#And Horror can't resist lol

[somegrumpynerd]

Jumpscare in 3... 2... 1...

[oculusxcaro]

She's fidgety today. The eyeballs in her right shoulder are unusually active, clusters twitching amidst rows of scarred tissue.

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[dixons-sunshine]

I'm not even gonna put this as anon like I usually do with requests because I just can't be bothered to- Could you do Daryl making a stressed out reader slow down because she's running herself ragged and needs some downtime? Fluffy all the way.

Reader really is me right now lol

Spa Day | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: With the walls needing to be rebuilt, runs needing to be made and crops needing to be planted, it was safe to say that you were at your wit's end. However, things needed to get done, causing you to get overstressed. Luckily Daryl was there to help you slow down and relax.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.

Warnings: Mentions of exhaustion.

Word count: 1.6k.

A/n: My migraine finally subsided enough for me to focus on finishing this. This was a really cute idea and I hope I did it justice. I hope you like this! (Forgot to tag you in this 😅 I was so tired when I posted this. @celtic-crossbow)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

The scorching afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the people of Alexandria. The inhabitants of the safe zone were restlessly working to fortify the fallen walls to ensure that the community remained impenetrable from the the dead wanting to find their next meals.

However, none of them were working themselves to the bone quite like you were. And Daryl was starting to get fed up with your antics.

Daryl grumbled to himself in frustration as he leaned on the car he was busy fixing up, watching as you walked past him in a hurry for the hundredth time that day, occupied with yet another task that somebody else probably could've handled on their own. However, with you being you, he knew that you offered to take someone's job for them so that they could relax and get out of the blazing summer sun, all at your own expense. Everyone else was enjoying their day while you ran around like a headless chicken.

Your caring, helpful and selfless nature was something that the archer loved about you. Despite the horrors in the world, of everything you've seen and experienced, you managed to clutch on to your humanity and keep it locked safely in your being, like a vault. However, on that particular day, he wished so badly that you'd just be selfish and take the day to slow down and unwind, maybe get some much deserved sleep. You were awake even earlier than he was lately, and went to bed way later than almost everyone, so he knew there was no way you were going to last if you kept this up. It seemed to him like it would be his duty to pull you away and force you into your home to relax.

He's officially had enough of your stubbornness. You were going to relax, whether he had to drag you home or not.

He hurried after you, calling your name. You stopped when you heard his voice, turning around to look at your partner. You sent him a smile and called back to him. “Can't talk right now! I have to go help Denise restock the infirmary!”

You turned around and started to stalk off towards the infirmary, but you were stopped in your tracks when Daryl grabbed your wrist and spun you around. You looked up at him in surprise, observing the determined look the archer had in his eyes.

“Daryl, what—”

“Nah, ya ain't goin' nowhere,” he told you matter-of-factly, moving his hand from your arm to hold your hand in his. He looked to the side and saw Aaron walking somewhere with Eric. “Hey, Aaron, Eric! Would ya mind helpin' Denise with restockin' the infirmary? She can't do it alone.”

Aaron smiled and nodded. “Sure! We were just heading that way anyways.”

Before you could start to protest, Daryl started pulling you with him, leading you towards the house. That didn't stop you from trying to resist, however. The need to help everyone, even if they didn't need it, ran deep in you, and you hated that your responsibility was now pushed onto someone else.

“Daryl, what are you doing?” you questioned, sending your partner an incredulous look. “I should be helping Denise. Aaron and Eric were relaxing today. They shouldn't have to tire themselves out.”

“And neither should ya,” Daryl stated, pushing inside your small home and closing the door behind you. “Dun' think I haven't noticed ya overworkin' yerself. Takin' on extra guard duty, workin' day and nigh' to fortify the walls and helpin' Maggie with the crops when she has 'nough people helpin' her already. Yer outta here earlier and earlier each day and gettin' home later each nigh'. Ya deserve to relax, too. And I dun' wanna hear any complaints.”

You couldn't help the smile that spread over your face. Your heart swelled with love for the man before you. Never before in your life had you been with a man quite as amazing as Daryl. None of your previous partners would even have realized that you were working yourself down to the bone. You were extremely lucky to have the archer in your life.

“Okay, Mr Dixon,” you started playfully, sending him a teasing smile. “What do you want me to do first on this relaxation journey you seem to have planned for me?”

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief. “Go take a shower and get changed into somethin' more comfortable. I'll get started on makin' us somethin' to eat.”

Following his instructions, you headed up the stairs. A few minutes later, Daryl could hear the shower turn on and he inwardly celebrated his victory. You were actually listening to him. You were actually going to relax for the first time in weeks. If he had known that him voicing his concern would get you to start slowing down, he would've done it a while ago.

Working like a man on a mission, he quickly grabbed some pillows and blankets from one of the cupboards and made a comfortable place for you to relax on the couch before moving to the kitchen. Grabbing a few things he needed from the cupboards, he made good on his promise and started preparing a simple snack for the both of you—some omelettes.

In no time at all, you were done in the shower. You got dressed in a pair of freshly washed flannel pants and one of Daryl's shirts and made your way down to the kitchen. However, the sight that met you had you stilling in your tracks—Daryl was busy dishing up the omelettes, a glass of wine for each of you next to the plates.

“Well, this is a sight I could get used to,” you voiced, making the archer turn to face you, pan still in his hand.

He shot you a small smile before handing you a glass of wine, ushering you out of the kitchen. “Go on and get settled on the couch. I'll be right there.”

Accepting the glass of wine, you nodded and headed to the living room, pleasantly surprised to see the blankets and pillows set up on the couch. You did as you were instructed and sat down on the couch, covering your legs and lap with one of the blankets. You were slowly sipping on your wine, waiting for Daryl to join you.

As if being summoned by your mere thoughts, Daryl appeared in the living room, balancing two plates in his hands. He placed one of the plates in your lap before placing his own on the coffee table, moving to grab something from his bag that was resting near the fire place. When he turned around, you audibly gasped in surprise at the object in his hand, placing your glass of wine and plate on the table.

“Where'd you get nail polish?” you questioned excitedly, sitting up straighter to allow Daryl to sit next to you.

“Rosita found some on a run a few days ago,” he explained, sitting down on the couch and gently taking one of your hands. “She didn't like this colour and asked me to give it to ya. I forgot 'bout it until now. Figured I'd paint yer nails and turn this day into a spa day of sorts.”

You smiled fondly at the archer, watching as he placed your hand flat on his leg and opened up the bottle. “You know you don't have to do this, right?”

“I want to,” he replied easily, carefully applying the nail polish to your nails. “Ya've been overworkin' yerself lately. Jus' let me take care of ya, alrigh'?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

The next few minutes was spent in a comfortable silence. Daryl was surprisingly good at applying the nail polish, making little to no mistakes whatsoever. In no time at all, your nails were done, and Daryl motioned for you to turn around. You did so, and practically moaned in relief when Daryl's hands started gently massaging your shoulders. His hands were expertly working at the knots that had formed on your shoulders, transferring you to a state of bliss.

“That feels really good,” you mumbled, closing your eyes at the heavenly feeling.

“Yeah?” Daryl smiled, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade before resuming his actions. “Told ya tha' ya were overworkin' yerself. Ya deserve this.”

You let out a groan of satisfaction, enjoying the feeling of Daryl's big, callused hands working at the painful knots. You were in heaven at that moment. Not only did Daryl make you food, he poured you a glass of wine, made you a comfortable spot on the couch, painted your nails and now he was giving you a massage. You truly believed that no man could ever compare to the man you had the lucky privilege of calling yours.

“I love you,” you whispered almost inaudibly, but loud enough for Daryl to catch.

Daryl smiled softly. “I love ya too,” he replied, pressing another gentle kiss to your shoulder blade before withdrawing. “Now lay flat on yer stomach. S'time to get workin' on yer back now.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied playfully, slowly flipping over to lay on your stomach.

“Good girl.”

[the-barefoot-hatter]

Hi, i just learned about the niblings Pyramid Steve AU and i love it but now i have so many questions. that i am going to dump here now lol. Is Bill jealous that Pyramid Steve can access both the mindscape and the physical world? I like to imagine that he was born like Athena from Greek Mythology since he was created in a dream. Or maybe does it not work that way, it's like Looney Tunes rules where anything can happen just as long as it's funny lol? Is Pyramid Steve existing in the physical world more of a motivator for Bill to demand that Ford finish the portal asap? If Ford learns about the original purpose of the portal, will he think that Bill made Pyramid Steve as a manipulation tactic? Would he be emotionally devastated, thinking poor Pyramid Steve was given life because he was merely a pawn in his sick father's mind games, and try to protect Pyramid Steve from Bill, not accepting Bill's insistence that he is just as confused as Ford? Or would he think that Pyramid Steve is "in on it" with Bill? If something goes down like what happens in canon, who is taking Pyramid Steve in the divorce? 😂

eeeee, a fan! I'm glad you like it! my au tag is the: non euclidean geometry au search it up on my tumblr for a bunch more silly little comics <3 the nibling comic is where I started actually really thinking and adding continuity, so some of this is wobbly/subject to change:

Is Bill jealous that Pyramid Steve can access both the mindscape and the physical world?

A little bit! Also very proud, because LOOK how ADVANCED his baby is!!! Obviously the BEST BABY! (Oh, your's can sit up on it's own? what cute little accomplishment there, you must be so proud)

I like to imagine that he was born like Athena from Greek Mythology since he was created in a dream. Or maybe does it not work that way, it's like Looney Tunes rules where anything can happen just as long as it's funny lol?

A bit of both! They aren't exactly sure how Pyramid Steve was made, since he popped up right after karaoke night and memories are... hazy lol

Is Pyramid Steve existing in the physical world more of a motivator for Bill to demand that Ford finish the portal asap?

Yes, absolutely! You can't separate family!

(also having a baby around is making Bill much more tired/slip up about what's really going on/change his plans for the benefit of his family, so the result of opening portal is bit less end-of-the-worldy. probably)

If Ford learns about the original purpose of the portal, will he think that Bill made Pyramid Steve as a manipulation tactic? Would he be emotionally devastated, thinking poor Pyramid Steve was given life because he was merely a pawn in his sick father's mind games, and try to protect Pyramid Steve from Bill, not accepting Bill's insistence that he is just as confused as Ford? Or would he think that Pyramid Steve is "in on it" with Bill?

lol, well you see, this Ford is slowly coming to realize that his Bill is not actually a Muse of Knowledge but is in fact just some guy. A smart but so, SO stupid guy with a lot of issues. It's more like the horror of finding out the guy you are seriously dating has been faking his entire resume, but has been real with you, emotionally. Just not about his job or his background or his initial intentions and oh god, he's dating a stan-type conman. And the conman fell for his mark.... Is his life some sick hallmark movie?? (They love each other and will work it out)

but IF this AU went the darker paranoia/betrayal route like in canon, Ford wouldn't think Pyramid Steve's in on it (because Ford is paranoid but he can recognize that PS is just an innocent baby). Ford would be utterly gutted at being 'baby-trapped' and pretty resistant to listening to Bill about the situation at all, because Ford is a pretty unforgiving guy prone to dramatic grudges, especially once he learns you lied to him.

If something goes down like what happens in canon, who is taking Pyramid Steve in the divorce? 😂

;-; oh, that be a tough one!

Bill is much more powerful, but Ford is scrappy and determined!

IF this AU went the paranoia/betrayal route like in canon, and Bill has Pyramid Steve, Ford will stop at nothing to get him back/kill Bill. If Ford has Pyramid Steve, Bill would be a thousand times more desperate to escape the Nightmare Realm and get them BOTH back/on Bill's side.

(ps, i welcome anyone else playing with these setups, just link me so i can enjoy them too <3)

[toxictigertonic]

HIII i absolutely adore your outlast trials headcanons, they're so silly and accurate .. if u don't mind, could you maybe do one of the prime assets going to the movie theater? that'd be so funny

Took a little break to give my brain more time to soak in the outlast bathtub, but I'm back with more silly.

COYLE

- He wouldn't take his sunglasses off for the movie I'm saying this right now. It could be a 3D movie and he'd just put the glasses over top of his own.

- Kinda guy to get a hotdog at the movies instead of just popcorn. Then he complains about the price to the underage cashier.

- He likes to watch cop and action movies, imagines himself being the protagonist through the whole movie. He wishes he was that cool.

- Leaves popcorn on the floor and his empty cup in the cup holder because "it's their job to clean it up".

- Would try to steal snacks that Gooseberry brought in. She was gonna share them anyway but if he's gonna be like that he can starve.

- Shushes anybody who even breathes too loud when the movie is going. He is Locked In and if you distract him he's going to kick your ass.

- Due to being this locked in, he will hold his piss for however long the movie is. He's not missing a second of this, he'll piss himself if he has to.

- Does not care what seat he actually bought, he's gonna sit where he likes and you're gonna deal with it. Dick.

- Would try to smoke a cigarette inside of the theater and have to be escorted out. Would not go quietly.

- Does not stay to see if there's anything after the credits, misses out every time. It's not that he doesn't know, he doesn't believe that there's actually anything to see.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- Brings a purse full of snacks with her. She is unwilling to spend 20 dollars on a little bit of candy. Still gets popcorn though, nobody can resist movie theater popcorn.

- Futterman wants to watch gorey horror movies while she wants to watch romcoms or just comedies in general.

- Futterman will complain through the whole movie if he's forced to watch a romcom. And he's loud about it too, the other movie goers would complain, but... that goose is scary.

- If he got his wish and they're watching a horror movie, he's cheering when characters die. Fuck the protagonists he's here for BLOOD.

- Futterman also complains about her snack choices. Candy? SUGAR? Think of the cavities, Phyllis!!

- She doesn't talk during movies but she is the one softly gasping whenever something like a plot twist happens.

- Futterman is face down in the popcorn bucket just munching away. He's gonna need a bath (read: get dunked in the sink) when they get home.

- Futterman would crack shitty jokes during quiet parts. Don't laugh it'll only encourage him to do it again.

- Phyllis is also a "hold it until the movie is over" kinda person but only because Futterman throws a fit if he misses out on parts. That's if they're watching a horror movie, if it's a romcom he's begging her to leave lol.

- Refills her popcorn before she leaves and brings it home with her.

FRANCO

- He actually can't eat popcorn bc the kernels get stuck in his teeth and it's uncomfortable :(

- Instead of eating popcorn, he's scarfing down candy. He strikes me as a gummy kind of guy.

- Gooseberry is actively rushing him past the snacks and candy bc he WILL try to buy 8 different kinds of candy and end up spending 60 dollars. He has the money but he does NOT need to experience a sugar rush halfway through a movie.

- He'd also go for horror movies, but also mafia/mob movies. Would shout at the screen about inaccuracies.

- Out of all of the assets, he's the one talking during the movie. He has a hard time sitting still and he's not completely paying attention and he wants Gooseberry to tell him what he missed. Coyle is shushing him the whole time.

- Despite being the one that keeps yapping, he'll kick the back of someone else's seat if he thinks they're talking too loud.

- Also leaves a mess of candy wrappers and spilled drinks, just like Coyle. He just doesn't care tbh.

- Gets up 9 separate times to use the bathroom, has to step in front of Coyle each time to get out of the row. They're gonna kill each other after the movie.

- If somebody else tries to step over his legs to get out of the row, he'd trip them. The menace.

- Gooseberry is clapping her hand over his eyes if there's any nudity and he is FIGHTING to move her hand away. Let him see!!

I would watch a movie with Phyllis and only Phyllis everyone else can wait in the car (sorry Franco)

[earthstellar]

Just jolted awake at 5 AM to share this idea lmao:

Cosmic Storm: Accidental Alt-Mode Swap Scenario

Some kind of cosmic electrical storm hits the Lost Light and everyone switches alt-modes

They can't figure out how this is even possible, best they can figure is that one of the waves of cosmic electricity rolled over the ship and bypassed their shields enough to affect the crew, just this huge arc of space electricity scrambling everyone all at once

And as it arcs from crew member to crew member (and zaps the shit out of the ship too), somehow this messes with everyone's systems enough that their t-cogs all attempt to reboot while everyone is still connected by the cosmic storm energy

Which results in everyone's t-cogs getting alt-mode data confused, as everyone simultaneously tries to stabilise their systems by purging stored energy so they don't get fried, so because they're all connected by this singular pulse of space bullshit it's like one massive accidental transfer of spark energy, personal systems data, and cosmic electroshock

It's 5 AM sorry if I'm not explaining this very well LOL

But nobody dies, and their systems actually seem to be relatively OK afterwards as far as they can tell, so nobody actually realises there's a problem until First Aid and/or Ratchet asks everyone to book in follow up appointments for full systems checks just to be sure

And as part of checking t-cog function whoever the first patient of the day is gets asked to transform briefly as part of a physical exam designed to help spot any non-critical t-cog damage

And there's no t-cog damage, not to the t-cog itself. Scans come back okay, everything looks good, so OK, time to proceed with the transformation test. Root mode to alt-mode, and then back to root mode.

If the t-cog and associated systems are functional, it should be pretty straightforward.

And the bot does successfully transform...

..Just, into the wrong alt-mode.

And immediately, The Problem Of The Day becomes clear.

Gradually people around the ship figure it out on their own as well, while the Med Bay staff are trying to figure out what the fuck is going on

Over in the Science Lab, Perceptor is messaging Ratchet frantically because he's realised the problem as soon as he tried to switch into his alt-mode to study some samples of a metal panel from the ship which has some damage from the cosmic electricity and uh oh turns out he's a fucking helicopter now

It's a problem that also alters their root modes, but only after their first transformation post-space storm. Something fully triggers whatever is wrong with their t-cog data only once they enter alt-mode, their root modes then re-configure to accommodate these changes following that initial "wrong" transformation sequence.

They have their own colours, their paint nanites etc. remain the same as always, but their modes have changed. So they get any kibble etc. that might come with that new alt-mode.

So Brainstorm goes to pick up some energon for both of them, then comes back and Perceptor suddenly has rotors and holy shit

Eventually everyone on board figures out something weird/potentially bad is happening with their t-cogs. Some people are too scared to test it and find out, while others immediately can't resist their curiosity or think it's better to figure out as soon as possible so they can adapt, and test it as soon as they hear some bots are just turning into completely different things, totally reconfigured.

This could be fun, also sort of terrifying (there is potential for body horror to some degree), and either way it's chaos.

When Drift triggers his alt-mode, he turns into a cat-- Seems like he's got Ravage's t-cog data. Nobody can find Ravage, and Megatron makes it clear that he'll be the only one to attempt to find him.

Rodimus turns into some kind of aqueous vehicle. Maybe Camien in origin. (Turns out it's Nautica's t-cog data.) He's fine with it as soon as he realises he's space flight capable for short distances and Magnus has to talk him out of trying to race the ship.

Of course, because it's Nautica's t-cog data, when he reverts back to root mode, he has a distinctly femme Camien-style frame. He loves it, because his armour isn't as heavy in this form, so he can go faster. (Once this is all over, he is strongly considering keeping some of these femme frame alterations...)

And if you want to use this as a setup for any shipping, yes indeed, some bots inevitably try to test out their newly altered frames with their partners or amicas. (The medical staff all advise against this because oh god nobody knows all the functions of their new systems yet, please do not end up in the Med Bay with "makeout related injuries" they are dealing with so much right now LOL)

Anyway my moving date is 25/01 but as soon as I'm settled into my new place I might turn this into a fic if I have time lmao

[fleurywiththesave]

OKAY okay lol now see this is so far from the truth BUT i just saw that gif of Matty/Perry Ellis thingy again AND stylist mattdrai au?

oooooh. OOOOOOH, anon. I don't know if you mean Matthew as the stylist or Leon as the stylist, but I can actually see it going either way. Matthew is the intensely enthusiastic rising star who Leon is strong-armed into going to see for some new game day suits, and he wasn't prepared for how peppy Matthew would be. Or how long his eyelashes would be.

OR Leon is the somewhat abrupt and oddly aggressive stylist and tailor who all the best guys use for their NHL Awards duds, and Matthew is convinced to enlist his services because "he'll make you miserable, but he'll make you look great." Only Matthew's not miserable. Other than the fact that Leon seems so determined to make him put clothes on when he really thinks he'd rather be taking them off.

You know what, as long as we're all here.....

Matthew is quite certain that if he had to choose between spending twelve hours getting fitted for a suit or spending twelve hours getting dental surgery, he'd pick dental surgery before Satan had even finished asking the question. But Ekky insists that this guy is the best of the best and that Matthew just needs to put up with whatever he says if he wants to look halfway decent on the red carpet.

He's pretty sure that means that this Leon isn't going to let him wear his slides with a suit.

He almost walks past the storefront, if it even counts as that. It's an unassuming door that must lead into a space behind the specialty foods market that occupies the windows. The narrow hallway just leads to another door, and Matthew has to briefly consider the possibility that Ekky has secretly obtained the rights to his life insurance and is planning to have him murdered before he braces himself and opens it.

"Hello?" he calls. There's a desk, but no one sitting at it, and zero signage to confirm that he's in the right place. "Hello?"

"Matthew." It's not a question. The guy who's just emerged from the back is staring at him. Matthew is staring too, but he has a feeling it's for very different reasons. He's staring because Leon turns out to be no more than thirty, with the best hair Matthew's ever seen and thick-framed black glasses that are kind of making him sweat behind the knees.

Leon is staring with something more like horror, scanning Matthew from head to toe like a robot and apparently not at all happy to see his ripped-neck Panthers shirt, athletic shorts, and the trusty slides. Matthew has a vague idea that perhaps he should apologize. Leon closes his eyes — actually closes his eyes — for a second and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"Okay. It's okay, we have time. Come with me."

The dim hallway and tiny foyer turn out to be misleading, as Leon leads Matthew into a massive room with brilliant lighting and more racks of clothes than he's ever seen in his life. The walls are decorated with pictures of what must be some of Leon's clients, all dressed and styled to the nines. Matthew even spots a photo of Henrik Lundqvist, damn. Maybe he is in the right place.

"Okay," Leon says, coming to a stop by some of the racks and flipping through them with almost disturbing efficiency. "NHL Awards. Rule number one: pick something other than the ass to emphasize. Anyone who's watched a single hockey game has been there, done that."

"Well, what if that's my best feature?" Matthew can't help but ask. Leon glances back at him and snorts.

"No. Rule number two. No. Sneakers. That's for actors trying to fake relatability at the Oscars. You'll wear dress shoes and you'll like it."

Matthew resists the urge to hide his sandals behind the potted plant in the corner.

"What's rule number three?" he asks.

"That depends on how much trouble you give me," Leon answers. "All right, we'll start with these three racks. What jumps out?"

Matthew hasn't been this nervous about giving the wrong answer to a question since his post-draft interviews. He studies the array of suits in front of him and starts to feel a little dizzy from all the choices. He had no idea they could come in so many colors and patterns. Does Brady know about this?

"Well, okay," he finally says, looking at a gray suit that seems like a reasonably safe option. "I kind of like this—"

"No," Leon says flatly before Matthew can even pick up the hanger, and he snatches his hand back like he's been burned. "Single-breasted only."

"Um. Right. Then how about—"

"Absolutely not. Do you want to look washed out?"

"I don't—"

"Try this one," Leon says, pulling a lighter-than-navy blue suit off the rack and shoving it at him. "With the cream shirt."

Matthew stares at the array of white button-downs in front of him. He swears he can hear Leon's soul dying as he sighs and picks one up.

"This. Go."

When Matthew comes back out, trying not to draw attention to his bare feet, Leon slides his glasses down and studies him carefully, even walking in a circle around him several times. Matthew tries to stay still, but it's not so easy when that behind the knees sweating is picking up again and Leon is close enough for Matthew to get a whiff of his cologne, which is somehow earthy and light at the same time.

"Good," Leon finally proclaims. "Look in the mirror, tell me if you like it."

"Oh," Matthew says when he steps in front of the trifold mirror. He wasn't expecting to be surprised — a suit is a suit, right? — but apparently this particular suit is subtly different from any of the ones he owns. He seems tall and strong, despite being end-of-season skinny, and the jacket draws attention to his shoulders, and the color makes his eyes look brighter. "Hey, that's really nice. What about a tie?"

"No tie," Leon says. He's pulled out a tape measure and is flying through the notes he wants to take with the same startling efficiency as before. Matthew barely has a chance to appreciate Leon's hand on his thigh before he's done with the inseam. "Clearly you don't like having something too close to the neck." He smirks at Matthew in the mirror, and Matthew barely manages to bite back a retort about how there are some things he wouldn't mind having too close to his neck. "You can leave the top button open, but that's it."

When Leon is done getting all his measurements, Matthew finds that he's reluctant to leave.

"So, uh, you'll call me when it's done?" he asks.

"Nope," Leon says, tilting his head toward the sewing machine on the side of the room. "Get comfortable, you're going to be here awhile."

Over the next several hours, Matthew discovers that he could be quite happy putting up with pretty much anything Leon says, regardless of whether or not he's going to get a great suit out of it. He learns that Leon started sewing when he was twelve, making things for his sister and her friends; that he finished his studies in Germany a full year early; that he came to New York with the intention of getting some intern experience through Parsons and focusing on women's wear, but one of his father's former players came to Leon asking for help with a suit and the rest is history. Leon, in turn, learns an awful lot — probably more than he was expecting — about the grief Matthew gets from Taryn for his sartorial choices, about Matthew's feelings on the NHL dress code, and about how his style has changed since leaving Calgary for Florida.

Matthew only has to stop himself from making a suggestive remark about what they'd both look like out of a suit a few times, though it doesn't keep him from wondering.

"There," Leon finally says, pressing a garment bag into Matthew's hands. "Please tell me you know that you're supposed to cut the pocket and vent stitching before you wear the suit."

"I'm not a complete dunce," Matthew says indignantly. Leon doesn't have to know that his billet mom had to inform him of that little fashion rule after he'd already been wearing his new juniors suit for two months.

"Just partially," Leon says, but there's no bite behind it. He grins when he walks Matthew to the door, wishes him luck at the awards.

It's hard to walk away.

Two weeks later, when Matthew cuts the tacking stitches on the night of the ceremony, he discovers a slip of paper in his left pocket.

Rule number three: call me after you win.

— Leon

[suicidal-socialist]

I just realised the SHEER GENIUS of Johnny Silverhand in Cyberpunk 2077 as a narrative element. Dude's pretty much a dead and half-forgotten embodiment of hatred towards contemporary systems. The *spirit* of resistance, the *spectre* of... Well, something.

It was both killed and saved (on a hard drive) by Arasaka - the embodiment of the system. Its greatest horror, literal soul-sucking (comp. alienation), makes sure the resistance rises once more.

And it arises in the mind of a person who has a strong connection to Night City: they were born and bred in its corpo/street environment or they chose to abandon their whole way of life for it. The trigger being a fixer's gig, the embodiment of the characteristic principle "anything for your money", the client being a joytoy (peak alienation - the literal loss of control over their body, serving as a commodity) trying to sell the relic to get lots of money - the inevitable desire to achieve the sanctioned, proper, in-system form of (relative) liberation.

Things go haywire because Arasaka Jr and Arasaka Sr *competing* for power and the company, regardless of their familial bonds, and the Trauma Team literally sending in fighter jets for (one of) its richest customer - an advantage of their *premium* service, a result of commodification of health and safety and speculating on it.

V loses their closest friend in the city, with whom they shared the (American) dream of becoming the coolest mercs, and with him - a key part of 2 kinds of emotional connection to the city and the system - the personal and the ideal, dreamy kind. Since Jackie put the chip in his head, his literal final action is handing that phylactery of a dead terrorist to V. The normal and expected workings of the system grind people, connections and dreams in its gears - no wonder its mechanics get upset and rebellious, especially when its their friendship's and dreams' turn

And it was *the* prototype relic that V got, one uniquely capable of preserving the engram as a proper dynamic mind and reincarnating it into a new host, *regardless of anyone's will*, even its creator powerless to stop it. Thus, the transformation of V into Silverhand is also a natural event, necessarily following from how things are

Still haven't finished the story, only the side gigs, lol, so can't talk about what happens next, sequel post may or may not happen

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Risotto similar to Jason Voorhees? (I had to do it! I couldn’t resist!!)

He was bullied a lot as a kid for his bizarre appearance, white hair, red eyes and black sclera

However his childhood friend Darling was always so nice and kind to him, telling him how his eyes and hair is very pretty and cool, she was 1 years younger than him and much smaller too (Darling was very small for a 9 year old, with Risotto being 10)

Until Risotto’s death, which devastated Darling so much that het mind repressed her own memories of what happened that day (As she was being held back by bullies who let Risotto drown)

Now almost 20 years later and some random people are trying to bring back the place, which cause Risotto’s cousin to snap and go on a killing spree (I thought it would be interesting to do a role reversal for Risotto with his cousin) until his death at the hands of one of the people he tried to kill

Darling went to the lake to pay her yearly respects to Risotto like she always does on his birthday (Not realizing the hulking individual stalking her. Watching her. Following her back home)

So when Darling comes home, she opens her fridge and screams in horror seeing the severed head of someone, only for huge hands to grab Darling and she’s forced unconscious and awakens inside a rundown house tied to the bed and walks in a huge man

Risotto either doesn’t talk or he can but his speech is very broken as he and Darling made a promise to marry each other when they grow up and Risotto intends to fulfill it

Risotto face looks rotting with half his jaw bone seen, grey to greenish skin from the rot or it’s burned flesh, whatever you want

Happy Halloween!! 🎃

Happy Halloween, would have posted a fic today but Nintendo released their music app... let's just say splatoon 3 ost and smut do not work together lol.

But hell Risotto as Jason Voorhees.

Warnings: mentions of attempted sexual exploitation.

Risotto was never a social person, he was a recluse and his strange appeared didn't make things better. Darling was there for him though.

Around 16 and 15 they ended up going on a school camp and darling ended up in a situation where her male classmates were blackmailing her into performing sexual favors. Risotto intervenes to help her but he's overwhelmed by the group and is floored. Darling pleads with them to stop, she'll do what they want if they stop hurting him while one of them holds her back.

They end up dragging him to the nearby lake and forcing his head under, pulling him up every so often until he stops struggling. The group freaks out realizing they just killed him. Darling is quickly pushed aside and ends up unconscious from the fall.

They end up submerging his body under rocks and promise to never tell what happened. Now they need to deal with Darling but when she comes to she doesn't remember what happened that night and they take her back to camp.

Next morning Risotto is nowhere to be found, the people who run the camp call the police but even they can't find him. The camp is ended early and shortly after the whole thing is shut down after his mother sues for negligence.

Darling is still close with his family after all she'd been dating him at the time. His cousin, Campanelle knows there was something up with his disappearance. It had to be foul play.

Years later does one of the former students buy the place and offer to host their high-school reunion before it officially opens. They barely knew anything about Risotto and think it was a shame it got shut down after what happened. Most people believe he just ran away.

Darling does go but is drawn to the water, she sits out on the dock. Wondering what happened to Risotto and hopping that he really did run away, as unlikely as it seems.

Meanwhile Cam ends up overhearing one of the guys mention what happened that night and all hell breaks loose as he ends up killing one of the guys and injuring two others. Everyone is shocked and darling gets back just as the police arrive.

"They killed him! (Insert a few names) killed Risotto Nero!" Cam loudly proclaims as he brandishs a knife before he's killed. Darling is mortified, it stabs her to know the truth.

The camp hall where the party was held is closed for investigation but the rest of the place however is still open. Due to darling helping the host with preparations she got one of the private lodges.

She goes back for the night bawling her eyes out. She needs a drink to soothe her throat and opens the fridge to see the severed head of one of the culprits in the fridge, he'd tried to run away after being called out before meeting with a grizzly fate. In the light she also sees the blood on the floor from what she assumes is the head.

She runs out the door to tell someone before running into someone. She clears her eyes to see a large figure but can't make out the features in the low light.

"The fridge- there's a-" she tries to speak past her hiccups but the figure grabs her in their tight grip, brandishing a machete at her.

"Please let me go! I'll do whatever you want, Just let me go" she begs them. They end up putting away the blade before knocking her out. Risotto didn't realize it was darling at first until she begged, almost mirroring what she begged before his death.

When she comes to she's finds herself tied to a chair in a dingy old cabin. A lamp is lit and is met with the monster before her. Blueish gray skin with extreme visible veins. Parts eaten away exposing the muscle and bones beneath. Looking up at his face his lower jaw is only bone but those eyes and hair catch her off guard. No it couldn't possibly be. She remembers what happened now, there's no doubt he died.

"No... it can't be" she chokes out before crying again. His hand caresses her face.

"No! there's no way you're him!" She shouts as she moves her head away. He looks older, how could he even age if he was dead. She refuses to believe her beloved could ever become this creature. He's determined to show her the truth.

He came back for her. The moment he awoke he was thrown into a frenzy to try and save darling a many years too late and ended up killing two people hiding out at the abandoned site.

[trashytummies]

batfam vore crack

a/n: this is way longer than i thought and so ooc lmaooo -- idk bruce can somehow shrink ppl and they can't digest bc dense molecules or somethin, pretend it makes sense bc i didn't really think it thru lol.

-----

Bruce walked in, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up --classic trying-to-pretend-he’s-normal Bruce-- but Jason’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in his posture. A slight tightness in the way he carried himself, his usually flat stomach curving outward ever so slightly beneath his shirt.

Jason blinked, fork pausing mid-air. His mind connected the dots in a blaze of growing dread.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Jason muttered, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve got to be kidding me." He jabbed his fork toward Bruce’s middle. “Tell me you’re not doing that thing again.”

Bruce, with all the casual gravitas of a man discussing a board meeting, replied, “It’s efficient.”

“Efficient, my ass!” Jason’s chair scraped back as he stood, waving his hands. “We’re not some--some army of joeys for you to carry around like a freaking marsupial!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t this resistant before.”

Jason scoffed, pacing away. “Oh, you mean when I was thirteen and didn’t know better? Sure, B, back when I still thought it was cool that Batman could turn into a one-man escape pod.” His voice dropped into a mocking lilt. “‘Oh wow, Bruce, your stomach’s so warm and soft, thanks for saving me from those assassins!’” He spun to face Bruce again. “Yeah, pass.”

Bruce was silent, watching Jason with that infuriating patience of his. It only made Jason’s skin crawl more, his unease growing as he remembered the last time he’d been in there. A bad night after a bad mission. Nightmares. His mother. Bruce offering a solution -- an unorthodox one, but it had worked.

And Jason had hated that it worked.

“Not happening, Bruce,” Jason said firmly, shaking off the memory. “I’m too old for this crap. And, frankly, it’s weird. Just use the Batplane to transport people like a normal person.”

Bruce sighed, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing Jason’s smaller frame. “Jason,” he said, voice low and steady, “I know you don’t like it. But it’s safer. You’ve been reckless lately. If something goes wrong--”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bruce!” Jason snapped.

Bruce’s gaze softened, just slightly, in that way that always threw Jason off. “I’m not saying you’re a kid. But you’re still family.”

Jason flinched. Damn Bruce and his emotional sucker punches. He looked away, jaw tightening. “Family, huh? You sure about that? ‘Cause last I checked, family doesn’t shove each other into their guts.”

“Dick accepted it,” Bruce said evenly.

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course, he accepted it -- he probably volunteered. Probably climbed in with a big, dumb smile like, ‘Gee, Bruce, this is so innovative!’”

“He said it was comfortable,” Bruce deadpanned.

Jason gawked. “He said what? Oh, that’s it. I’m out. Dinner was great --props to Alfie-- but I’m done. Bye.” He turned to leave, boots thudding against the hardwood.

But Bruce was faster.

Jason barely had time to curse before the flash zapped him, and the world tilted. One moment, he was storming toward the door. The next, he was tiny. Like couple inches-tall tiny.

And, to his horror, Bruce was already reaching for him.

“Oh, hell no! Bruce, don’t you--”

****************************

“Hey, Jaybird!” Dick grinned, throwing up a hand like they’d just bumped into each other on a street corner instead of, you know, inside Bruce’s stomach.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jason jabbed a finger toward him.

“Oh, you know, just the usual family bonding stuff.” Dick shrugged, his grin widening. “Came for the ambiance, stayed for the company.”

“Don’t you dare laugh this off--"

“I’m not laughing!” Dick said, holding his hands up defensively, though his tone was anything but serious. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Jason let out a growl of frustration, kicking the water at his feet, though it only ended up splashing onto his own legs. “You are such a--”

“Jason?”

That voice was smaller, softer, and Jason turned to see Tim standing a little further away, looking tiny as hell next to Dick. His arms were crossed tightly, his whole posture screaming discomfort.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jason threw his arms out. “You’re here, too? What, did Bruce swallow all of you before dinner?”

“Not all of us,” came a sharp, clipped voice from somewhere behind Tim.

Jason peered around him and spotted Damian, perched on a high ridge, looking irritated beyond belief.

Jason blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Oh, great. The whole circus. Wonderful.” He threw a hand toward Dick. “Let me guess, this was your idea.”

Dick didn’t deny it, which only made Jason more annoyed. Instead, he clapped his hands, the sound oddly muted by their surroundings. “Look, before you freak out--”

“I’m already freaking out!”

“--this is a trust-building exercise!”

Jason stared at him. So did Tim. Damian muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” under his breath.

“A what?” Jason said, voice dangerously low.

“A trust-building exercise,” Dick repeated brightly. “Think about it--Bruce clearly trusts us with his life, or he wouldn’t let us in here.”

“He didn’t let us in here. He ate us,” Jason shot back, jabbing a thumb toward the fleshy ceiling.

“Semantics,” Dick said with a grin.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Look, it’s not just about trust,” Dick went on, ignoring Jason’s rising blood pressure. “It’s about contingencies. Think about it -- what if we get separated in the field? What if something like this happens for real? Wouldn’t you rather have this experience under your belt?”

“No!” Tim and Jason snapped in unison.

[somegrumpynerd]

I love how horror & killer are so brother-vibed. <3

Me too! They should annoy each other as often as possible and wrestle like 4 times a week lol

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies!!!! Holy fuck. Wow. I actually can't believe it. I may or not be crying a lil bit because here we are. Here is the final chapter of Smoke, Fire and Ash (besides the Epilogue that is coming tomorrow!). I really can't believe it. This has been such an insane journey to be on. I started writing this fic for my best friend, just emailing her updates, and then she convinced me to post online, so in January (thats how long this thing has been going lol) I started posting with you all!!!

I really cannot thank you guys enough for all the continuous love and support you have given me with this fic. All the memes and laughs and theories and messages, I have absolutely adored talking to you all and getting to share this with you! ARGHHH. I could say so much more, but I shant.... nay.... I wont. haha, so again, thank you all so much, and I hope that when the Epilogue is posted tomorrow, that we can all close this story together neatly! Can't wait to keep writing new stories for you all.

ENJOY! <3

FINAL CHAPTER 109: Through Smoke, Fire and Ash 

There was no singular way to describe how you were feeling. 

No singular way to explain the confusion of grief and both elation that swirled within you. You supposed, this was how Rhaenyra must have felt when she had her hasty coronation on Dragonstone. 

How does one see the light when they are shrouded in so much darkness? 

How is one supposed to smile through all the losses?

Because the shadows outweighed it all, much heavier than the Conquerors Crown you had worn, the weight of the world sitting atop your shoulders and spine, pushing down on your vertebrae with a force that could buckle your knees. One wrong shift and the fragility of your bones and muscle may cause it to crack, collapsing beneath you.

It had been days and yet, it still felt as though it was yesterday when you had driven your dagger into his neck. You could still feel the way it had felt when it pushed through his muscles and tendons, how his body had resisted it. How he had tensed beneath you jolting, how his eye had opened wide in pain and shock.

How he had looked at you.

How it had smelt, the iron of the blood on your hands, your body, in your hair.

All of it.

And at times, during those days that passed you, you would wake in a cold sweat, drenched in perspiration as you dreamt of doing it over and over. Dreamt of watching the light fade from his eyes. Dreamt of the smell, the blood.

And each time you would wake, tears falling down your cheeks and heart rattling against your ribs, your eyes would fall to your hands and a small cry of horror would leave your lips.

Each time, your hands were covered in his blood.

The first few nights that it happened, you would race to the basin beside the bed, desperate to wash the blood away, clawing at your skin with your nails as you scrubbed them raw, sobbing loudly in the chambers.

And each time, Ser Darke at your door would alert the Queen, and Rhaenyra would rush to your chambers in her nightgown, gripping your hands as they dripped with water, not blood, and would whisper to you that it was okay, that it was over, that you were clean.

Each time she would pull you away from the basin, hands raw and sometimes bleeding from your own nails, and would take you to bed, laying down first to clutch your head against her chest as she would hold you, and you would sob.

But after the eighth night of your new and horrifying routine, you woke and looked at your hands.

Blood again.

But this time you did not scream, this time you did not race to the basin to try and wash it away. This time you sat up against the back of the bed and stared at your hands until the sun had risen into the sky, and the maids came to get you ready for the day.

And it was much the same.

For many days after.

You would dine with your family, and there he would be, in the corner of your eye watching you.

Always watching you.

And each time that his shadow would catch your eye, you would know to not react when your eyes would catch glance of your hands, covered in his blood once more.

As though he was punishing you.

Your mother and father, if you suspected that she had told him, were the only ones to know about your crumbling stability. But as the days passed, and almost a moon had turned, it got better.

Easier.

You could now look at your hands without recoiling, and some nights you would not dream of him. Some nights you would not dream at all, and would sleep the entire night through.

And when you did wake up, the smell of blood beneath your nose, you would hold your stomach, the smallest of swells beginning to show, and soothe the skin with your palm, hushing the babe inside of you as you whispered to yourself that it was all okay.

But by the time the moon had turned, you had begun to make your peace with it. Begun to understand that this was your penance for such horrors. That this would be your atonement for what you had done.

A punishment that you would not deny.

This morning however, was different.

Today you would put on a brave face for the realm, not just for your family, who treated you with with such exceptional kindness and patience that it often brought you to tears.

Today the mask of impassivity, the mask of strength and triumph would be slipped over your face for all to see. As was your duty. As was always your duty.

Saria and Aella brushed their gentle hands into your hair as they braided it back against your skull in intricate twists and weaves that lifted it from the nape of your neck completely, whilst Joanna and Amala tended to tightening your gown at the back. 

Your reunion with your two maids had been a tearful event, but smiles were shared after all eyes were red and raw from broken sobs and shared stories, minor tales of survival.

You held your hands at your front, observing yourself in the vanity of your old chambers, unwilling to enter Aemond’s again, not knowing if the stench of blood and memory of the past would be the last thread to be pulled, and your crumbling resolve would snap, and you would be lost to madness like Helaena had been, the weight of it all sinking you into the ground.

The necklace in your hands had warmed in your palms and fingertips, as you pressed the pad of your thumb into the chain, feeling each ridge of the Valyrian steel beneath it, using it to ground you, attempting to count each notch in the chain to help quell the rising tide within.

When Saria and Aella finished their braiding, they moved to place the headpiece atop your hair.

It had been old, far older than you or your parents.

The Valyrian steel had been a relic, a thick band that wrapped around your skull like a crown, that then had four similar bands that smoothed over the top of your scalp, meeting at the top of your head. 

Pressed into the Valyrian steel were round and square cut rubies, and dragon glass all the way along its surface, glimmering in the light, with small coils of gold that were nestled between each jewell. Three emeralds were newly laid amongst the rest, one at each point at your temple, and the last at the back of your head.

It was not heavy like the Conquerors Crown, but it had a weight to it, pressing down onto your head as the girls adjusted it to fit. Adjusted it to look weightless. But there was the invisible weight of it too, and that squeezed at your ribs causing you to be breathless. 

Saria moved to stand in front of you, looking at the chain that you held in your palm.

“Your Grace, might I?” She asked, a hand reaching out to offer to put the necklace on.

You nodded at her and gave her a small, yet stiff smile as she took it from your grasp, watching yourself in the mirror as she came to move behind you, hands fiddling with the clasp as she draped it across your neck. 

The gown you wore was the last piece Aemond had made for you, and one you had not worn yet. But today you would. Today you would carry him with you as you took yourself down to the throne room. 

It was a deep red, almost the colour of blood when it would begin to dry, with gold and black dragons and flames embroidered at the cuffs of your wrists, making their way up your forearm. The bodice of the dress was tight, and in its centre, a gold, beaded dragon, marked with black shivering beads that looked like scales.

A homage to the first dragon you had claimed, and lost. 

From each shoulder, sat a large golden clasp, holding a set of three chains that hung across the neck. But they were not usual chains, instead, they were made to look like stems from a rose bush, pointed thorns all around its length, sharp and menacing.

Placed atop the gown by the help of Joanna and Amala sat the black and gold cloak your mother had worn many years ago for her coronation. It still smelt of her.

Saria finished clasping the necklace at the back of your neck, and stepped back, all the maids looking over you one last time to ensure that you were perfect.

They deduced that you were.

From behind you in the mirror, you could see the figure of Jacaerys as he entered your chambers, adorned in a vision of red and black, the colours of your House.

You spun to look at him, his eyes roaming over your body with the softest of smiles on his lips. His hair had been brushed back and away from his face, curly brown locks tucked behind his ears by small falling braids, gold clasps at their ends to hold them together.

“You were born for this.” He whispered, stepping towards you to take your hands in his, “Are you ready?” His thumbs brushed against your knuckles softly as he watched you.

You swallowed. 

Were you ready?

Would you ever be?

No.

But you had to be.

“Yes.” You lied.

His large calloused hand moved to cup your face before pressing a kiss to your cheek lovingly, a habit that he had inherited from your mother, and something that he no doubt pressed against Baela’s furrowed brows and cheeks when needed.

Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your neck, and then back to your face as he blinked but said nothing, instead offering an arm to you to walk down together.

Resting against your neck, warmed by gentle hands that had held it, atop the cloak for all to see, was the necklace that Aemond had given Alys. 

That your mother and father had then given to you. 

And which you had plucked the emeralds from, not wishing to wear them around your neck, instead placing them within the piece that sat atop your head. A reminder.

At the centre of the Valyrian steel, the chain flush against you, was a steel dragons claw that hung from its centre, and in its grip a large spherical sapphire. 

Taken from the ashes, as a reminder, as a lasting piece that you could have and hold.

The last piece of him.

Aemond’s eye.

"Shall we?”

You looped your arm in his and made your way down to the Iron Throne chambers together. Always together. Through thick and through thin, you shared the blood of Old Valyria, and the both of you had shared a womb, nothing could seperate you. 

Your hand pressed against your necklace as you walked, feeling the weight of it with every step. Feeling his presence despite not being visible to your eye.

It helped to calm you strangely, helped to give you strength, to give you some sort of hope and feel as though he approved. You hoped that he would. You thought that he would.

He would.

In no time at all, you stood before the two large doors at the entrance to the Iron Throne. Jacaerys stilled, unlinking his arm from yours as he brushed his sweaty palms against his robes. Another habit the two of you shared.

You frowned at him, worry beginning to burrow itself in your chest. You stepped forward to cup his face in both hands, “Do you hate me? For what I am about to do?”

Jacaerys' lips pulled into a lopsided grin, hands coming to grasp yours, “I could never, not now, or in any other lifetime, come to hate you. You are my sister, and I have always held firmly in my beliefs that it should be you to sit the Iron Throne. How could I hate you for taking something that was never to be mine?”

You felt your eyes well with tears, relief pouring from you.

Jacaerys shook his head softly as he chuckled, towering over you, “Don’t cry. You’ll look a mess.”

A laugh bubbled up your throat and you tapped his cheek lightly.

“They’re waiting for me. Actually, waiting for you.” He breathed, stepping back, looking at you one last time as his fingers brushed the necklace, touching the orb that sat against your chest.

Jacaerys breathed deeply as he looked at it, gnawing at it his lip as he held it softly.

You watched his face as he thought for a moment, eyebrows twitching, but then breathed his thought aloud.

"He would be proud.”

You could tell it had taken a lot of Jacaerys to say that.

And yet he did.

You blanched, and the tears that you had tried to hold at bay trickled down your cheeks, hot trails dripping down onto the stones below. 

Jacaerys frowned, head dipping down to your level, “Please don’t cry. Mother will have my head.”

You chuckled wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“Away with you then, the sight of you brings me to tears.” You half laughed and half sobbed.

Your brother swiped up a stray tear that had escaped your eyes before he gave a deep and mocking curtsey to you, his curly brown hair flopping against the sides of his face, “At once, Your Grace.” And with that, Jacaerys slinked into the chambers, announced loudly by Ser Erryk inside. 

The doors shut behind him as you heard the crowd inside slowly quieten. You straightened your posture, heart beating against your chest with every breath.

But there would be no waiting, nor halting of what was to come. No moment of stilling for just a breath more to catch your bearings. Because if life had taught you anything, it was that the world does not slow for anyone, and it shall continue to move forward without you, even if you are trapped in the past. 

And so forward, you went.

The doors were pulled open, and you felt each and every eye in the throne room turn to you. All Lords and Ladies from across the realm, Heads of their Houses and knights, watching as you made your way towards them. But your eyes were solely on your parents. 

Queen Rhaenyra was seated upon the Iron Throne, dressed head to toe in black and red, gold crown of her father, the crown of King Jaehaerys before him, seated atop her skull and pride in her eyes. 

Your father, King Consort Daemon Targaryen, stood at the bottom of the throne, hands in front of him as he grinned ear to ear, watching as you descended the stairs and walked towards them.

Atop his head, the Conquerors Crown.

Just as you had told him to wear.

‘This is yours now.’ You had told him, and he had argued, but you had insisted, ‘Return it to me when I sit the Throne.'

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, First of her Name, Daughter of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.” Ser Erryk’s voice boomed into the chambers, and you had to suck in a stiffening breath as you felt pangs of fear wind through you. 

It was almost like the days you had been brought before Aegon, the strange feeling of remembrance racing through you icily. Remembering how it had felt to be presented to this throne twice before.

But it wasn’t the same. 

There was no danger here, only love, and care, and trust. But this did not stop your mind from racing, or your heart from jumping in your chest as you stood before your mother, looking up at her.

Rhaenyra looked out at the sea of Lord and Ladies who stood in the Hall, all having travelled from their lands to come to the Red Keep for you.

All who had sworn themselves to her. 

All who were willing to do it all again. 

“Let all who stand here today, who have travelled across the Seven Kingdoms, who have sailed the seas and ridden to Kings Landing,” Her voice boomed across the room, steady and even, “Bear witness to the naming of Princess Y/n Velaryon as my successor for the Iron Throne.”

You smiled softly at your father before turning around to face the room, looking out at all who stood present, and had come to declare for your mother. 

For you. 

Some faces you recognised, others you did not. House sigils were pressed or stitched into robes and cloaks or armour, House colours adorned on shoulders and skirts. Men and woman of all kinds filled the chambers of the Iron Throne ready to swear their fealty.

Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were the eyes you found first, standing at the front with your half sister Princess Rhaena beside them. All had their heads towards you, Rhaena grinning widely, whilst Rhaenys dipped hers in a subtle nod, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. 

Lord Corlys however, did not smile, nor nod, but looked at you in appraisal. In pride. He had always treated you as his granddaughter, and despite you knowing the truth about Laenor, it did not take away that he had been a father to you, and Corlys, a grandfather.

At the sides of the chambers, your brothers stood and watched, and it took everything within you to not cry as one head of brown was missing. 

You swallowed thickly as Rhaenyra continued.

“Your loyalty to the true heir of the Iron Throne has not been forgotten. Your sacrifices to regain the throne are not forgotten. All Lords and Ladies who stand before the throne today have shown their loyalty, bravery, and defiance in the face of turncloaks and usurpers. Have shown support of my cause, and my claim as the rightful heir and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. So today,” She breathed behind you, “I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, ask that you to do so again. Pledge fealty to the throne and its rightful heir before the Old Gods and the New. Promise your faith, and know that if it is broken, there will be no mercy given to those who go against it.”

You breathed again, feeling your hands begin to sweat. 

This was all you had ever wanted. 

This was all that you had ever dreamed of. 

But there was so much missing from it.

So many missing.

It was a dream that you had thought was lost. Gone with the marriage, gone with Lucerys. Gone to Jacaerys. Gone with the war. 

But here you were, before the eyes of the Heads of the realms Houses, having your succession be named before the Gods, and their fealty sworn to you.

“Step forth now, and make the pledge.”

The first to move, was the silver locks of Lord Corlys Velaryon. He moved with no hesitancy, with a speed that had rivalled all others, moving to stand before you, slowly lowering himself to his knee as he bowed his head. 

Ser Erryk announced him to all present, “Lord Corlys, of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

Corlys lifted his head to look at you, his deep voice moving through the chambers, “I, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.” The Lord stood, moving back to his wife and granddaughter, where he kept his eyes upon you, a small nod tipped towards you and the throne. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you smiled at him softly. He was still, in your eyes, your grandfather.

The elder Lord Staunton was next, stepping forward to the middle of the aisle of people, bending his knee down slowly until it rested against the stones, bowing his head.

“Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest, and Head of House Staunton.”

“I, Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest and Head of House Staunton, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

Lord after Lord, Lady after Lady, Heads of Houses, young and old, stepped forth to kneel before you and pledge their allegiance and fealty to you, naming you as the successor to the Iron Throne.

All you could do was stand and watch, pride and vindication blooming in your chest warmly.

The last man stepped forward, but his robes were far different to those who stood amongst the rest. You watched in interest as he bent his knee.

He would be no older than Aemond had been. His hair was a dark brown, long and pulled away from his face by a clasp at the back of his head. 

As he bowed to you, Ser Erryk Cargyll announced him to the throne room, voice loud behind you, icy grey eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark.”

Lord Cregan Stark had a long face, not in the way that Aemond had, but Cregan’s thicker, and fuller. Cheeks wider and more muscular, and lips that were dutifully kept still. Furs lined the neck of his robes, and large silver wolf heads clasped it together in a chain at the front.

“I, Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark,” His was voice was deep and smooth, his accent lilting upon every word he spoke, “Promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

The entire time he spoke, he kept his eyes on you. 

You blinked as he stood, towering taller than most men in the room, and watched as he moved back to his place, feeling a pull towards him in your chest. 

There was no denying that he was handsome, a certain roguishness to him that only men in the North had. His shoulders were broad, and he looked to be a seasoned swordsman with large hands that he clasped at his front.

He did not smirk at you as Aemond would have when he caught you staring, and instead bowed his head out of curtesy and respect. 

You swallowed and looked away, turning to finally face your mother, who sat upon the throne, crown atop her silver hair, and large blade at her side, hand rested on top of the hilt. She looked down at you with bright and violet eyes.

You bowed your head to her, momentarily looking down at the stones, where stains of red sat beneath your feet. 

It was clear there had been an attempt to scrub it free, but the blood of Aegon Targaryen had sat at the foot of the throne for too long, and its viscousness had sunk deep into the porous stone.

When you lifted your eyes back to your mother Rhaenyra, she stood, looking out at all those present. All who had stayed loyal, all who had sworn their loyalty again. To the Houses that had sacrificed men in the battle for the throne, a mere moon before. To the Houses who had stayed true to their loyalty. 

And then, to you. 

To the one person who had made it happen. To the one person who ensured her seat. Months in waiting, months of torture and depravity. Months of sheer will to complete what she had started.

The realm knew you as many things.

The People’s Princess. The Bastard Princess. Survivor at Storms End. The Merciless. The Realms Despair. The Kinslayer. The Claimer of Two. King Maker. Queen Consort. Wife to the One-Eyed King. The Broken Queen. 

King Slayer. 

Queen Maker. 

And a Queen for a Day.

But now you would be known as something that was rightfully, birthright and earned, yours. 

“I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name, Y/n Velaryon, Princess of the Realm, the Heir to the Iron Throne.”

Heir to the Iron Throne.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

Heya!! Just a question if ya don't mind

Why is eep afraid of spinklers?

I also wanna know alot more about eep lol

Honestly it was just a random quirk I gave him- but let's say the sound it makes when it abruptly goes off gives him a small robotic heart attack ☝️(⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Hmm more about eep?

Well eep came across my old persona that I demoted and they became friends but also partners, they both want to find the puffs for different reasons. Eep obviously wants to make a connection while little shit meep wants their position back and previous body back instead of their squishy form.

Like I've said before Eeps is family friendly, however Meep his new friend isn't, which often has eep covering his mouth like an offended grandma.

Eep can visit my OC worlds, new and the forgotten...the forgotten ones are probably voids or are repeating the same day forever- whoops

Eep doesn't really do well in fantasy worlds that have magic, something about the magic system messes with his robot system considering he's not from that world/universe.

Eep doesn't consider himself a heroic type or anything, he's just passing through, although trouble seems to find him, he just wants to chill.

Weaknesses:

weakness is magic based worlds, really hot/cold places (slows him down), horror based worlds (he hates scary things), is weak against other robots strength wise, his energy beams are ineffective against ocs who have plot armor, is weak against Mary sues (he can't land a single attack on them).

Strengths:

Strong against physical attacks from anyone who doesn't exceed a regular human's strength, is resistant to energy attacks, can't be blinded, can twist an OC's fate (think of it like spider verse when miles saved that one guy who was supposed to die life), has a healing factor (depends on the severity of the injury on how long it takes).

Eep really cares about his cloak and ribbon and takes good care of them, often bunching it up into a shirt like style if he has to walk through water.

Eep can't eat, or smell but Meep can.

Meep is kinda like Eeps mechanic, since meep was once a persona they know a thing or two about OC's...but not that much.

Some days eep gets tired and doesn't talk and leaves it Meep to talk for him.

[rainytypology]

A view of each MBTI type by an INTJ:

Saw a few of these lately so why not? Lol

___

INTJ: My type and the best type obviously. Kidding. Not really. Healthy/mature ones are interesting and helpful, nice and easy to talk to. I've noticed immature ones try a little too hard to seem edgy and cool to fit into the "cold" INTJ stereotype when that's not a flex at all. I think a lot of us are impatient and stubborn too.

ENTJ: Often driven and motivated individuals who put in a lot of effort into what they do. I admire their hardworking nature. I've unfortunately come across a very unhealthy one before who was quite possessive and narcissistic. I did not have to deal with them personally, but a few of my friends did and their horror stories of that ENTJ will probably be stuck with me forever.

INTP: Their minds are...unique. I wonder what goes on in there. Such weird yet interesting individuals. Sometimes a bit rude, unintentional or not. My younger sister is one and I have to resist the urge to fight with her a lot lmao, but maybe that's just us being siblings.

ENTP: Love them. ENxPs in general 🤌🤌. I've never come across a boring ENTP. Often so chaotic. Never fail to make me laugh. I can have the funnest conversations with them. So witty.

INFJ: One of my best friends is one and it's kinda funny how similar yet different we both are. Ni dom things I guess. Other INFJs I've observed seem to have a lot of patience and kindness. Genuinely have a good heart and want the best for others.

ENFJ: I've only met two personally. Can be funny and witty, really approachable people. Both are very loyal and care a lot about their families, they carry a lot of responsibilities for others. Do not like to show their struggles, will probably mention it briefly before changing the subject.

INFP: Probably my least favorite type due to having bad experiences with them. Unhealthy ones can be so whiney and pathetic. Always want to cry and complain but never actually do anything about it. Can burst emotionally without warning. They can be so exhausting to deal with. I'm not gonna automatically hate you if you're an INFP though, that's just stupid lol, but I will be wary. I only have one INFP friend for now and likely because she's a lot older than me, she's much calmer and more considerate compared to the previous INFPs I've encountered.

ENFP: Some weirdos fr but I love it. Always so talkative and excited. Why are you guys lowkey kinda sad though 😭

ISTJ: I haven't come across any irl yet, but a few of my favorite fictional characters are ISTJs. One of my fav kpop idols as well. Not really sure where the boring stereotype comes from as I think ISTJs are quite nice.

ESTJ: I don't think I've met any yet and have typed a few idols as an ESTJ. I know they get a bad rep, but I honestly just think it stems from ESTJ's tendency to be direct, no bs, which can be intimidating/overwhelming for people. They can be really weird and silly only if they're comfortable.

ISFJ: I don't know any ISFJs irl, but seeing ISFJ idols/celebrities, they're just usually nice and kind people. Quiet but do enjoy being with others.

ESFJ: Honestly think my other best friend may be one 🤔 I do think she has a high Fe for sure. They seem to care the most about their presentation and other's opinions of them.

ISTP: I've only met one and they were okay. Pretty chill and had immense "idgaf" energy. But that attitude was also what made them a bit unlikeable as it extended to having a disregard for feelings and morals. Nobody's perfect, but I don't think it's that difficult to have common human decency. I do like a few ISTP characters and celebrities though.

ESTP: One of my older siblings is one and we get along fine. She has a good eye for aesthetics. Her and other ESTPs I've seen don't really seem to be super serious people, they're just trying their best to enjoy life. Adventurous and open minded. Can't seem to stay still.

ISFP: Have only met a few irl and I've also typed several kpop idols as one. From what I've seen, they are a lot calmer compared to INFPs. They're quite passionate but more realistic individuals though, always going for what they want (likely due to aux Se). Also quite blunt lol but it does not top IxTP's honesty.

ESFP: Have not met any irl yet, but from observing an ESFP I follow and ESFP celebrities, I like their straightforwardness. Passionate and expressive. Funny.

[fizzingwizard]

Randomly visited reddit and saw this:

My first thought: it's an incel pretending to be a woman, because what modern woman thinks she's spoiled milk a 30??? (Aside from also trashing her girl friends - girl, get better friends!) But their profile doesn't seem weird in any way, so, I guess there are some people out there who really somehow believe youth ends at 29. Even some who have aged past it.

It's not even true that all 30 year olds are less beautiful than they were at 20. People age in different ways at at different rates: yeah, your likelihood of getting wrinkles and gray hairs is only ever going to go up. But some people don't have their style figured out in their twenties - some people turn thirty and freaking bloom. And you can't call that a late bloomer. 40 isn't a late bloomer either! 20 is nice but it's not the heaven on earth it's cracked up to be, and 30 is just getting started.

Idk about the rest of you but you know those posts about how embarrassing it is to look back on 14? Yeah, related to those when I was 20. Now I've passed the big 3-0, and guess what - I think 20 year old me was so silly lol. So insecure, so afraid to make mistakes, so resistant to change. I enjoyed my twenties, but my early thirties have so far been way better: I'm more confident, less self-involved, and I find happiness so much more easily than I did back when I thought everything I did had to matter So Damn Much. And if you think that doesn't relate to being attractive: confidence is 90% of it. Just walk up and smile. A confident, happy person always attracts others even if they're just average-looking.

Also for people who like men, don't forget: men in their 30s usually aren't quite the energizer bunnies they were in their 20s when it comes to ~sexy times~ The 20-year-old stud who insisted he could go for a roll multiple times a day, every day, is probably much less gung ho at 30. And also more forward-thinking, and less amaaaaazed by omg boobies!!! When you're young, half the excitement is just how new everything is. It gets less intense, thank goodness. (But it's still hot!)

This post just totally rubbed me the wrong way. It read as a still young woman anxiously wringing her hands in apology for having the audacity to be single at... 30?? And apparently not trusting women to have good advice about dating at 30 (so no point in me responding to her, lol), but perfectly comfortable kissing up to incel mindsets such as "women past 25 should accept that they're sloppy seconds" etc. "Value as a partner" do you have intrinsic worth as a human being?? Yes??? Then your value does NOT degrade. Yeah, you might have gray hair, the horror, so unsexy (I've had very visible grays since I was 23 and been dyeing since 26 lmao). Doesn't mean you're less hot than some 20 year old who doesn't know what she's doing. Doesn't mean it'll be at all hard to find a partner who will love you warts and all. Do you have this same expectation of men? Are you gonna start dating a 30 year old dude and then complain that he gets tired more quickly than a 20 year old would?? Is he less sexy just because he doesn't party all night and drink twice his weight without effect? Overrated overrated overrated!

My parents divorced in their 60s. My mom's got a new boyfriend who takes her dancing under the full moon. They're living their best lives way past their so-called "prime" and no, that is not rare - it's just a choice. If you view yourself as having some expiration date, you're not gonna do anything to improve your happiness once you're past it. Don't let incels or misogyny or whatever convince you your perfectly wholesome milk has gone bad, because that is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

ETA: Well, while I was working this got 150 notes, and although that's barely a drop in the bucket, it's still a lot more than my rants usually get (about 2 lol). So I just want to clarify a couple things so I stop getting comments about them.

This post was from the askmen subreddit. I left that out, feeling "reddit" was context enough, but I guess the implications may not have been obvious, especially to tumblr users who don't also use reddit. Askmen isn't a horrible place (a number of the responders pointed out why they prefer older women to younger ones), but many of its members have a pretty incel-adjacent vibe. Plus there are a number of women (real or not) who post there, many of whom have a similar brown-nosey "unlike those radical feminists, I'm a woman who knows her place" attitude.

It's fine to suggest the OP may have internalized misogyny from being abused - but it's not a given, as nothing in the post is a definite indication of abuse by itself. Big kudos for the compassion - just keep in mind that my response was about general attitudes towards dating post-twenties and not about abuse victims.

To the person who thinks a relationship of six years makes a difference somehow?: You seem to have interpreted my post as an attack on people who feel insecure about returning to dating after a breakup. But I think it's clearly nothing to do with that. Of course it is natural to have anxieties about being single after so long, but nowhere in this post was that denied or mocked. Whether you've been together one year or six, this post would always be weird - those natural anxieties don't make misogynistic mindsets about decrepit 30-year-old women any less gross. If you had decided to write a reaction to the OP's post, perhaps you would have chosen to center it on the effects of coming off a long term relationship, and I'm sure it'd be insightful. However, I am not you, and I chose to react to the attitudes around aging in relationships reflected in the post.