#everything except Latin. I’m so close.

[devildomcrybaby]

𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖒𝖊. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖔

▸Astarion x Reader

Remember when Astarion asked Gale how was his sad, hopeless pining was going? Here we'll see how his pining went. For this purpose you and Astarion get stuck in a cave. Such a cliche.

Minors do not interact. 18+ only Warnings: explicit, blood, some little spoilers, Astarion and reader are so down bad for each other but also kind of rough, pain, blood drinking, piv, mentions of religious themes/gods.

Cold and dark. Everything is cold and dark. Everything except for you. You’re feverish, sweating and shivering at the same time. The only sound you can hear is the rhythmic drip of single drops of water sliding down the stalagmites above your head. Astarion pretends to miss the gulp you try to stifle. The air is thick with humidity, but that’s not the reason you feel like it’s hard to breathe. You throw your head back slightly, resting it against the coarse surface behind you, sighing heavily, eyes purposelessly fixed on the first flare they encounter.

Proper pronunciation is the key to successful spellcasting. It is indeed. Fucking hell. You huff, cursing Gale under your breath. Have a wizard misspell a single Latin word and find yourself stuck in a grim, slimy hole, almost as narrow as a coffin and not even as comfortable. Yes, I’m aware a wooden surface is not comfortable at all, I’ll leave to your imagination how comfortable can a spiky craggy wall be. Let’s be honest, you’d be complaining half as much if you were stuck in that hole alone. Of course your pale vampire companion would get caught in the spell as well. There’d be barely any room for one person to stand in that tight space, let alone two. However, it’s not the lack of space or freedom of movement that bothers you the most, ironically.

Astarion has always made you feel somewhat uneasy, like you want to crawl away from him, crawl away from your own skin too. But you always got the chance to do so before. You could always avert your eyes when he stared at you too openly, always walk a little faster when you could feel the faint warmth of his body as he shuffled too close to you, always pretend you had something else to do, someone else to talk to when his words sounded too sharp, too violent, even. Maybe the only violent thing was the feeling burning in your stomach each time his fingers lingered on your skin a bit too long, each time his usually biting words sounded a bit too sweet.

You felt like a little child trying to get the stern teacher’s attention and miserably failing every single time. And you know he notices. Notices how you go against yourself giving attitude to a deep gnome you just saved from goblins when you wanted to ask him how he was instead, how sad your eyes are when you tell the tieflings you seek to help to get to digging their own graves just to humor him. But he also notices the smirk you fail to disguise when teasing Laezel, keeping her caged a little longer asking her to say ‘please’ before setting her free, even though you already decided you wanted her along, notices the look of satisfaction on your face when you thrust your blade in Fezzerk’s stomach after he shot an arrow in Karlach’s leg. Maybe you’re not so different from his sordid broken self, after all. And he notices how itchy and restless you are now despite being impossibly still, spreading your legs to put some distance between the two of you when your thigh meets his knee for a moment too long, pressing your back against the wall behind you when your chest grazes his. You’re too caught in your own feelings, trapped in the thoughts crowding your mind to pay attention to the man in front of you.

You have no clue, but Astarion too tries to distract himself. He uses a different strategy than yours though.

You are both nuisance and entertainment as you try to avoid him at all costs. So he does the opposite, challenging you in his mind, thinking he’d succeed in a task you’re fumbling egregiously. He fixes his gaze on every little detail his eyes can catch in the dim torch light leaking out the small openings in the slab. The little crease between your eyebrows when you frown and sigh in frustration. The way your hair waves when meeting your shoulders. His fingers twitch as he suppresses the impulse to move the locks away from your face to expose more of your neck and shoulders. The reddening tip of your nose. How the Wavemother's Robe reveals your clavicles and reflects the poor light allowing him to see this little of you. But then, then he notices the dark shade of red of your cheeks. How you purse your lips when you glower. If only he could he’d bite them and make you bleed. The curve of your hips and the shape of your breasts. Your bare thighs. Should have worn the Blazer of Benevolence damn you and damned be the dead Water Queen. Had he always failed to catch how your armor perfectly traces your body, letting him, letting anyone see you as if you were disrobed, until now?

“I’m getting bored”. You’re almost startled when the silence is broken. “Aren’t you?” he adds, his voice lowers asking the question, in that bewitching way you know he got to master through the centuries. The words are simple, trivial, yet you wonder if this is the voice Ulysses heard as he got inside Circe’s lair, maybe the voice that lured sailors to their deaths in the Mediterranean Sea. You falter, his words not quite registering in your brain. He slips a hand between your hair and your neck, then slides his thumb over your pulse point. He doesn’t get that much closer yet, just enough so that his chest brushes yours. Time slows to a crawl, you hear your heart thumping in your ears, your vision is blurred for a second. You blink twice and you see him. In the umbral tangerine light, his features look even more graceful. Or have you already forgotten what he looks like, in your steady effort of avoiding to even glance at him at all costs? Since when have you been stuck in that bleak hollow? Was it minutes? Hours? Had the sun set already? “And I thought my presence would be enough to occupy you” you attempt a joke, keeping your voice as firm and emotionless as you manage. “It is”. His tone is serious, he lowers his face towards yours and his breath hits your parted lips. It’s been for a while, he thinks. Astarion isn’t honest with others, not most of the time at least, but he’s honest with himself. He doesn’t care for sex. He never did, at least since he has memory of. Maybe he did once, at a time when he was just any other elf free to make his own nasty choices. He doesn’t really know, come to think of it. The shadows of his former self getting blurrier day after day, until the days became months, years, centuries. He didn’t care since it became merely any other act he had to perform, exactly like the soothing smile he perfected to persuade his targets to follow him back at the palace, neatly crafted to conceal his embellished lies. Even his mannerism was devised to convey the mask embroidered on his skin. He did feel the atavic impulse, of course he did. Albeit that’s where it ended, at a physical urge. No true desire guided his hand as he undid his breeches. He wasn’t really allowed to desire anything at all, even his body got accustomed to that by then. It’s entirely new to him, this yearning to get close to another individual, to seek the comfort of the warmth of another.

“Allow me”. Not even for a moment does he entertain the thought that you might find it inopportune how close he is all of a sudden when you never even dared to hold his hand before. He fundamentally doesn’t care right now. He just feels and it’s devastating. Adventure after adventure, a long forgotten, perhaps unknown, feeling sneaked inside his rotting heart. His hand slides up to your jaw as he brings his lips to yours. You don’t question it for a second, still dizzy, your lips move against his of their own accord. It’s slow, tentative, like he forgot how to do it. But he hasn’t. You just leave him a small opening, tongue meeting his slightly more emphatically and he’s devouring you. His fingers grab your hair at the root, his tongue demands that you surrender and follow. He pushes his body against yours, your back pressed against the cold scratchy wall. His knee demands access between your thighs until your crotch is right above it. You break the kiss gasping against his mouth when the cool chainmail is pressed to your core. Maybe he took it as an attempt to get away from him, maybe he just followed a deep-seated instinct to have you against him. He pulls your hair hard, his other hand on your thigh, his fingers dig painfully in the bare flesh. His mouth is quickly against yours once more. It’s harsh, raw, and desperate. He’s not playing a part, he’s not kissing you to get you on his side, to have someone protect him from the harsh judgement (and he’d be lucky if it was just ugly glares and a few wisecracks and not a stake through his heart as he sleeps) of those who now know he’s a creature of the night. He’s not bribing the oh so powerful leader with his swift fingers and perfectly refined technique. This isn’t for you, nor for a master waiting for him in a place he's forced to call home, nor for a prying audience he has to entertain. This is for him. He doesn’t know why he needs it, needs your yielding body pressed to his. He only knows he does. He kisses you again and again. He doesn’t get bold, doesn’t need to. Kissing you, having you pressed against him in a cramped space where no one can interrupt the two of you, where no ally or foe can take you away from his merciless grasp, is enough.

But that’s when it hits him that Karlach and Laezel are still out there in the sewers trying to find a crack in the stones they can exploit, to crash them all and set you free. And Sorcerous Sundries where Gale is trying to find a way to undo his disastrous spell is only a few miles away. It’s not true that he has all the time in the world, that he has you at all. Such a ludicrous thought that no one could take you from him if even for this moment.

He gives you one last heated kiss before pulling away, his hands holding your face. As he sees your swollen lips and heated cheeks, he feels the need to kiss you until it hurts. He’s searching for something in your eyes, and you really hope he finds it. You’d show him, if only you knew what that was. Please, you think. And then he sees it. Or maybe it’s all a figment of his imagination bending reality to his own desires.

“I spent two hundred years using my body for the pleasure of others. It never belonged to me, you know”. He says it so simply, as if he was telling you it was windy today. “It was only one of the many means to achieve my master’s ends. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. I didn’t have wants for so long I forgot I could have any at all. Each and all of my needs…disregarded, every time”. He sounds so exasperated when uttering the last two words, dry voice, and bitter stare. For a moment he's not really looking at you, his eyes hollow, torrid shadows unknown to you riveting him. Then his look clears, and he sees you again. “But now, now I’m allowed to want again. And I can take what I need”.

You get a pit in your stomach hearing his words, a pull you don’t quite know how to name makes you want to hold him, thread your fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek and tell him that it’s never going to be like that again, that you won’t allow it to be like that again. Pathetic! hisses a voice in your mind. You’re not used to intimacy, to showing affection without feeling shame. Certainly not to Astarion no less. Then the rest of his words sink in as he slides two fingers in the neckline of your robe, slowly, his gaze lowering on his hand touching your skin. Time slows down once more, your heart is pounding in your chest. You shiver when his cold fingers slip further in your armor, circling your hardened nipple again and again until you give up on acting unaffected and he hears your little gasps and strangled whines.

“A-Astarion, what are you…?”

“What am I doing, dear?” he finishes the sentence for you. You’re a little…incapacitated at the moment, it seems. “I think you know it very well”. His voice dangerously mellow.

You’d widen your eyes hadn’t pleasure made you dozy. You blink a few times, but your eyelids drop, heavy. You part your lips, the sigh you exhale reaches your ears muffled. You don’t argue for a little while, your arm reaches above your head, your fingers gripping the coarse crags that grates your skin as soon as you touch them, wetting the already dump surface with little droplets of blood. Your chest raises and falls with each ragged breath, your toes curl in your dank boots. You raise a leg, hooking it on his thigh so that you can – in your opinion unnoticeably – grind against it, chasing more and more of the sensations he was so graciously extending you. A sly smirk creeps on his face seeing you falling apart because of such a trifling contact. Aren’t you precious, acting like you’ve never been touched before. He delights in the idea for a moment, that his hands are the only ones that ever grazed your bare skin (not for slicing it, burning it and freezing it of course, or he’d have the competition of quite a few goblins, drows and Dark Gods’ favorites). He grabs the neckline of the robe pulling it down further. The tip of his tongue slides up your breast stopping on your nipple to circle and suck it. You swallow, trying to clench your thighs but only ending up squeezing his. Astarion casually bites your nipple before continuing his ascent licking your chest, your neck, your chin and your parted lips. His hand grabs your hip tightly, pressing you against him further, then his fingers find your chest again. He pulls back to look at your face, your half-lidded eyes slowly opening to meet his.

“Your hands are really pretty. Your fingers…” you pause, your voice soft, barely a whisper “…feel nice.”

“I had a feeling you liked them”. Astarion’s tone is amused, smug. Of course it is. He kisses your cheek, your temple, he’s almost nuzzling into you. “Would you like me to touch you a little further?” he thumbs your nipple, squeezes your breast a little, then presses his hand against it, slides it down your body until his fingers find the slit of your armor. You gasp as soon as they graze your inner thigh. The corner of his mouth twitches before stretching in a smirk.

“Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think? I haven’t even touched you yet”. His voice is affectionate, but it’s evident how presumptuous he is. You feel your cheeks heating up, you scoff and turn your head to the side.

“Ain’t nothing special, you know? Been done a thousand times before you, vampire” you glare, your lips pursed.

“Oh? Do you come undone this easily at any hand’s touch? How disappointing”.

“No! I…” you turn to face him again, more flustered than ever, concern evident on your face. Have you offended him? Does he think you don’t like him, that you’d like just anyone doing this to you? That he’s just a tool for your own enjoyment? Couldn’t be any further from the truth.

Since you met him, you basically made a purity pledge, damn spawn. And not by your will, for certain. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but at some point, in this disgraced journey of yours, any other creature’s touch almost disgusted you. Elf, drow, human, tiefling, man or woman, tall or short, fair or dark, shy or outgoing, it didn’t matter, if it wasn’t him. You eluded any other’s touch to preserve yourself for a caress that was forbidden to you. Forbidden by who, you might ask? By yourself, by the circumstances, by the gods, even. The more you craved, the less deserving of attaining you felt.

“I know you don’t” he whispers back. Astarion presses his lips to yours once again, his kiss lazy and deep. His fingers find your underwear, the fancy one you just got from Figaro’s Facemaker’s Boutique that you find rather uncomfortable when fighting.

Astarion’s index and middle finger graze your panties a few times, tentatively?, you wonder. No, he doesn’t need to attempt. He knows. Tauntingly is more like it. You hold your breath until he moves your panties aside to rub his fingers up and down your clit. You almost hiss at the contact, his fingers are cold and it feels better than it should. He begins to rub lazy circles around it, relishing the sight of you at his mercy and the little sounds you try to choke back down your throat.

“S-shouldn’t do that” you say, and you grip his wrist tightly, nails digging in his skin. “Stop, I’ll…” he doesn’t move a fraction of an inch, still touching you deliberately as you squirm in his arms.

“Cumming already? You’re so easy. Doesn’t quite suit a leader”. He mocks, his other hand reaches for your breasts again. You hiccup and throw your head back so ungraciously that you hurt yourself. “Shouldn’t you be unswerving, aloof, unresponsive? As unmoved as possible by…extraordinary circumstances?”

“I detest you” you breathe out, ignominious sounds of pleasure leaving your lips.

“Doesn’t really sound like you do, darling”. Astarion hisses when your nails sink so deep in his wrist they draw blood. He refrains from grousing about it though, too engrossed with the sense of power of having rendered his revered leader a whimpering mess, chasing these little moments of weakness of yours. They never last long. You grab his shirt tightly and drag him towards you. His eyes widen, he’s almost startled. You let out a strangled scream before sinking your teeth in his shoulder. You come undone and the taste of his blood fills your mouth, your lips close around the wound, and you suck like he’s done to you many times before. You always liked to cut up pretty things after all. To have your mouth dirty with blood. Each time it left you wonder whether a heaven exists and if it does, whether its gates already banished you once and for all. And if you were indeed banished, was it the last kill or the one before that, that condemned you for eternity? Lost in thought you cling to him, your hands find his shoulders. Your breathing is still quickened, your heart beats so frantically that Astarion can feel it against his ribcage. He knows that you’re not gentle or delicate always. He doesn’t need you to be. He holds you close and kisses your head, a hand comes up to caress your hair. He twists it around his fingers, handling it like he would a precious piece of fabric. And when he’s satisfied, he pulls, hard. Your head is yanked back. You’re met with glistening red eyes. He looks like a mad man, and you know that so do you.

“You’re hideous” he says, and it’s not mean. He’s smiling as he speaks, he licks his blood off your lips, then his tongue demands for yours. He undoes his pants, and you can feel it, hard and wet against your thigh. “I know you want to hurt me. And hurt yourself on me too”. He kisses the corner of your lips and grabs his dick to rub the tip up and down your drenched pussy. Your body twitches each time he brushes your sensitive clit. “May I?”.

You nod and the next thing you hear is your own scream of pain before actually sensing the familiar burning feeling. Astarion grabbed your hips tightly and pushed them down harshly, entering you in one swift motion. You hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in your freshly made wound. He groans and you hiss. You catch your breath adjusting to his size and whisper in his ear.

“That was evil” you utter, your breathing accelerated. You clench around him, more because of the not so pleasant feeling rather than to tease him and he grunts.

“Forgive me, I might have gotten the idea that it was gonna slide in nice and easy”. With a sardonic smile on his face, he delicately grabs your jaw wetting your cheek with his glistening fingers.

You scrunch up your face. “You’re disgusting”.

He chuckles and rubs his nose on your cheek. “Want me to be gentle?”. He doesn’t move yet, an arm sliding around your middle. When he finally does his movements are slow and deep. You sigh in pleasure and put a hand behind his neck, cheek pressed to his.

“I want...I need you inside me like this. Need you to take and take until there’s nothing left. You don’t understand how much I ache for…” destruction. Destroy and be destroyed. That’s why you never dared to lay a hand on him before, terrified he’d crumble between your bloody fingers. But it’s different now. He’s hurting you too. Blood for blood, flesh for flesh. You look in his eyes, a wry smile looming on your chapped lips. He puts a finger under your chin, lifting your face to take a better look at your expression as if to make sure he heard you right.

“As you wish, lover”. He rests a hand against the rocks near your head, his other arm guiding your hips in a ruthless pace. You both grunt and whine and hiss, clawing at each other like one could escape the other’s grasp at any moment. Astarion’s head is dizzy due to the long-awaited pleasure, but still clear enough to ask if he could sink his teeth in you.

“You already sunk something way bigger inside me, do you really need to ask?”

“Naturally, I always ask first. I'm civilised, unlike you”. You don’t have time to reply, soon lost in the disorienting feeling of the pleasure building inside you and the familiar sting of his bite. The more of your blood flows down Astarion’s throat the closer to his orgasm he gets. His grip on you bruising at this point. As the familiar warmth spreads through your core, you cry out his name and it comes out as a prayer spilled from quivering lips. He screams the name of a god he knows quite well as he loses himself in you. Desperation and fury dripping from each syllable. You press your lips to his, as if it’d soothe his agony. His kiss lecherous and vicious just like his movements. But what you hear is not the wail of a martyr. It’s the cry of sore wrists tearing the rope that held them bound, the liberating cry of receiving a caress after only having known violent touches. You hold him close as a wordless scream leaves your lips and you cum together, hot liquid filling your insides and dripping down your things. Soon you’re left there, cold and sweaty against the slimy wall, staring at your vampire companion the same way Peter would have looked at Jesus, had he the chance of seeing his face once again after having denied him.

“It felt lonely, you know” Astarion says quietly after a while. To be treated like a ghost. The metaphor forming in his mind is not that far from the truth. You acted like a psychic child looking the other way at the sight of an unwanted presence as if obstinate neglect could make it disappear. Just like at the sight of a spirit, you got startled whenever you couldn’t avoid his sight, his touch. “To have you so close all the time…” he raises a hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear “…only for you to flee away as soon as I deluded myself that I could reach you”. You grab Astarion’s hand not to let him take it away from your face, pressing your cheek to his palm and closing your eyes. “It’s always been a terrible affair to me. To want. It petrifies me”. You pause. “As long as I crave nothing, nothing can mislead me. Nor be taken away from me. If I don’t cherish nor desire anything, what can be stolen from me? I’d replace it with something else anyway”. Your look is open and sincere, he doesn’t doubt you. “You…I knew I wouldn’t find you in someone else. I always kept you at a distance so I would have never known what I could have lost and now…”

“Such a silly little thing you are. Should have told me to part ways instead of ever guarding my side. I won’t forget it” he grazes your lips, then puts his arms around you and holds you close.

Despite his grip you soon feel that…something is missing. The wall behind your back crumbles and you slip from his arms, falling on your knees.

“Tch. I hate happy endings”. You grunt at the sudden pain of the bump and the scratches, before lifting your head and meeting Laezel’s repulsed grimace.

“There were quite a few…happy endings, it appears to me”. Soon follows Gale’s comment. “That does not strike me as a ‘need of saving situation’…would you perhaps like me to restore that side of the wall, leave you a few more minutes in heaven, as they say?”

“Given your record, Gale, I’ll pass” you get up and shake off the dust.

“How considerate. However, I’d like to inform you that we don’t really need a cave to set the mood”, retorts Astarion.

“Suit yourselves”.

“You better not set any mood anymore, Astarion” warns Laezel.

“Well, I didn’t really mind. That was a hell of a show”. Karlach stops in thought before adding “…which can be taken in two ways considering my opinion of the Hells”.

“I would have gladly missed it” sighs Shadowheart, as you all approach the stinky gooey hole that leads outside the sewers.

#Astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x y/n #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x dark urge #astarion smut #Eve writes #baldur's gate #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x durge #blood #bg3 smut #angst #astarion fic #astarion imagine #astarion romance #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion ancunin x you

[strayhounds]

i’ve been considering trying to coin a new branch of therianthropy, mostly because i feel like i’m in between general therianthropy and cladotherianthropy. i don’t feel like one specific creature, but i don’t feel like an entire genus or family; i had multiple different ideas on how to present it, so i figured i’d make a poll!

PLEASE READ EVERYTHING BEFORE VOTING.

QUITHERIANTHROPY:

Derived from the Latin words quidam, aliqua, and quis, collectively meaning ‘some,’ especially aliqua; ‘some, by some way or other’

A branch of therianthropy, specificially a mix between general therianthropy and cladotherianthropy, in which one identifies as all or most species of a specific animal. (Must be that actual animal, not just something named the same; for example, a wolf quitherian would not include maned wolves, and a dog quitherian would not include prairie dogs).

One can not be a domestic dog quitherian, as Canis familiaris is only one species; quitherianthropy is a species-based identity, not breed-based. Same with cats. This is what separates Quitherianthropy and Pluritherianthropy (see below).

example:

Wolf Quitherian; all or most species of wolves. (e.g. gray wolves, red wolves, coastal wolves, etc.)

Cat Quitherian; all or most species of cat.

PLURITHERIANTHROPY:

Derived from the Latin word ‘Plurimum’; meaning ‘most.’

A branch of therianthropy, specificially a mix between general therianthropy and cladotherianthropy; an identity that consists of being EITHER;

all or most wild members of a genus, but not domestic all or most breeds of domestic animal, but not their wild counterparts

examples:

Wild Canine Pluritherian; all or most members of the Canis genus except for domestic dogs

Wild Feline Pluritherian; all or most wild cats; could include both members of the Panthera and Felis genus, or only one (if Felis, excluding domestic cats).

Domestic Canine Pluritherian; all or most breeds of domestic dog.

Domestic Feline Pluritherian, all or most members of the genus Felis, excluding wild cats.

BOTH, UNDER QUITHERIANTHROPY:

A branch of therianthropy, specificially a mix between general therianthropy and cladotherianthropy, in which one believes they are not just a specific species, but not an entire genus or family. It can be as vague as a wild canine quitherian, encompassing creatures such as coyotes, wolves, and jackals, but not domestic dogs, and as specific as a wolf quitherian, only encompassing wolves (red wolves, gray wolves, coastal wolves, etc.)

(for results; please take the time to vote if you can; i just don’t want answers to be clicked randomly to show results).

#therian #therianthropy #canine therian #fox therian #wolf therian #otherkind #otherhearted #otherkin #otherkinity #wolfhearted #wolfkin #dogkin #alterhuman #alterhumanity #nonhuman #therian community #otherkin community

[freemindedspirit]

Min Yoongi Past Life

This is solely based on intuition and clairs, no cards were used.Feel free to ask any questions you have.Entertainment purposes only.

As soon as I tapped in, I heard loud music and saw Yoongi riding a horse, we seemed to be in Antic Rome.I strongly got the feeling that Yoongi was a respected commander in the empire’s army, which seemed strange because that is quite far from what I’d expect from his essence 🤔I immediately heard “unexpected war hero”.I’m getting the feeling he was adopted by a Senator or someone close to the Emperor, and was taught Roman politics and the art of war and philosophy from a young age.However, due to his reputation as this person’s son, he was threatened and was given no choice but to go to war.He came back successful, but simply by a stroke of luck he’d say but the other army generals and commanders disagreed.I think he saw a younger soldier die to protect him, and was feeling very guilty about it.This young soldier didn’t come from Rome but another province, and I see him kneeling in front of a leader, so I think he went apologizing to the province leader for the death of the young boy (his words not mine), against the general public opinion who would have thought his death would have been meaningless.I think this kind of behavior enraged him so bad he did everything he could to become a politician and twist the society of his time into what he wanted it to be, a more fair and just society. I think he might have done some illegal things to insure the progress of society ?Not necessarily very bad things but corruption, threats against power hungry advisors, sponsoring philosophers or savants illegally…Tbh I don’t remember much from my Latin classes, but from memory society at the time was less heteronormative but a bit more structured socially, for example it wasn’t exceptional for an emperor to have a wife and a male lover publicly on the side (well I mean it’s the emperor who’s gonna stop him), but I think Yoongi fell in love in a way that was taboo in his time.I think it happened long after his military exploit and his work in politics.He might actually have been married at the time, but with no kids.I think things started to get messy, which would have put his lover in danger, so he ran away with them one night while leaving his wife behind, but not without making sure she wouldnt be shamed or left without means.However, I don’t think he lived many years after running away with them.

I think this life was really meant to make him understand lessons around the idea of authority and it’s impact on community, like an Aquarian /Capricornian awakening of some sort 🤔

#BTS readings #Yoongi tarot #BTS past lives series #bts tarot

[basilepesso]

Third English text narrating the nightmare that my wife and collaborator Anne Pangolin Guéno (The Soft Pangolin) has put me in since the lockdowns - and Anne, again, this is NOT against you - and you know it and react well - I’m telling it anyway by security. First part here Second there About ten logical points in French showing that I have been telling, and am telling the truth Police evidence of Anne’s disappearance (September 2 021, a few days after her disappearance)

In January 2 022, under the threats of my landlord, heavy stress caused by Anne’s disappearance, my discovery of the satanist adultery, and maybe corona that facilitates this, I had a brain stroke with blocking of an arm and vision for 15 hours approx. In March occurred what I described in the two previous English texts. I hadn’t a “NIE” (Identification Number for Foreigners), we used to function on only one, and it was Anne’s. I hadn’t a Spanish bank account, Anne having elegantly closed our shared account which was at her name, just because I used to delegate her all the administrative stuff. This card was literally unable to get in spite of all my efforts. Therefore, couldn’t I earn money legally, and my usual activities are not sure in terms of financial gain. As all our shared exhibitions, books and other partnerships with Anne were waiting or had been cancelled, the situation was totally critical. In October 2 021, I gathered ten high level visual artists among which myself for Yes We Are Gallery. A friend or supposed to be so helped me by creating the website but couldn’t finish it.

I was doing a few polls but either they were cheat or didn’t bring anything financially, or almost. I sold a few pictures, but not sufficient.

One of our partners, a shop/gallery took some of my images but no sales.

I tried to sell pictures on the street : no sales. I was trying to get translations as I’m a translator in many languages : nothing.

I went to many teaching places to give various classes and workshops (some places could make an arrangement for the identity card problem) and sent many proposals : I was put on waiting list or told that they didn’t need my services, and I didn’t have the time to be on waiting lists.

I found two collaborations with an architect/friend. I brought her two big decoration/architectural projects from people I had met, and it could bring a lot of money. But when I explained more in detail what was happening with Anne’s blogs under fake identities to one of the persons, he told me I was crazy, and stopped the proposal...the other one was actually too far away in Latin America and too hard to implement for my friend. After many researches and encounters, I found two new design shops and/or galleries who were waiting for Anne. An extremely generous friend sent me a diamond to sell. It could bring us a lot of money and I went to about 20 shops to try to sell it, but the price was not sufficient and I was waiting for way more. I started a novel in collaboration (it would publish the novel bit by bit on their website) with an organ called The Homeless Entrepreneur but the proposed money was not sufficient, and with what happened after we couldn’t start the collaboration. I tried to sell a bag that we had created with Anne (she had almost made everything) and had found two shops. We could start soon but I panicked because of one more landlord threat. Repeated panic attacks, and sudden fall in depression. Some friends helped me to pack a few things, especially our artist works and my computer, and we went to let me in a house in France where I was invited.

This invitation has actually been a nightmare and I was put on the street in one week.

By miracle, I found a shelter. In two weeks, they put me on the street after a manipulation. I went to a camping with the little money I had left. I’ll tell after what happened then... BP. P.S : and, AS USUAL, NO ONE (well, here, one brave person) reacts, except by the usual emotional and sordid unfollowings...)

P.S 2 : as already said, YWAMag Gallery is not something I can take care of for the moment, and what’s more, its webmaster has stopped speaking to me after the hospital abuse against me - and I need to be in contact with him if I decide to start the gallery, as there are still technical details for which I’d need his help.

#basile pesso #anne pangolin guéno #the soft pangolin #facts #truth #original content #writers on tumblr #barcelona #spain #journalism #journalists on tumblr #independant journalists on tumblr #yes we are magazine

[luxshine]

“Yo  a ti, Cas” Or how mexican dubbing gripped us tight and raised us from Despair.

Ok. So I promised a big meta about the dubbing thing and so while I don’t have all the answers YET, here’s a bit of perspective on the differences between Despair and The Truth.

  First, a little background. I am a former professional dubbing translator. While I worked on anime series from Japanese to Spanish, rather than in live action ones from English to Spanish, the process is not that different. Also, I worked in Mexico, where Supernatural is dubbed, so that’s why I can make the assumptions I make. Finally, my specialization in college was translation from English to Spanish, so I guess I know what the hell I’m talking about.

  So let’s start on HOW you translate something for a dub. Back in the day, you got a ton of VHS tapes with the episodes on them with time codes, and, if you were lucky, a shooting script. This is to say, it was not a transcript of the actual words said in the episode, but the script BEFORE the actors, directors, and everyone else had a hand on what was said and changed. And thus, anything adlibbed? Is not going to be in that script which, at least for the anime side of things? Was a nightmare as the script was usually “And here X actor can say whatever they want” and I had to go and listen to the scene ten thousand times. Now a days, you get either a video file or a streaming link, and sometimes, the shooting script. If you get a script, btw, you can also not get a script in the original language. I know that the person who had to translate Sprited Away to Spanish was working off a German script, not the Japanese one. So yeah, some things can be lost in translation there.

  THEN you get to translate. BUT you can’t just translate word by word. You have to adapt it so that it will sound like something a person will say, and sometimes, literally is not the way to do it. And in particular, Mexican dubbing has a reputation to uphold as the “Neutral” dub that is send to most Spanish-speaking countries in Latin America, so we can’t use certain words (I don’t have the list at hand, but I remember that I couldn’t use “Llanta” for Tire, and so I had to use “Neumatico”. And no “sweaters” or “hotcakes” or stuff like that), AND we have to match the lips of the original video. Which is like, the worst nightmare ever because of what we call “labiales”, that is to say, the letters where lips close.

  I can’t tell you how much we all loved when a character gave a long winded speech with their back to the camera due to those damned closed lip letters.

  All this is to say that sometimes, the line could be “We are all in this together for good or bad”, and the translation become something more like “Estamos en esto, por las buenas o las malas” (We’re on this, the good way or the bad way) or “Estamos juntos en las buenas y en las malas” (We’re together in the good and the bad), depending on the translator, dub director, and voice actor.

  Depending on the client, that is, the original owner of the series, sometimes they will review the translation once it’s all dubbed and edited. I know that in the Avengers movie, a Disney rep was present on the cabin and forbade any changes from the script, which resulted on a couple of awkward lines in the end result. I don’t know if that’s the case for Supernatural, but I honestly doubt it. Still, translators can’t make huge changes for the dialogue. One couldn’t just ADD a relationship that wasn’t there, no matter what.

  (As an aside, due to the very conservative mindset of some tv stations, it’s more common that gay relationships become more ambiguous, by changing “I love you” to “Te quiero” which can be more of a filial love than a romantic one. And well, that one case in Sailor Moon where a gay character was changed into a woman because the dub director honestly thought the character was a woman. But that was in the nineties)

  Now, let’s go to how Castiel’s speech was translated.

  The original, according to Superwiki, went like this:

  Castiel:  You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye? Castiel: Because it is. I love you. Dean: Don't do this, Cas. Cas.

  And the translation, as it was aired, went like this (And people, you have no idea the war flashbacks transcribing this gave me, so I hope you appreciate it):

  Castiel: Eres el hombre mas amoroso sobre la Tierra. Un hombre sin egoismo; el hombre mas generoso que haya visto, y que jamas vere. Sabes que desde que nos conocimos y desde que te saque del infierno, el conocerte me ha cambiado. Porque a ti te importa. Y a mi me importa. Me importas tu. Y me importa Sam, me importa Jack, me importa todo el mundo. Y fue por ti. Tu me cambiaste, Dean.

  Dean: Porque suena esto a despedida?

  Castiel: Porque asi fue. Te amo.

  Dean: Yo a ti, Cas. (The empty appears and Billie opens the door) Cas…

  Castiel: Adios Dean

  Dean: No!

  Ok. So… At first glance, they’re pretty much the same until we get to the I love you. BUT let’s dissect it a little bit.

  Cas begins with a “Eres el hombre mas amoroso sobre la Tierra” which is not how I would’ve translated “The most caring man on Earth” since “caring” is more like “Cariñoso” rather than “amoroso” which would be “loving”, and yes, there’s a difference. Plus, “el hombre mas amoroso” sounds a bit clunky, so Personally, I’d have gone with “Eres el hombre mas cariñoso en la Tierra”, that would’ve given us more time for the rest of the speech, but I wonder if the translator choice for Amoroso instead was more due to the fact that “amor” (love) is more clearly romantic than “care” (cariño, in a sense, more on this later) and so it foreshadows the end.

  Again, with the literal clunkyness we have “Un hombre sin egoismo” (A man without egoism) which sounds weird no matter what language you speak, and it should’ve been “Un hombre dadivoso” (A giving man) or “un hombre desinteresado” (a selfless man) although the second could be mis-construed as “a man without interests” so “dadivoso” would’ve better. But the more puzzling is that the Spanish separates the selfless man from the next, which is REALLY confusing as the English is “the most loving man”, which would be “el hombre mas amoroso” making it quite redundant, so the Spanish changes it to “the most generous man”, “el hombre mas generoso”. To add to this, Cas continues with “that I have seen and I will ever see” instead of “That I know”, because it’s far more poetic. And loving.

  So yeah, Mexican Cas is basically saying that Dean Winchester is made of love and puppies.

  Ahem.

  The next part “You know, ever since I pulled you out of hell, you’ve changed me” is more or less word for word, and the only thing that changes is that the English sounds more like a question and the Spanish one is an affirmation. YOU KNOW that ever since I pulled you out of hell, you changed me.” Little verb tense play, that doesn't change much except Cas’s resolution to say what he has to say.

  And then we get to the part that made me squeal out loud. Because we go from

  “Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you”

  To

  “Porque a ti te importa. Y a mi me importa. Me importas tu. Y me importa Sam, me importa Jack, me importa todo el mundo.” Which at first glance is the same, but NOPE.

  First change: The original is in past tense “I cared”. Spanish version is in present tense: “I care”.

Which is a little non important thing except when you remember that simple present means “immutable absolute truth that won’t change with time”

  Second, the choice of word for care.

  I mentioned before that Care can be Cariño, as in filial, non romantic love (Or romantic love pet name, as it can also be Darling. It’s one of THOSE words). Other translations for care include “cuidado” (as in attention, concern, keeping, and worry), and of course “interesarse” (Which also can be care), “preocuparse” (care, bother, trouble, mind, fuss), and yes, “importar” but “importar” ONLY translates to English as a verb as “import”, “matter” “amount to” and notice how none of those words include “love”.

  Mexican Cas is not saying “you love the world, and so I do”. Mexican Cas is saying “The world matters to you, and thus it matters to me, but my feelings for the World (and Sam, and Jack) are not in the same league as my feelings for you.”

  And then Dean asks “Why does this sound like a Goodbye”, just like in English, in present tense…

  And Mexican Cas replies in PAST tense. “Porque asi fue”. And THIS is important because it means that everything he said before WAS the goodbye, and not what comes next. All the rest? Is in the past. “Because it was”. Not “Because it IS”. And the next part? Is their future.

  I love you.

  Te amo.

  Simple present. No ambiguity like “te quiero”. Spanish Te amo is for romantic love. Not brotherly, not family, not bro-mantic. ROMANTIC.

  It’s like “I’m IN love with you” (Although that’d be “Estoy enamorado de ti” and I doubt that would’ve fit in the time Misha spoke)

  And of course, the answer. “Yo a ti, Cas”. Not “And I, you” as I’ve seen it before (And I also thought it was, until transcribing the scene) but a simple “I, you, Cas.” Which ok, pretty cave-speak, but the meaning is pretty clear. Dean Winchester loves his gay angel.

  It is also telling that the empty doesn’t appear until AFTER Dean confessed, so no, Mexican Cas is not “happy with the saying”, he had to get to the “happy with the having”.

  And when Billy appears, it does seem as if he wants to say something more, but Cas is a love-sick selfsacrificing dumbass and so we all get our hearts broken.

I did get in contact with Dean Winchester’s mexican voice actor, and am waiting for answers to a small interview I did with him which includes the question “did that And I you, Cas” was in the script, and am trying to contact Castiel’s mexican voice actor. So I will be updating you on that. But I hope this clears up some of the questions about how Mexican dubbing made Destiel Canon :D

#dean deserved better #castiel deserved better #they silenced you #bi dean #supernatural mexican dubbing #y yo a ti #te amo #destiel #destielforever

[little-miss-buffy]

Buffy and Willow landed on the ground and checked their surroundings after taking a portal from Sunnydale. "This is it, this is what I saw," Buffy said. “Will?" "Underpass in downtown LA all dingy? Looks like it," Willow answered. Buffy's eyes widened when she saw the scene laid out in front of her. "This is definitely what I saw," she said.

Buffy and Willow hid behind said underpass of sight. Last night, both Buffy and Willow had a dream where Wesley kidnapped Connor and took him to Holtz, one of Angel's former nemeses, who had intended to run away with the baby to Utah. But, he was pursued by a lawyer whose name she never got, but she knew she was a femme fatal and she was accompanied by some Hum-Vs full of commandos. Angel was also driving one of the Hum-Vs after finding out Holtz had Connor. They all cut off Holtz at an underpass.  After a quick back-and-forth of who was taking the baby, a demon showed up, opened a portal to a hell dimension, and threatened that if no one killed the baby, they would all be sucked into the portal.  Holtz ran at the portal, Connor still in his arms.  Angel tried to follow, but he was too late.  Holtz jumped into the portal and when it closed, Angel was struck with a lightening bolt and fell on his back.  The demon disappeared.  The bitch lawyer told her commandos to “let angel suffer” and left Angel alone, still in shock, and then whispering his son’s name, voice full of despair.

There was no way Buffy was letting that vision be a reality for Angel. A plan was made and now here they were watching the beginning of said vision play out. "Are we too late?" Buffy asked. "No, we're right on time," Willow answered. "There's no hell dimension portal thingy.” Buffy tried to listen to what was going on, but only a few voices stuck out. Everything was as they both saw it.  Holtz holding, his redhead, and the SUV they’d stolen from Wesley was on the left.  The bitch lawyer and her army was on the right.  And smack in the middle was a distraught Angel.  "So, your spell is making me invisible or fast?" She asked Willow. "So fast that you'll be invisible," the redhead answered.  "And to you, they'll be so slow that they won't be moving making it easy for you to get Connor. But, the spell only lasts for three minutes, so you still have to move fast.”

"Okay, that part is easy," the blonde said.  "It's what comes next that makes me think I'm the worst person. This is going to destroy Angel.”

"Only temporarily," Willow reminded her. "But, he'll get his son back and he'll be better." Buffy nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay, Will, I'm ready," she said. The witch said some Latin and then everything in front of her was moving very slowly. It worked! Buffy still ran as fast as she could to Holtz. The sooner she got Connor away from him, the sooner this could all be over with. "Hi, munchkin, " Buffy cooed as she gingerly took him from his kidnapper’s arms. "I'm your new friend, Buffy. I'm here to get you away from this very bad man and get you back to your daddy.” Buffy held the baby carefully with one arm and used the other to arrange Holtz's arms so that it looked like he dropped Connor.  She then held Connor to her chest and ran as fast as she could back to Willow. Willow moved fast like Buffy did because she had to create a replica of Connor and the real baby was needed.  “Okay, I need a hair or toenail clipping or saliva,” Willow said.  As if he were listening for a cue, baby Connor sneezed all over Willow.  “Perfect!” She said.  Buffy didn’t know how, but Willow used the DNA Connor gave her and then the replica was laid at Holtz’s feet, except this replica was dead and had a broken neck.  Basically, Buffy and Willow made it look like he killed Connor.  Buffy and Willow hid behind the wall of the underpass and watched everything else play out in front of them. Willow had created a replica of Connor that looked dead and Buffy had made look like the creepy dude dropped it. “This is the worst plan I’ve ever come up with,” Buffy said, holding Connor to her chest.  “We’re making Angel think his son is dead!”

“Only for a few minutes” Willow said.  “And then you swoop in and show him Connor is still alive and give him back to Angel and then he’ll be happy….well, hopefully not that happy, but happy enough.” Connor gurled and Buffy couldn’t help kissing his forehead,  He looked just like his daddy.  The spell wore off and finally everyone was moving normally.  The fake dead baby was at Holtz’s feet who looked horrified.  The lawyer looked shocked.  Only the demon spoke.  “Wow, I didn’t count on that,” he said.  “Kind of takes care of my problem.”  Then he disappeared.  Everyone else remained frozen.  Buffy wanted to run over and give Connor back to Angel, but she had to wait until everyone was gone and Angel was left alone.  They all had to think Connor was dead.  Buffy waited for everyone else to leave, but no one was moving.  Not for now at least…..

@tall-dark-n-broody​

#tall-dark-n-broody #au baby connor and stepmom buffy #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #angel #//hope this is okay #//starting at the scene where holtz takes Connor to quortoth #//different ending #//hope that's okay too

[onyxoverride]

Camellias at Sundown

Miche Zacharius x Reader

◙warnings: forbbiden love, mutual pining, happy ending, some angst (familial death + longing,) soft smut minors dni (18+), cunnilingus + stockings, fingering + mirror, then finally sensual sex, Erwin x Levi mentioned.

◙word count: 8k

◙summary: Miche Zacharius has a duty as the only son to the rich Zacharius family to play out his role as the future lord of the estate. But he’s been in love with the you, the gardener of the estate ever since he was young and with inhibitions lessened, he pursues you.

◙note: thank you so much @lady-lunaaa for beta-ing this I appreciate you endlessly to the moon and back. This is for Rias 3k Richboy Collab!! @bakugohoex thank you for letting me participate! I am also doing Yuji which is here: Sweet Secrets. Please support everybody else's fic as well thank you for reading I hope you enjoy!!! I think this may be my favorite thing I've written so far :0

Miche Zacharius has seen the inner workings of his own gilded cage since he was young. Each bar engraved with different obligations — to his family, to his standing in society, to everyone around him except the person he wants most.

When he saw you, it was when you were not old enough to work properly. Playing with the trimming of hedges your mother snipped while he was studying Latin and Italian with a ruler smacked against his wrists every time you caught his eye. To say the least, he had a lot of bruises.

When he and his friends, that he had to make through his position as a rich man’s son, sat outside his eyes would always go to you. Snipping away at the extensions of blushing flowers, some crimson, others an innocent white but all smelling just as sweet. A mixture of jasmine and citrus, subtle but still sweet. This is when his friend Hanji would nudge him, push him towards you in a childlike fashion. The only time where they could truly represent their age. Erwin would chuckle behind a teacup while throwing a glance at his young raven-haired butler, sharing an amused subdued smile. And while his mentors and his nanny weren’t looking he would sneak to you, as quiet as he could almost as if he’d scare you but he is simply too large, even as a child. Making sure his eyebrows aren’t drawn because apparently he looks intimidating like that before getting your attention with a cough (he can hear Hanji laughing behind him at his behavior.)

“Uhm…” his foot is tapping the grass behind his heel while he rubs the back of his neck. Too focused on how he presented himself to you to think of what he should say until he catches the sight of the flowers in your hands, calloused and overworked from the daily work.

“The flowers- uh- what are they?” grimacing at his own words, scolding himself because seriously? They’re obviously fucking flowers you just said it Miche-

Your laugh cuts his thoughts off. Gentle and subdued after years of learning how to be quiet around the people you serve, “they’re camellia’s,” you grasp the blossom of one of the pink flowers and offer it to him.

“Oh,” flower set into the plain of his hand makes it seem smaller than it truly is, blushing against his hand and his face just as pink, “well, they’re very pretty…”

“I’m glad you think so, young lord,” and it all comes reeling back, tethering him to reality once again as you try to continue your duty. You spare one last glance, hoping your mother doesn’t see how wanting it looks.

His tailored suit feeling all too tight as he walks back to his friends, they’re teasing him. Tugging at his shirt while he gives a faux laugh to appease them. He keeps watching, attention torn between the small flower he delicately holds, sweet smell seeping into the lines of his hands, and you. You, who keeps working as quietly as you can, trimming out the weaker flowers so the strong will shine through.

That night he presses a flower into his favorite book and hopes the smell never fades, nor this memory.

■

Instead of asking Nanny for stories or a snack before bed, he’d ask about you. Words travel as quick as fire amongst gossips and as good-natured as the woman who raised him is, she still finds entertainment in running her mouth and knowing too much. So, she’d tell him everything, and often. About how your father passed when you were young like his mother did, how your mother raised you in the small gardener’s house with a small bedroom shared between the two of you. About how your father and mother were the best gardeners they’ve ever had and you were developing your skills even quicker than them, like all of you had a sixth sense for nature. About how you don’t even know how to make or pour proper tea like most of the servants but survive through your skill, hands tracing vines, and keeping track of the tastiest fruit to share with the estate when the grapefruit and lemons bloom and ripen. About how on your eighteenth summer, only a few years ago, your mother passed and you now live alone in the gardener’s house. Even if he has heard it over and over again, he’d tug Nanny’s dress and wait for her to tell her more. Including the mundane about how you trip over yourself too often to count when you enter the house. As quick as fire — you’d hear about it from some other servant that joined you for dinner. Trying to hide heated cheeks and covering your face with the bread you eat. You’d say nothing for the time being, not wanting to drag him further down into a possible affair that would ruin you and him if he continued to pursue this childish crush. But each and every servant, especially the older ones, found it so endearing and just a bit as worrying. They still orchestrated to have you around even just a bit more so he would have more stories to listen to, and you’d slip out little facts about yourself knowing Miche would in the end hear those words. If not from your mouth, at least from someones.

■

Often Miche wonders why he was born at his stature. Not height, though it does become worrying when everybody shies away from him because of how tall he looms. His class stature. Money rolling off of everything he owns simply because of his blood and how he comes from a line of skilled detectives with a superior sense of smell that makes their job seem like child play. It’s not like he wants to spend his life sending you longing looks. The few times you’ve interacted carved into his mind, waiting for the time he doesn’t need to engrave and savor. They are few and far between with barely anything shared besides conversation and gentle innocent touches, loving looks with no words to address them.

Even when his father became ill, he sought you out before anybody else. You know how he longs for you, pulling at your heartstrings every time you catch his gaze. The first time he’s become vulnerable for anybody is when he caught your arm, late at night in the kitchens after arranging some citrus arrangements for his sick father. He’s silent at first, only a small huff through his nose while his hair covers his eyes. He doesn’t like his father, they never cared for each other particularly. It’s as if he barely knows the man, which may be the part that hurts his heart the most.

“Young lord-”

“No-” he sighs, fingers trailing around your wrists, “just Miche. For you, please, just Miche.”

Not once has he ever broken his tough demeanor, carefully crafted from a young age due to his upbringing, but now it’s crumbling even just a bit.

“M-Miche,” it feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome on your tongue, you can see how his muscles unravel at the sound of your voice. You have craved his touch and attention and now that it is night, inhibitions are lessened and comforted by the blanket of stars and quiet household, maybe accepting it isn’t too bad now. Hands gentle around his, realizing just how big they are in comparison to yours makes him huff in amusement. You can tell he doesn’t wish to talk about what plagues his mind, it’s not quite your business to ask either but you bring his hand up to your lips. Not kissing, just grazing over the writing callouses he’s developed and over the flushed joints. He leans forward, pressing you gently against the counter as he pulls his hand away from you. For a moment you’re worried you have overstepped your boundaries, misinterpreted something, but he presses your hands into his face. He looks so much more mature now than from when he stuttered to talk to you as a child. Eyebrows finally relaxed even just a bit from the forever intimidating scowl he wears, eyes closed and savoring your eternally calloused and injured hands running over his scruff. The sweetness from the flowers permeates your skin and the citrus you handled earlier slightly sours the scent. Nonetheless, it comforts him. Your warmth, your scent, and your gaze settled on him. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like being the only one you’re looking at even if just for a moment. The curse of selfishness love brings upon an individual is unusual to him, you would think by now he would have gotten used to the sting that courses through his gut whenever he realizes over and over again that you are not his, and he is not yours.

Silence extending to the two of you before he presses a kiss into your knuckles, “you should come into the estate more often.”

“Inside would be strange for someone who takes care of plants,” you say, amused with how childlike he sounds despite his deep voice.

“There are plants inside.”

“The maids take care of them,” you caress a thumb over his lips as he sighs, “but I suppose arranging more vases wouldn’t be so bad.”

You cave all too easily for his puppy-dog eyes and the adoration hidden behind his words. But this is all you two can afford. Stolen touches and soft beginnings, hand pressed into his chest with a small kiss into his knuckles and both of you are ripped away from each other once again.

His gilded cage feels too tight.

■

At first, Erwin thought it was just a young man’s infatuation with another person his age. A young and childish crush on a pretty girl that smelled like flowers but gradually as they got older, the others of his social group realized it was much more.

Miche contemplates the scenes outside too sorrowfully for a man who is not mourning. It’s easy to see he’s trying to look for something or perhaps someone. Erwin caught on early why he gazes so strangely outside the window and how Miche twirls flowers between his fingers whenever there’s a vase of them around, fingers trailing along petals and putting them back trying to make the arrangement look undefiled.

For a skilled consultant detective, he leaves a horribly obvious trail.

“From what I know, you’re not supposed to be pursuing a servant,” a chess table sits between them, untouched for a moment for the sake of tea.

“You have no room to talk, Erwin,” he cuts a glance to Levi standing quietly until he scoffs at the insinuation. The red that invades his cheeks cannot be tsked away. They have all been together since they were children — there is no way Erwin and Levi’s secrecy could slip past him, Hanji, and Nile. Miche’s superior senses and being groomed into a detective, he was the first to figure it out. Nile did take much longer to catch on. Too busy chasing after his now soon-to-be wife.

“I’m aware,” he pauses to take a sip of his tea, “I simply said you’re not supposed to. I never said not to.”

Miche hides his face behind the teacup, cursing Erwin for saying anything because now he is putting agency behind his pining. But he is not like Erwin, someone who can be satisfied with secrecy, and he is not like Hanji, someone with a harem under the spell of their charms. He wants you to be his, shamelessly his, loudly and proudly his, and he wants to be shamelessly yours, to tell everybody that his love resides in a beautiful woman with calloused hands and a sweet voice.

He was never strong in the first place when it came to you but now it seems his strength is withering away completely.

■

Ever since Miche mentioned wanting you in the estate more, you have been learning some new skills. Who knew making potpourris could be so useful? The maids inside the estate seem to love them, making the closets smell sweet instead of stale, they even requested some for the bathrooms. You agreed as long as they could spare some cinnamon for you to use in it.

Late in the evening with a sheer bag of your homemade potpourri, you sneak into the household. Catching a glimpse of Miche is not exactly rare but definitely not as common as you both hope. Better than before but still not enough for either of you. There’s a place in your heart that craves to be completed and you know only Miche can satiate it.

What’s frustrating is that the dress code inside the estate is different, so you had to trade some fresh lavender for a pair of white stockings instead of your usual gardening attire. Your clumsiness rears its head once more, tripping on your way to the bathroom on the second story not even realizing Miche is there before he’s holding your arm so you don’t fall flat onto the floor.

It’s highly embarrassing. Tripping so messily in front of him. There’s an art in the way the rich ladies swoon and faint prettily so the one they want to court can catch them but that was nothing of the sort. You see this as an inconvenience not an art form, completely frazzled and stuttering but Miche sees a chance. Erwin’s innuendo bounces around in his head and before he even thinks, he’s pulling you into the bathroom with him, looking into the hallway before closing the door.

He finally takes a moment to process the situation. You and him are alone, in a secluded bathroom away from anybody at the moment. This may be the only chance he has at the moment to pursue you. But instead of being the suave bachelor he should be, he catches a whiff of the strong potpourri and stutters out, “what’s-what’s this?”

Watching a dignified man fall over himself is endearing, seeing his cheeks glow like when he was a kid and his green eyes look more lively when they catch yours, “Oh! I made it. To make places smell good...”

He nods, barely listening as he leans closer into you, pressing you against the sink counter. You are sure you sound foolish but neither of you are really paying attention to that, “you know we shouldn’t be alone together. If anybody sees us-”

“No one will, I promise.”

There’s a firm confidence in his voice you cannot deny, letting his hand trail up your arm and to your jaw.

“Can I?”

The possible consequences of your actions melt into puddles at his desperate look, begging and pleading even just for a kiss. You give in, nodding into his hand.

He’s unexpectedly... soft. Holding you like fine china with barely brave kisses, finally indulging in an almost life-long craving is euphoric. There is a small moan pressed into your connected lips and as soft as this moment is, knowing you make the only son of the renowned family of the Zacharius’ sound so pitiful is revitalizing, filling you with confidence that you never had the courage to grasp onto.

Grasping onto the lapels of his coat, you pull away just for a moment, feeling his hand trail down to the peaks of your ass. Just being touched by him sends heat coursing through your veins and puddling into your nethers. The tops of his cheeks to the tips of his ears are red as roses as he pushes out another request, “can I... touch you more, please?”

His age deceives him, now he looks so young and bashful that you cannot help but laugh, “have you never...?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” he curls down into your neck, “you’re different.” You’re special, is what he truly wants to say.

It is risky. Both of you in a stray bathroom in the estate, both of you of completely different class standings, both of you completely head over heels in love with each other. The warmth of his hands linger on every part of you they have touched, your jaw, your hips, your ass. Maybe the risk is worth it.

“Then touch me all you wish, I have no objections.”

Immediately his hands descend to your thighs, pushing up the uniform dress until he is able to feel your skin under a thin layer of stocking. Trailing his fingers to the warmest part between your legs and it isn’t until you are keening and gasping that he finally pulls you to sit in the chair present in the bathroom for visiting ladies purses. Miche is quick to be on his knees between your legs, working off your shoes to set a stocking-covered foot on the juncture of his thigh as he flips the skirt over his head. Now you cannot see him but you can feel him. Hot breath huffed against your thighs sending a shiver through you.

“You’ve served my family so well,” large hands around your ankle and thigh to keep you in place for him while he is kissing at your cunt through your stockings and panties, “let me serve you now.”

The kiss is a muted feeling because of the fabric but nonetheless, it makes you suck in a breath, watching his head move underneath the dress.

Part of him does not wish to cause you inconvenience but the impatience moves his hands before his mind catches up, blunt nails pinching at the fabric covering the place he can smell that is so purely you. Pinching until a little hole is created so he can wiggle a finger in and tear the fabric a big enough hole to reach your cunt. The rip startles you but the fact that he is desperate enough to act so beastly sends a shiver down your spine. God, this is the scent he could only catch a few rare times, the scent he fucks his fist to at night wishing it was you. But now is not the time to dream. His fantasy is brought to life before him, finally able to push your panties aside and stare at your cunt despite the darkness of your skirt covering him. He lets his hand ghost over your clit, savoring how your hips jump a bit, gathering your slick on his fingers and watching how it pulls thin only to finally put his mouth upon your mound. Not minding the curls accenting it or the lingering smell of soil permanently stuck to your skin. In fact, he prefers it because all of these traits are so distinctly you and he cannot get enough of the fact that he is between your legs and under your skirt.

A hot tongue presses firmly against your lower lips, licking in between until he is pushing his face nose deep into your cunt, nose knocking against your clit as his tongue works around your hole. Your head falls slack against the wall, you fold the leg he is not holding against the chair next to his head as your other foot knocks against his growing bulge. Even just feeling his member beneath your covered foot makes your eyes widen because of the size and how desperately his hips chase the pressure. He’s fumbling to hold your leg firmly against his tightened pants, pushing your ankle against his cock as he devours your cunt with dedication. You wish you could at least see him in his full glory but for now, you are satisfied with this.

If anything, you would compare him to a desperate dog humping your leg and lapping at your nethers like it is his last meal on this earthly plane. You find your hands wanting to dig into his hair but the best they can do is clench the fabric over his head. Your hips are following the flow of his tongue, his other hand placed on them to guide your juicy cunt into his mouth while he moans into it. You can just barely feel the edges of his scruff scratch at the sensitive skin around your inner thighs and cunt. The depth of his voice reverberates through your clit and you can feel an orgasm march steadily along your belly while Miche continuously rolls his hips into your ankle. He could cum just from the smell of your cunt sticking to his lips and nose, just imagine how he feels right now.

But he keeps his pace steady despite some of your squirming, licking until he feels his scruff is soaked by your cum and immediately sets to work on cleaning up your juices with his tongue. You keep a hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds. One last thrust into your leg and he is falling apart quickly, cum sticking to his underwear as his hand roughly grips your thigh so he does not moan loud enough to attract any unwanted onlookers. If only you could see how his eyes roll back and his jaw clench.

Again, you feel a hot breath against your thighs as he shifts your panties over your soaked cunt. He pulls back as you gather your skirt to your hips so you can see him and what a sight it is. Heady green eyes and breathless pants paired with disheveled hair and a wet face and beard, licking his lips and huffing through his nose until most of your juices are gone with his tongue and fingers assistance.

Your hand is still present over your mouth, almost frozen in shock about how both you and Miche crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. Not that you exactly care anymore, your hands pull his face to yours and into another long-winded kiss where you can taste your own juices and his soft tongue once more.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, adjusting your shoes back onto your feet and leaving a wet kiss to your inner thigh before helping you up.

“I should... wash up. You leave before me,” he presses soft kisses onto your scarred knuckles, turning you toward the door with a tap on your ass that leaves you giggling out a farewell.

Next time he wants to see your face when you cum. He would forfeit heaven and earth just experience you once again.

■

The local police came to him with a theft case not long after you two’s... endeavor. Since he has been busy with that, he has not been able to see you besides the occasional glances into the garden. The case was relatively easy too, despite having to pick up for his father’s lack of presence due to his illness that is slowly chipping away at his life. The theft is either the victim’s brother or his brother’s wife and now it is up to the cops to figure it out and knowing them, it will be a slow process with too much paperwork. Miche can already feel the forming headache swelling on his temporal lobe and has already asked one of the maids present to whip up some soothing tea. Chamomile cannot fix his problems but it can make the stress knot in his shoulders untangle just a bit.

What you did not expect is the said maid shoving the tray of tea into your hands, trading them for the rose potpourri you were delivering to Nanny and pushing you in the directions of Miche’s office. Obviously, she took the chance for you and Miche to interact some more, spurring on the continuation of forbidden love even if it was partially for their entertainment. First of all, you do not even know how to pour tea. You are not a maid, you were never trained in that area but put some garden shears in your hands and you could make the garden look pretty as a painting. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Wrong. Your hands are already shaking when you meet Miche’s eyes, his eyebrows shooting to his eyebrows and cheeks flushing, memories rushing back into your minds. The heat of his eyes travels up your neck as you silently set the teacup down beside him. For a second, he observes quietly, letting his eyes venture over you and huffing in amusement with how untrained you seem in pouring tea but enjoying it nonetheless.

But he wants his hands to adventure you, letting his fingers rest on the back of your knee that just barely peeks out of the skirt while you pour as if asking for permission. You throw a glance at him and a nod, setting the teapot onto the desk, bracing yourself on the wood as his hand quickly travels to your inner thighs. Pulling you closer to him with a firm grip on your thigh only for him to pause when he feels the torn edges of the previous wound he inflicted upon the stockings you are currently wearing.

“You’re wearing the same stockings?” he whispers fervently, dropping the paperwork in his other hand in shock.

“Well-” you wish you could explain that these are the only stockings you have and how a hole in the crotch does not necessarily make them unwearable and you do not feel like trading more things for a pair of tights you never wear except inside the estate. If only you knew what that does to him, cock already hardening in his pants at the memories and feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingers. Instead, he pulls his chair back, pulling you to sit in his lap as you catch a glance of someone from across the room. Your heart almost bursts out of your chest before you realize that someone is just you, a reflection in a mirror set against a display case. He adjusts to let your legs be opened wide by his. It does not matter if you crush him or not. You could crush his lungs, and he would still try to let his last breaths be of you.

He can see how the overfilled cup of tea sloshes over the rim but more importantly, he can see your embarrassed face in the reflection of the mirror. A mirror he has been meaning to move somewhere else but is glad he has let it stay at least this long in his office. Fingers trail over your exposed panties, pushing into your clit. The way you moan his name sounds like melted honey over his heart but your expressions are more sinful than anything he has ever seen. Contorting with a bitten lip while his fingers soak themselves with your juices. The only thing of his that has been inside you is his tongue but now he feels the plush hotness wrap around his digits, crooking up into the softest parts you are unable to reach yourself.

Both of you know someone could come in or be listening so you try to keep yourself quiet but with how he is pulling the most unholy sounds out of your body. Letting his fingers dip deep inside you to curl and watching with a chin on your shoulder how your mouth opens in a panting moan. You can feel his cock sitting heavy against your ass, rocking back to please him even if a fraction of the pleasure he is giving you. He takes a firm hand to your breasts to make you lean back into him, holding you firm almost wishing you two could melt into each other as your cunt swallows at least three of his twisting fingers. He wishes he could see how your wet pussy takes his fingers in the mirror but his desk cuts off the image. Your face is plenty enough for him to enjoy, as well as the smell of your cunt permeating the air around him, causing his hips to rock into your ass steadily. He watches you intently until your eyes meet his in the mirror, feeling your insides clench sporadically and having to bring his thumb into your mouth to muffle your loudness.

Maybe one day your voice can be set fully free for him to enjoy. But for now, he savors how your cunt soaks his fingers and how your tongue wraps readily around his finger. Panting in his lap, you grind backward, meeting his desperate grinds until he is finishing in his underwear once again.

Miche holds no shame in finishing in his pants as long as you are pleased before it. Though the temptation to feel your cunt wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers settles in quickly. You catch your breath while leaning back onto him, letting him press kisses into your neck and up behind your ear, letting your hand comb through his hair. There are wishes floating between the both of you of how you wish you two could stay in each other's arms a little longer. But before duty can call both of you away, there is a hesitant knock upon the door causing both of you to fly away from each other, his hands coming to flip your skirt down over your ass and you giving him a handkerchief to clean his fingers off on before the maid that attends to his father peaks in.

“Young lord, your father...”

And with a sorrowful squeeze on your hips, he leaves to follow her, unable to meet your eyes.

■

If Miche could see the inner workings of his gilded cage, he can also see the lock that keeps him in it — His father, currently teetering on the edges of consciousness and the call of death. A sickness that struck him in his old age and kept him bedridden for at least two years.

It is not that he wants his father to die. He would not wish death upon anybody, he just wishes his father was able to understand his passions or him at all before he leaves this world. But instead, he keeps his infatuations secret otherwise running the risk of being disowned despite being the only son. He wishes he could show his father how beautiful the garden you tend is, how beautiful you are. How he would risk everything to be with you, how if you could just hold your hand in front of his father even he’d be able to see...

How if his father could just wake up. But instead, he sleeps. Peacefully, almost suspiciously so. The maid was right to get him. The doctors say his time is approaching and Miche has to make the decision to keep him alive but unconscious or pass away peacefully.

It takes five days for Miche to decide.

It takes five days to plan the funeral as well.

This is one request you wish you never had to fulfill. Preparing arrangements of lilies for the funeral of the father of the man you love. It is not strange to not speak to each other for days but this is different. This time sorrow pulls him away from the one thing that could ease this pain. But for a moment as you prepare the flowers in the church for the service, he is able to be alone with you once more.

You wish you could see him wearing a black tux in a different context. Instead, his eyes are darkened, looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. Cautiously, you let your eyes wander around the church making sure no one besides you and him are present before running into his arms. Leaning into his warmth as he takes a deep breath, curling into you.

The church is completely silent before you speak, “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.”

How many times has he heard “I’m sorry for your loss” in the past few days? He is tired of it. Tired of being reminded how he probably is not as sad as he should be for his father’s death. The only person that did not say the usual line was Erwin, who clapped his back and said “some doors close for others to open.”

“I wish I could help,” you let your hands rub across his back as he rocks the both of you.

“You are.”

“The flowers don’t count-”

“Not with the flowers.”

You go silent once again, letting him hold you just to find some respite before pulling away. He needs to be the official lord of the estate now, composed and elegant to greet people and thank them for coming. Calloused thumbs smelling of lilies brush over his cheeks before he is pulled back with the sounds of expensive shoes hitting the wooden floor of the church.

Miche hates the smell of lilies.

■

Five more days until Miche is able to reach out again. A note with fancy script you can barely read delivered to you by a giggling maid saying, “Bring camellia’s to my chambers tonight.”

Camellias are still in season luckily. Heart beating fast as you cut some flora at his request, finally you get to see him once more.

The blanch whites and biting red of the camellias do not exactly make the most beautiful arrangement, but they look sweet, almost childish with each other. As you work on different parts of the garden your foot taps the grass flat out of nervousness and you keep glancing towards the sun as if the evening could come any sooner.

Miche himself is pacing back and forth in his room, glancing at a dusty book that has not been touched in years before adjusting a blanket over a chair.

Just as the sun sets your impatience gets the best of you, gathering your bundle of flowers before trying to sneak into the estate without anybody seeing you on your way to Miche. It would just be more of a hassle to be interrogated by other maids or worse, Nanny. But before you manage to knock on his door it is swung open and you are pulled into a kiss that steals your breath. You are trying to mumble against his lips that someone will see the two of you but he only pulls back for a moment.

“And? I am the lord of the house now. It doesn’t matter.” You suppose it doesn’t.

“I could take you against every wall of this house, they can’t do anything.”

You smack his chest with the flowers as he gives you a playful smile, kissing you loudly in the hallway before pulling you into his room. He sits you on the edge of his bed as he walks to his bookshelf, leaving your eyes to wander. Old fencing swords on display, his family crest messily embroidered into a piece of fabric, some stray chess pieces scattering the countless amount of bookshelves present. There is even a vase filled with a variety of dried flowers that you recognize from the garden you have tended since you were young.

There is a quiver in his step as he retrieves a dusty book from the shelf, nerves making his leg shake as he sits next to you. He’s acting too formal, it makes you stiffen and shift your full attention as he clears his throat.

“Do you remember when we were young, in the garden?” Tilting your head you almost say there were plenty of times when you two were young and in the garden, but the most memorable one was when he was staggering and lanky, walking up to you red as a sunburn and leaving with a flower pressed into his palm.

“That time you asked me what flowers were?”

Miche’s face turns just as red as when he walked up to you as a young boy, still the memory haunts him but more than anything he remembers how hopeless he felt after he held a small flower in his hands, knowing he could never truly pursue you. Until now.

There is a flattened pink disc that still lingers with the sweet scent of camellia. Something close to jasmine that has long seeped into the pages of the book. It contrasts the fresh red and white flowers in your hands so readily, freshly bloomed in the spring sun and picked just for him.

“Yes,” he clears his throat once more, hoping his nerves will clear with it, and sets the dried flower into the palm of yours. Of course, you remember this. A bloom you snipped too short that your mother would have scolded you for if she saw. A bloom you gave to him hoping it would satisfy the want in his eyes.

It was when he realized his gilded cage was too tight. A gilded cage that now has no lock, door swinging open for Miche to finally stretch his wings.

“I am the lord of the house now,” you nod, wondering at what he is getting at, “and I am the last Zacharius,” uhhuh, “and the police won’t stop working with me even if I run the chance of losing my social status...”

The blood in your body rushes to your face so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. He holds your hands, thumbing over the fresh flower petals before kissing your knuckles of the hand that holds the dried flower.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Unless you don’t want me to say it.”

Tears are gathering in your eyes and you can’t help but smack his broad chest with flowers over and over until he is giggling and fallen flat into the bed beside you. Letting the petals fly across the sheets until you are fully satisfied with the hits you have served. The singular dried pink flower is amongst the carnage of petals, discarded and forgotten in the sheets.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

You swing a leg over his hips, “yes. Always yes.”

He gives you a boyish smile of true excitement before he leans up to trap you in his arms, pulling you into a kiss filled with smiles and giggles.

“Since you are on top of me...” he sets your hips closer to his, letting his slowly growing bulge be known.

“You’ve become less gentlemanly with me, it seems.”

“I will always be a gentleman to you, my love, let’s say I am now more honest, shall we?”

You hum into his lips, letting his hands venture underneath your more casual dress to feel bare skin, ghosting over your ass only to feel no presence of panties.

“If innuendos make me ungentlemanly, what does no panties make you?” he breathes against your lips.

A whisper of “who knows” is the response he receives before you are rolling your hips into him, capturing him in another messy kiss as his hands meld into the fat of your behind, guiding you in your grinds. Intoxicating, every kiss you allow him only pulls him further into the mix of you and flower petals.

It only takes a moment to flip the two of you, letting him push your dress up until you are pulling it off yourself. Miche sits back to watch for a moment, letting his eyes adventure across the body he has never fully seen but craves more than anything before he unbuttons his own shirt. Slowly, almost temptingly so until he reveals himself fully to you. The hunger to see him in his full glory finally satisfied and glory is the most accurate word to describe him. Strength set in his broad shoulders and chest with a bit of pudge settling on his belly decorated with a brunette happy trail leading to the biggest cock you have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Intimidatingly big, accented by heavy balls with cute curls. He lets you stare as he does the same, the last of the setting sun shining through the window to shine on your skin along with some of the petal carnage sticking to your body. It is only when you close your legs after shifting your gaze that he settles on the bed once more, kissing the tops of your knees

“Must you really hide from me?” He has been knuckle and tongue deep inside you, it is long past the time for such shy, albeit adorable, actions.

You bloom into his embrace, letting your legs fall open to frame his own and his eyes settle straight onto your cunt. He gives a sly boyish smile, licks his lips, and before you can close your legs with a squeal of “don’t stare!” he dives down. Once again letting you feel the softness of his tongue on your lower lips and clit, gathering spit onto your clit to let slide between your folds to your hole to help with the next step.

It is a quick kiss to your cunt before he pulls himself up and over your body, rubbing his scruff along your neck before letting the tip of his cock tease your clit. A soft exhale of his name breathed against his hair, and he kisses your jaw, mumbling into your ear, “can I?”

Your nails make residence on his back as you echo your previous words, “always yes.”

Once more he captures your lips, swallowing your gasps as his tip stretches you out slowly. Part of him wishes to see how your pussy blossoms open at the coaxing of his cock but he would much rather experience your first official time together up close. Hearing every moan and hiss he pulls from you and feeling your nails scratch against his back. Resisting the temptation to cum immediately when he feels the softness of your cunt wrapping around him.

But he pauses when you whisper a small ow, not pushing any further until you say and peppering kisses onto your eyelids as you sigh in pleasure. Now you know for sure he is definitely big enough to hurt, “damnit.”

“Sorry love, almost halfway I promise.”

Half? Halfway? “Almost halfway?”

His chuckle reverberates through you, embarrassed with how you are implying how even half of his cock is hard to take. He pushes another kiss onto your lips, rolling his hips in and outwards only a tad to soak more of your juices on his cock. Inch by inch he sinks into you, pulling back whenever he feels your face grimace to coat his cock with more of your self-produced lube, thankful you are aroused enough to even produce any. Until he is fully seated within you, even him not moving makes you breathless.

Hands press into your cheeks making your eyes open to look into his. A beautiful green no plant could ever wish to achieve. He whispers against your lips once more, asking for a sign to make sure you are ready and quickly you answer back yes. Locking your legs behind his thighs to roll back into his, the stretch is stinging at first but the more thrusts he sends into you the less of a problem it becomes. Eyes rolling back into your head and mouth open to let moans fly free, the pleasure is nothing compared to his fingers or his tongue. His member hits the softest parts inside of your walls, pulling an orgasm out of you before you even realize it. He holds you as you spasm around him, letting your nails dig into his back and resisting the urge to cum with you.

Patiently, he waits until you are trying to catch your breath to pull out, tugging his cock covered in your juices to spill his cum onto your belly. Later, he will think about the possibility of having children. For now, he wants to enjoy every moment with you, just you.

More kisses are pressed into your face that you gladly return, letting him rest above you in a comfortable cage. However, the night is just beginning — why waste the dark embrace of the stars with sleep?

■

Late in the morning, there is a knock on Miche’s door which tears his warmth away from you. Throwing a robe on before peeking the door open to see Nanny standing there with a smile on her age-worn face. His heart drops to his toes, knowing that your endeavors will now be shared with every single servant in the house if they did not happen to hear them last night.

“Should we bring you two breakfast — no, lunch — in bed?”

There is a blush settled in his cheeks because essentially he is being teased by the woman who raised him but he only mutters out a yes please, before making his way back to the bed to curl around you once more. A warm hand placed over your puffy and abused mound to ease at least some of the sourness settling in. But at least finally you two get to bask in the heat of each other in the comfort of his own bed, even if there are still flower petals sticking to both of your bodies.

■

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I did,” Erwin adjusts his tie in the mirror, one set against a display case in Miches office. As much as Miche objected at first, it was easy for Erwin to become an Officiant and Miche will forever be grateful for why.

A pretty silver band set with precious stones is twisted around between Miches fingers. Erwin speaks up once again, “Nervous?”

“No,” he huffs out of his nose, “excited.”

■

Never once in your life have you imagined maids fretting over you like a highborn lady. Adjusting your dress and hair until you have to shoo them away otherwise you would go mad. You aren’t exactly sure how fancy ladies stand so many hands on them. It is not a huge voluptuous dress either, you did not want one. The maid dresses were even too fancy for your taste, becoming all too accustomed to overalls caked with soil or casual dresses with branch-tugged tears. It hurts knowing nobody but his friends will be here, neither of your parents being alive to see how happy the two of you are but you know your mother would scold you with tears in her eyes and kiss your forehead to know how proud she is of you. You are not sure what your father would have done but if he loved you as much as your mother claimed, you hope he loves the happiness you are experiencing as well.

Levi is waiting at the door for your arm. After becoming close to him throughout a year of officially being Miche’s partner, you two have grown close, bonding over being born in lower status’ than your lovers and teasing the both of them when they show particularly pompous attitudes. And whenever Hanji would flirt, instead of being met with heat down your neck like it was at first, you throw playful quips back until they are keeling over, laughing their heart out.

Levi is silent, but he tucks a red camellia behind your ear with a hand lingering on your cheek. You are lucky he even decided to show affection but you know everything he does comes from a pure place in his heart.

The ceremony is informal, only you and his friends beside another maid and Nanny that has been keen on getting you and Miche together present. Erwin is there to officiate and Levi steps on his foot to cut a soon-to-be long speech short so you two can shut up and kiss already, in Levi’s words.

If only Erwin, Levi, Hanji, Nile and his wife knew what that garden has seen in the early hours of the morning when both you and Miche were struck with the idea of fulfilling a fantasy. Then surely they would not be stepping around the base of the grapefruit tree so casually. The maids already know — quick as fire, remember?

Miche Zacharius has seen the inner workings of his own gilded cage since he was young. But now, finally after all these years, he can experience the life he has always wished for, filled with freedom and passion blowing under his stretched wings.

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Did you enjoy? remember any and all feedback and thoughts are appreciated and enjoyed. I’m sending you love and well wishes.

//: 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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[gaygh0stt]

Hi!!!!!

First off, I am so obsessed with your level of investment in Jed and Octy because SAMEEE. Literally not at least 20 minutes go by that I don’t think about my teeny tiny historical hubbies an insane amount like…too much love💗💗🥺🥺

Second, I have WAYYYY too many thoughts about them and I felt like sharing this bc it’s one of my faves: I have this thing where from the outside looking in it seems that nothing can break Oct..Nothing..He’s an excellent general of great renown with such poise, regiment, and precision in a grand position of power and to most of Rome, he’s very intimidating. He’s physically built extremely well, carries himself with a lot of confidence, perfect posture, and always has a strong scowl or proud smile as a nobleman would. He leads the protecting armies of the land and is responsible for keeping it and its citizens safe and strong. He’s one of, if not the most, powerful man of the empire, so of course he’s unshakable.

“Hey Tavy!”

That is until a certain cute blonde haired cowboy comes strolling by…

When Jed comes around to see him every bit of Oct’s invincibility shatters. Disappears, vanishes, evaporates into thin air. When his eyes meet Jed’s deep blues, that confidence falls, he becomes bashful and giggly like a young boy. His strong expressions turn into crooked smiles and rosy cheeks, and his cold fearsome presence just melts and his heart twinges with bliss and giddiness. He becomes so warm and clumsy and relaxes completely. His stillness and poise breaks and he runs up to Jed and throws his arms around him into a tight embrace, swings him around, snuggles him all close and gives him a big ol stupid smiley kiss, and calls him a thousand adorable nicknames in Latin. He drops all formalities and everything around him ceases to exist except Jed. He becomes far too undone by his love to have the strength of a general or to even appear as one.

“Oh mea deliciae carissime, carissima, mea dulcissima! I am so happy to see you!”

Oct is also ridiculously tactile and can’t stop holding his hands, caressing his cheek, or touching him in some type of way…he’s just so touchy-feely he’s too in love. Jed loves that kind of attention tho🥺🥺♥️♥️

This got super long I’m so sorry, I have too many feelings. 😫💖💖💖 (the formatting might have got dumb thanks tumblr askhabajwj)

this is all immaculate thank you for blessing my asks

#natm #jedtavius #jedediah #jedediah and octavius #jedediah x octavius #octavius

[farlynthordens]

Is Gen gay-coded or just an entertainer? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ random thoughts/observations about his speech in Japanese

Warnings: LONG. mentions of gendered language and homophobic characterizations

The concept of “role language” is super important in Japanese fiction, because how a character talks can tell you a lot about their personality. Unfortunately, it’s often lost in translation because languages like English don’t have the ability to play around with formality levels, pronouns, etc as much.

Ever since I first watched the dcst anime like a year and a half ago, I’ve had no idea if Gen is intended to be the “gay friend” character or just the “quirky famous guy,” or maybe both? I figured that writing out my thoughts might be interesting for some people! Take everything with a grain of salt tho since I’m not a native speaker

1. Backwards speech

I want to first cover backwards speech (localized as pig latin in the English manga) because this used to confuse the fuck out of me. It felt like a quirky teen thing or internet slang, but it’s actually [zuuja-go] (“jazz” written backwards + “language”) which originated in the 40s-50s.

It was revived primarily by male TV stars and comedians in the 80s-90s, and to this day zuuja-go is regarded as a type of [entertainment industry-specific language]. However, it’s hardly used anymore. It’s kinda weird then that Gen, who’s too young to have lived in the revival period, would use zuuja-go, but my guess is that it’s a funny and somewhat original way to show his “popular entertainer” background. I personally don’t know any other characters who use it as regularly.

2. Choice of pronoun + speech patterns

Gen ends nearly every sentence with ~ne, ~yo ne, ~yo, or ~sa, or otherwise no particle at all. Questions almost never have an ending emphasis particle, putting the rise in intonation on the final word (the standard is to end with ~ka, ~no ka, etc). He also always contracts the verb ending ~te shimau into ~chau/jau (Senku always uses the contracted form too, but a more boyish derivative (chimau). It probably sounds crazy but trust me). There’s more I could list, but these are the most notable points lol

This kind of speech pattern is associated with teen girls/young women, so when it’s applied to a perceived male character, it’s used to indicate that they’re an “effeminate man”. In most cases, “effeminate” = gay/trans (yeah it’s shitty and outdated thinking). It’s also been applied to male characters who are idols or internet stars, possibly as a dig at their masculinity or making fun of their attempt to appeal to female audiences.

One example of the latter is Pyotr from Carole & Tuesday, who’s their universe’s equivalent of an Instagram celebrity. His sentence structure is almost identical to Gen’s, with the girlishness turned up to 11 because of the very high pitched, nasal-y voice given to him in the show. More on this later.

We also can’t forget how he calls everyone -chan. It’s diminutive and cute, but literally no one uses -chan that much. Even in fiction, female characters normally use it for female friends or children, and guys almost never use it except for children and maybe certain girls they’re close with. It’s definitely the most exaggerated cutesy trait he has. “Effeminate male” characters often address others - regardless of gender - with diminutive honorifics or cute nicknames even when not necessarily appropriate, so this is just gay-coded behavior from what I can tell lmao

One thing that’s different about Gen compared to other characters with the same "effeminate male” speech pattern (that I can recall, at least) is his pronoun. He uses the masculine “ore”, like Senku, Chrome, and most of the other young male characters. In text, his “ore” is even in kanji (俺) like theirs. Had it been written in hiragana or katakana, it would have given more of a casual or stylish vibe. Just as a sidenote, this is also why his name itself is written in mixed hiragana/katakana instead of kanji! It’s a typical thing for Japanese celebrities to do with their names to seem cool.

Anyway, characters who are meant to be portrayed as “effeminate men” will almost always use watashi or atashi, the standard “female” pronouns, or at least “boku” which is generally male-aligned but softer than “ore” (Pyotr uses boku, as an example).

Pronoun usage is way more nuanced in real life, but for fictional characters, it tends to be broken down into these kinds of stereotypes based on Tokyo-dialect Japanese.

He also is missing some other key points in his speech pattern that would more clearly identify him as gay/trans-coded, like using the feminine ~kashira (”I wonder...”) instead of ~kana.

3. Voice acting in the show

I love Gen’s Jpn voice honestly, but it does play into the “effeminate man” stereotype a little. His voice is a bit higher pitched than the other guys and somewhat nasal-y, which are both common traits of this stereotype when used with the speech patterns I talked about above. The way certain syllables are stressed also highlights his feminine speech pattern. However, he’s comparably tame to “effeminate” characters in other series. For example, his Jpn voice actor does raise the pitch of his natural voice for Gen, but it’s not a falsetto imo. It’s pretty common for male voice actors to do falsettos for “effeminate” characters.

Gen also doesn’t fall under a lot of the tropes that plague many gay/trans-coded characters and quirky celebrity types - such as being a “diva” or uncomfortably flirtatious - which tend to get amplified in voice acting.

---

This stuff combined with my previous post about his clothes makes me wonder even more about what was intended for his character. There’s a lot about him that is notably “feminine” without him leaning too hard into gay stereotype territory. And it’s just like, why did you do that.

If you survived reading this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts<3

#gen related rambling #dr stone #dcst #asagiri gen #yeah i'm back on my bs baby!!!! #been sitting on this for a little while so i hope yall enjoy

[i-is-a-fan-weeb]

first off:Happy Birthday Percy!! And second:thank you to @percydarling for giving me the inspo for my first fic here! So here we go(also i set this in Percy's fourth year so yea) also TW in the tags

Penny walked into the empty Great Hall and spotted Percy sitting at the end of what is normally the Slytherin table,reading on of his many books on mythology.

"Hi Percy! What mythology sre you reading today?" Penny plumped down next to Percy

"Chinese." Percy simply replied,not looking up.

Percy has always been into mythology,ever since his Uncle Gideon brought a book on Greek myths when he was 4 and Percy read it while Gideon,Fabion and Molly talked downstairs. After that,the onky thing Percy wanted for his birthday and Christmas was a book on Greek mythology,before he branched out to other mythologies and muggle religions when he was 10. Then he asked for books on any myths and religion(Arthur got him an actual Bible on his 11th).

This year,Penny,Oliver and Marcus were planning to do more than that.

"Ooo,Chinese. You're so lucky your parents let you read mythology and explore other religions at home." Penny always complained about not being able to read mythology at home because her parent were over-religious muggles and it took her mother everything to not have her father disown her for being a witch. Penny also wasn't allowed to visit or write any of her friends over breaks either.

Out of nowhere,Oliver and Marcus sat down across from Percy and Penny.

"Hey Perce." Oliver took one hand away from Percy's boom and kissed the knuckles. Then he took the book away from Percy.

"Hey!" Percy cried out,reaching for his book,but Oliver,whose much faster,managed to keep it away.

"Na-ahhh. You're not getting this back until we're done." Oliver said,closing the book shut(but not before taking Percy's bookmark and putting it in Percy's place in the book)

"Done with what?" Percy asked,narrowing his eyes at his friends(and boyfriend)

"We have sonething to ask you." Marcus said

"If it's about me being tiebraker for whatever Quidditch match is coming up,the answer will always be no." Percy said,slowly sitting back down.

"What? No. The next Quidditch match is in November." Oliver said increduosly

"We wanted to ask you if you're ok with surprises." Penny tiredly said,already done with Oliver.

"Huh?" Percy asked,confused by this.

"Are you ok with surprises?" Marcus questioned,bored.

"Um,yeah I guess. I live with Fred and George so I got used to surprises pretty early on." Percy suspiciously said.

"Cool." Marcus said,before getting up and leaving,Oliver and Penny following behind.

Percy looked after them confused,before leaving himself.

A week passes,and Oliver comes into his and Percy's dorm,with two random people.

"Hello Penny,Marcus." Percy greeted his friends who are under the influence of Polyjuice.

"Come on." the boy on the right-who is Marcus-said inpatiently.

"Wha-"Percy didn't even get to finish his sentence before the girl on the left-who is Penny-grabbed his arm and pulled him downstairs,followed by Marcus and Oliver.

"Where are we going?" Percy asked as he got dragged by Penny

"You'll see." Oliver whispered in ear teasingly,kissing his cheek.

"Can you save all that romantic sh!t for when you are alone?" Marcus asked.

"Oh shut up."Oliver said said

"All of you shut up!" Penny whisper-shouted,and ponted to Filch and Mrs.Norris up ahead of them.

"The h3ll are we doing?!" Percy whisper-shouted back.

"Shhhh!!" Penny shushed him,and threw out what Percy presumed to be a dungbomb at Filch and his cat.

The dungbomb exploded and Filch and the cat ran away,Filch yelling about who knows what,Mrs.Norris yowling.

"Ok,coast is clear." Penny gestured,and she,Percy(still being dragged by Penny),Oliver and Marcus went in the direction Filch was previously(covering their noses) and out the grand doors.

"Where are we going?" Percy choked out,struggling to get his inhalor out of his pocket*

"I said you'll see." Oliver offhandedly replied

The four of them were walking out towards...Hogsmead?

"Why are we going towards Hogsmead? It's not even close to December!" Percy asked Penny,who didn't give him an answer.

Penny stopped outside of the Three Broomsticks,the Polyjuice finally worn off.

Penny dragged them inside(but not after Marcus took another small dose of Polyjuice).

"Hello,Madame Rosemerta!" Penny gleefully greeted

"Hello,youngsters. Your room is ready,and so are your guests." Madame Rosemerta said,vaguely gestering upstairs,before retreatingto the back room.

"What does she mean by that?" Percy asked,fed up with them keeping these secrets. No one gave him an answer,instead they went upstairs and went all the way down the hall to the very last room.

Marcus went up,the Polyjuice now officially worn off,and knocked some sort of special code.

A little boy with light brown hair and big brown eyes opened the door.

"Hey! We've been waiting!" Cedric Diggory held the door open,and Percy saw birthday decorations,a cake on the table in the middle and a bunch of presents in a corner.

"W-what?" Percy asked quietly.

Penny,Marcus,and Oliver went up and joined Cedric and Adrien Pucey around the table,and they alk started singing "Happy Birthday".

Percy just stood there amazed and confused.

"But-but it's not my birthday?" Percy dazedly said

"We know its not you birthday,which is why we did this!" Adrien said

"We wanted to do something for you because we can't celebrate with you." Cedric said excitedly

"So,you all snuck out of the castle and risked getting expelled,for 𝘮𝘦?" Percy asked

"You act as if we haven't done it before." Marcus snorted

"Yeah,but that's different. Penny and I know which rules to break and how to break them. This is breaking who know how many rules,and Cedric is only a First year,he can't get expelled already." Percy protested.

"Just sit your cute a$$ down and eat some cake." Oliver grabbed Percy by the wrist and sat him down around the table.

"Madame Rosemerta said she'll cover us,as long as we pay for the Butterbeer." Cedric said

"What about this room?" Percy asked

"Madame Rosemerta said we could use it anytine we wanted,no charge unless we damage something." Penny said

"So you and lover boy over here can do what you want behind closed doors." Marcus added

"We have a dorn for that." Oliver countered

"Ew!" Adrien and Cedric exclaimed at the same time

"This is a private room Percy,no one except us and whoever we want to invite can come in." Penny quickly explained

"So,this is some sort of late birthday treat-for me?" Percy asksd quietly

"Yes for you." Oliver said,kissing his boyfriends cheeks

"Can you not do that while I'm here?" Adrien asked,while Cedric stuck out his toungue in disgust.Oliver rolled his eyes.

All of them had a good time eating cake and drinking Butterbeer.

"Here." Oliver handed a gift to Percy.

"What is it?" Percy asked after opening thebpresent which turned out to be a sort of old book.

"It's a Qu'ran. It's another muggle religion book." Oliver explained. Percy's pale,icy blue orbs widened in excitement,almost childlike.

"Here! Here's mine!" Pennt excitedly gave Percy another book-shaped present. Percy opened it,and it turned out to be a empty notebook,with a dark purple cover.

"I put a charm on it,so we can all communicate without having to tire our owls! And I can talk to you all over breaks!" Penny was practically jumping on the tips of her toes in excitement

"Perfect!" Percy exclaimed,and looked up to see everyone pulled out colorful notebooks;Marcus had a dark red,Oliver's was bright green,Penny's was a cheerful yellow,Adrien's was a deep pink and Cedric's was a dark blue.

Percy opened up the rest of the presents-Marcus got him two books,one on how to get away with mûrd3r and the other on how to hide a body.Cedric got him a book on how to speak Latin,a book on how to speek Greek and a book on Russian folklore. Adrien had gotten him a book on Italian myths and superstitions.

"Thank you. Thank you guys so much."

"Don't mention it." Marcus wrapped his arm around Percy,giving the ginger a small grin.

"No,seriously don't mention this to anyone. We can't let the whole castle know that us Slytherins are hanging out with the all of you." Adrien said in a serious yet still sad tone.

"And Fred and George would go the extra 10 miles to make Percy's life even more miserable than the already do." Oliver said grimly

"Enough of this sadness! It's Percy's late birthday and we are going to celebrate it happily!" Penny stomped.

Everyone murmered their agreements and went back to celebrating Percy.

They stayed for another hour before they decided to leave.

As Cedric and Adrien downstairs,Oliver,Percy,Penny and Marcus stayed behind.

"Soo,you wanna do a slumber party?" Marcus asked

"Ok!" Percy exclaimed giddily.

"Who's turn is it?" Penny asked.

"I think it our turn." Oliver gestured to him and Percy

"Ok." Marcus said simply and went downstairs,Penny following him. Leaving Percy and Oliver alone.

"We should-" Percy was cut off by Oliver smashing his lips onto Percys. Percy was at first in shock,but quckly melted into the kiss. The two boys stayed like that for what felt like forever before Oliver slowly pulles away,not really wanting to let go.

"Happy birthday,Percy." Oliver said,putting his face into the taller boys chest.

"Thank you." Percy murmered into the Keepers soft,brown hair.

"Ahem." Oliver and Percy quickly jumped away from each other at the sudden sound,but relaxed when it was only Madame Rosemerta leaning against the doorframe.

"I know you two have hormones and stuff,but please not in my private rooms." She said

Both boys muttered their apologies and quickly walked out

"You forgot your presents!" Madame Rosemerta called out. Oliver quickly ran back up the stairs and ran back down with Percy's gifts.

"Thank you for letting us use this room!" Percy called up to Madame Rosemerta

"Of course! I know what it's like having to hide a relationship!" Rosemerta called down from inside the room.

Percy and Okiver walked the rest of the way back down the stairs and met Penny and Marcus outside.

"What did you think,Perce?" Penny asked,now her and Marcus back to their Polyjuice forms.

"It was great. Honestly,thank you." Percy said gratefully.

"No problem. We know ever since Fred and George took the spotlight,your birthday has been forgotten about." Marcus said grimly.

"What did I say about sadness today!" Penny stomped her foot angrily in the ground.

The four walked back to the castle in a comfortabke silence,snuck back in with no problems and manage to get into Gryffindor tower with out a hitch.

"Here." Percy handed Penny and Marcus some spare pajamas that they all kept in their dorms for whenevr they have sleepovers.

After Penny and Marcus changed and brought out the blow-up matresses that they also keep in their dorms,they all stayed up late and talked and ate some junk food and got drunk off of Firewhisky and Brandy that their House Elf friend Dottie had brought. They stayed up and laughed and had a great time. They all eventually fell asleep at different times(Marcus being the lightweight he is fell asleep first).

Percy will never forget that day.

*Ok so i headcannon Percy to have allergic asthma(if u dont know what that is look it up,i aint google) and that he has like a crap ton of allergies bc who else doesnt like torturing their comfort character? Also before anyone asks,i do have a headcannon that a student that was way before Molly and Arthurs time,much less Percys,also had asthma but couldnt bring her inhalor bc it was muggle technology,so she petitioned for muggle health devices be allowed into hogwarts,and evetually they were allowed but only for health purposes. Im not telling you who that student is tho hehe.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY WEASLEY! And once again thanks to @percydarling for giving me this suggestion!

#harry potter #percy weasley x oliver wood #percy weasley #happy birthday percy weasley #cedric diggory #adrien pucey #penny clearwater #penelope clearwater #marcus flint #madame rosemerta #the three broomsticks #perciver #my first fic on here!! #not my first fic ever but my first fic here on tumblr dot com!!

[beevean]

Airing some advanced frustrations

By request of @latin-dr-robotnik​, who suffered for us :P

So, my stance on the Advance series is: I like Advance 1, I very much dislike Advance 2, and I love Advance 3.

I’ve played Advance 3 more than I should, so out of fairness I decided to replay its predecessors to see if they’d grow on me.

Advance 1 kinda did! At least, I thought it was even better than I remembered. It descends into classic Dimpness by Angel Island Act 2, but the first levels feel fluid and engaging. And Amy best character don’t @ me.

But Advance 2... I think it’s worth to lay down exactly everything that it did wrong, because Advance 2 is an interesting look to how easily Sonic’s design can be twisted.

Sometimes, games are ruined by their very gimmick. One example is Knuckles’ Chaotix. KC was based on the Ring Power system that changed the physics of the characters, and was quite unwieldy. Instead of fixing the physics, they changed the entire levels to be as safe as possible, with zero hazards and dumb Badniks. The design of every act is also pretty much the same for every one of them, mainly vertical since all characters can ascend and without any unique gimmick with the exception of Amazing Arena. Add the baffling decisions of having 5 acts for 5 zones, and the result is a mindnumbing game that gives you literally nothing of value aside from pretty graphics.

Advance 2 is similar. The game is so 100% committed to the old “gotta go fast” formula, that it affects everything.

The level design, for about half the game, really could be summed up as “hold right to win”

The setpieces are few and far-in-between, because platforming would interrupt your running time

(there aren’t even idle animations, they replace the “look up” button: of course, you’d never need to stop and look up)

There is no water at all, except in the very first act (and you run on top of it), the only ice is in the form of ice slides that might send you to your death if your reflexes aren’t lightning fast, the only air gimmick in the sky level are fans that push you forward or stop your fall, and while there is a volcanic level there aren’t any gimmicks related to the volcano trope

There are no moving platforms at all

The closes thing to a gimmick in the levels are the rails, of which there’s an abundance so the novelty wears off very quickly - plus, you can only land on the very top, and if you don’t, death might await you

While all the characters have their own unique moves, you’ll barely be compelled to use them - have you ever climbed a wall with Knuckles? If so, did it feel organic, like something the game expects you to do? It gets even worse with Amy, which is little more than Pink Sonic and is so not worth what you have to go through to unlock her.

This means that the idea that I have to play though the entire game again as Knuckles when I’m almost done with Sonic is unbearably boring because it feels like the same thing for the 4th time and I cannot speed up the process like I could do in, for example, Heroes

While there are alternative paths that you can take with excellent reflexes and memorization, they all feel the same due to the lack of gimmicks - there is no “upper path is faster, lower path is trickier”, every path is fast and tricky

Since the gimmicks are very weak, the difficulty is cranked up by increasing the amount of unavoidable hazards in your way and especially the amount of bottomless pits - and I do mean unavoidable, springs and ramps launch you into enemies for no reason other than giving the illusion of a tricky level

Tricks are great, until you use them in a way the game hasn’t accounted for, and suddenly punishes you for wanting to keep momentum

This makes exploration unintuitive and the player is discouraged from looking for alternative routes

And yet, the Special Stages are unlocked by collecting 7 Special Rings, which do require extensive exploration, even as the design straight up punishes you for it

Also, having to collect 7 in a row is counterintuitive to how cheap and bottomless the design gets in the second half of the game

The bosses are all of the running type (except the final one), reducing the variety of the battle

fuck the sky canyon boss and its instakill attack

Here is where I’ll try to explain how Advance 3, while still having hazard placement problems, in my opinion is not nearly as frustrating as its predecessor.

Advance 3 rewards your curiosity and your desire to replay the game. Sometimes, stupid hazards can be avoided by taking advantage of the team’s special abilities - the crushers in Route 99 Act 1, the crushers in Ocean Base Act 1 and the water in Twinkle Snow Act 1 all can be avoided if you take another route with the right team, and unlike in Advance 2 you can stop and look at your surroundings. Playing through a level can be a different experience depending on which character you choose (just look how easily you can snap some levels in half if you get the right combination). The levels are also much more fun to go through because they all have their own identity and memorable gimmicks. Even collecting Chao, while not the best way to access Special Stages by far, at least makes sense: of course a game all about exploration and experimenting would push you to explore and experiment. It helps that each act only has 2 or 3 or 4 Chao and that they’re saved in memory once collected. (I would do without the key, but that’s another matter...)

So yes, sometimes the game is mean (it sure loves its popping spikes), but if you push through and find ways around it when possible, the experience is closer to a faster, bigger Advance 1, with intricate level design and so many ways to be played. Oh, and you have to finish it only once!

Advance 2 is not rewarding. You get good at it due to sheer trial-and-error, and what it gives you once you’ve mastered it? Levels that rely only on aesthetic and music (which, to be fair, are always on point) to be memorable, that have to be played 4 times (or 5 if you hate yourself) in nearly identical ways. It’s not a deep game, it’s a parody of the Boost games before they were even a thing.

Let’s compare maps.

Advance 1:

Advance 1 is varied. Neo Green Hill starts off with a very small, linear act with a handful of alternative paths, perfect to experiment with the different characters and get the hang of how they work. Casino Paradise is gigantic in comparison, fitting as it’s inspired by Carnival Night but not as time consuming, and it’s very easy to fall into the lower paths. Ice Mountain goes through the water multiple times, but if your reflexes are good you can jump in time to avoid unnecessary water; Amy and Tails fare well here.

Advance 3:

Advance 3's maps are infamously enormous, wide in all directions. Route 99 Act 1 is fairly straightforward, understandable for the first level, and the map looks convoluted only because you go up and down and all around: but in fact you’re mostly going straight, with a few shortcuts that you can take if you use Tails’ Tag Actions, a nice way to ease you into the mechanic. Sunset Hill Act 1 is multilayered, with paths that cross each other, and in fact the upper path is not always the fastest one; this act also relies a lot on switches to progress if you choose the slower paths, but with the right teams you can bypass them. Ocean Base Act 1 is a beast of verticality, matched only by Egg Rocket in the first Advance: if you don’t bring Tails as your partner, you’re going to spend a lot of time here dodging crushers and riding platforms... but if you do bring him, you’ll be rewarded.

And now Advance 2:

Can you see the problem yet?

They all go in the same direction (well, Sky Canyon goes up and not down). They’re all long and linear. There’s no variation of speed. The only difference between Leaf Forest and Egg Utopia is that the latter has the typical reverse gravity gimmick that Dimps adores and the fact that now mistakes are much more lethal.

Why did I go all the trouble to rant about a game that not many talk about anymore? Well, it’s what I mentioned at the beginning: if you approach Sonic thinking its only characteristic is “gotta go fast”, the game you’re gonna get is Advance 2. The very flat, boring, “there’s no way to put normal obstacles in these levels so we’re gonna throw bottomless pits at the player until they get sick of them” Advance 2.

Sonic may be the name and speed his game, but that doesn’t mean that pure speed is good. The other Advance games knew it, and the first one took pages out of the Classics, while the third tried to combine features from both its predecessors to create its own beast. Neither is perfect, but both are engaging and fun in a way Advance 2 can’t reach, because it’s too busy trying to add fake depth to a shallow concept.

Taking a breath is good, sometimes.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic advance #sonic advance 2 #sonic advance 3 #long post #sometimes i just wanna rant #this is in honor of the poor fella who's been screaming obscenities about dimps for the past hour #anyway go play advance 1 and 3 if you haven't already

[ronans-sepiaphotograph]

The sacrifices we make.

Also known as, my take on the TRK ending-ish after Blue kisses Gansey. I have hounded @ganseymaboi @91percentpynch @jostyardho about this for weeks so here we go. I'm so sorry but this is just pure pain and angst.

(TW for death)

He fell quietly from her arms.

He was a king.

Adam's heartbeat stuttered as he watched Gansey die. Something in his chest cracked open and broke. So this was what pain felt like when you lost someone you cared for so deeply. A sudden drop, a vicious blow and a horrific hollow that you left empty and gasping for air.

Adam stood there frozen, Orphan Girl's hand tightly held in his and Henry standing beside him as they watched Blue and Ronan crouched over Gansey. Ronan was crying, so was Blue but Adam's gaze flickered from Blue's bleeding eyelid to Gansey's dead body to Ronan's neck. He was responsible for all of those things. Blue's stitches, Ronan's bruises and Gansey's death from his vision from the dream tree.

It was after his snapping and Henry's prodding that he thought about the fact that they could ask Cabeswater to sacrifice itself to save Gansey.

Adam felt Cabeswater and the ley line flow through him like it always had, except now it seemed slower, weaker. Adam spoke, pleaded and begged to Cabeswater to save Gansey, to do something to save Gansey. He couldn't just let Gansey die. He signalled to Blue, wordlessly because they understood each other well and she spoke. Please, echoed Blue's voice all through Adam till it reached Cabeswater and it breathed in recognition. The tir e e’lintes. Blue was one of them.

Cabeswater breathed, the leaves rustled and water flowed and Adam heard broken Latin words before magic happened and Adam felt something happen, something he couldn't understand but he could feel it. The warmth beneath his skin and in his nerves, the weaving of something magical and Adam felt Blue and her sadness ram into Cabeswater and it didn't budge but absorbed it, weaved it into the patchwork quilt it was working on.

But then it stopped. Adam felt the line power down, felt it in his body, soul and all and he swayed but Henry caught him quickly, sliding his arms around Adam's body.

Blue and Ronan stared at him. Adam felt hollow, all over again.

Cabeswater?

Not enough, the trees spoke. Not enough.

It made sense to Adam that Cabeswater had lost itself because of the demon, or lost most of itself because of the unmaker itself. But without Cabeswater, there would be nobody.

To Adam, the choice was saving Gansey and Ronan or death, and he knew what his answer would be.

Not enough, the trees rumbled again, stuttering words. Not enough.

Adam gathered himself, thanked Henry. He let go of Orphan Girl's hand and pat her head twice, thrice for good measure. She tilted her head at him in question, wondering. It was a surprise she hadn't guessed Adam's answer yet.

"It'll be okay", he told her.

He looked at Henry, then at Blue who sat with Gansey's head on her and then finally braved to look at Ronan. He was barely ten steps away but now it felt like ten thousand, ten million even.

Not enough, he heard. Not enough.

I gave you my hands, I gave you my eyes, he replied.

The next moment, he saw Ronan gape at him because of course he heard it to. Ronan was getting up and Orphan Girl was telling in incoherent Latin beside him but he wasn't really paying attention. He saw Ronan dart towards him.

He closed his eyes.

I gave you my hands, I gave you my eyes, he replied. Now I give you all of me, to save all of them.

Magician, the trees roared. Somewhere five steps away, Ronan did too.

When he opened his eyes, Gansey woke up. Adam fell quietly, eyes staring into Ronan's as he fell, and kept on falling.

A king woke up from his sleep, another fell into it.

*

Ronan was late, he was so fucking late as he ran towards Adam but he was fucking late. The gravel crunched under his shoes as he ran, watched Adam fall like a raggedy doll and Orphan Girl scream loudly and Henry watch Adam fall.

Because it was Aurora first, Gansey next and now Adam. Ronan had thought he would have died before he watched Adam sacrifice his life but no, the fucking idiot had to do something like that.

Adam's head hit the ground, muddy water splashing across his cheeks and his hair turning a muddy brown from its dusty blond. Orphan Girl was wailing loudly.

Wake up, Atom, she screamed.

He's not going to wake up.

He was not going to wake up.

Ronan fell down on his knees. His chest hurt, so did everything but he couldn't bear the vision anymore. He wrapped his arms around Adam's wrist, desperately trying to feel something, something at least. But nothing, he just felt his fingers press into the wrist bone of Adam's hand.

He wrapped his arms around Adam's lifeless body, pressed Adam's head against his chest and let his tears fall on Adam's hair. And then he screamed at the top of his lungs until everything hurt a bit more and he couldn't yell Adam's name anymore. Henry crouched beside him, he was crying too. Orphan Girl was still wailing loudly, muttering periodic phrases in Latin.

Two palms pressed into both of his shoulders. Gansey had woken up, because of course he had. Blue sat on her knees, mirroring Henry. Adam felt cold, lifeless, light under his hands and Ronan felt colder, dead, heavy on himself.

"Parrish, you fucking idiot. You fucking idiot."

"Ronan-" Gansey began but his words fell short. He instead wrapped his arms around Orphan Girl, who had climbed onto his lap. One of Blue's arms was around Ronan's neck, the other on his arm which snaked itself around Adam's shoulder. She squeezed his arm, Ronan squeezed Adam's arm. Her head lay on Ronan's shoulder, choked sobs entering his ears.

"We should go", Henry said, voice hoarse.

The rain had subsided now, pouring in light drizzles now. They all got up, with Gansey picking Orphan Girl in his arms and she hid herself. Blue wiped her eyes and got up. Her hand lay on Ronan's elbow as he got up too. He slid one arm under Adam's knees and the other under his back and picked him up. His breath hitched when one of Adam's arms fell to the side but Blue quickly folded it across his chest.

Ronan dared look at Adam again. He looked asleep, peaceful even.

Peaceful and Adam Parrish just didn't go along in a sentence.

It felt like a cosmic joke, seeing Adam was so peacefully asleep.He didn't, couldn't bother to let go of Adam so Gansey slid into the driver's seat of the BMW with Blue in the passenger seat and Orphan Girl and Henry on either side of Ronan in the backseat with Adam's head tucked under Ronan's chin and his legs spread long across Henry's lap, who put his hands on them and stared blankly. They just sat in the car, Ronan didn't bother to care why they weren't moving.

Adam.

Adam.

Adam.

The ocean burned, the rain fell over it. It stopped burning.

He remembered making the mixtape for Adam's shitbox, remembered feeling warm at the mere thought of imagining Adam's face when the Murder Squash song blasted through the speakers. He remembered dreaming the lotion for Adam's chapped hands, and the way it smelled of wood and moss. He remembered the way Adam smiled, elastic and amiable.

"Wake up, Parrish."

"Your dumb fucking idiot. How dare you? How fucking dare you?"

"you can't just die on me, Adam."

"Adam, please."

He remembered the shape of Adam's hands, the feeling of Adam's palm against his, his fingers around Adam's wrist and their thumbs crossed over one another's. He remembered Adam in the hospital when he had lost his hearing, remembered Adam at the court facing his father alone because he didn't want Gansey or Ronan to find out.

He remembered him kissing Adam, and Adam kissing him and his name pouring out of Adam's mouth, honey velvet smooth. He remembered the warmth of Adam's lips, chapped and dry and the way Adam tasted of the coke they had had for dinner.

He remembered.

He kept on remembering.

How dare he forget?

He watched Orphan Girl tuck one of the blue dream flowers behind Adam's ear. He closed his eyes, dropped his head on Adam's till their foreheads touched.

"tamquam", he whispered.

He didn't hear anything back.

#the raven cycle #maggie stiefvater #adam parrish #ronan lynch #blue sargent #henry cheng #richard campbell gansey iii #the raven boys #the dream thieves #blue lily lily blue #the raven king #yes this is very very painful i know #pratt's fics #pratt rants #the pain this has caused me wow.

[bitchapalooza]

I got a little carried away with names today. Started with Sweden then went all over the place lmao. I'd like your guys' opinions on the names I've chosen before I ever use them in published works.

Sorry for the long read in advance ^^

Sweden: Berthold— I just like it. Not 100% sold on it though. He still has his canon surname as, as far as I know, there are no issues with it.

Denmark: Mikkel Hanssen— I just like it lol.

Ladonia: Oscar(or Oskar)— Its pretty sweet which is why I'm pretty sure Sweden would have chosen it for him. Not sure which spelling I like better. Shares a surname with Sweden.

Liechenstien: Lotta Vogal— I like em both. Not super sure how correct in origin or popular Lotta is as I keep getting mixed results, often talking about Scandinavian origin and bringing up the name Lottie and how popular that is in America. But it does mention how its used in German speaking countries.

South Italy: Lorenzo— Its from both Italy and Spain so I think it fits Romano well. The meaning not so much but Romano probably picked it because that's how he'd like to see himself one day??

Rome: Gaius Vergilius Crispus— The praenomen Gaius comes from the same root as gaudere, which means to rejoyce, happy which fits Rome to a T. His nomen is Virgilius as a reference to poet Publius Vergilius Maro(Virgil). Crispus as his cognomen because of his curly hair. I wanted Romulus to be his praenomen, however Romulus is not a praenomen whatsoever. It seems to be a nomen. I'm quite fond of Virgilius though to be honest. I actually had to deep dive this one to make sure everything was correct(meaning and order). The praenomen are the given names and those weren't normally used outside of the family(meaning only Romano and Italy would call Rome Gaius). Rather it was either their nomen or cognomen used freely. So I had to keep the importance of each name in mind; I couldn't really find the meaning behind Virgilius except that it is the latinized version of the english Virgil.

Seborga: Alonzo— Finally found a name for Seborga that I think fits better than Romeo! Well I'm still not sure of it for the long run but it does fit better than Romeo at least(in my opinion).

Italies' surname: Russo— Not super sure of this one. Its Sicilan/Southern Italian in origin but quick google searches repeatedly tell me that it has spread to other regions due to internal migration. It's also the second most popular surname in Italy(or that's at least what several sites have told me). I'm not sure if Russo is a good name for all three of the Italy brothers, but I do think its at least a plausible one for Romano. And as Romano is the older brother, perhaps Veneziano just took it some time after unification? Maybe to try and feel closer to the brother he barely grew up with?

Greece's surname: Katsaros— I dunno about this one still. But curly-haired is at least better than being a watermelon. Might change later, might not.

Cyprus: Demetris Georgiou— Not super sure about his name as a whole. Nicos is an alternative given name. Not sure about an alternative surname.

America's middle name: Fitzgerald— Its speculated that the F in his name is a reference to John F. Kennedy(or its Freedom). John F. Kennedy's middle name is Fitzgerald. There you have it. Actually, I honestly didn't know JFK's middle name was Fitzgerald beforehand, I kinda just really liked Fitzgerald as America's middle name already. Then I went into looking up the name's origin and meaning and google just handed this fact to me kinda randomly. Either way, I really do like the ring Alfred Fitzgerald Jones has.

Australia: Kyle King— I just like the name Kyle for him. It sounds nice. No deep reason for choosing Kyle. King, however, I feel like he might have chosen to like say fuck you to England after abandoning him? Like I'm the King now?? I'm in control?? From what I've seen on a few sites, King is a fairly common surname. Also considering Martin or Walker as alternative options.

New Zealand: James Brown— He looks like a James so he is a James. According forebears.io, Brown is the 4th most common surname in New Zealand. I'm not super sold on this surname yet but I do quite like the combination of it with James.

Wy: Charlotte "Charlie"— She gives off a lot of tomboyish vibes to me so I wanted to give her a kinda "boyish" nickname that Australia most likely started. Well it just so happens that Charlotte is a pretty popular name in Australia! She shares Australia's surname.

Hutt River: David— He just looks like a David. Plain and simple. Shares a surname with Australia. Despite being dissolved, I still like his character(and design) so I refuse to acknowledge him being dead lmao.

Molossia: Maximilian "Max" Theodore Jones— I picked a kinda flashy name for him because I tried to think like him while choosing it. He looks up to America. America is often flashy and exaggerated. What better way than to get your mentor's attention than by a name like Maximilian?? And I simply thought Theodore would be a good correlation to the middle name I gave America; they're both references to US presidents(Theodore Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy).

Kugelmugel: Tobias— No super deep reason. Its common in Austria in the year(or close to) when was he founded. I think Austria isn't super creative when naming things or people so he picked something common. Kugel probably does not care.

Osaka: Honda Tetsuya— I think he'd share Japan's surname rather than having his own. As for his given name, I chose something pretty common in Japan as a whole. I'm not sure about this choice, however.

Niko Niko Republic: Takahashi Shigeru— Again, picked common names. I didn't think he'd share Japan's surname, especially after dissolving. I thought maybe he'd like his very own name as he chooses his very own life to live out into old age y'know? Not totally confident in these name choices, however.

Monaco: Jules— I'm debating whether I personally like her having the same surname as France or not. I haven't found any alternative surnames yet as I'm not really dwelling on it. Jules, however, I think fits her pretty well.

Holy Roman Empire: Otto— Reference to Otto I, the Holy Roman Emperor, as well as Otto von Bismarck to kinda correlate the Germany-HRE theory(whether I 100% believe it not).

I'm honestly considering giving Germany a different surname than Beilschmidt since he was never given one by Hima in the first place(even stated there was a reason for that). I'm not sure if I will or not because I'm still looking into surnames for HRE, which I'm having a hard time doing so if I'm honest. Its harder than picking Rome's tria nomina lol.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia human names #hetalia rome #hetalia romano #hetalia south italy #hetalia monaco #hetalia seborga #hetalia sweden #hetalia america #hetalia molossia #hetalia kugelmugel #hetalia denmark #hetalia ladonia #hetalia liechtenstein #hetalia greece #hetalia cyprus #hetalia australia #hetalia wy #hetalia hutt river #hetalia new zealand #hetalia osaka #hetalia hre #hetalia holy rome #hetalia niko niko republic #most name searches took like 15 mins to load pls appreciate my work ToT

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 13

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

If you’re new to Sapere Aude, please click the link above to start from the beginning. There’s so much going on right now that you’ll be way too confused to start from this point. Plus, there are some major bombshells that won’t be as fun if you read this and get a bunch of spoilers.

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Trigger Warning: There is a brief moment of physical abuse, it’s not much, but I definitely wanted to mention it and give a fair warning. 

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 2,383

A/N: I know you’ve all been on the edge of your seats wondering what was going to happen, the answer is a lot. This is a pretty big chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Thanks to my pre-reading babes, @jessiembruno & @txemrn. And to @twinkleallnight for my lovely moodboard! 

Tags: Listed below, hit me up to be added or removed.

“Um...actually, it’s about the queen. Your majesty, you need to come with me, and we need to send some additional guards along with us.”

Liam’s face paled at Thomas’s words. “Where is my wife, Thomas?” He kept his voice quiet, so that he wouldn’t upset his daughter but his tone was stern and authoritative. 

“I believe she is at the old Fierro estate, and time may be of the essence.” 

“Li, go. We’re all here, we can take care of Eleanor.” Drake chimed in. 

Liam nodded. “Bastien, please send as many guards as you can immediately, and prepare the car for us. Thomas, go with him and tell him everything you know so that we can fill the team in.” Both men bowed and quickly exited the room. Liam walked over to Eleanor, sitting in the chair next to her. “Eleanor, I need to step out and pick up mommy, ok? Your auntie and uncles will be here to play with you until we get back.”

“Can I come with you?” She asked hopefully.

Liam took a deep breath before answering her. “I’m sorry princess, but I need to go by myself. But you have a very important job here. Since Valtoria is your home, you need to host our guests. Being a hostess is something you will need to do a lot when you become queen, so this will be wonderful practice. Do you think you’re up for it?”

She nodded her head rapidly. “Yes daddy, I will be the best hostess!”

“Good. Now go with Uncle Drake, and mommy and I will see you when we get home.” He pulled her into a hug, kissing her cheek as they pulled apart. 

Eleanor ran to Drake, taking his hand and pulling him toward the door. “C’mon Uncle Drake, I’m the hostess.” Drake chuckled before looking back at Liam and giving him a reassuring nod.

Liam waited a few moments to make sure that Drake and Eleanor were out of his path before rushing out of the room and toward the front entrance. The car was waiting for him, Bastien holding the back door open for Liam to enter. He jumped in and Bastien shut the door behind him, quickly jumping into the driver's seat. The SUV’s wheels squealed as it rushed toward the gates.

“How far out are the guards?” Liam asked. 

“We had a team training not too far from the estate, they should be arriving shortly. They have been briefed.” Bastien replied, looking at Liam through the rearview mirror. 

“Excellent. Would someone care to brief me now? Where is my wife?” Liam commanded. 

Bastien looked over at Thomas, who was seated next to him. “Thomas, please explain to his majesty the current situation.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his hands nervously balling into fists. “Of course. You see sir, there is an organization, the Via-”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, interrupting Thomas. “Thomas, please spare me. I know about the Via Imperii, Riley has been telling me about the meetings, the plans, everything.”

“Everything?” There was a slight crack in Thomas’s voice as he looked back at Liam. If she had told him everything, Liam knew who he was.

“Yes Thomas, everything, including our relationship. Right now, that is the last thing I am concerned with. I need you to tell me what they are doing to Riley, and what we need to do to get her out.”

“Unfortunately, I do not know much. I’m sure you were made aware of the conflict between her majesty and Lord Neville. Well it appears that he and Mara have lured her to the estate under the guise of a meeting with our chapter president. I don’t know what they are planning to do from there.” 

Liam’s jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair. “Bastien, remind me again why we didn’t dismiss Mara after her charge, the queen, my wife, was kidnapped at our wedding? It seems like grounds for termination to me.”

“She went through a thorough re-training process, and passed all of the associated tests. It was determined that she was able to adequately perform her duties.” Bastien replied. 

“Adequate is not acceptable for protecting the life of a Queen. We need exceptional as the bare minimum. She should have never been cleared to return to such a high profile duty. We will be having a meeting immediately to review protocol and standards.” The mixture of concern and rage swirling inside of Liam was becoming overwhelming, he was having trouble thinking straight. He turned to look out the window, taking deep breaths to regain some level of composure. 

***

“Since rational discussion is not going to be an option here, I guess we’re going to have to go to plan b, elimination.” Neville said to Mara as they sat across from each other, Riley tied to the chair at the head of the table. 

Riley laughed. “Sure, elimination. I bet that will work out great for you. It’s super easy to just make a reigning queen disappear.”

“We have been successful in doing it with two out of the last four queens. What do you think makes you so special?” Neville turned his attention to Riley, genuinely curious to know her reasons. 

“Well first of all, Eleanor was in on the plan, so she doesn’t count, so it’s actually one out of four. And second, I’m sure Liam and the rest of the guards, the loyal ones,” she looked poignantly at Mara, “are on their way. I’ve been gone long enough that Liam has definitely already had them ping the location of my phone.”

Mara pulled a phone out of her pocket and waved it in front of Riley with a smug grin on her face. “It has been powered off since I pulled it from your pocket as you were getting into the car.” She placed it on the table and slid it toward Riley.

“Any more smart remarks?” Neville asked, standing from his seat. He approached Riley, taking her face in his hand and leaning in close. “The fairytale is over Riley, and the ending isn’t quite as happy as you thought.”

Riley could feel her nerves starting to take over. Yes, Liam would be missing her right now, but how was he going to find her? She felt her heart rate increase, trying to keep her composure. She had been through this before. For as much as she hated Anton, she had to give him credit, he was much better at this than Neville was. If she could survive that, she could figure out a way out of this. 

She thought back to that night at the abandoned castle, she needed to channel that version of herself again. And she certainly couldn’t let Neville know he was getting to her. “What happened? You couldn’t find a woman to kiss you out of being a frog faced asshole? Or you did and it just didn’t work?”

“That’s enough!” the back of Neville’s hand abruptly met with Riley’s face, the force of the impact almost knocking the chair over. She moved her jaw back and forth several times, trying to assess the damage as best she could with her hands tied behind her back. “Mara, do we have anything to gag her with?” 

Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Neville and Mara looked at each other in confusion, nobody else knew about the plan. “Well?” Neville raised his hands in frustration. “You’re the security guard, go assess the damn threat!”

Mara jumped to her feet and opened the door to find Eleanor on the other side. “Ah Mara, I heard you and Queen Riley had stopped by, I’m so glad I was able to catch you.” She didn’t wait for Mara to respond before brushing past her and entering the room. “Lord Neville, I didn’t know you would be using one of our meeting rooms today. You didn’t clear it through the proper channels. What have we got here?” Eleanor walked straight past Neville and went right to Riley. She took in her appearance, noticing a red mark on her cheek and a small trail of blood running down her face. Her eyes were watering, but she hadn’t shed a single tear. Eleanor was impressed by the strength she was showing under these circumstances. She gave Riley a subtle wink before taking a seat and motioning for Mara and Neville to do the same. “Now, should we talk about where you plan to take things from here, considering you clearly haven’t thought this scheme all the way through?” 

“We’re going to do what this organization has done for years, eliminate the threat. Maybe we will be more successful in the king’s next social season, and get a cooperative queen in place.” Neville replied.

Riley took a shaky breath, but the idea of her being taken away from her family was too much for her to bear. The tears she had been holding back broke free, and she began sobbing. Eleanor walked back over to Riley and knelt down in front of her. “It’s alright dear, you aren’t going anywhere.” She placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before standing and turning her attention back to her captors. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much time and careful planning goes into enacting an elimination plan? You can’t just decide to kill the queen and expect that everything will go off without a hitch!”

As if on cue, the door burst open and several members of the King’s Guard entered with their weapons drawn. Mara immediately drew her weapon and aimed it at Neville. “Hands in the air, Lord Vancoeur.”

“Drop the weapon Mara.” One of the guards commanded.

Mara continued acting as if she was assisting in the rescue efforts, ignoring the guard’s warning. “I’m glad you guys got here, I was having trouble calling for backup to save the -”

A loud pop filled the room, Riley flinched, keeping her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, she saw Mara laying on the ground in a pool of blood as two guards rushed Neville and took him into custody. Two more pulled Eleanor away from Riley and forced her hands behind her back. “Stop!” Riley ordered, causing both guards to look up. “She is not a part of this, she was here rescuing me. Let her go.” The guards complied, and Eleanor went back to Riley’s side, quickly undoing the fastenings that bound her to the chair. As soon as she was free, Riley stood and rubbed each of her wrists before raising a hand to her face, gently placing it on the spot that Neville had hit, and moved her jaw back and forth a couple more times. She looked at Eleanor, her eyes welling up again. “You...you saved me.”

“Of course, dear. I told you I wouldn’t let them take you away from your family.” Riley wrapped her arms around Eleanor and pulled her into a hug. Eleanor could hear her hitched breathing and knew she had begun to cry. “It’s ok Riley, you’re safe now. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

***

Liam was lost in his thoughts, watching the scenery go by as they neared the estate. The sound of Thomas’s phone ringing took him out of his thoughts. He quickly moved his attention to the front of the car, listening intently to Thomas’s answers to the person on the other end. They were simple, one word answers, and he was unable to read any kind of emotion in his voice. “Well?” Liam said, before Thomas had even fully moved the phone away from his ear. “Is Riley ok?” The seconds it took to get his response felt like an eternity for Liam. 

“Yes your majesty, Riley is safe. Lord Vancoeur has been taken into custody, and Mara was killed. Queen Riley is safe and awaiting our arrival.” 

Liam breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in his seat. He was glad she was safe, but he needed to get there. He needed to see it for himself, to hold her, to kiss her. He needed to get her home where he could protect her. 

The car pulled up to the front of the estate, and before it could come to a complete stop, Liam had jumped out and ran to the door. He burst into the estate frantically sticking his head into every doorway looking for her. Finally, he approached a large sitting area with a fireplace running, and there she was, silently watching the flames dance. “Riley? Love?”

Riley blinked a couple of times before turning and meeting Liam’s gaze. “Liam…” her voice was barely above a whisper as she slowly stood to greet him. 

He rushed to her, immediately pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly as he kissed the top of her head. He pulled back, taking her face in his hands. The pressure of his touch on her still tender cheek made her wince in pain. Liam removed his hands and examined her face. “Riley, who did this to you?” He tried to keep calm, not wanting to cause her any more stress or pain.

“Stupid fucking Neville. I made some frog prince joke and he decided to heckle me with the back of his hand.” 

Liam clenched his jaw, and took a deep breath. He would deal with Neville, but for now, he needed to be with his wife. “Riley, I am so sorry that you had to go through this. I should never have let you do this. It could have been so much worse.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, he noticed the marks on her wrist from the restraints, and turned his head to kiss them softly. “But it’s not, because Eleanor, your mother, saved me.”

“My...why would she do that?”

“Because I couldn’t let you lose her.” A lump formed in Liam’s throat at the sound of the voice behind him. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he had never forgotten it. He turned around and as soon as they locked eyes, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Hello, Liam.”

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @bbrandy2002 @chemist-ana​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @pixie88 @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @sweatyrysconnoisseur @tessa-liam @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

Sapere Aude:

@burnsoslow @busywoman @gardeningourmet @ofpixelsandscribbles @tinkie1973

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612

Liam:

@amandablink @yourmajesty09

#choices #play choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices fic writers creations #choices trr #choices trh #trr/trh #trr fandom #trh fandom #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #the royal romance #the royal heir #trh book 3 #the royal finale #choices the royal romance #choices the royal heir #king liam #trr king liam #trh king liam #trr liam x mc #trh liam x mc #Sapere Aude #liam x riley

[heroes-of-olympus-next-gen]

Next Chapter

This fic might be one of my favourite pieces of writing. (I say that a LOT, ik but cope with me).It's the day Nico and Will drop Bianca in her dorm in Harvard.

Bianca stared at her childhood room. Yes, that was what she was calling it from that point forward. Her new room would be a small dorm in Harvard that she would share with a girl named Alisson Thompson, a pre-med student. The summer went by so fast that she didn’t even realise that their time was running out. None of them did. Everything after graduation was a blur.

“Are you packed?” Nico asked her, standing behind her. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought that Bianca was moving to another state four hours away from them. He was always sure that Bianca was meant for great things, but letting her go was tough.

“Hm?” She was too distracted to pay attention to what was happening around her. She was leaving her home. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“Have you packed everything?” He repeated.

“Yes, I’m ready.” She said. She had managed to fit all the stuff she would take with her in three suitcases, a couple boxes, a backpack, and her violin case. “Dad is putting my stuff in the car right now.”

Nico never had his parents drive him to university. It was one of the moments that he cherished the most as a parent. He remembered the Harvard onesie Kayla had bought to Bianca when she was born. And now she was actually going there. “We’re very proud of you. We would have been proud of you in whatever school you would go to, but you got into your dream school.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Bianca confessed. “Any part of it.” The two of them hugged.

“That’s all you. All I did was read you the Iliad when you were a baby.” Nico joked. The first few months after Bianca was born and couldn’t sleep at night except if they reading to her all night. Nico had taken a more literary perspective and read Bianca classic Literature in English, Italian, Latin, and Ancient Greek.

She started laughing. “I am going to miss you. Is it too late to ditch Harvard and go to New Athens University?” Of course, she didn’t mean it, but a tiny part inside of her wanted to stay in her bedroom and never move out of her childhood house.

“I think so. You’ll have to go to poor old Harvard now. How about we go downstairs.” Nico told her and left the room.

Bianca picked up Albus from underneath her bed. He had understood that Bianca was going to leave which made him a little mellow as well. He was Bianca’s dog since she was 2-years-old. Another person she had to say goodbye to. She took him in her arms, closed both the light and the door behind her.

As soon as Albus saw the backyard, Bianca left him free to run. Charlie was waiting for her. “Hey.” She kissed him, not caring that her whole family was a room away from them. She didn’t know when or if she was going to see Charlie before Thanksgiving, and three months was a long time to be away from him. She was going to take advantage of every moment she had with him. When they stopped kissing she sighed. “I am going to miss you.” Their fingers intertwined.

“Me too. But it’s just a two hours’ drive from Yale. If you ever need anything I’ll come by.” Charlie told her.

“My roommate is going to be thrilled.” Bianca kissed him again.

“High PDA alert,” Zoe said as she walked inside. She was moving to MIT the next week, which meant that she would be a whole week away from Bianca. Still, better than a whole semester. “Sorry, wrong timing. Continue kissing.”

“Shut up and hug me. I’m trying really hard not to start crying.”

Zoe hugged her. “We’ll have movie nights every Friday. I’ll sneak in your dorms.”

“What would I do without the two of you?” Bianca put her hands around Charlie’s neck. “I love you.” She whispered to her boyfriend.

“I love you more.” Charlie smiled.

“Go, I don’t want you to see me leave. It will be like when Meredith watched Cristina leave. And I don’t need that kind of emotion” Bianca told them.

“Call me whenever you want.” Charlie kissed her on the cheek.

Zoe gave her a final hug. “See you next week, partner.”

Bianca stepped outside. The car was loaded up with her stuff. “We’re ready whenever you’re,” Will told her.

Jasmine hugged her sister. “I’m going to miss you.”

Bianca held her tight. “You can take anything from my stuff, and we can pretend that you never touched everything. You’re the master of the house now that I’ll be gone.” She whispered in her ear. “Come here. We aren’t that uncool.” She motioned to Ryder.

“It’s not going to be the same without you around.” He confessed. He was the tallest of the three.

“Aww, you’re going to miss me.”

“I never said something like that.” Ryder declared.

“I’m ready to go,” Bianca said and let go of her siblings.

“We’ll see you tonight,” Will told them as the three of them got in the car. The drive to Boston was 4 hours long which gave them the chance to also do a pit stop at Starbucks before leaving the state.

They spent most of the day unpacking Bianca’s stuff. Her roommate would come the next day which would give Bianca enough time to fix her mess. From their messages, Alisson sounded like a very nice person, and they had a lot of stuff in common. Before Will and Nico left they took Bianca out to eat dinner together.

“That’s it,” Bianca said as they drove her back to the campus. She had left her car in New York on purpose so that she could find a good excuse to go back home for a weekend.

“Whatever and whenever you need anything call us,” Nico told her.

Bianca hugged them both. “Thank you for everything.” She knew that if she started crying saying goodbye would be even harder.

“Thanks for being the most amazing daughter we could have asked for.”

“Bye,” Bianca said softly. They kissed her goodbye and then left.

As soon as they drove away from Harvard they both started crying. Under no circumstances they would have let Bianca see them crying on the day that they would leave her at school.

Bianca went to the common room where she met some of the people who were staying with her. She talked a lot with Izzie Montgomery, an economics major with an unhealthy obsession with romanticism era literature. Sometime after 12 she went back to her room and facetimed both Colin, Zoe and Charlie.

She put on her favourite sweater and reached to her backpack for her book. She got under the covers and opened the first page of the Iliad. It must have been the millionth time that she read that book. The binding was barely keeping the pages together. But it was a little piece that reminded her of home. She held the book close to her chest and maybe a few tears were shed. She finally closed the lights and fell asleep.

The next chapter of her life had just begun.

#bianca solace di angelo #solangelo babies #nico di angelo #nico di angelo fanfic #heroes of olympus next gen #nico di angelo headcanon #pjo next gen #solangelo family #solangelo textpost #solangelo oneshot #solangelo fanfic #solangelo headcanon #will solace fanfiction #will solace fanfic #will solace headcanon #solangelo #will solace #toa headcanons #hoo headcanon #pjo headcanon #he deserves it #hoo #charlie jackson #percy jackson headcannons #pjo #percabeth #percababies #solangelo children #toa #percy jackson

[isfjmel-phleg]

2, 11, 12, 19, and 20 for the writers ask meme :)

2. What an area in your writing you’re proud you’ve grown in?

I think my characters and dialogue, while still not perfect, have become a lot more real and emotionally charged in the last several years.

For instance, this conversation between Elystan and Bethira is from a version of Book 3, circa 2015, when it was told in first-person POV:

I had opened my mouth to ask when I would leave, when she added, “But I don’t know if you’re well enough to go. Perhaps I should wait until the spring. You might be less delicate by then.”

“But I want to go [to] school,” I announced.

“Really? Oh thank heavens. I was terrified you would hate the notion. If you’re so eager, then, perhaps I can allow it. But I don’t wish to aggravate your condition. It’s a long carriage ride to Amar.”

“What condition?” All but a confession if I ever heard one. She didn’t know I knew what she meant.

“Well—everything you’ve just told me. Your breathing.”

“I think I might try going anyway. Perhaps the air would do me some good.” Anything to get out of Endean. I’d rather die someplace else.

“You would leave in a month. Would that be time enough to prepare and recuperate?”

“Perhaps.” I caught myself sitting upright and drooped back into position. “But I’d need my rest. Don’t you think I require as much of it as possible?”

“Of course—”

“Then I must start as soon as possible. I want to go back to bed now. Good afternoon, madam.”

She rose from her chair with unsteady knees. “Good afternoon, dear. Sleep well. I—”

“You what?”

“Oh, never mind!” She stalked away and slammed the door after her. Hardly necessary. I had said nothing to her which required high dudgeon. That she was even capable of behaving like that took me aback. I’d never seen her like that before. Something was apparently bothering her. Silly woman.

Wrapping my furs more closely around me, I rang the bell for the Chamberlain. Someone needed to put me back in bed. After all, I hadn’t half finished that poison book.

Painful! The characters are flat, and if they’re feeling anything, it seems forced. There’s no real tension here.

And then there’s this example bit from the equivalent conversation from “A Visit from the Murderess,” written about six months ago:

Elystan clutched his book to his chest. “What’s the catch?”

“You’re going to love Hollingham, darling. It’s quite picturesque. The masters are all very attentive, and the lessons ought to be enough to keep even you from becoming bored. There are societies for everything you could possibly be interested in. Debating. History. Chess. Music…”

“Fencing?” asked Elystan. “Could I—” He shook his head. “What’s the catch? They won’t take me. I’ve forgotten all my Latin. Linguae Latinae oblitus sum. See? Terrible.”

“That doesn’t matter. I shall inform Mr. Faulkley that his services are no longer required now that you’re preparing to attend school. You’ve less than four months before the term begins, and that time will be far better spent on other things than cramming.”

“Practicing rugball, I suppose. Or wickets. Games are compulsory at Hollingham, aren’t they? So they won’t want me as soon as they find out I can’t do anything. Except perhaps go back to bed. I’m exhausted just listening to you.”

“Not on an empty stomach. Come on now.” She sloshed a ladleful of broth in the empty china bowl and placed it, complete with a spoon, on the table beside Elystan’s sofa.

He sniffed it suspiciously. She had eaten the same soup, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t drugged or poisoned. She might have first built up an immunity to lull him into the false security of their eating the same food. That was how the murderer did it in “The Adventure of the Phantom Arsenic.”

“This is the catch, isn’t it?” he said.

“My condition, if that’s what you’re asking, is that you can’t go to Hollingham unless you’re willing to put effort into getting better.”

“Then I suppose I’m not going.”

The Queen lovingly spread a triangle of toast with butter and added it to the untouched meal before him. He wrinkled his nose. Mara never cut toast into such prosaic shapes.

“Elystan,” said the Queen, “help me understand. What exactly are you trying to accomplish by all this?”

He shrugged. He had no answer for her even if he had wanted to give one.

“You’re only hurting yourself. Your condition hasn’t been this bad in years, and it’ll only worsen if you keep this up. And more than that, you could—you might—” Abruptly she seized the toasting fork, restocked it, and strode to the fire to prepare another batch, her back to Elystan. “I can’t lose you too,” she said.

He reopened his book to an illustration of extended arms shifting to wings and hoped she wouldn’t start crying and talking about dreary dead Uncle Allister again. Her shoulders shook like that only for reminiscences of people she cared about, and only her late brother could possibly fit that category.

“You’ll get along just fine without,” he said. “You always do.”

They’re now passing the conversation back and forth with purpose, the action tags have actual significance, and glimpses into Elystan’s thought process clarify how he is feeling and give extra significance to the dialogue. Both of them have acquired complexity they didn’t have in the original, where he’s just a melodramatic bratty child and she’s his indulgent, overprotective mother. On some level, that’s still the case, but that’s no longer all of who they are. I’ve been trying to make more of a conscious effort to give all my OCs humanity, even the less admirable ones, to look at them as individuals instead of plot devices and required roles and try to understand them. It’s difficult with some (I’m struggling with Gilsbrecht at the moment), but ultimately worth it, I think.

11. What’s one of the best pieces of writing advice you’ve ever received (or had to learn on your own?)

My grad Creative Writing class emphasized the importance of concrete, specific details to make one’s writing evocative and memorable, and that really clicked with me. Do I always effectively accomplish this? No, by no means. But it’s excellent advice in general for making your writing come to life.

12. Do you have any writing rituals?

Procrastination and despair and distracting myself with sudoku are not rituals. So no, not really. You just open the document or notebook and write the thing, if possible.

19. If you could have a wish related to your writing come true, what would it be? (And don’t use this question to put yourself down!)

I just want to finish a whole full-length book.

20. Which do you prefer – drafting or revising?

REVISING. I hate drafting so much. So much. Fixing things is great, but creating them? from nothing? Not so much.

#asks #lady-merian #thank you! #random personal stuff