin as a whole, I’ll probably make a post for them specifically eventually. They’re obviously creatures that are in a symbiotic relationship with plants(because Unn). The only ones I feel super comfortable giving a specific species atm are the moss chargers who I feel are a species of velvet worm, mostly due to Unn being a big old slug and them living in a more tropical region. These velvet worms essentially copied the homework of the leaf sheep sea slug—which steals its ability to photosynthesize from the algae it eats.

That’s it for now!!

#hollow knight #Unn #hk hornet #speculative biology #brain fried #ummm #enjoy ig #zote the mighty #a knight of great renown

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feral-babe · 5 months

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The Queen of Shells is seen as intuitive, compassionate, and nurturing. She rules the realm of emotions. The calmness of the woods and the sky symbolizes the serene mind of the queen. This card embodies the mastery of emotional balance, reflecting a valuable insight into the complex terrain of the human psyche. Above all, this queen acts as a mirror, illuminating the depths present in others so they see themselves in a fresh, new light. She often embodies your trusted inner voice. Her message often suggests prioritizing your emotional well-being before assisting others. Cultivating self-love fosters compassion in turn.

Bagworms are fascinating animals renowned for their unique protective bags, meticulously woven from silk and camouflaged with materials plucked from their environment. The intricate construction of these sanctuaries serves as a powerful metaphor for the importance of trusting our instincts and crafting safe spaces for our emotional growth. This card inspires us to delve deep within ourselves, to trust our instincts and emotions, while simultaneously maintaining a shield of emotional resilience. It underscores the significance of actively listening to the subtle, often unspoken, wisdom residing within our subconscious mind, much like the way bagworms rely on their instincts to create a shelter that aligns with their needs. This behavior eloquently echoes the Queen's intuitive wisdom and adaptability in navigating the tempestuous currents of emotions. Vulnerability can indeed coexist with strength, and our emotions are a source of great power.

In essence, the Queen of Shells guides us toward greater empathy and a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us. The bagworm symbolizes the importance of honoring our instincts and the reliable inner guidance residing within us. These elements converge to inspire us on a journey of emotional maturity, kindness, and unwavering trust in our inner selves, enabling us to navigate the complex realm of feelings with grace and resilience.

Prints are available on Redbubble and Inprnt

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#artists on tumblr #illustration #tara jillian art #nature #insects #bugs #redbubbleartist #bug tarot #tarot cards #tarot art #invertebrate #invertblr #big bug gospel #bagworm #moths #bugblr #insect art #minor arcana

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ailurocide · 8 months

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The Four Factions of the Four-Trees Fealty

Welcome to a bit of an in-depth look upon each of the factions of the Four-Trees Fealty!

The Highpeak Faction

[Unity, Adaptability, Ingenuity]

The peakfolk are hardy, resilient, and cooperative survivors, who depend on one another and the ores located within their homeland to survive. They are found to the South-East, high and deep within the mountains that branch from the borderlands, where the temperature is the lowest within the Vale. These stone spires are unforgiving and subjected to constant weathering, as well as playing host to a dormant volcano that sleeps deep beneath the earth, its slow-beating heart fueling their way of life in more ways than one.

Due to the status of their lands, which are viewed by others as “stones that never sleep, a slated labyrinth that forever stalks the shadows, and whomever is foolish enough to wander in will forever be lost”, peakfolk need to be vigilant in order to keep up with their territory, which is constantly eroding and reforming almost on the daily.

These Fealtyfolk are also highly renowned for their clever, creative, and outstanding craftsmanship. It is said that whatever they touch is almost guaranteed to last a lifetime - or nine - and able to stretch through generations. They greatly value the art of crafting and creating, especially in regards to the high-quality metals and minerals that they have in abundance within their territory; they are renowned jewelers, blacksmiths, and miners.

They deeply value knowledge, research, and the keeping of records and history; many great stories and fantastically woven records of the fealty’s colorful past come from their mouths and minds. They are also the only faction within the Fealty to be able to properly harness and use fire to aid their ways.

They are Eastern Cougar and Altai Mountain Goat based!

•─────• ᓚᘏᗢ •─────•

The Mightmire Faction

[Honor, Strength, Endeavoring]

Widely known and feared as quick-tempered warriors, the mirefolk are well-recognized for their foolhardy bravery and tact in combat, and deeply proud of that fact. They are found to the Westernmost part of the Vale, where the air is warmest and the grounds are deepest. The thick, hardwood swamp located at the Vale’s lowest point is teeming with life of all kinds, and not just the mirefolk - including numerous predators and other dangers that the other factions typically don’t encounter.

Due to their homeland being immensely crowded with huge mangroves trees, thick swamps, with an underlayer of murky water, the perfect hiding place for all sorts of predators, they have learned to confront danger with claws extended and fangs bared. As a result, they tend to “act first, think second”, especially when it comes to the other factions - and even with one another.

They are highly renowned for their tact in battle and their general war strategies; it is an immensely bad omen to cross them, but to ally with them during times of great stress is almost always a guaranteed victory due to their skill and their eagerness to show off in front of others. It isn’t that they’re fake or only willing to do good for the sake of looking good - it is just that they genuinely thrive under the attention of their fellow factions, even if they are typically the most aggressive and possessive of their lands than any other current faction.

They highly value physical prowess, fearlessness, and praise. To stand out amongst the crowd is a high honor, though all are expected to be able to melt back into line and follow orders when the time comes. They are somewhat militant with great respect and dependence on leadership, working under the eye and guidance of those who rule to best serve their faction. The most long-lasting armor, weapons, and intricately woven, sturdy traps are made from their paws, alongside an extensive knowledge of camouflage. They are also, potentially surprisingly, the most advanced of the other factions in terms of medicine, due to their habit of picking fights more often, as well as means to ward off illnesses carried by insects.

They are European Jaguar and American Alligator based!

•─────• ᓚᘏᗢ •─────•

The Outpour Faction

[Expression, Relationships, Virtuosity]

The theatrical thespians of the Fealty, poetic without purpose, seamlessly expressive — the pourfolk are often considered the creatives of the Vale. Comfortably homed in the Northernmost of the territories, within the rocky, fertile wetlands fed by many waterfalls in which there are few active predators but many threats. Due to their homeland being considered the “least dangerous”, most time spent is coming up with more memorable, enjoyable, and aesthetic ways to preserve their history and culture - though they are notable in their own right in many other ways, as well.

As their state at as the eldest current faction, the Outpour’s lands are the largest, both by width across and length upward - and down. As most of their home is water, they’ve taken to being able to swim to great depths, moving unnaturally with such grace and skill that it confuses and terrifies - though that alone is not what makes them so formidable. It is the way they work with the waters of their home, moving with the currents and tides, able to burst from the depths and drag down unsuspecting victims to drown, fight beneath the surface, or never be seen again. And while their easygoing, relaxed attitude masks these terrifying tactics, few are loathe to forget their ferocity once they’ve witnessed it.

They are known as greatly creative, especially in the fields of both combat and the hunt. Master fishers, excellent gardeners, and notably open-minded, their land is primarily smooth stone and water; as such, life is abundant, with several manners of unique plantlife and fish that make their territory the most fertile in the entirety of the Vale, blooming with visible color and life.

They are also accomplished and renowned artisans, valuing all forms of craftsmanship, though most notably visual and physical art, grand theatrical displays, and the composing of magnificent music. They are incredible weavers, sculptors, and composers, creating some of the most memorable means of Fealty entertainment and lessons.

They are Indochinese Tiger and Ross Sea Killer Whale based!

•─────• ᓚᘏᗢ •─────•

The Undermoor Faction

[Development, Tradition, Action]

High within the highlands of the Vale, the moorfolk are unique amongst the current factions in several different manners. While the other factions are more outright aggressive with one another, the Undermoor values peace and knowledge above all else, as well as recording all of what they find and create - especially in regards to across their lands, that they paint in an assortment of colors and textures. They are philosophers, historians, botanists, chemists, and agronomists — jack-rabbits of all trades, masters of none, but better than masters of one.

With their unique, hollow and flattened teeth, their diet is unique, and rather than purely hunting live prey for meat, as the rest of the Fealty does in order to sustain themselves, they primarily rely on agriculture and animal husbandry, for which they are very well-known. Due to this, they have made a name for themselves as excellent gardeners and chefs; They’ve taken hundreds of wild plants, crops, and herbs and “domesticated” them for optimal taste, nutrition, and hundreds of other uses such as paints, tools, etc.

They value growth (both in relation to the world around them and themselves), botany, chemistry, and place great, heavy value in animal husbandry, moreso than any of the other factions. Every aspect of every thing that lands in their paws is used, and nothing goes to waste, which is something that all who come into contact with them view as very admirable.

They seem almost mysterious to the other factions, so deeply rooted in their own ways and traditions that even the thought of abandoning the manner they’ve done things for generations is one that scarcely crosses their minds at all. For them, if something works, then it’s not broken, and thus, shouldn’t be fixed or “made pretty” just for the sake of modernization.

They are African Serval and Emperor Scorpion based!

#ailurocide #ailurocide: the four trees fealty #ailurocide: the vale #ailurocide: the highpeak faction #ailurocide: the mightmire faction #ailurocide: the outpour faction #ailurocide: the undermoor faction #xenomoggy

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dropout-ninja · 9 months

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The Hollow Knight, Bretta, Nightmare King Grimm

One of these is solely because I want to see you admit your favorite ship on main, I cannot stop myself

I think I need to not attempt ask games because I am too talkative and make long ass posts help

The Hollow Knight: What was the saddest part of the game for you? Which ending is the most sad to you?

All of it

But seriously, so many moments. I’ll throw the Nosk Den out as one, alongside the Abyss. A lot of the settings give feels, like the empty basin. The White Palace’s everything always makes me feel Emotions. A lot of the ghosts make me sad. MARMU. Agh.

Which ending isn’t sad? That said, I am going to go with Sealed Siblings as the worst feeling ending. It feels like the one that has the most damage caused and the least hope. Dream No More is a ‘good’ ending, though, but it gives many sad feelings (just of a different nature than the long scream of SS/THK ending)

Bretta: Favorite Hollow Knight ship? Favorite fanfic?

Why you do this

I have so many ships, because I’m the type of person to read what looks like a crackship and if it’s written with crunch then now I’m shipping it (hi grimmnet). It doesn’t take much and I don’t tend to have notps, my personality is a continuous shrug (me out here sometimes reading pale nightmare and causing you unknowing psychic indigestion)

Grollow was my first HK ship and I’d probably call it my favorite. I also really like Pale King/White Lady. Some of the more cursed ships I favor are Pale King/Radiance (or PK/Radi/WL) and Radiance/The Hollow Knight, exceptionally messy and toxic. There you go, Ashe, get me on main saying it all.

All of yours are the answer XD (I mean it). From Eyes to W&G/Red Sky to Butterfly, sorry not sorry. Other favorites are Soul of God, Form of Moth by @basilbellona, which has been my favorite HK fic since April 2022, and In Defiance of Time (and associated oneshots) by @ganondorf--apologist.

Now for a list of absolutely random things I’ve got in my bookmarks, which are excluding the multiple HK fics I have open but am still reading. I’m going to make too long a post just because I always want fics to get more love. Some of my other non-Ashyr favorites from bookmarks (no specific order and genre) are: Captivated, Until Dawn Shall Break, Not Too Late for Second Chances, Hold The Future With Silver Hands, Camouflage of Great Renown, It’s All Well Above Wonder Anyway, The Clock Stopped Ticking Forever Ago, Pale Revival, A Tribe Betrayed, Void Given Focus, Workshop Safety, To Reclaim A Dream, To Love A Lamprey, Moving Onward, Will Terribly, If You Will At All, I Swore I’d Have No More Knights In Shining Armor, We’re So Close But So Distant

Someday I’ll have even more to recommend when I finish reading the fics open in my tags (hi Tori fics, hello)

Nightmare King Grimm: Which boss battle was the most intense for you? The most satisfying to defeat?

What if I said Nightmare King Grimm

Each one I came across the first time I played faskfsdaf. I’m going to go with Absolute Radiance just because I remember the noises I was making on stream when I accidentally beat her in P5 the first time. But in terms of my favorite boss fight/the one I’m most satisfied about my skills in, I’ll go with the cliche of the NKG fight XD My one skill in this game is being able to absolutely bully the man and kill him hitless before the best part of his song plays. I put all my irl XP points into getting good at him. Other favorite fights are Sisters of Battle, and probably Pure Vessel even though they are gatekeeping me so hard in my all bindings P4 run and so I cry.

#ask game #fic rec #fic rec too I guess #that's what this spiraled into #oh boy #gonna flee into the swamp after this one

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dragoneyes618 · 1 month

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I have been hesitating over writing this column for some weeks. The topic is sensitive and involves people I either know or admire or both. With the volume of antisemitism growing to deafening proportions, I finally decided it’s too important not to write.

I should also admit to some unease that all three are women. That is accidental, I simply don’t personally know three men in equivalently influential positions.

The first of the three is Lady (her husband is a Lord) Nicola Mendelsohn. I am a friend of her parents and used to teach her in Manchester, UK where she grew up.

She chose advertising as her career and success soon gained her senior positions in some of the world’s most successful advertising firms that handle the accounts of clients like, Honda and Heineken. She has been repeatedly voted one of the most influential women in the UK by several organizations.

Nicola occupies several other prestigious roles like non-executive director of Diageo which owns 42% of all Scotch Whiskey. Unsurprisingly and typically, Nicola is involved in lots of charity work too.

But it’s her most significant role that makes her one of the three women in this piece. Nicola Mendelsohn is the Head of Global Business Group at Meta, leading the company’s relationships with top marketers and agencies, as well as global partnerships.

Meta is the 2021 rebranded name for Facebook. In the last few days, it has posted its best quarterly results in two years. If only that was the only metric for judging Meta, but it isn’t.

The scandals surrounding the company are legion. One of the most egregious (and there are so many) is its inaction over pedophiles. Several governments have accused it of offering sanctuary to child abusers. However, I am going to focus on another of its worst failures, antisemitism.

I have written here before about Facebook’s abysmal and ongoing inaction over antisemitic content on its site. Much worse; since October 7, has been its “Fact Checkers” interventions to quell and stifle posts supportive of Israel or condemning Hamas.

Here’s only one example from the Spectator Magazine’s, Rod Liddle entitled, “Facebook’s not so secret police.”

“A woman on Facebook was warned she would be blocked because she was spreading ‘false information’…the beheading of babies by Hamas…the Fact-Checkers that Facebook quoted were based in Pakistan – not a country renowned for its amicable relations with Israel.”

And so, Lady Mendelsohn, as I know you to be an outstanding person and certainly one loyal to your people; allow an old teacher to urge you to resign.

I am sure you will argue that things would be even worse if you were not there, but… to stand up proudly as a Jew and say loudly and fearlessly that you can no longer be associated with and oppose Meta’s tolerance of Jew hatred, would be the best thing you could do after October 7’s micro-Holocaust.

The second of my great Jewish ladies is Journalist Melanie Philips. Her autobiographical account of her life tells the story of a Jew of evolving Jewish awareness and commitment. It also shows her great courage.

She publicly took a stance against two pronounced enemies of the Jewish people she once used to be part of, the Guardian newspaper and the British Labour party. She resigned from both.

Interestingly, when in 2022 I resigned as a writer and broadcaster with the BBC, Melanie (whom I know and admire) was very upset. I left after an incident which showed the BBC had stopped camouflaging their antisemitism behind the pretense of anti-Zionism. I declared it to be irretrievably and institutionally antisemitic.

Melanie’s distress was about something I said in one of the numerous TV and radio interviews I gave at the time…

“I simply don’t see how I or any Jew who has any pride in that name can be associated with the BBC anymore.”

Melanie passionately disagreed and wrote, “I have no intention of resigning from the BBC… We need more platforms and more fighters, not fewer. Why oh why, Rabbi YY?”

I respected Melanie too much to respond. Many others did challenge her argument, asking why then, she hadn’t stayed within the Labour Party or the Guardian to fight?

The answer she gave in her autobiography was that she simply felt there was no point.

So now, post-October 7, allow me to ask Melanie the “Dr. Phil question; “How’s that working out for you?”

Has your “fight” and Israel advocacy over the last two years made things better at the BBC… or have they become exponentially worse despite your courageous lone soldiering?

Melanie was quite right when she wrote of my resignation that it would not change the BBC’s mind one jot. It did though deliver it a parting blow and brought it more unwelcome scrutiny over its antisemitism. So, to my second remarkable Jewish woman, allow me to ask, is it not now time to resign?

The last Jewish woman in my troika is Dr. Deborah Lipstadt and the only one I don’t know personally. She has been the U.S. special envoy to combat antisemitism since 2022.

My connection to her is through the event that probably defined her career more than any other; her trial in England for libel brought by David Irving whom she had accused of being a Holocaust denier.

I was contacted by her defense team after speaking on national BBC Radio about a Holocaust survivor I knew who had been in the gas chambers but was taken out at the last moment as the SS needed some tall men for a certain job.

English law puts the burden of proof on the person accused of libeling someone to prove that their statement is true.

As Irving argued that there was no evidence to support the gas chambers, the burden of proof lay with Lipstadt. My broadcast and friend testifying on her behalf, was a trump card they could use.

Recently, she joined with Michele Taylor, U.S. ambassador to the UN to write an article in the Guardian newspaper bemoaning the world’s hesitancy to condemn the Hamas rapes and violence against Israeli women and girls.

However, she is crucially part of the Biden administration that has appeased and empowered the source and inspiration of Hamas’ violence and so much suffering in the Middle East, Iran.

That administration’s support for Israel has wobbled and is keen to appease Michigan’s pro-Hamas Arab/Muslim community to get their votes. Then there is the matter of Rashida Tlaib, Ilhan Omar and the rest of the Squad. Oh! and the large number of the Democratic party that are Hamas-friendly. Their latest anti-Israel action is to try to stop Israel replacing Palestinians, (most of whom are pro-Hamas) with foreign workers citing “Human Trafficking” as the justification!

So, Ambassador, I admired the stand you took against someone who denied the Holocaust in 1996, but it is time to take that stand again against the support the October 7 mini-Holocaust is getting from members of your administration and its party. The Guardian column was nice… but it’s time to recapture the passion of the past. It is time to resign.

#jews #antisemitism #israel hamas war #judaism #jumblr

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