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coryosbaby · 11 months ago

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we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong

ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !

Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?

Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up

notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry

When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.

A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.

As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.

Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.

Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.

It’s just a matter of how far.

—

Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.

Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.

“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.

“Yes.”

An honest answer. He must trust you.

You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.

“I killed someone.”

He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.

“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”

He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.

“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”

Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.

“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”

He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.

“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.

You speak to him in a much lower tone now.

“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”

Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.

“And what would that be?”

Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.

“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”

And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.

“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.

“… the floor?”

He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.

No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.

And then it hits you.

Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.

And for some reason, that makes you want him more.

“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”

His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.

“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”

“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”

He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.

“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.

“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”

His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.

“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”

He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.

“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”

He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.

“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”

He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.

“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.

“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”

He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.

“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”

He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.

“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”

He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.

You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.

“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”

He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.

And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.

You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.

But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.

He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.

“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”

He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.

“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”

You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.

You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.

“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“

“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”

And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.

“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”

You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.

“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”

He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.

“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”

And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.

“Did I do good?” He asks.

You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.

“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”

He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.

“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.

“The tile was cold enough.”

#coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coriolanus snow x fem! reader #Coriolanus snow smut #sub! Coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow fanfic #Tom blyth #tbosas #the ballad of songs and snakes #the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic #thg #thg fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #Coriolanus snow tbosas

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tagidearte-spam-sb · 1 month ago

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The Daycare Attendant and Their Dialogue

A little ramble on some of the things I've noticed about their ways of speaking. This post ended up being predominantly about how they refer to one another. Most of this is speculation mixed in with my own views on them and their relationship, without discarding some other possible alternatives (for instance, although I do view them as two AIs that heavily rely on each other to function properly, I do not cast aside the interpretation that they are the same person).

(note: although I have played SB and Ruin, I did not play HW2 myself. All I know about that game has been through let's plays).

Sun is, obviously, the chattier of the two. Not only are his sentences longer, he speaks more of them in a row than Moon does - in fact, we only see Moon going on and on in Ruin (which we will discuss later).

Both of them use a lot of repetitions when speaking. From their infamous "clean up, clean up" line, to Sun's panicked "you like glitter glue? I have glitter glue!" and "light's on! Light's on! Keep the generators on!", to Moon's "hidey hide, hide away" and "bad children must be punished. Bad children must be found", "knock knock", etc. One of the first things Eclipse says is also a repetition ("warning, warning"). They appear to occasionally rhyme their words too, or at the very least use similar sounds in their sentences. This is a robot that works with young children, so it's not surprising.

On that same vein, their main insult to misbehaving children (and employees... or at least Cassie's dad) is also a repetition: "naughty, naughty" (which turns into "naughty boy" for Gregory), "rulebreaker, rulebreaker", and "bad kid, bad kid". In fact, it appears they repeat words more often when they're mad/stressed (Sun's no no nos, Moon freaking out in Ruin). Taking into account they get mad pretty easily when things don't go their way, it's not surprising we hear it so often, but it's neat.

Although both of them speak in an almost song like manner, with Sun's run on sentences flowing well between one another, Moon is the one where this is more evident due to how much shorter his lines are.

Moon is also the one who speaks in a more childish manner. Not only are his phrases shorter, he doesn't articulate them as much as Sun does, and seems to prefer shorter words and sounds, especially giggles. This makes Sun appear more developed. Key word being appear.

Sun tends to speak as if he's entertaining a crowd, doing his best to keep the attention on himself while trying to keep it fun. This is most evident in his level explanation parts in HW2, but it's also clear in SB. In Ruin, this is absent for... obvious reasons.

Both of them are somehow direct in their way of giving orders/saying what they want to do. When they can't be direct, they find workaround truths in order to conceal what they truly want to say, while keeping the main order clear (such as Sun saying the player will hurt their eyes if they work in the dark and ordering them to keep the lights on, rather than saying Moon will kill them so keep that room bright. Direct, but nicer).

Not at all important to FNAF speech lore but I think it's funny: Sun says the infamous Vanny line during the daycare intro section. "Are you having fun yet? (Are ya, are ya?)". 0.5 seconds after Gregory just stands there, which coincidentally is what Vanny does 0.5 seconds after Gregory gets into a vent (numbers exaggerated). I don't know. I just think it's funny. Replaying the daycare section after hearing Vanny yapping that line non stop gave me flashbacks.

The way they refer to each other and the pronouns they use are an entire thing, so let me separate it in two parts.

So that this post doesn't become scrolling hell on the tags, I'll keep it below the read more line:

Sun

Sun is the one who refers to himself the most. He frequently uses "I" or "me" when talking about himself, and does it way more often than Moon. Examples of this are "I have glitter glue!", "I'm stuck in a nap", "it really speaks to me", "I feel dumber just looking at it" - you get the point by now. The reason I'm going hard on this point is to contrast his way of speaking to Moon's.

When it comes to him referring to Moon, we only ever hear it twice. In HW2 he says "He'll wake up if the lights go out!". In Ruin, he says "Not me, the other me!". Besides those two voice lines, he merely alludes to Moon without ever mentioning him by name or by pronouns (such as when he says he'll turn the lights off himself, implying he'll let Moon deal with you, or when he says you can't work in the dark and instead of saying the real reason as to why, he cuts himself and goes "You'll- hurt your eyes if you work in the dark").

This is interesting for two reasons: one, we only see him directly mention his counterpart when he's in a ruined state (the HW2 voice line comes from the mask off section, when they're broken down. At least I think so); two, he simultaneously views Moon as separate from himself ("he'll wake up") and as a part of himself/another side of himself ("the other me"). You can take that as them really being the same "person", or as a reflection of their complicated body sharing situation. Take it as you will.

As far as referring to himself and Moon at the same time, he only does it in Ruin when he states "We need to be whole".

Moon

The way Moon structures his sentences means that he seldomly actually refers to himself directly. For instance, he doesn't say "I will find you" or "I will punish you", putting himself as the subject of the sentence. Instead, he puts others as the subject, wording it as "Bad children must be found" and "Bad children must be punished". This is consistent across all of his voice lines except one... Well, technically two.

To get it out of the way: there's a deleted voice line where he says "I'm putting you in time out", a line he and Sun share and which worked the same way the clean up one does - them saying the same thing, a push towards them being the same person ordeal.

The only in-game time he refers to himself directly is in Ruin. This line is also the only time he refers to both himself and Sun as a duo. This line is also the longest line of dialogue Moon has.

"(groaning noises) Naughty! Naughty! Make it stop! The light makes us hurt! Grind Grind! Grinding gears inside my head! We can't move. Error! Error!"

This line, much like Sun's, is interesting for various reasons. Even though Sun is no longer with him (being stuck in the VR world and separate from Moon, shown by how Moon can't move because the lights are on but his body can't shift into Sun, so he's completely stuck), he first refers to himself as a "us" - adding Sun into the mix. Then he refers to himself alone, "my head" instead of "ours", before going right back to a plural.

We can assume one of three things here: one, Moon refers to himself as a we more often, adding Sun into the mix, a complete opposite of his counterpart who typically speaks in singulars; or two, Sun is not as absent as he appears and in that moment he is in fact with Moon, just stuck on the passenger sit, hurting alongside him; or three, this is merely an effect of this being in the Ruin DLC where the whole point of the daycare section is to fuse Sun and Moon into the Eclipse, so the writers decided to bring the point home further. If you have more options, feel free to add them.

Side note: This voiceline also shows Moon's speaking patterns pretty well. Putting "the light" as the subject instead of "we/I", the rhyming, the repetition, the clipped sentences compared to Sun's endless ones, the noises, the scratchiness, the vague childlike mannerism... All ending with "we can't move", way more straight to the point, said right before he freezes up, which deviates from the "other subject first then me" rule due to the pain tearing through him at the moment.

Moon does not call Sun "the other me" or anything similar in any of the games. He never refers to Sun as if he too was Sun. However, we can assume his view on their situation probably mirrors Sun's - being in the same body and all -, so take it as you will.

And as for Moon referring to Sun as a separate individual... He does not refer to him as a "he". Instead, he actually mentions his counterpart by name, saying "No more Sun". Meaning he's the only one of the the two that has canonically used his other side's name. I think it's interesting how the least chatty one is the one actually calling the other by name and not the other way around. And yes, you can say it's a way of speaking and he's referring to the concept of the sun rather than saying his name, but taking into consideration Sun never utters the word moon, I'd say it's still quite a big thing.

In my headcanon land, due to the happenings at the Pizzaplex, Sun is probably too embarrassed and mortified to even mention Moon. Moon, on the other hand, has no reason to have such troubles besides hating Sun for (in his perspective) keeping him locked in a prison of light. So for me, it makes sense we never see Sun saying Moon's name, and it makes it more impactful when he actually acknowledges Moon as the other me rather than a he.

Eclipse

I lied there's three parts.

Eclipse has very few voice lines. The only one that matters here is "We need to clean this place up before we can open in the morning." This is pretty straight to the point: Eclipse, unlike Sun and Moon, doesn't use an "I". They immediately speak in the plural. They do not view themselves as just Eclipse, but rather as both Sun and Moon combined, at the same time.

As for the DCA being two AIs or one... in Ruin, Sun thanks Cassie after Eclipse is activated. It's left ambiguous. You can say Sun speaking afterwards proves they're not one and the same, "with the Sun and Moon AIs still running separately somehow", or you can assume Eclipse existing doesn't mean Sun and Moon can't keep doing their thing under safe mode, albeit in a less chaotic manner, allowing Sun's voice to come through but not making him any less Moon - he is Moon, he is Sun, and they are complicated yet very simple.

I believe in whichever version is more convenient at any given time, with a preference for "two codependent AIs" given what the games show us. Although, going by everything I collected here, the only theory I believe to just not be supported by canon at all is the one with Eclipse as a separate thing all together. Eclipse refers to themselves as a "we', not an "I". Eclipse activates when you make Sun and Moon "whole". It canonically makes no sense for Eclipse to be a third thing. (Please remember this is a post about what's in the games, the canon of FNAF. AUs and fandom or whatever, you do you).

That's it. Hope you enjoyed my rambling. Uh artblog unpaid promotion @tagidearte thank you for making it this far.

#dca #fnaf #daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf eclipse #fnaf security breach #fnaf ruin #help wanted 2 #hw2 #if you wanna know #I spent time on this because...#I am writing two fics for them (just them and other canon characters)#and although Sun's dialogue comes easy to me #I did all this analysis just to be able to write moon's #never say fanfic doesn't make you look at stuff in ways you'd never really do otherwise

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daretoassume · 20 days ago

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the death of the "old man"

wanting or longing for a new reality, a new version of you, and a new beginning requires you to get rid of the old man. the old man has no place in your new reality, so whatever the old man thinks, believes, or how he behaves must change for you to experience this new reality.

"so i see my dream, and i must learn to die to what I AM in order to live to what i want to be." ♱ art of dying, neville goddard

how you talk to yourself and how you talk about yourself should only empower you. i understand that sometimes you want to appear humble, but wanting to seem humble doesn't mean you have to water yourself down in front of others. you need to be careful and watch how you speak about yourself. let the old man remain in the past; all the beliefs, thoughts, perceptions, and states that you don't prefer must be left behind. know that embodying the new you will require letting go of your old ways.

this means releasing everything about your old self that doesn't serve you, whether it be toxic relationships, negative beliefs or perspectives, addictions, negative habits, procrastination—anything that resists your ability to be the most authentic, the best version of yourself. you must take real physical action to drop these things so you can create space for the best version of you to emerge.

"if i am true to the likeness of what i behold, then i.. the “old” man.. cannot go into the new state." ♱ art of dying, neville goddard

if you remain in your old state, the same state you lived in most of your life, you will perpetuate not changing, and you will suffer the consequences of not living in a new reality—the desired reality you have always dreamed of. your desired reality is unfamiliar because you are uncomfortable with changing your ways.

it becomes easier when you know your truth. when you know who you are, it is easier to come home to yourself. in my case, when i am aware that i am not being myself, i know i have to end that version of me because that is not my truth. i must decide to follow my truth because i can't let the old me create in my life. i simply can't let that happen. and i can't keep complaining and do nothing about it.

if i want new experiences in my life, if i am truly done with my current reality, then i have to be disciplined enough to set standards for myself.

you must be in a completely new state with new narratives about yourself, other people, and situations. understand that to experience new things, you must completely become a new person—someone who sees differently, feels differently, thinks differently, behaves differently. that is how you kill the old man. once you become a new person, you must choose to always stay in that state by decision until it feels natural for you.

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xueyuverse · 2 months ago

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It's ironic to me that part of the fandom insists so much that Hua Cheng's personality revolves around Xie Lian when in fact MXTX created Hua Cheng first and then had to make Xie Lian his ideal type. Like, the truth is that Xie Lian was molded for Hua Cheng. I find this contradiction very funny, I'm sorry.

But they were indeed created for each other.

Hua Cheng has a strong personality, he is firm in his ideals and beliefs, assertive in his opinions, cold in his justice and someone who does not bend the rules just to fit in, he creates a third way instead of adapting to a world that hates him and was cruel to him.

His ideal type would have to be someone as confident as him, who not only does not bend the rules, but also does not get corrupted by difficulties, someone benevolent enough to see people like him with kindness, because only someone faithful in his beliefs would be able to be so different from everything that the world says is right — because the right thing is for you to annihilate people like Hua Cheng, whether they are innocent or not, just because of a supposed curse that they did not ask for.

This meta is based on this excerpt from the afterword that MXTX put in TGCF ↓

When it comes to character designs, the Shou’s were decided on first for the first two novels, but I was torn over the Gong’s for a long time, and needed a run-in period. Hua Cheng, however, was an exception. Inspiration struck and there he was; inspiration struck again, and I blinded one of his eyes.

[...]

It was actually the Shou, Xie Lian, who tortured me for up to half a year’s time. When the novel started serializing, I was still torn over him for a long time.

[...]

But the most important thing is, by my instincts, someone like Hua Cheng will most definitely love someone like this. So, after a good half a year’s worth of qualms, in the end I still typesetted him: It’s you!

Speaking more about this postscript, I found it interesting how for MXTX, Xie Lian was the most difficult character she has ever played. People tend to think that Xie Lian only has two personality traits: (false, for many) kindness and idiocy. The idiocy may even be right lol, but when you stop to think about it, Xie Lian is a really difficult character to create and, mainly, to develop.

For all the layers he has, he could easily be a snobbish prince, a vengeful and bitter ex-prince, a fallen prince who rises again to reconquer his kingdom and reclaim his throne or a spotless saint who is always intelligent and wise and is above things like sadness, anger, lust, etc.

We know that Xie Lian is none of these things, he was not made for these plots. But if he is none of these things, then what could he be? Honestly, I find it very difficult for anyone to come to the conclusion that your protagonist is a "loser" who failed and has no ambition to rebuild his kingdom and become the new king. It's bold to make your protagonist a poor and extremely unlucky nomad, especially with the princely background that you gave him, we can see from the amount of stories out there about protagonists who lost their kingdoms and then have a path of reconquest that it's difficult not to be tempted to follow that path.

Of course, Xie Lian is a god, something greater than a prince or king, but he is a poor god, known as "the joke of the three kingdoms", he has no wealth and for 800 years he only had 1 believer that he didn't even know existed and he is also known as the "god of plague" and "immortal scrap collector", unconventional titles in the literary world lol

He must experience youthful ignorance, overestimation of his own abilities, have been laughable, been foolish, made mistakes, despaired, felt hatred, gone crazy. But he can’t run, and he can’t hide; everything is what it is. All this was killing me. Not just within the text, but outside the text too. My mediation was useless, and I’ve no energy anymore either, so in order not to be affected, I stopped looking at comments altogether. Since I always habitually vaccinate myself before a serialization begins, speculating on all the worst possible scenarios and preparing myself mentally, by the time serialization started I had already expected how all the negative comments would go down. But after much hesitation, I still thought, why not try all different kinds of characters? I haven’t tried writing a main character like this before.

— MXTX

#tgcf #tgcf meta #xie lian #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hua cheng #hob #hualian #crown prince of xianle #mo xiang tong xiu #mxtx tgcf #crimson rain sought flower #meta

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marlshroom · 3 months ago

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came to the fucked up realization after finishing gravity falls again last night the parallels of the dream bubble bill made for mabel and the literal state of delusion he keeps himself in.

in the book of bill on the page where bill cipher describes how he figured out a way to manipulate her into giving him the rift, it says:

"Summers ending, my guy. Ending to death, bro. She'd do anything to make it last just a day longer. Probably something RASH and OUT OF CHARACTER, even!"

as we know, mabel cannot handle the fact that she will be growing up. that the relationship with her brother is going to change. she is scared of high school.

bill then says "That was it. She'd never make a deal with me. But she'd make a deal with someone she believed could give her more time. The dream was done. I had her."

bill then creates the dream bubble for mabel, he makes every one of her dreams come true, a place where time is still and she can be a kid forever. a lie so great that she wont have to face the truth.

in journal 3 on one of the pages bill is writing in code, we see this:

[ID: "I ask you, why must[should] time only move forward? Why must cause preceded effect. Who voted on the law of physics."]

my friend helped me break down what bill means by this:

why can we only move forward in the 4th dimension of time. why does something have to make another thing happen, why must cause come before the effect. why cant you move backwards, in the other direction, change the decisions youve made.

how interpret this is bill asking why he is not able to back and stop what he did to his family. he says to ford that he tried and failed to undo the past.** why did him wanting people to acknowledge his advantages instead of suppress him lead to the destruction of his whole dimension?

**(i just want to point out that this is probably the time where bill is the MOST open to anybody, or at least the first. to his henchmaniacs he had been telling them that he liberated his dimension until the oracle discovered the truth. here, to ford, he got so much closer to telling the truth. he SHOWS ford the last atoms of his world. he says that it was destroyed by a monster, not that it was liberated! destroyed)

back to when bill says "I had her" about mabel, he had her cause he knew exactly what needed to happen to trap mabel in a delusion because it is exactly what he is doing to himself. creating a fake narrative of what happened to him, that he was vindicated in killing his whole dimension. only ever doing exactly what he wants because confronting the truth is too scary for him(good fucking lord). the morality page offers good insight into this too.

i am actually just going to quote the whole page and highlight the important part. it speaks for itself really

"THE POINT IS it's[morality] is a very flexible concept! But parents and presidents don't want you to know that, because then you might start asking other questions, like who put them in charge, anyway? So they cram your brain full of guilt and regrets for transgressing the laws that they just made up(the laws that they made to prevent the destruction of their dimension, regardless of if the law + the wrongful medication of a fucking baby triangle did any good to actually prevent it). Wouldn't it be nice if you could put all that baggage down? Quell the shame that follows you everywhere for a lifetime of crimes? MAKE THE SCREAMS FINALLY STOP? The good news is you CAN silence that annoying voice, and here's how!

DENIAL

Works 100% of the time in every situation. What you you mean there are people who disagree? I can confidently say there aren't!

RATIONALIZATION

If you can do it, you can justify it! "Truth" is open-source code and anyone can edit it anytime! Want to be like me? List 3 "evil" things and then 3 "reasons why they're actually good." You'll be rationalizing like Bill in no time!

DETACHMENT

Did you know 100% of your human cells die and are replaced every 7 years? That means that anything you did 7 years ago wasn't even you-it was some dead loser! You can't be held accountable for what a dead person did! What? You think this is just another form of rationalization? I DENY THAT!

THE BILL CIPHER DECISION METHOD!

Working over the eons, the voices in my head teamed up and worked out a foolproof method for making any decision in any situation.

DO WHATEVER I WANT."

ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

he is fully admitting here that he is living in a completely different really in order to justify doing whatever he wants. he gives mabel the tools to deny, to rationalize, to detach herself from the reality of it all. that time has to move forward. and he thinks it will work because it worked on himself.

but it doesn't work on mabel because she understands that she needs other people. shes vunerable, she lets people in, admits when shes wrong. and bill cant do that because it would destroy the fantasy he's created for himself.

#gravity falls #gravity falls theory #gravity falls analysis #book of bill #the book of bill #tbob #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #bill cipher #mabel pines #marlstext

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 3 months ago

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Cleopatra's Secret.

The Ways Of The Wise Woman. Beauty Secrets Of The Nile.

Cleopatra was an empress, a goddess, a mystic woman. She was a lady who knew how to attract the flow of abundance to her.

Cleopatra knew all about beauty and how to keep them strong, powerful and vibrant. To this day, we still don't know everything she has done to be known as the beauty queen she is today.

In my own years, I have found a liking to her. There are moments in my own life, where I feel as though there is a connection of some sort. Im pretty good at taking understanding to the vibration of certain goddesses and queens from past generations. Sometimes they come with a message. Others, like cleopatra, come with divine guidance.

In this reading, I will bless others with a truth that all of us have come to learn, and are still trying to accept.

The first thing is this:

The beauty standard isn't real. Beauty is not something outside of the self. It is always in you, first. Everything else comes as a source of inspiration from the Goddess. You are not only beautiful because the entire world says that you are, that is merely the flesh. It is the vibration, the energy you put in to your work to obtain beauty, and the luxury you have into keeping it.

Cleopatra's secret is that of self-love, and knowing what works for her & using that to her advantage. Especially with her hair.

The thing's that I would like to mention is this, You guys have to want to see it for yourselves. See it in you, first, and the guidance of what works for your body-mind-soul comes right after.

So I have a story I would like to talk about, on what even made me speak about this. One day I was out with one of my favorite looks, but I had to pin it up because it was too much for me. Usually I love it in a ponytail, but today not so much.

Tell me why the entire day I had got nothing but compliments on my hair! My hair! My hair my hair! That's all I kept hearing. And sure I was flattered, but I noticed there was a different vibe coming in when it came to the hair and how everyone gawked at it. People stopped and stared, one asked for a picture, some would just come up to me telling me how beautiful I looked. I was shocked, because again. I wasn't vibing with my hair like this fully.

Not only did they compliment my hair, they complimented the outfit as everything went together (the hair color had matched the dress). And someone even said i looked like a painting, another an empress.

With all the beautiful compliments, It was like they seen a ghost. All jokes. But you catch my drift right?

I had a full day out an about, so the entire day I got tones of compliments, my final compliment of the night is what inspired me to write this when a guy tells me that my hair reminded him of 'cleopatra'.

I said huh? Cleo? Lol.

And of course it was all love. Just jokes.

My hair wasn't even in braids, which is why I found it funny.

And even though he was playing, I had meditation sessions where cleopatra would come out into the meditation, as if a ritual was taking place. This was a while back, before the comment. I noticed I kept feeling her vibes and would catch a couple of syncs from her, thinking it was from working on a couple of goddess readings. Something about what he said rung a bell right after.

Although his compliment was very sweet, Immediately had one of those 'eureka' moments. Like that of Jimmy Neutron. Lol.

'Cleopatra's Secret"

She had been speaking through me all today. With my experience of course. I could imagine how she must feel being known with a distinguished look that nobody else had. A body of her dreams, and an aura of delight. She was a chosen one who was cherished with a royal empire, but not only that, she had looks that could kill. That was her, Cleopatra.

It was a message. The entire day was a reminder. The signature style. The energy, the appeal.

I have spoken before that goddesses and gods tend to carry a vibration and you can channel them. It wasn't me channeling her at the time but I could understand that whatever I was sensing from cleo it showed itself to me that day. I was just relaxing in the sun. Her spirit walked so that we could run.

The Style. The Flair. The Signature Look Of An Era.

GIF by indigaux

She had a DISTINCTIVE look which is why so many gawked at her. She did not look like anyone you've seen in your day. Which is why she was so special. Cleopatra had the LOOK. She was the MOMENT. She was the IT GIRL! In today's language, that's what she'd be. It is about knowing what works and shaping that into your reality. I knew my favorite hairstyle would always get the girls looking ;) but when i toned it up a notch it had the girls singin'!

Is the style you're going for you look forward to wearing? Be it you cut it different, changed the color, adding a little accessory. How does it make you stand out?

From hair to clothes, finding your niche is what works. & letting go of whatever doesn't make the cut in what typically looks like eye candy. You gotta give yourself something you'd desire seeing for a long time. As the people will never make you forget it. ;)

Cleopatra had her own style. Her own flow. Her own grace. She didn't mirror anyone you would see, and she took advantage of that. & I'm here to say you can too.

Here are some tips as far as confidently being yourself go, and then we go into the spiritual baths & luxuries miss cleo would have indulged in herself.

The Sun Child

Cleopatra was a one of a kind. Lets start there. She had the confidence of a woman who knew she was gorgeous. Who knew everyone wanted a glimpse of one of god's most beautiful creations. Everyone wanted to touch her hair, to taste her, to smell her eloquent perfume... She was someone you wanted to have but couldn't imagine the possibilities.. Because in her mind, she knew that all you would get is a fantasy. In the city of the nile rivers, this beauty was chosen to light up the people with her smile and seductive prowess. So much so this helped her win and intrigue men, helping her win wars throughout her dynasty.

So for you, I say to be a light. To conquer your inner strength and use that as your advantage. Take what you can and run with it. Because your aura is a hypnotizer, as is the sun of course.

When your light shines, you become a Goddess, because you are a reflection of what gives us life.

Rose Bath

GIF by mizworldofrandom

One thing Miss Cleopatra was most known for was her beautiful bath water routine. Every night she'd soak into a bath that would make her skin pop, fresh, and glowing.

So here is an inspired Rose petal baths on a sunday afternoon will be a killer for your skin. Add in shea butter with nut milk (oats or almond milk) with some leaves from your garden, soaking into the bath for about 25-45 minutes will give you an everlasting sensation as you awake.

Also a cup of lavender, as well as some sea salt/epsom salt will do the trick for any anxiety you have been feeling. If you don't have that problem, lavender is also good to help with better sleep.

Lemon Balm Milk Tea W/ Almond Milk

GIF by prettygirlthatsparkles

1 cup of almond milk.

1 tbsp of lemon balm / half tps rosemary, 1 tsp basil leaves

1 tps of honey

1 tsp Caramel filling (or to your liking)

pinch of sea salt mixed well (A PINCH)

mix together.

You can infuse the herb extraction into the milk.

Another way is getting 1 1/2 cup of water in a pot. slightly boil for 5 minutes, place the herbs in there for 2-3 for them to begin infusing. Mix the 1 cup of milk into the pot

You can use a hand mixer to give your milk tea that 'fluffy' look at the top.

1 chunk of cinnamon powder drizzeled at the top

Enjoy.

Aura - The Mystique

If there is one thing I got for you all, is that the vibes need to match the face. Your beauty is one thing, but your vibe is another. And if theres anything that you need to do, you need to work your magic on the world ladies. The gift in being you is in your vibration. How does it feel to be you? To wake up as you? To breathe in your skin? To simply BE.

Your energy is magic. Meditating on the way you want to view the world helps the aura shape its reality. You are youthful, vibrant and intelligent. Use that energy to its advantage. Go to places that represent the person you want to become. Study and read the books that give you the most insight on what it is you desire to understand. Look beyond the universe.

And. Tell. Nobody.

The mystery in who you are is that anybody can be perceived, but the beauty in being who you are is that you are perceive-less. And thats the energy you want to embody.

Nobody knows you. But yourself.

Open Your Spirits, Come The New Dawn

So as I'm currently outside writing this, I'm allowing my intuitive mind to come in and talk to me.

Cleopatra was very spiritual, and was heavily impacted by the moons energies. The sun had a big play in her story/impact. But her wisdom came from self-reflection and having play time outside with the moon's glow.

As I written before, she was the sun's darling. Her aura shined bright because she knew she was The One.

And as do you.

You are much greater than the stars because you come from them.

You are the entire sunset, to the moon and back.

You are a gracious creator, because the God's gifted you with skin that reminensed theirs.

You are capable of anything if you let it. So Mote it be.

With Cleopatra's story, her eyes gazed into the moonlight and she became the wind. She held tightly to her reflection as it is the very thing that opens up the mind finding its way into the heart.

She was open to understanding the things she didn't grow up in. She allowed lessons and tribulations to be her story, but to not let it break her.

She was open to the memories of the nile, the banquets, the rituals, the energy, the channels of the godly forces of creation. The energy of the Sun. She was knowing of her strength. Knowing of her power. Knowing of her grace. She knew who she was at a young age, and she always thought highly of her presence.

Til' Next Time..

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 10 months ago

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doctor who but i've never watched it

and so it begins again. the people asked for it. the people got it. i will ensure the people regret it.

i have never watched this show, or seen an edit, but i am a thorough researcher and i feel that i've got the essence of it.

this is what i have gathered. academicians worldwide take note.

Firstly, so I don't anger anyone, I accept and acknowledge that the tardis is blue and not yellow. My misinformation was from a Drarry fanfiction, and I had hitherto regarded Drarry fanfiction as the absolute truth.

There are doctors, and there are at least fifteen of them. At least two of them are David Tennant, which I can respect.

I'm not sure why the doctors are doctors, because I can find no trace of any medical procedure except for one doctor who licks things, which he learned from the previous doctor. If this is sufficient reason, I apologise for doubting their credentials.

On the other hand, if they are doctors thanks to a postdoctoral degree, this is also fine, though I have never seen anyone study anything. There is however a doctor, and there were people upset about her, but the fandom pointed out she set the tardis on fire, which is apparently a very doctor thing to do. Setting things on fire is absolutely something any research scholar would love, so again, apologies for doubting their credentials.

At least one doctor is gay. It is probably one of the David doctors, which checks out. He says someone, I think a dentist, is hot. I envy the maybe-dentist.

A t least one doctor is trans. I was unable to find them. But they exist. Oh yes, the fandom assures me they exist.

David Tennant as well as Ncuti Gatwa were fanboys, first of the show, and second of David Tennant, and thus they got into acting. Just a fun tidbit from me, since I am now the authority on this fandom.

There are time machines with which the doctors have sex by piloting them, which is questionable because the time machines are only partially sentient. I am not sure if the time machines are the tardis. But the tardis is blue, and not yellow, of that I am certain.

There was a stage play. Or maybe that was a metaphor for the production budget of the early seasons. I am not sure, but toddler David Tennant watched it. I assume no one took a 3 year old to a stage play, so through scientific deduction, it must have been a metaphor.

At some point, Death is an agony aunt and they have to spill secrets to it, or drown in a lake of human skulls. Who is this they? It's so obvious that the fandom sees no need to explain it, and neither do I. I do know it though. Of that you may remain certain.

A David doctor has a niece and she likes being his niece.

A David doctor has a best friend named Donna. He kisses her head. She supports his fruitiness. It is wholesome. It killed him when he lost her.

Slight tangent, but younger David doctor looks like Andrew Garfield. Current David in photos does give Ben Barnes energy. Any Wolfstar shippers, I believe you've found the Wolfstar kid. It is David Tennant.

A lot of people are David Tennant. A reliable Pinterest post on Doctor Who, clearly well researched, gave me the statistic that 15% of Doctor Who is David Tennant. From the amount of David Tennant that I ran across in my research, I don't understand it but I don't doubt it, either.

Speaking of Andrew Garfield, he in involved in this somehow. I am not sure how, but you cannot escape Andrew Garfield. He is even a part of fandoms he never acted in.

There is an individual named Catherine, I think she is the actress, but she could be a character. She seems to have much less knowledge about Doctor Who lore than I do. David Tennant finds it funny. Maybe he would find me funny, too.

The doctors installed some things in the tardis, from a wheelchair ramp to a jukebox. I don't know why a jukebox was needed. If I'm honest I don't know what a jukebox is. I don't know what the tardis is. But it is blue, and not yellow.

There is a French catchphrase.

Something happens in Wales. I don't know what it is, but something always seems to be happening in Wales in these fandoms, so I don't doubt it.

There is an old Doctor Who in a wheelchair, and he is happy to see a David doctor.

They go around in space, and do things. Who is this they? You and I both know the answer, so we needn't talk about it.

The show intro is "doo wee doo".

There is an alien who is not a mouse, the alien is The Meep, and uses the definite article as pronouns. David doctor is supportive of this, which is very good.

I found baby Yoda in the show, but apparently they call it a 'goblin' there, and someone doesn't like it.

There is a lot to do with time. There is a time hole, and things happen, and people die and are resurrected. There is danger, but it is fun.

They have CGI, and it is not good, which is the best thing about it. Who is they? Please stop asking me. It is rather obvious and something I definitely know.

Someone's boyfriend dies and the boyfriend is then resurrected but then gets lost with his boyfriend but then is reincarnated as a girl who would still call herself the someone's boyfriend but then she is replaced by the boyfriend but he's different now. I apologise for any errors that have crept it, but the tardis is blue and not yellow.

Someone named Martha is a doctor, and someone is very proud of her for it.

The eleventh and twelfth doctors like bow ties.

David Tennant wants to be ginger. David Tennant always gets what he wants. Who can refuse David Tennant? David Tennant is then ginger.

A David doctor gets a happy ending.

Someone yelled at Neil Gaiman about this. It was a mistake. He said that since it had already been done, he wouldn't want to give David's character a happy ending in S3, that would be a trifle unoriginal.

A lesson to be learned, Good Omens fandom, just a bit of advice from your son, do not yell at Neil Gaiman, it does not go well. Rumour has it he murdered the people who complained about him always wearing black. Of course, there is the fact that he doesn't exist, but that doesn't seem to have stopped him.

The doctors manifest in the previous doctor's clothes, which is apparently so last season. The tardis also manifests. I don't know where, or how. But it is blue, and not yellow.

I know, there was a lot of lore, so many of you thought I wouldn't be able to gather it all. But look how much research I did! I've got it better than maybe-actress-maybe-character Catherine, I'm sure :"]

Anyway, all the major plot points are covered above, so anyone who hasn't watched Doctor Who, feel free to refer to this and impress your Whovian friends with your knowledge! [not to be judgemental, but what a dreadfully Dr Seuss name, I rather like it]

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 1 month ago

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The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with her last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

#annatar x reader #sauron x reader #the rings of power

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evilwickedme · 6 months ago

Note

I keep seeing news that Israel has rejected a ceasefire deal from Hamas and/or that Hamas has rejected a ceasefire deal from Israel, and I'm having a very hard time keeping up with what's true, what terms have been rejected by who, and how ceasefire negotiations have been going in general. Do you have any information you could share or sources you could direct me to that would give this kind of news in an unbiased way? I think that saying that either side rejected a deal without explaining what parts of the terms were not agreed with is dishonest and I hate that I keep seeing it.

Thanks and I hope you're well and safe.

I'm not going to source this with anything specific cause my job is in the news so I'm just doing this off the cuff while literally on the bus there lmao

Both sides are in fact constantly rejecting ceasefire deals, for their own reasons. Some scattered thoughts from the last several months of coverage

One of the biggest points is ending the war. Hamas keeps going back and forth on this but is mostly insisting that even for the first, humanitarian stage of the hostage/ceasefire deal Israel must agree to take out all of its troops and essentially leave Hamas to remain the ruling party in the Gaza strip

This is essentially the only hard no on Israel's side. Netanyahu especially refuses to end the war without a military victory that essentially is impossible to get without entering Rafah (and in my opinion is currently impossible to achieve at all). There is a willingness to pause the war in exchange for the hostages up to a certain degree, but there simply isn't a chance that Israel is going to give up on defeating the remaining Hamas military divisions in Rafah and hopefully killing Sinwar

A lot of the problem is that Hamas will present a deal that Israel finds unacceptable, Israel will take time to deliberate, come up with a middle ground, and then Hamas will actually make a worse offer in return. A lot of things that Israel is currently putting on the table were things Hamas originally requested and was willing to be on those terms, but now they want things that are even further from Israel's interests.

For example, at first Hamas was asking for women and children to be allowed to go back to northern Gaza. Now they are asking for the entire civilian population to return to northern Gaza... And for Israel to not even check that no Hamas agents are going back up north, where there are still many rocket launchers that were never found. Personally I would like that not to happen, as I would like rockets to not be launched at me. Maybe that's a lot to ask, idk

Another example is the fact that at first Hamas asked for a certain number of terrorists to be freed, but that about a third of them (iirc) would be picked by Hamas, with no veto power given to Israel. The offer currently on the table gives Israel no veto power at all, and unlike the deal from November where Israel only freed terrorists who failed to kill anyone, this time Israel will be required to pretty much exclusively free murderers.

The truth is Hamas has very little interest in a hostage deal. They don't want the terrorists in Israeli prisons as much as we want the hostages that are, according to current intelligence, being used as human shields, many of them surrounding Sinwar at all times. The first hostage deal led to humanitarian aid being brought into Gaza, which due to Israeli negligence has been taken over by Hamas; aid is being increased (although not enough) with no "return on investment" so to speak for Israel.

(sidenote: yes, there is not enough aid entering Gaza. Also, a lot of the aid is being taken by Hamas officials, with the remains being sold at outrageous prices to the refugees. Shit is bad from all directions here)

Meanwhile, the IDF has essentially pulled all its soldiers out of Gaza. There are currently only two military divisions in Gaza iirc, and they're mostly just staying there with not much happening. The current attack on Rafah is "small scale", and comes as a direct result of rockets being shot at south Israel on Sunday, resulting in several people being grievously injured. Overall, not much military action is happening, meaning that, for example, agreeing to cease military activities in Gaza is relatively unimportant to Hamas rn (emphasis on to Hamas).

And another truth is netanyahu ALSO doesn't want a ceasefire. The moment this war ends the public will demand an election (hell, a THIRD of the public is demanding an election NOW, before the end of the war), and he has lost many of his more casual voters. He will be forced out of the government either by his party or by the voters, and netanyahu wants power over all else, fuck the hostages.

He doesn't WANT to answer for his actions in front of his citizens. It's no coincidence that he is willing to be interviewed by the foreign press but no Israeli papers or channels; it's no coincidence that he refuses to allow the Israeli negotiators to come up creative solutions, instead giving them extreme restrictions. And his absolute refusal to even acknowledging the possible existence of a future Palestinian state is going to fuck Israel over in unimaginable ways

In short, fuck Hamas, fuck Netanyahu and the current extreme right wing government, #bringthemhome #freegazafromhamas and #ceasefirenow

As usual, I recommend a mix of Haaretz, the NYT, and the wall street journal as my favorite although never unbiased journalism on i/p. It is so important that we all understand that nobody is unbiased about any political issue, including me, and especially not about Israel and Palestine. It is an extremely charged subject that is best parsed out by reading from a variety of sources, and always noting that if something is only quoted or referenced by sources from one "side", it's frankly probably not true.

I hope for the best, and may this nightmare end as soon as possible

#i/p #jew tag #gail speaks #ask #3rdsday

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two-white-butterflies · 7 days ago

Text

she's got away

Description: You frame your husband for your murder. It looks like Homelander has finally found his match.

Pairing: homelander/supe!reader

Warning: infidelity, murder, downfall of homelander, implied domestic abuse, planned suicide.

A/N: inspired by amy dunne. also, because i know that homelander isn't just gonna marry some basic bitch, he wants that crazy 😭

Homelander has read all news articles about you, your ex-boyfriends couldn't stop talking about the beauty of being the recipient of your love, but that was the thing. It was beautiful when the full warmth of your love is focused on them, but once the spotlight shifts - it leaves them feeling empty, reeling because of the loss.

When he married you, he expected that spotlight to be on him 24/7. "I can't believe that you convinced them to cancel the deal," a giggle escapes your mouth and Homelander's jaw clenches. Seeing you draped all over Stan Edgar made him want to kill that man. "It isn't that difficult when you have the D.A's office on retainer," the man boasts in a low whisper, but Homelander can hear him.

He can hear every little conversation happening inside the building. He glances at you - what did you have that he didn't? Why does Stan Edgar trust you of all people?

"Well that ought to remind them," you mused, taking a sip of your fizzing champagne. "Of what?" Stan raises an eyebrow.

You look straight at Homelander's eyes. Aware that he was listening in to your conversation with the executive. "that Vought isn't a superhero company. It's a pharmaceutical company." The sweet smile does not leave your lips, his jaw clenches - eyes glaring.

How dare you!

Openly defying him in front of Stan Edgar. Besmirching everything that he built and fought tirelessly for, just to twist the knife. Homelander had half the mind to march in your direction, to grab you by the arm and fuck you in front of all the executives that you tried to kiss-ass to. He takes a deep breath.

He mumbles a few curses, none loud enough for anyone to hear.

His heart sinks to the bottom of his chest once he realizes the glaring truth, that your love was beginning to slip away. The spotlight that all your exes couldn't stop talking about was now moving to the next big thing, and no one leaves Homelander! No one leaves him!

"Cheers," he hears you offer a toast.

He sees a woman standing in the table in front of him, clad in a black Etro dress that she probably rented just to wear. She looks like you in some lights. Homelander smiles - a lazy yet charismatic smile.

He walks towards her.

"It must be boring for you, watching all these idiots drink wine." He opens his mouth to speak, and the woman's attention turns towards him. Oh, he was going to move his spotlight before you move yours.

You lazily walk towards your shared apartment with Homelander. It was never a great pleasure spending the night here, the decorations were too manly and corporate for you to ever feel at peace with the surroundings. Dark blue walls - endless fake pictures, and that constant smell of perfume makes your head hurt.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you sink deeper into the sheets. His bed was magnificent - almost like he slept all the time. You sent him a message an hour ago, but he hasn't responded yet. "Where the hell are you," you mumbled while opening your phone - quickly navigating towards the 'find my phone' app.

Uh, yes, you put a tracker on your husband without his consent.

The app loads rather quickly, and you zoom out of the map - to see John inside of a Hilton Hotel. "Son of a bitch," you cursed. You rise from the sheets, sitting down and leaning on the bed-frame. You dial Ashley's number, and she answers on the first ring. "Where is Homelander?" You ask before she could say hello.

"Um, uh, I-" she stumbles in her words.

"Don't lie to me, please." Your voice was surprisingly soft. If the phone call was recorded, you didn't want it to come biting your ass in the future. "I don't want to tell you," Ashley responds in a firm tone. "I won't tell him that I know. It's a promise." You vowed.

"He's going to kill me. I don't want to get in the middle of this." She begged, her voice sounded desperate. "Well, you are in the middle of this and if you don't tell me then I'll find a way to screw you over." You threatened, recorded call be damned, playing good cop was over.

"He's at the Mandarin. He met with someone, please don't tell him that I told you!" She cried, a scoff escapes your mouth.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

yourname: This cape stands for everything that I believe in! It is also a reminder of how thankful I am to call this beautiful land my home. #FosteringTheFuture #Homelander

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homelandertruther: No supe has ever done as much damage to America than Starlight. Thank you homelander 🦅🇺🇸

MyEyesOpen: God bless this country

BootySheath99: Christians for Homelander >>>>

A fake smile ghosts your face as you feel his muscled arms wrap around your body. "Where were you?" You question. Not a nerve in his body showed signs of nervousness, which only made you think that he's been doing this for a long time. How it didn't eclipse your radar? You're not entirely sure. "I had a meeting with Madeline." He lies, pressing a kiss to your naked shoulder.

All men do is lie.

"At the Mandarin?" You raised an eyebrow, a sigh escapes his mouth. He presses another kiss to your naked shoulder, before pressing his face to the crook of your neck. "You don't have to be so damn possessive. It was just a meeting and Madeline is a prude." He talked down on the woman who was responsible for his success.

Your fingers danced across his clothed body, playing with the strands of his perfect blonde hair. This love story began because of a coffee shop, because he wanted to see the good in this world - and found it inside of you. He liked getting his ego stroked, you stoked his ego and then some. He liked watching old american films in his room projector, and you listened to him ramble about every little detail. He wanted a cool girl, and he got her.

Being a cool girl and being his wife is a mutually exclusive event. The occurrence of one supersedes the other and vice versa. You can't be 'cool girl' and also be his wife. It is humbling to become something that you once mocked. "I can't help it," you mumbled.

"No one is going to steal me from you," he promised. Oh, this was the first time that he addressed your feelings towards one another - and it looks like he's only doing it to not get caught. Who is his mistress? You wondered. Was she more beautiful than you? Did she have blonde hair or piercing blue eyes? Was she a southern belle, or perhaps a foreign woman who he has never seen before?

"What's happening to us? We're not happy anymore," you breathed out, watching as his features turned darker. His pupils dilated, his jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened. This was another one of your mind games, one of the things that you'd do before pushing him off the edge. "We are happy." He insisted, because the truth is - there is no use being in a relationship with someone when you're not at your happiest. "We were happy." You corrected, pulling away.

"I know that you met with someone else," you whispered - almost in fear that someone else could hear. "I'm angry - disappointed, but I also love you. I want to be happy, again, with you." You confessed.

He kept staring at you, looking deep into your eyes, almost unable to decipher between the truth and your lies. "John," you refer to him by the name closest to his heart. His eyes soften, thrown back into the reality that you're nothing like him - there was not a bone inside of your body that schemed, or got jealous, or thought of bad things. You are good - the only good part of him.

"I'm sorry, baby." He apologized.

You press a kiss to his lips. Fuck you.

"Hello, you may all know me as Homelander's wife or Comet which is my superhero name. But my real name is Y/N Gillman. A few days ago the NYC District Attorney subpoena'ed me and I agreed to testify against my husband. He's done a lot of bad things. I'm not really sure if I'll be safe. If something happens to me, Homelander did it, my husband killed me."

The television screen fades to black, and his daunting reflection stares right back at him. A few hours ago you were reported missing, seemingly abducted in the middle of the day - and now this video is going viral. Homelander admits that it doesn't look good on him. "What the fuck is going on!" Madeline barged into the office, obviously as discombobulated as he was.

"I was hoping that you could tell me," a shrill air of madness hovers over his poignant figure. He wanted to kill the person in charge of posting this video, he wanted to know if you did this on your own accord - or if there was a gun pointed at your head. The thought of both sends him reeling into a cage of madness.

"I-I think that there's a reasonable explaination for this. She could be abducted by a terrorist group and forced to film this confession." Ashley came to your defense.

Homelander clenches his fist.

"If my wife was abducted under Vought's watch, then, I'm going to kill everyone, and I don't care how this plays out in social media." He threatened, glaring at Madeline - who he was sure had everything to do with this. Madeline takes a deep breath, regaining her composure - and an unnerving smile ghosts her lips. "We should all calm down, Vought is trying its best to track her down right now." She smiles.

"Make it fast!" Homelander raises his voice, throwing a vase in Madeline's direction.

Y/N GILLMAN'S DIARY ENTRY #30

Dear Diary,

My husband looks at me so sweetly, I can't help but think that he's the man of my dreams, the father of my future children, and the love of my life. Lately, I think that this man of mine is going to kill me.

He had sex with someone else. Mandarin Oriental. Find my Phone. It wasn't that hard to figure out. I confronted him last night, and the way that he promised me that he was going to change - almost had me believing that he would. My mother always said: men never change. My mother was right.

I opened his phone (don't ask me why I know his password) but I saw that woman's message. MISS U INSIDE ME. I fucking hate her.

Like any good wife, I confronted him about it (again) and he told me that it was nothing. I can't remember the other parts of our conversation, but it dragged on for so long that I almost thought that it would never end. He told me that he'd kill me. I think he's going to.

"Detective Harold Brink. I'm here to solve your wife's disappearance," the man shook Homelander's hand. The Detective had a certain rogue-ish charm to him, tanned skin with a light stubble. He had a head as big as his ego. Harold Brink seemed confident in his skills. Homelander is going to be the judge of that.

"Shouldn't you be out in the field doing exactly that? You wasted time coming here," Homelander gritted his teeth, staring at the man from his head down to his toes. "Nothing but protocol, Homelander. I don't want to point a finger but there was a video going viral, an accusation made by the person missing, if you may." Harold states.

He doesn't have to be a genius to understand that this incompetent detective was pointing a finger in his direction. "We also found her diary when we searched your apartment." The man lays the book on the table in front of him. He sees your beautiful handwriting, with loops and straight lines. Your handwriting always danced between the line of print and cursive. "I think this man of mine is going to kill me, a direct quote if you weren't able to read." Harold says smugly.

Homelander contemplates killing the man, but it would be obvious. His demographics were going down, he was already facing a media trial - Harold was his hail mary, whether he liked it or not.

"Hyperbole. You don't know my wife." Homelander insisted, seeing the glaring red lights in his periphery. The cameras were rolling, he needed to make a performance of the lifetime. "- and clearly you don't either. I have a video of her saying that if she were ever to go missing, then you'd be the one responsible for it. I also have a page from her diary alleging that you wanted to kill her." Harold says.

"I'm not at a deposition." Homelander glares.

"You will be, soon." Harold stands up, hearing footsteps from the outside. Most probably Homelander's lawyer. "I'll give the subpoena to your attorney," he informs.

Homelander stands up.

"Give me all the papers that you want, but my wife is out there. Instead of spending time trying to back me into a corner, maybe you should actually begin to do what the American taxpayers are paying you to do. Find my wife!" Homelander yells, and on cue the door opens. "How dare you talk to my client." His lawyer says.

Homelander sighs, this was going to be a long month.

homelander: My wife is missing. If you have seen her please report to the authorities. Keep us in your prayers ❤️🙏🏻

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homelander: There has been an avalanche of fake news coming my direction. I want to make it clear that I would never do anything to hurt my wife. The video that has been going viral is a deepfake. 📍 pinned comment

cometfanbase: There's literally evidence of u cheating on her 😭

kuchie92: #WeStandWithHomelander #HereForHomelander

"What is this?" Homelander shoves the phone in Ashley's direction. "Your legal counsel and the PR firm decided that it would be wise to post something in light of..." Ashley does not finish her words. She keeps her distance from Homelander. "I'm surrounded by fucking idiots. What if someone looks into that video and finds out that it isn't a deepfake?" He questions.

These people at Vought keep underestimating the power of social media. "We already took care of that. We own all the deepfake detection software, and they all flag that video down. Plus, our influencers have been posting a lot of videos to sway public opinion." The woman continues speaking, after three shots of vodka - fear doesn't make itself evident.

Homelander sits down at the head of the table. "Updates about the case?" He wanted all the insider information. He also wanted to know if you were really abducted - or just faking it to punish him. "They think that she was abducted, there was blood on the floor, signs of struggle. Vought thinks that we're dealing with a larger force, people who have the resources to pull this off inside of Vought Tower." Ashley avoids his stare, placing a stack of files on the table.

If Homelander was to find out that she was the one who told you about the affair, then she was going to be food for the worms. "Cameras?" He takes a sharp breath. "All records have been wiped from the database. They're trying to recover it but it's a slippery slope." Ashley continues, shifting as she stands.

Should she really be the person to tell him about all of these? One wrong word and he's going to shoot a laser through her head. "Get out of my sight," Homelander leaned on his chair - Ashley scattered faster than pigeons do at the sight of danger.

Madeline warned him about his temper, told him that he wasn't allowed to kill anyone until they were able to find you. She really thinks that he has something to do with your abduction. For the first time, Homelander is innocent in this crime.

His heart beats a little faster at the thought of you being held in danger. Hopeless against your abductors because he wasn't there to protect you. He looks like a goddamn pussy. It is his duty as your husband to protect you, and he couldn't even make sure that the cameras in Vought Tower were working.

When he finds you - when he finds the person responsible for this. He is going to kill them. He's going to torture them gently until they beg for death, and he's never going to give them death. He's just going to make their existence a meaningless chore. Born to be tortured. Born to be reduced to nothing but limbs and organs.

The perfect radical justice.

He was just about to shoot his lasers through the window but Harold Brink walks through the sliding doors of the Seven meeting room. "Homelander, you're coming with me. You have the right to remain silent..." Harold's voice drowns out once he feels himself stand up, his hands wrapped around by cold steel handcuffs.

You will remain in police custody until the investigation is over.

The following day, his lawyer came marching. His pays the man $10,000,000 annually and Homelander can say that he is worth the money. His cell (if he could call it that) was luxurious, a double mattress bed and five star dining - it was almost a vacation. But his mind couldn't rest - all he could think about was you.

If you were safe, fucking with him, or actually dead in a ditch.

"You need to make a public statement." His lawyer made his message very clear. "The Seven has been doing work without you. Vought has been talking about suspending you, most of all, half of the public thinks that you killed your wife." The man updated.

"If I speak then everyone is going to think that I did it for public opinion." Homelander gritted his teeth. He could easily get out of this facility in a blink, but due to propriety he must stay. "If you don't speak then everyone is going to think that your shameless," his lawyer enunciated. "- if we allow that fact to sit then it will become the truth." He added, handing him a file.

Presumably, the script for his 'public' message. Homelander brought to his knees by a goddamn missing person's report. "My wife is still missing. I'm not seeing anyone do anything about that. They're all pretty determined to point the finger at me." Homelander scoffs.

The man in front of him adjusts his glasses. "Did you do it?" He questioned, aware that Vought made contingency plans - so that no one would be able to record Homelander during his 'jail' time. "No," Homelander said with all the strength in his chest.

His people, the Americans, were turning against him.

"It doesn't matter anyways. As long as there is no body, they can't make us do shit. Now, about that public announcement, I'll be back here tomorrow - and ease up on the whiskey." His lawyer stands up.

HOMELANDER'S INTERVIEW

Cameron Coleman: Did you kill your wife, Homelander?

Homelander: I did not kill my wife, I am not a murderer.

Cameron Coleman: But you hurt her. You were unfaithful to her.

Homelander: I was. I am not proud.

Cameron Coleman: How do you expect us to believe you, when we all know that you're a liar?

Homelander: I didn't come forward about that fact because I knew that it would make me look bad. I knew that no one would trust me if that fact ever came forth. A real man doesn't hurt his wife. A good superhero protects everyone, but I'm just a man. I don't care about my reputation anymore. I need my wife, because I know that I need to make it better. I was a bad husband to a wonderful wife, that is the truth, Cam.

Cameron Coleman: And you expect us to [cuts off]

Homelander: I met Y/N L/N ten years ago and I was enchanted by everything that she did. She made me believe that there was good in this world, as I was always exposed to all the bad sorts, all the bad crimes. My job as a superhero has desensitized me to violence, I thought that violence was normal. When she came into my world I realized that it wasn't, life could be and can be gentle and kind. I wanted her to love me so I pretended to be something that I was not.

Cameron Coleman: You talk like a man who believes that his wife is still alive. Is she?

Homelander: She is alive. Please stop talking like she isn't.

Cameron Coleman: Okay, what would you like to say to your wife?

Homelander: Y/N, I love you. You are the most special person in this world, and I have hurt myself over the things that I've done to you. Come home, please baby. I'll spend my whole life trying to make it up to you, trying to be the man that I promised to be. The man who makes you happy, the man who thinks and remembers everything that you love. I'm sorry for doing the easy things instead of doing the right things. Come back, please.

Homelander: I'll do everything that you want me to do. We'll build a house by the beach, I'll stop being Homelander. I'll give you kids and dogs and make you that surfboard that I always promised to buy.

[tear trickles down Homelander's eyes]

[screen fades to black]

A gasp escapes your mouth as you finished watching his interview. A sudden realization comes to you. This man has killed for you - this man is killing himself for you. He has stripped himself bare of everything that he holds dear (he only holds his reputation dear). The American consensus on his morality has waned significantly.

They all think of his name and spit on the ground. Once he realizes that no one loves him, he's going to burn the world. And isn't it your duty to keep Homelander down to earth?

This husband of yours has hurt you so much, but he also knows what kind of words to say to keep you drawn back to him. You were twin flames, both with large fires, just waiting to burn each other out. No one understood you like him (vice versa) and he is the only person who's able to match your craziness.

The wanton desire that he feels over destruction. The wanton desire that you feel over destroying him. We are born for each other, you thought. You made that man - filled his boring and touch-starved self with attention until he began forming his own ambitions. He's nothing without you, and Vought is nothing without you.

A few weeks ago, you really wanted to kill yourself.

You planned on slitting your throat down the river. Your dead body would wash up on the shores, and everyone will point their fingers at Homelander. His life was going to be ruined, his reputation, his demographics - he was going to be a FAIL in all demographics. But now, maybe you should get back to him.

Because he really loves you. He wants to make it up to you. He knows the words to say to rile you up, and he knows what words to say to make you forgive him. He was the Adam to your Eve.

Your creator and your ruin.

If love doesn't rile you up, make you change yourself, make you evil, then it isn't love in the first place. It's dependence.

This thing that you feel for Homelander. It's love.

Love in its own twisted way.

#homelander x reader #homelander #the boys #homelander fanfics #the boys fanfics #john gillman x reader #john gillman #homelander's wife

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