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pochipop · 1 year ago

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＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — IN THIS SUNLESS MAZE, I'VE GIVEN MY TRUST TO YOU (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — you hit him with a crowbar in a moment of fear, but he cares and cares and cares .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical mentions of violence, spoilers for the homicipher game prologue/chapter one . (if you haven't played at least the prologue, i fear this will make absolutely negative sense.)

#. word count! — 1.9k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? // i know this is not the content anyone is asking for from me but unfortunately i am in my dark and scary lover era and university is eating me alive, so pls go easy on me i am sensitive!!!

The halls of this strange place are dark and dreary. The air is perpetually moist and it smells musty no matter where you go. Around every corner there’s something that makes your nose turn up in disgust, be it the cobwebs littering the ceilings from above, and subsequently the spiders resting all about them, or any of the other unsavory attributes this hell-hole has managed to acquire after being seemingly left to rot away for so long.

But you know you’re not alone here. Though you’re certain the residents you’ve come across aren’t truly human at all, —you know you’re not the only sentient creature here. For the sake of simplicity (and easing your weary mind of one thing, at the very least) you’ve taken to referring to them all as what they appear to resemble most: men. One walks the halls dressed in nothing but scarlet, carrying an umbrella to match his attire. You only caught a glimpse of him as he passed by, but a strange feeling overcame you when he sauntered through the dingy walkway, head facing straight forward like he was hyper-focused on something unseen just up ahead.

Though he was likely the most outwardly human-seeming of them all, you kept the farthest distance from him. If there was anything you had to rely on down here, it was your intuition, —and going near him was the exact opposite of smart decision making, according to your gut.

Another wore a grimy hood that smelled faintly of mildew and covered the entirety of his head, so much so that his face was completely shrouded by the shadow it cast down on him. . . If he even had a face at all, that is. It was an unsettling thought, but he was helpful in spite of your hesitancy, and he seemed to be guiding you in one direction or another. His voice was gravelly, sounding like he hadn’t used it in a long time. He made no move to accompany you past the small room you’d awoken in, but after encountering a plethora of oddities soon after leaving, you began to understand why.

Some were worse than others, like the man dressed in piercing red who made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Others spoke to you in spite of your inability to answer them in whatever native tongue they were using, appearing kind enough on the surface. You even half-heartedly followed the directions of a dismembered wrist and took the severed head of an auburn-haired male down a flight of janky stairs, almost tripping down the second flight when the lights flickered on and off overhead. It was a wonder the bulbs were still working, or that electricity still flowed through any of the wires of this place. Presumptuous as you may have been for it, none of those you encountered seemed like the type to work on circuitry. . .

Surprisingly expressive for being little more than a lowly head, you traded him off to a man with ghostly pale skin, silver-white hair, and bandages over his eyes that moved around just fine in spite of them. You sat with the two of them for a bit, receiving a lackluster language lesson that you didn’t retain much from, but thanked them for anyway on the off chance they might understand you somehow.

And then you high-tailed it out of the lowest level you’d been on thus far, narrowly avoiding an injection to the arm that you may or may not have accidentally agreed to. When you stopped to catch your breath, you found yourself concerned for the safety of a chopped head, —something you never thought you’d be worried about in your lifetime. Still though, the two of them had seemed cordial enough. . . Friendly, even, but a part of you feared you were anthropomorphizing entities much unlike yourself a bit too much.

Worse off, you barely circumvented the swipe of a strange hand with fingernails dirty enough to have colored themselves black that reached for your chest, —or, for the organ inside of it, rather. All that because you offered a weak smile to a creepy half-face peeking through the gap of a doorway.

Needless to say, you were done being naive by the time an oddly moving silhouette rounded the corner of the room you were hiding away in. After heaven knows how long of slipping between rooms and making generally poor choices, you’d come to the conclusion that enough was enough. The next thing that tried to test you, be it human, monster, or something else entirely, you were going to make them regret it. So you armed yourself with a rusty crowbar left behind in the rubble of the building and you tucked yourself away into a little cavern just barely wide enough for you to squeeze inside of. From the quick look you stole of it before slinking away inside, you could only assume it was the result of a half-finished wall demolition.

Steps came nearer, as if smelling you out like a bloodhound. Instinctively, you held your breath, hands shaking wildly, even as the hunched body rounded the corner and seemed to look at you through a mess of long, greasy, black hair. He only stumbled back slightly as you clipped his forehead with the crowbar. All things considered, it wasn’t much of a strike. It drew some blood, but had he been anything like you feared, he’d have clawed you to pieces there and then.

But he slumped back a little awkwardly, almost seeming dejected by your violence. When his forearm raised to his injured head, he mumbled something you couldn’t understand in a quiet, somber tone. A small amount of blood trickled down his forehead and he shuffled away just out of sight to sulk in the same corner you’d snagged the crowbar from. Now you just felt bad. So much had happened within your short time here, and you’d gone and taken it out on the only creature who didn’t seem to have any ill intentions toward you. And perhaps worst of all, you didn’t even have the vocabulary to properly apologize.

“Um. . .” you utter nervously, crouching down to his height, “I’m sorry. I thought. . .”

And then you trail off, realizing that it doesn’t really matter what you say anyway. It’s not like he understands you, and it’s not as if you’re in any position to be asking for forgiveness from someone you just bludgeoned with a rusty crowbar.

The way he turns at the sound of your voice nearly causes you to jump out of your skin. It’s not that he’s ugly, —his appearance is just. . . Alarming. Pair it with the location you’ve found yourself at, the inability to navigate this god forsaken building to any degree of efficiency, and recent previous encounters with those much like him, and you have yourself a recipe for disaster.

He’s responsive to the softness of your tone in a way you hadn’t expected, shuffling around until he’s facing your direction. His features are hidden behind the mess of his hair, and he moves toward you again, almost like he’s trying to figure out if he can trust you or not.

When you shift a bit, he shrinks back, but you utter another apology and do your best to remain still thereafter so as not to frighten him away. He wipes some blood from his forehead and slathers it onto the dirty floor, then comes close enough to touch you, leaving some smears of crimson in his wake. His placement is firm against your thigh, but it doesn’t feel salacious in the slightest. His hands are cold, but there’s a warmth he exudes that you can’t quite explain nor put your finger on.

Maybe it isn’t the smartest move you’ve ever made, —but you’re going with your gut again, and it’s telling you that this time it’s okay to test the waters.

There’s no malice in the way he kneels before you, head tilting up so he can see your eyes through his stringy hair. He smells faintly of metal from the blood on his forehead and hand, but it’s nothing that won’t go away after he cleans himself up. That lingering scent of mildew that the hooded man also had might stick around, though. . .

In a place like this, you’re sure it can’t really be helped.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, even if he can’t make sense of it. “You scared me, is all. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

There’s nothing in particular he does to indicate that he understands what you’re blabbering about, but he moves a bit closer again, invading your space to touch your shoulders. Thankfully, that wound you gave him seems to be superficial at most.

He says something, but you can’t make sense of it, so you stare at him blankly. He repeats it, a bit louder this time, and you shake your head.

“I don’t understand,” you reply.

He likely doesn’t either, and you’re playing a game of cat and mouse, but he doesn’t seem to mind much. His lingering touch is more curious than anything else, traveling from your shoulders down the length of your arms, then fiddling with each of your fingers on either hand.

You find yourself wondering what he is, —how he got here, what he’s thinking, what any of his unfamiliar words might mean. All things considered, he’s being exponentially gentle with you. Somehow, you come a little undone as a result. All the adrenaline has faded and you find yourself tearing up, the realization of your situation sinking you under all at once in a way it somehow hadn’t before. When you were moving through the halls and the stairways, there’d always been something to focus on, but now that you’ve come to this standstill with him, it’s impossible to keep yourself from unraveling a bit.

A soft sniffle makes his head snap upward, and he cups your cheeks in either of his cool hands. His nails are long and they sit against your skin so gently, though you know he could use them to rip at your flesh at any moment if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t.

His head tilts to the side like a small, confused animal, and he mumbles something that you obviously can’t comprehend.

He’s a bit rough as he wipes the tears from your eyes, but you’re almost certain it’s unintentional. Though he’s strange and you don’t understand a lick of what he says to you, —you find yourself feeling grateful for his presence. It’s the first time since you found yourself stranded here that you don’t feel so alone.

One of his hands moves away from your face, instead planting itself on the crown of your head. He stills for a moment, then drags his hand along your hair, as if petting a kitten or a puppy dog. You don’t complain, instead offering him a sad smile, which he returns (although his is much more unsettling.)

“Thank you,” you say, even though he can’t decipher it.

After a moment longer, he shuffles back toward the room’s opening and gestures toward the hall. You can only assume he’s trying to lead you somewhere, and you make the decision to trust him for the time being. Though he’s odd-looking and moves only by crawling on all fours, there’s something comforting about the idea of being less lost at sea with no one to help guide you through the maze that surrounds you.

Thus, you pull yourself to your feet and move toward the doorway, readying yourself for whatever comes next.

#homicipher #mr crawling #homicipher x reader #homicipher chapter one #homicipher chapter 1 #mr crawling x reader #mr scarletella #mr hood #mr silver hair #mr silver-hair #mr gap #mr chopped head #homicipher game #mr crawling reader insert #homicipher reader insert #mr crawling homicpher

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tin-wufborf · 3 months ago

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 12)

Hello party people, and welcome to part 12! This installment is brought to you by my summer cold because there's nothing quite like having a cold when it's been 100+ degrees all weekend!

Again, thank you all for all of the support you've shown this series. Before we move forward, I just want to give you all a little heads up that we are now entering my "anti-Scott McCall" era (which I have yet to leave, tbh; I just read less Bad Friend Scott McCall fics than I used to). There aren't a ton of them on the list, but there's enough of them that I feel like a warning is a good idea, and I know there will be more moving forward. Okay? Okay.

No more rambling on for me. I'm working against the clock in terms of when my sinus pressure kicks in for the day, and I want to get this out sooner rather than later so I can get back to simulated trucking.

Smoochies and squeezies!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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You and the Night by Hyperion327 (E | 1/1 | 9,634)

Stiles has a secret. Ever since he was ten, there's been... someone who appears in his night from time to time, someone with glowing gold eyes that no human being could ever have. His shadow has been there for years, keeping watch in the darkness. He should be scared, should have told his sheriff father about the intruder from the beginning, but he can't. Not when the shadow has been the one who's comforted him on the lonely nights. Even if he can't see him, he knows one thing for sure: He trusts him absolutely.

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Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales by Little Spoon (JaydenNara) (M | 6/6 | 11,240)

Going to college was exciting and new, a chance for new friends and a fresh start, and the best part was, there was a supernatural fraternity on campus, meaning Scott finally had the freedom to be himself.

Then he met the resident human who came with a stalker alpha. What was the point of a supernatural fraternity if he still had to pretend to be human. And seriously, did Stiles ever fall asleep somewhere normal?

(aka - Five TImes Scott Found Derek and Stiles Sleeping, and the One Time He Didn't)

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Theory of Overprotective Canines by reosepetals42 (T | 1/1 | 11,798)

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

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Throw Me to the Wolves by skoosiepants (T | 1/1 | 13,493)

He feels the physical embodiment of devastated, his already too strung-out mind struggling to wall up all the hurt, the rejection—he takes a deep shuddering breath and looks down at the shredded skin on his arms, at the sluggish way they’re weakly healing.

There is nothing, nothing he wants more than to have Derek sweep in and make everything all better. He should have known, though, that something like that would never happen to him.

OR -

Stiles accidentally gets bitten, and everything goes to hell.

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Where We Belong by thecheekydragon (E | 1/1 | 16,548)

Derek rescues a little werewolf girl and takes on the responsibility of caring for her. Stiles helps.

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And The Moon Shined A Little Brighter by LuneFaitLaFolie (T | 1/1 | 17,952)

It’s not in the same spot, it’s over his left shoulder blade, almost like it’s over the back of his heart, but it’s just as big. It isn’t black either, so it also doesn’t match any of his other rune tattoos, which Stiles can say with confidence without looking, are either black or blue. No, it’s a deep red, the same colour as Derek’s alpha eyes.

It is though, a huge ass matching triskelion permanently on his body, and he has no clue how the fuck to tell Derek about it.

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Safe Place to Land by Green (T | 1/1 | 19,298)

The Hales have been tracking a group of hunters who've targeted small packs with the help of a magic user. When they finally attack the hunter compound, they aren't expecting to find Stiles, a Spark who's practically a slave, and his young werewolf son. Derek isn't expecting the Spark to be his mate, either.

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Foolish devouring things, build your castle in me by LunaCanisLupus_22 (E | 1/1 | 23,181)

“I will marry you,” he declares. “But should any more harm come to my father or my people, I will raze the earth itself until I feel the lifeblood drain from your corpse and paint my skin with it.”

It is not an idle warning, but from the princeling it has none of the desired effect. Derek feels no fear, but in this instance at least diplomacy triumphed over the spilling of more blood. It is all the same to him anyway. But Regent Peter was most insistent they avoid a drawn-out, gruelling war.

“Then we have reached an accord.”

Or the barbarian sterek war AU that nobody asked for.

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She Walks in Beauty series by breakaway71 (2 works | G-T | 29,144)

1. Innocence (G | 1/1 | 964) Claudia wonders, sometimes. 2. All That's Best of Dark and Bright (T | 1/1 | 28,180) It's not a gender identity crisis if you've known all along what the problem is. If you've been purposely trying to ignore it since you were old enough to consciously make that choice. But what happens after that, when you finally learn how to let go?

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No Rest For The Wicked (Love is Kind) by midnightcas (G | 11/11 | 31,328)

When a homeless, scared for his life, kid attempts to hold up Stiles Stilinski's bakery, the last thing he expected was to be offered a muffin...or a job. . . . "I have a feeling that you don’t want to be a felon on the run from the cops your whole life. Especially over such a stupid thing like robbing a bakery. Murder I’d get, but this?”

“Well," his eyes fall to the gun, "I might murder you.”

Stiles swallowed.

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The Accidental Hale Brood by Julibean19 (M | 1/1 | 42,370)

“I know, I just…” Derek trailed off, rubbing his forehead with both hands, frustrated that the right words weren’t coming to him.

“What?” Stiles asked honestly, pulling on one of Derek’s wrists until he could see his expression again.

Derek’s heart pounded in his chest so loud he figured even Stiles could hear it. He inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly through his nose, trying to keep his voice even. “When we take them places, and spend time with them, and make them smile… it feels like…”

“It feels like they’re yours,” Stiles finished for him, licking his lips before snagging the bottom one between his teeth.

“No,” Derek said, taking Stiles by surprise. “It feels like they’re ours.”

“Oh,” Stiles said simply, mouth still slightly open while he contemplated Derek’s words.

Or, the one in which Stiles and Derek have been BCPD partners for years when they are assigned Halloween duty and run into a couple of kids from the orphanage. One fake marriage and two real adoptions later, they somehow become a family.

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Ain't no rest for the wicked by MBlack93 (E | 8/8 | 46,463)

''What the hell happened, Stiles?!'' He hisses.

Stiles tries not to flinch from his dad's tone, but he fails miserably.

''I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I - I woke up and everything in my room was in flames, even the bed, dad, I - I don't know what is happening.''

As soon as he said it, his dad's face closes off.

''You're telling me that you don't know? You didn't remember? Is it possible that you're - you're poss-''

''NO! No, no! No! It can't be. It just can't.''

''But you don't remember Stiles. You don't know what happened.'' His dad remembers him. His eyes are boring into Stiles's.

Stiles falters because no, he doesn't remember, he doesn't know what is happening, but the Nogitsune is gone, he saw it happening, he knows it's gone. He can't be possessed any more.

''Dad-'' before he can finish his sentence, his dad lets out a weary sigh. And a sob escapes his dad when he looks at the burning house.

''I - I don't know if I can deal with this son.'' His dad confesses. And - and that's it. Stiles stops doing anything for a moment until a sob escapes him, and he can feel his heart break into a million pieces.

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I'll be right back (in 24 years) by AnaIsFangirling (Ana_K_Lee) (T | 35/35 | 48,190)

When Derek thought about time travel – and he did, a lot – this was not what he'd had in mind. He'd thought he would see his younger self, tell him to leave Paige alone and NEVER trust Kate Argent. He'd thought he’d get to come back once that was done and everything would be perfect. He never imagined having to relive his entire life.

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Those Are The Days That Bind Us series by s_a_m (3 works | T-M | 63,389)

The series follows Stiles as he struggles to deal with the trauma, heartbreak and betrayals that cause him to run away from Beacon Hills, and the adventures that come during his time away.

[Subsequent parts are in progress and will be posted upon completion.]

1. Those Are The Days That Bind Us (M | 5/5 | 52,171) His father wasn’t stupid. He was an officer of the law, trained to look for patterns. He confronted Stiles about werewolves and they shouted and Stiles tried to explain but his father was so, so, so mad, more mad than Stiles had ever seen him, ever in all his life and then his father looked at him and said, “It’s like you’re not my son anymore.” And Stiles broke. 2. You Have One New Message (T | 1/1 | 5,093) A flash in the corner of John’s eye caught his attention. The home phone had a message. He hit play. ‘You have one new message.’ “Uh, hey Dad. It’s uh, its Stiles.” 3. Himmelfahrtskommando (M | 1/1 | 6,125) She can’t help but laughing at the growing knowledge that her whole life has likely just been one long suicide mission.

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stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) (E | 1/1 | 65,656)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

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Just the Same by foxlavender (G | 7/7 | 68,066)

Something is seriously up with the captain of the lacrosse team. There's just no way Derek Hale is human. *** “I was wondering if you're even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it's ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It's unfair for us. I mean, it's obvious you work out, and I don't, so that could be why, but like...I was just wondering if you were human, that's all.”

“Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—”

“Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can't threaten him with shit.

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The Fox & The Wolf by Dextrous_Sinistrous (E | 10/10 | 79,151)

The war between the fox and wolf clans has raged for centuries, ignited in a time before anyone can remember. Now both clans—tired of the bloodshed and hate—are searching for a way to end the war.

Crowned prince Stiles Stilinski—heir to the fox clan—has agreed with his father to meet with the Hales, the ruling royal family over the wolf clan. Under the counseling of the Druids, both clans are presented with a solution to the war: unite the Stilinski and Hale clans through marriage. To quell their people's anger, both Stiles and Derek—eldest living Hale Alpha—are urged to accept the other as an equal; as their mate.

For the sake of their people, both houses make the ultimate sacrifice by choosing duty over love. But, out of what was first assumed to be compromised, quickly turns to be a better match than either could have hoped for. But not all is easy for either clan, as some members refuse to believe that the war could end so easily.

[Update: I'm stating here, because some people aren't reading the author note at the beginning, this story was inspired by/based on Amelia Atwater-Rhodes' Hawksong]

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Didn't See That Coming by knittersrevolt (E | 43/43 | 83,838)

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in the dust after he catches his husband cheating on him.

He finds his way to New York where he starts working for the Hale House Nursery, accidentally adopts a werewolf baby (through no fault of his own thank-you-very-much), and somehow starts training to be an Exorcist Emissary. So, in general, life was going good.

Then he hears that demons have found their way into his hometown. Can he face his inner demons and go back to save the day?

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I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus_22 (E | 13/13 | 135,585)

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

Or the one where Derek gets attacked by hunters, ends up with amnesia and forgets Stiles is his mate

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Manipulated by DearDaisy (Scribblesnpaws) (M | 30/30 | 221,251)

Nine years ago, Scott kicked Stiles out of the pack. Stiles left and never returned. But now his dad has been hurt, so Stiles returns to take care of him. No one knows the truth of what happened back then, not even Scott or Stiles. But that's about to change.

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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highdefhoetry · 1 year ago

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Behind the Blindfold, ch. 1 [Satoru Gojo x Reader]

tags: NSFW!!! tickle kink, female reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (vaginal), hand kink, size kink, size difference, reader is short, enemies to lovers (kind of), dubcon (reader is resistant but only because she's denying feelings), light humiliation with verbal teasing, squirting, light/gentle domination, reader is tsundere with trust issues, gojo is kind of a fuck boy

summary: when you take a job exorcizing curses overseas, you find yourself struggling to resist the charms of a certain jujutsu sorcerer.

word count: 4,700

read on ao3 here!

You knew you would come to hate this man the moment you laid eyes on him.

You knew his type. Arrogant, cocky, full of hot air and self importance. The kind that used his charm as a weapon and manipulated his victims with sweet nothings and playful banter. You almost gasped when you first locked eyes with his big, beautiful baby blues. His bright smile enchanted you further, almost making you blush when you found yourself staring. And when he stared down at you from his massive height, sizing you up, trying to decide how he was going to consume you, you almost felt your resolve wear down as he focused all his attention onto you.

Almost.

What made Gojo Satoru so dangerous was his self awareness, how he carried himself with such certainty knowing he would always emerge victorious, whether he was conquering a curse or conquering someone’s heart. If you had known the higher-ups in Tokyo had paired you with someone like this, you would have turned the plane around and gone back the way you came. To you, there was nothing more treacherous than a man who was both attractive and talented, especially when he was aware of it.

You couldn’t let yourself get close. Falling for him would mean certain annihilation. Set on self preservation, you vowed to keep him at a distance and surround yourself with walls too high for him to climb.

But as you soon learned, even the strongest resolves could be worn down with the right touch.

---

When you were introduced to your new partner, you almost quit on the spot.

You had been summoned to Japan in the late fall, when curses tended to run rampant and even the special grade sorcerers had trouble keeping up with their attacks. That’s where you came in. The sorcerers in this country rarely requested backup from foreign countries, even their own allies, so when your clan assigned you to this job you knew things were serious. Hailing from the other side of the ocean, you arrived in Tokyo ready to earn your pay and leave. A job was a job, and nothing more.

But you didn’t anticipate having to work with a man like him.

“Satoru Gojo. The strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the modern era, at your service. And you are?”

His casual, overly familiar way of speaking set you off immediately. You hadn’t asked, yet he announced himself with a great deal of self-importance. The way he was reclining on the sofa, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table, barely giving you the time of day despite knowing you’d be working together closely for the time being really pissed you off. Especially because he hadn’t bothered to get briefed on anything. As if he was too important for such matters.

“The strongest, huh?” you said with arms crossed, unamused. “According to who?”

He turned his head towards you, but you couldn’t tell if he was actually looking at you or not since his eyes were hidden behind a dark blindfold. He stood up with a smirk, making his way to you slowly yet confidently. He stood in front of you, towering over your body at his massive height. He had to be at least six feet tall, maybe more. Having him leer at you like this made you feel two inches tall.

“According to me, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, unfazed by his arrogance.

“Hmm… are you really capable of handling special grade curses?” He looped around you, sizing you up. “You’re quite small for a sorcerer.”

You furrowed your brows in annoyance. He wasn’t wrong; you were short in stature, but that had nothing to do with your abilities. As a matter of fact, you were considered quite gifted in your own country, the best of the best in your clan. But the difference was that you were humble. The polar opposite of this annoying bastard.

You already couldn’t fucking stand him.

You weren’t going to take his bait, though. He was probably saying that to get a rise out of you, and you wouldn’t let him. You had to hold your ground now, or else your partnership would start off with an imbalanced dynamic.

“Size has nothing to do with ability. But I’m sure you know that already.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Haha! She’s a feisty one. I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”

You rolled your eyes and made yourself scarce, not wanting to spend any more time with this aggravating man than you had to. You prayed this job would end quickly, so you could go home and forget about him. Your sanity depended on it.

---

To your dismay, the tension between you two steadily built up over the course of several weeks.

You were in Japan longer than anticipated, due to the sheer amount of curses that had spread throughout the city. It seemed like every day you were handling a new case, rushing around from place to place with fucking Gojo at your side. Gojo, who jumped at every opportunity to poke and tease you. Gojo, who always stood a little too close. Gojo, who seemed to double down when he sensed that you were at the limits of your patience. Gojo, who one day discovered a secret you had sworn not to share with anyone ever again, in the absolute worst way possible.

“(Y/N), don’t you ever smile?” he said on the way back to your living arrangements one evening. You’d told him you were heading back alone, but he insisted on following along with you after making some excuse about the rise in violent crime in Tokyo recently. Whatever. It was complete bullshit, just like every other fucking thing that came out of his mouth.

“I smile a lot when I’m not around you,” you spat back with venom.

“So cold, (Y/N). And I’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming to you this whole time.”

He moved in closer, “accidentally” brushing an arm against yours. You instinctively fluttered away.

“You’re being nice because you want something from me.”

He was quiet for a moment, but only a moment.

“Well, you’ve got a point,” he grinned, turning his face towards yours. Again, you couldn’t see his eyes, so you weren’t certain what lied beyond his half-hidden expression. “I do want something from you.”

“See? I told you. But you’re never going to get it.”

“Never say never. I can be very persuasive.”

“And I can be very stubborn,” you barked. “So let’s keep things surface level and just focus on the job.”

“All work and no play makes (Y/N) a dull gal.”

He slid closer again, until the two of you bumped shoulders. You felt your heart begin to race and tried to silence the steady beating. You had locked away those kinds of feelings long ago, and you weren’t about to release them now. No matter how much your body screamed for touch.

“Don’t you want to know what it is that I want from you?” He leaned down, his face a little too close to yours. He walked with so much confidence and self-assurance, even when he wasn’t not looking where he’s going. You couldn't wrap your head around it.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.” you respond with callousness, walking a little faster. You’re almost at the apartment. Almost to freedom.

“I’ll tell you anyway,” he said when you reached the front door, leaning against it before you could dig your keys out of your bag. “It’s you.”

You stared at him with mouth slightly agape, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“... What?”

His grin grew bigger. “You.”

Your brows knitted together as you spoke, still in somewhat of a daze. He couldn’t be serious. There was no way.

“What?”

“I’m speaking your language, am I not? Perhaps I should say it in a different way.”

He approached you slowly, until your back was against the wall and his hand rested beside your head. He closes the gap between you, nearly pressing his body against yours. You stare up at him, boring holes into the blindfold, wondering if he was looking back.

“Why the hell do you want me?”

“Why not?”

“You could have anyone else in the world. You don’t need me.”

“I could. But they’re boring. You’re not.”

You scoffed, steadily inching away. “Well, too bad. Because I don’t want you.”

“Is that so?”

He cornered you again, leaning over until you felt his breath on your face. It was cool and minty, fitting for a man like him. You tried to scowl harder, but it became more difficult the closer he got. You couldn't remember the last time someone else was this close to you. You wish you could forget how it feels.

“You know, I’d really like to see you smile at least once. You’re always so serious.”

His words scratched something in your brain that you had buried long ago, dragging it back to the surface to run rampant. Your already quickening heartbeat increased more, your breath hitched with anticipation. There was no way… you had to stop this before it got started, or else you’d be in a lot of trouble.

“Try being funnier then.”

His mischievous grin only grew bigger as his aura suddenly became more menacing. He held his fingers in the air, wiggling them threateningly in your direction as your stomach dropped to the ground.

“Orrr… I could try a more hands-on approach.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, but I would.”

“Wait, no! Don’t-”

Before you could protest any further, you burst into laughter. He put his hands on your waist and started to softly scribble your sides, making you jerk around to try and get away from his hands. His touch was gentle, yet tortuous. You couldn't even try holding back your giggles; it felt way too ticklish. You yelled at him to stop, then crumpled over as your knees weakened.

“Ahh, she’s ticklish… I’ll have to remember this for later.”

His words were like fire to oil. You shrieked a little louder, squirmed around a little harder. Why did he have to go and say that?! You cursed yourself for allowing yourself to get into this position. Now he was going to figure you out.

Fortunately, he stopped after just a few seconds and laughed heartily.

“Ahahaha! (Y/N), you have a beautiful laugh! And your smile is dazzling. It’s a shame you don’t share it with the world more often.”

You didn’t have it in you to come up with a good comeback. You were still giggling lightly, arms wrapped around your body defensively in fear that he’d strike again. You felt your face heating up and fought the urge to hide it. That would only make you look flustered, and then he’d win. That long lost fuzzy feeling you had long forgotten had come back in full swing, and you noticed how you'd started rubbing your legs together as sudden desire filled your body…

You stared at him for a moment before suddenly rushing through the front door. You managed to get inside quickly enough that he didn't have a chance to stop you. You heard him say something as you slam the door behind you, but paid it no mind.

You wouldn't let him get any closer. He had already seen too much.

---

Of course, Satoru Gojo would not fucking let it go.

It became the topic of conversation for the next few days, the one thing he droned on about no matter how many times you shot him down. It was both annoying and panic-inducing, but thankfully he hadn’t yet asked about that. While the two of you are waiting for the next assignment in the break room at the school, he brings it up again as you lay on the sofa pretending to be asleep.

“So, are you finally gonna tell me what happened the other night, (Y/N)?” he crouches down to face level with you. “You ran away like a little frightened mouse and left me all alone in the cold night.”

“I said leave it alone!” you sigh, still not opening your eyes. Why couldn’t he just ignore it and let things get awkward between you two, like a normal person?

“I can tell something’s on your mind,” he says, circling around to your front. “Talk to me. I’m your partner, right? We should keep the lines of communication between us open.”

“Yeah, for work,” you reply. “This is personal, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

You expect him to respond with one of his silver-tongued lines, but instead he falls quiet. It’s unusual; you look over and notice that he’s watching you curiously, with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Those walls of yours are pretty formidable, (Y/N). Doesn’t it get tiring, keeping them up all the time?”

You frown, nervous about where the conversation is leading. You debate getting off the sofa, but decide against it. He would just follow you if you tried to leave, anyway. He was annoying like that.

“Isn’t it tiring trying to wear someone down?”

He let out a chuckle. It was odd to you how laidback he was, despite how cold and off-putting you’d been from the start. As if nothing really got under his skin. You wondered if it was even possible to piss him off.

Then he stands up, and you suddenly get very nervous.

“You’re right, (Y/N),” he says in a low, sultry baritone. “I’ve been too demure with you. I think you require a more aggressive approach.”

You immediately try to push yourself up, but he blocks your exit by placing his hands on the couch cushions behind you, trapping you on the sofa.

“Whatever secrets you’re keeping will be mine. And if you refuse to play along, I have ways of making you talk.”

Ba-dump.

His words cause goosebumps to line your arms. You hid it as best as you could.

“I’m not playing your stupid little game. I’m not a prize to be won.”

You try to hold your ground, despite the odds stacked against you. You keep your eyes steady on him as he unties his blindfold, letting his silver locks fall over his face as those captivating blue eyes stare back at you. Once more, you let out a tiny gasp when you see them sparkling back at you. His grin gets bigger, his eyes get hungrier.

“No, no. You’re much more than that, (Y/N).”

His face leans towards yours, his lips so close they’re practically brushing against your nose.

“Why me? Why do you have to bother me?”

“Because you’ve captivated me. I can’t get enough of you. I know so much, yet so little. I’ve noticed your little mannerisms, experienced the depths of your fury, witnessed the brute force of your cursed technique, but still you remain a mystery to me.”

You realize that he’s taken your wrists in both hands, pressing them into the fabric of the sofa.

“I want to know everything. What makes you tick, what fuels you, what turns you on and sets you off.”

You feel his lips brush against your ear, and your entire body shudders.

“Won’t you open up to me, just a bit?”

Ba-dump.

Again, your heart feels like it’s jumped into your throat.

You stifle a squeal and try your best to keep quiet, but your breath gives you away. Your chest rises and falls sporadically, as if you’re on the run. Your mind races at top speed, seeking the proper words, until you can no longer keep it in and let the floodgates break through.

“...Make me.”

The break room clock ticks onwards as the seconds pass. The silence echoes through the room, suffocating your thoughts as the tension between you builds and builds. You watch as a sadistic smile creeps across Gojo’s face, and brace yourself when you feel his hands shift. He holds your wrists above your head while his free hand locks around on your ribs.

“Oh, I will. But I don’t think you’ll like my methods of interrogation. You seem to have forgotten that I know about your little secret weakness. You know… this one?”

He tickles your ribs, gently scritching the tips of his fingernails on the sides of your chest, and you immediately erupt into laughter. You try to twist your body away, but his hands are holding you firmly in place. All you can do is squirm a bit as he tickles down your sides, under your arms, back to your ribs, smiling like a maniac the entire time.

“I can’t believe how sensitive you are to this. And the best thing is, you can’t do a thing to stop me."

Ba-dump.

His verbal teases are the nail in the coffin. You squeal loudly and arch your back as he teases the back of your ribcage, digging there gently to torment you further. You hate every second, you love every second, you feel an amalgamation of emotions and desires swirl inside you. All while he’s taunting and teasing you endlessly.

“Look at you… such cute reactions. I can’t help but do it more. Tell me, where are your other ticklish spots? I’ll find out anyway, but I’ll give you a chance to confess first. Maybe I’ll go easy on you…” he pokes your sides and laughs when he sees you jump. “...Or maybe not.”

You couldn’t answer him anyway, the way you’re laughing and screaming. You can barely form words to beg him at this point. He’s tickling you so much, more than almost anyone ever has, and it’s driving you crazy and spurring you in ways you never imagined.

“Stop! Stahahap…” you manage to spit out through fits of giggles. He slows down a bit, opting to stroke your sides and stomach for some reprieve.

“You’ve got to be one of the most ticklish people I’ve ever met,” he observes as his fingers trail across your shirt, making you giggle more. “Are you really this ticklish everywhere, or am I just that good at it?”

“F… fuck off …” you curse breathlessly. It makes him laugh.

“It’s going to be so much fun playing with you,” he leans in again, his whisper tickling your ear. “You better spill all your secrets. Sensitive little thing like you won’t last much longer.”

The little moment of mercy he’s given you has allowed you to take note of your body. Your thighs are pressed together, instinctively rubbing against themselves. You could’ve kicked him in the gut, or kneed him in the chest, yet here you were, practically giving him free rein of your body without a fight. You haven’t, but you feel like you’ve peed yourself, your underwear feeling wetter than usual. And you know exactly why.

“You can’t break me…” you spit out.

“I can’t? But you’re already half-broken.”

His touches get more purposeful, his fingers apply a bit more pressure. He glides his hand upwards, resting it on the skin under your arms. One of your worst spots. You start to squirm and giggle nervously even though he hasn’t started.

“You know what I’m after. Confess, or I’ll keep going for the rest of the night.”

He spiders your underarms, and you practically explode. You desperately try to pull your arms down, but he presses them tighter, limiting your movement even more. You squeeze your eyes shut and hear yourself splurt out half-hearted begs, knowing they’d go ignored. Was he really going to keep tickling you like this until you surrendered? If it was anyone else, you’d assume no, but this was Satoru Gojo, and he was known for his relentlessness.

“Okay, okahahay! Stop already!”

“Well, (Y/N)? Have I ‘made you’?” he says playfully, finally letting up on his tickle attack. His smile is so innocent, as if he didn’t just spend the last hour tickling the shit out of you. You take time to catch your breath, noticing how warm your skin has become and feeling a bit self-conscious knowing that your hair is probably looking wild and unkempt.

That’s when he finally looks down.

There’s a small wet spot on the sofa, almost undetectable. But the eyes of Gojo see all. When he looks back at you, it takes everything in your power not to crumble.

“My, my… what do we have here.”

He presses his hand against your underwear, rubs his thumb on the fabric that covers your clit. The sensation makes you moan, loudly, and your body writhes in a different way than it did before. Your eyes meet his once again, and you already know in your heart what he’s about to ask.

“(Y/N).... Do you like being tickled?”

Ba-dump!

“I, um…” you wonder if it’d be best to keep quiet, lest you indict yourself. Although you know it’s already too late.

“Aha! So this is what turns you on. I can’t believe I didn’t notice until now.”

With both hands now free to do what he pleases, he starts gliding his fingertips down your inner thighs, then back up and again. Down and up. Up and down. Gently, tenderly, like the touch of a lover’s. It’s both ticklish and arousing; you let out breathy moans in between soft giggles.

“Who would’ve thought you’d have such an odd kink? I’ll admit it, though, it is pretty hot seeing you writhe around like this while begging. I understand why you were so guarded and resistant now. It is a bit embarrassing, huh?”

“Shut up…” you say, your words fluttering through the air weightlessly.

He leans forward and plants two soft kisses on your inner thighs, one between each leg. You let out another moan, each kiss sending shockwaves through your skin. He raises his head and looks at you once more with those big, baby blues.

“But you like being embarrassed, too. Don’t you?”

You open your mouth to speak, but only a moan escapes.

He lowers himself once more, and you feel him grab the hem of your underwear and pull it to the side. Then, the feeling of his warm tongue licking your clit, placing wet and sloppy kisses all over your other set of lips. It’s only been a few seconds, but you’re already moaning and begging for more. You press yourself into him deeper, run your fingers through his hair before gently grabbing and pulling. You hear him moan lightly, and the feeling of it vibrates across your pussy, causing you to groan in pleasure. He observes this and vocalizes more, making growling and grunting sounds as his mouth goes to work. He eats you ravenously, taking note of your moans and reactions to each technique. He runs his hands up your ass until they reach your back, then pulls you closer, keeping his face buried in your pussy.

It’s not enough to bring you all the way, though, and he starts catching onto that after some time. He lays you down, raises his head to look at you again, maintaining eye contact as he runs his hands up your body, purposely tickling you a bit so he can see you laugh again. He’s above you now, staring deeply into your eyes with a look of mischief. But there’s something else there as well. Adoration? Or amusement?

“You don’t need to be so shy anymore,” he croons, leaning down. “Doesn’t it feel nice to open up like this, heart to heart?”

You feel your brows furrow again, and look away for a moment as your heart goes to war with itself. It was nice, wasn’t it? That momentary pleasure, fleeting yet intoxicating. Nothing like this ever lasted long for you. Satoru Gojo was no different. Your expression must have troubled him deeply, because his smile quickly faded as you remained silent.

“...So what now? You’ve gotten what you wanted. Now you can add me to your list of conquests.”

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly confused by your words.

“Conquests?”

Then, after puzzling it over for a moment, the realization seems to dawn on him. He chuckles a bit, the smile returning to his face.

“I get it. You think I’m some kind of playboy.”

You watch him curiously as he leans closer, his lips almost touching yours. His hands rest comfortably on the tops of your knees, gently caressing them.

“If that’s what you’re worried about, you should have said so. I would have told you that you’re the only one I’m interested in right now.”

He kisses your cheek, then the other. His lips brush against your nose and then kiss your forehead. It’s so sweet, you almost want to cry.

“You’re going to hurt me eventually,” you confess, the last of your walls coming down. “No matter how it goes, that’s always how it ends.”

“Does it have to be that way?” he brushes a few strands of hair off your face, smiling warmly.

“That’s how it goes for me.”

He cups your cheeks, and your butterfly heart beats its wings against your chest.

“(Y/N)...”

He kisses you, and it tastes just as sweet and feels just as good as you imagined. You bring your hands up and grab the back of his neck with one, running your fingers through his hair with the other. You pull him closer with a bit of force, making him moan into the kiss as you start to gently bite and suck at the bottom lip. He returns the favor, with just as much passion and desire. He starts to press his body against yours, and you feel his erection pushing through his tight pants. You can’t get a good feel of it yet, but you imagine his dick must be as big as his ego.

You purposely grind your hips upwards, humping your mound into his erection. He responds by pulling away and kissing down your jawline until he reaches your neck. You let out a small squeal - it’s another sensitive area, hyper ticklish like the rest. His soft kisses only serve to arouse you further. You giggle and moan, feeling his hands sliding your underwear down your legs and over your ankles. Giving him full access.

He tests your wetness and smirks when he feels it between his fingers. Slowly, slowly, he puts one finger inside you, and the sensation makes you yelp. He starts off slow, gliding in and out with ease, carefully curling his finger in search of that spongy spot inside. He finds it with little effort; in seconds you cry out as your body reacts instinctively. It feels kinda like you’re peeing and cumming at the same time.

“So you’re a squirter too,” he grins victoriously, more power going to his head. Just what he needed. You collapse back on the sofa, your skin damp with sweat as you catch your breath.

“Fuck…” is all you can get out.

He chuckles in response, still thrusting his fingers into you. His hands are large and strong; you had taken note of them early on, dreaming of how they’d feel against your skin or pushed inside you. He started with one, then two, and now three of his fingers pump rhythmically as you moan and let out more cries of pleasure. His other hand sneaks under your dress, caresses the sensitive area under your breasts that he discovered earlier. The ticklish feeling, plus his steady thrusts, are sending you over the edge.

Sadly, the moment is interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

Shit!

Gojo lifts his head, and you take the chance to pull yourself up. His fingers slide out and he backs off, giving you room to yank your underwear back on and smooth down your hair. You’re not sure how your face looks, but you pray that your flushed, damp skin won’t give you away. Meanwhile, Satoru Gojo is as calm and collected as ever. As if he hadn’t spent the last few minutes fingering and eating the fuck out of you.

“Hey, (Y/N)...” Gojo starts to say something, but you cut him off.

“This never happened,” you hiss, right before the door swings open.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #female reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #tickling #tickle kink #ler gojo #ler satoru

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dance-in-the-morning-glow · 2 months ago

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As someone who is very much into (indie and niche) fragrance and Pirates of the Caribbean, here are my scent picks for some characters absolutely nobody asked for:

Elizabeth Swann: Juliette Has A Gun - Vanilla Vibes (Sea salt, natural vanilla absolute, orchid absolute, absolute brown musk, bezoin absolute, sandalwood, tonka bean)

This is basically just a salty vanilla perfume and I’m all here for it; it’s beachy, light and totally pre-Pirate King Elizabeth.

For more of an indie choice, I’d pick Death & Floral’s “I could never stay long enough on the shore” (sand, salty air, smoke, cold coastline). It’s been a while since I’ve smelled this one but it feels fitting. But tbh, any white floral scent would also fit CotBP Elizabeth - so maybe something like Cloon Keen’s Lá Bealtaine.

Pirate King Elizabeth would absolutely rock something challenging like Beaufort’s Terror & Magnificence (birch tar, black pepper, saffron, incense, tobacco, papyrus, haitian vetiver, myrrh, labdanum, benzoin and pebbles).

Will Turner: Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab - Asleep in the Deep (black plum, sea salt, opium tar accord, labdanum, and indigo benzoin)

Basically the dark and heavy counterpart to Elizabeth’s Vanilla Vibes, truly smells like you’re on the Dutchman in between realms.

Jack Sparrow: For Jack, I feel like anything remotely boozy with rum notes works, but if I had to name one scent, I’d pick Stranger Perfumery’s Cigar Rum (raisin, dried fruits (prune and cherry), rum absolute, mandarin, amber, tobacco, oakwood, vetiver, resins, labdanum absolute, seaweed absolute). Maybe layer that with a dirt single note or Fantôme - Bune (damp subterranean air, nagarmotha, smooth cave walls, davana, a cold marble altar, & glittering green dragon scales) for authenticity lol.

Hector Barbossa: Solstice Scents - Headmaster (Apple, bourbon, oak, cedar, pipe tobacco, applewood, amber, spices)

I just felt like I needed to pick a spicy, woody scent with apple notes in it. But any dark aquatic works too.

James Norrington: I associate James with any light aquatic or clean scents (at least when he’s not in his Scruffington Era), so I’d choose something like Solstice Scent’s Gulf Breeze (Saltwater, sand, seashells, sea oats, rain, ambergris (vegan accord).

Cutler Beckett: Histoires de Parfums - 1740 (bergamot, mugwort, patchouli, coriander, cardamom, cedar, birch, labdanum, leather, vanilla, elemi, helichrysum)

Idk, this is just giving off Cutler Beckett energy. It’s boozy, it’s rich, it’s dramatic.

And somehow The House on Widow’s Hill (brandy, old oak paneling, dusty thick carpets, a thread of incense & a roaring fire in the hearth) by Pulp Fragrance also fits. That one’s basically brandy, smoke and dusty carpets in a bottle. On second thought, that might also work for Papa Swann.

I also feel like a tea scent would suit Beckett, but only if it’s a bit heavier, so maybe something like Gris Charnel by bdk (fig, black tea, cardamom essence, iris absolute, bourbon vetiver, indian sandalwood, tonka bean absolute). …But I haven’t smelled that one in a while too.

Davy Jones: Zoologist - Squid (Pink Pepper, Solar Salicylate, Incense, Black Ink Accord, Salty Accord, Opoponax, Ambergris, Benzoin, Musk)

Pretty self-explanatory. On my skin, it’s very musk-forward though.

Ian Mercer: Beaufort - Tonnerre (smoke, gunpowder, blood, brandy, sea spray and citrus)

…Yeah, I guess that one’s also pretty self-explanatory.

Yup, that’s it. Make of that what you will.

#now this is niche #rambles #is it too obvious i have a thing for boozy notes?#indie perfume #niche perfume #fragrance #potc #pirates of the caribbean #elizabeth swann #will turner #jack sparrow #hector barbossa #james norrington #cutler beckett #ian mercer

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mask-of-prime · 2 months ago

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TLG: Final 10 Episodes Sketch Dump

September 2nd once again fell on a Labor Day, like it once did when the final 10 episodes of TLG dropped on WatchTLG (due to its early release on the old DisneyNOW app). The alignment of the exact day, month, and holiday five years later put me in the spirit to sketch away as I rewatched these episodes.

I was there when the countdown on the WatchTLG site had about an hour left. I hadn't seen a full episode of TLG until that point because I at the time thought I wouldn't be into it. I saw the synopses for these episodes leaked somewhere online and was doubtful yet VERY hopeful that the one with Vitani's Lion Guard was going to be a real episode simply because I wanted to see her in new content, regardless of my familiarity with the show.

When I binge-watched these final episodes with a friend, my relationship with the show improved as I went to watch the rest of the show over the next few months. I was so grateful to see so much content and worldbuilding for the TLK universe

Sketch descriptions under the cut:

1. Friends to the End

I've said this before in a review of this episode, but whether or not the writers intended this, their portrayal of irritability brought on by an anxiety attack is astounding. Kion's anxiety is piled up more and more when he's in a hurry to find a cure at the Tree of Life, Bunga repeatedly tells him he's becoming like Scar, and the rest of the group just "blind leading the blind"-in their journey SO badly because they're a bunch of unsupervised freshman-aged kids who are in their "Well I wouldn't go THAT far" or "Can I be the devil's advocate" phase.

This situation of fearing becoming like a shitty family member and being told you are by people when you're already in a vulnerable state is just SO vile and unfortunately so real. I found myself relating hard to this episode due to Kion's valid af anger in this episode, which is why I had to draw Kion claiming his "Don't you just wanna go apeshit??" era.

Kion is basically me throughout this episode and the entire first half of Season 3. It is SO HARD to get through this season sometimes when these same couple of lines keep coming at least once per episode. As soon as I hear Fuli saying "Uhh... Kion?" or "KION!!" I know exactly what's coming.

2. The Tree of Life:

Since we never get to see Sahasi and Ananda's color palettes they had in life, I took what I could make out from their spirit forms as well as some creative liberties, and came up with what they may have looked like on Earth.

Ananda is where Baliyo gets his freckles and dull, dark pelt, and where Rani gets her purple pupils, red nose, and dark tail. Sahasi is where Rani gets her richer pelt and where Baliyo gets his nose gradient, multicolored mane, and lighter tail color.

Fun Fact: According to some email responses from a member of the team who worked on TLG, they said that Sahasi was meant to be Janna's son, which for me, puts an end to a debate I had in my head where I was stuck between either him or Ananda being Janna's child: On one hand, I liked the idea of Sahasi and Surak being the foils of Mufasa and Scar, but also liked the idea of Ananda as Janna's daughter and heir since they looked so alike, as well as it solidifying the martriarchy headcanon I have for the Night Pride. Though the team member didn't straight-up provide Sahasi's relation to Janna and Surak as an absolute fact, rather it was simply the gist they got from the creation of Sahasi's character, it's an answer from a team member at all, which I can absolutely settle with. I decided to give him a similar fur color to Surak because of that.

3. The River of Patience:

I just HAD to doodle eepy Kion. It's like the one part of this episode that sticks with me outside the wholesome therapy dynamics and Kion heroically holding the flower between his teeth. This is basically him but if he fully succumbed to falling asleep waiting for the log.

4. Little Old Ginterbong:

Can I just say that I fucking LOVE Mama Binturong's character?? She's absolutely insane and constantly looks like an addict that needs her fix. She makes me nostalgic for some reason, and I think it's gotta do with her Mama Gunda vibes (which is odd because I wasn't even that young when I saw Tarzan II). I had to draw her doing the thing lol

5. Poa the Destroyer:

All I could think about throughout this episode besides the rare Evil Beshte is how insufferable Pinguino is. I mean it in kind of a good way, his personality is so ridiculous that he's made me laugh a few times.

6. Long Live the Queen:

Surprisingly, the sketch regarding this episode is probably the least expected subject matter out of anything I could've put here: An idea that's been forming in my head for a bit now was the idea of Bunga and Binga continuing the fostering/babysitting business of Bunga's "uncles". Bunga is shown to be a natural with young animals in a few episodes, and it continues in the subplot of this episode where he watches over Varya's cubs.

7. The Lake of Reflection:

The one thing that viscerally stuck with me in this episode was the unbelievably cute design they gave bby Cheezi. Had to sketch him.

8. Triumph of the Roar:

Obligatory Askari sketch because I actually love drawing him and making headcanons of his era. Looking back... he kinda looks like he's looking down at the events of the bottom drawing in slight disappointment.

9. Journey to the Pride Lands:

Drew Azaad (for what I think might be the first time) with the only thing he seemed to be doing throughout this episode -- taking any opportunity he can to comment about how much better cheetahs are at basically everything. He's fun to draw and I'd like to do more art of him one day.

10. Return to the Pride Lands

This is a sketch of what I deadass thought was gonna happen during this scene the first time I saw this episode lmao. At the time, the previous two episodes were fresh on my mind so I thought Kion was once again going to spam his tornado ability, but with Vitani as his subject for his demonstration. She already knew so little of the Roar as it was, given her absence throughout most of TLG's storyline, but could you imagine what she must've been thinking seeing how much Kion's Roar evolved?

#The Lion King #The Lion Guard #TLK #TLG #Kion #Sahasi #Ananda #Mama Binturong #Pinguino #Bunga #Binga #Pasha #Polina #Feliks #Azaad #Cheezi #Askari #Vitani #My Art

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humanpurposes · 9 months ago

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

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rose-of-red-lake · 4 months ago

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Unreliable Narrator in the Sith Show

I have seen a few arguments that the Acolyte is a case of total unreliable narration, that it's a new Star Wars era of storytelling, a "sophisticated" show from the "Sith's POV," which is why the Stranger/Qimir seems so calm, balanced, and sure of himself. But don't worry - according to these opinions, the modern audience will be able to see through his lies, being astute enough to know that he's evil, without having to tell us directly. Because telling us directly is too much of a mustache-twirling villain trope, or something.

So is everyone on the same page? Did we all get this?

Naur, I don think so... because I have also seen a lot of odd defenses of the character, that he's not really as bad as the Jedi make him out to be, that he's not a Sith, and that he wants to be left alone as a rogue, without any allegiances, just doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I have seen people agree with his perspective, that the Jedi are the oppressors because they won't let him live how he wants. Someone even compared him to Mando with Osha as his Grogu. Man just wants a family without the government telling him how to live his lyfe. 😥

So if audiences are indeed smart enough to see through the unreliable narrator, why are they agreeing with him? Why are people sucked into his own perspective, which is Ayn Rand on steroids to my mind. Running through the galaxy, doing whatever you want? Okay, but look where that led. Once he wanted an acolyte to go out into the world and assassinate some Jedi, he isn't like Brendock or Dathomir witches anymore. That should have been a line, drawn, clear to the audience. But then the narrative goes back to extreme moral relativism. "Well, maybe the Jedi shouldn't have interfered..." or, "Maybe they were right to." So we have morally grey situations with a baddie POV mixed in, in a television show where we can't get inside people's heads? Okaaaay...Leysle with a Y. Good luck with that.

If this is all just unreliable narration, why is Sol so unsympathetic, unwilling to ask for forgiveness, even right up to the end? This just makes Osha look justified for killing him. The Dark Side doesn't even need to be "seductive" if Sol's actions were so bad. And I'm taking his actions that way because of what the showrunner said about him: Sol has a darkness in him that he can't control. And what was the content of this darkness, you might wonder? Well, he was being more like a "father" than a "Jedi" again according to Headland. Alright, why are those two roles mutually exclusive, at all? Doesn't her own mentor Feloni criticize Obi-Wan for not being enough of a father to Anakin?

But maybe the unreliable narration could come through with how the Order is portrayed in their scenes without Qimir. But nope, they're like the freaking police department in the Wire: cold, calculating, trying to cover things up. If it was an unreliable narrator, wouldn't we have a break in all of the bleakness that shows us, hey "Qimir is kinda wrong here." I don't think we do.

Beyond any of this, I don't trust this writer to write something as complex as a "Sith POV," or use unreliable narration effectively. I don't think she's experienced enough.

Not to mention, I don't think the showrunner gets the emotional turmoil of what its like to be a Dark Side user. They should be lost in their emotions, letting their emotions rule them, subject to constant turmoil, constant fear of losing what they have, and wanting more and more because of their greed. The unreliable narration should break at some point to show that, and it shouldn't be so subtle that it goes over people's heads. Moreover, a Jedi like Sol should be more sympathetic because they are at least struggling to suppress their inner Dark Side. Sol did nothing like what Anakin did. If he is truly acting like a overly-compassionate father, then he shouldn't refuse to ask for her forgiveness either. He shouldn't be dead in the mud, choked by his own daughter.

Goddamn this show is fucking bleak.

#anti-acolyte #acolyte critical #pro jedi

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multishipperofgaydeadwizards · 6 months ago

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(Almost) All the marauders era characters (that I could find at least)

@catinasink the post I promised you.

this list isn't finished yet, but I feel like this list finally deserves to see the light of day. hell, cat, you've probably forgotten this was in the making... which I can't blame you for because this has been happening since christmas 💀

I will update it... eventually. idk when yet

if you want to, you can send me an ask, and I'll tell you my hc for the characters :D

James Potter

Father of Harry Potter

born 27th March 19 and died 31st October 19

Griffindor

pureblood

was at hogwarts from 1971 to 1978

Sirius Black

Griffindor

born 3rd November 1959 and died 18th June 1996

pureblood

was framed for the murder of James Potter and Lily Potter (Evans) and sent to Azkaban

was at hogwarts from 1971 to 1978

Remus John Lupin

born 10th March 1960 and died 2nd May 1998

was bitten by a werewolf as a child (he was four I believe not sure tho)

Griffendor

was at hogwarts from 1971 to 1978

Peter Pettigrew

born around 1960 and died somewhere in March 1998

griffindor, but the head took five minutes to decide

first worked with the order, but then became a deatheater and is the actual reason James and Lily were murdered

was at hogwarts from 1971 to 1978

Marlene McKinnon

died July 1981

marlene was a member of the wizarding mckinnon family, which, according to hagrid, consisted of some of the best witches and wizards of their age, implying that marlene too was a very accomplished witch

Lily J. Evans

born 30th January 1960 and died 31st October 1981

muggleborn

griffindor

married james potter and had Harry Potter with him. she died protecting Harry

was at hogwarts from 1971 to 1978

Mary McDonald

attended hogwarts in the 1970s with lily and severus snape

was attacked by mulciber with dark magic somewhere during her time at Hogwarts

griffendor

Frank C. J. Longbottom

pureblood

married Alice Longbottom

was tortured into insanity by a group of death eaters (bellatrix, rodolphus, and rabastian lestrange and barty crouch jr)

Alice Longbottom

has no canon maiden name, but people often hc her as a fortescue

pureblood

was tortured into insanity by a group of deatheaters (bellatrix, rodolphus, and rabastian lestrange and barty crouch jr)

Molly Weasley (Prewett)

was born as molly prewett, but she married arthur weasley and took his last name

born 30th October 1949 or 1950

pureblood

griffindor

killed bellatrix during the second wizarding war

Gideon Prewett

died 1981

pureblood

was murdered by five deatheaters before the end of the (first) wizarding war (Antonin Dolohov & four others)

he may have had a big nose

Fabian Prewett

died 1981

pureblood

was murdered by five deatheaters before the end of the (first) wizarding war (Antonin Dolohov & four others)

he may have had a big nose

Arthur Weasley

born 6th February 1950

pureblood

griffindor

believer in the equality of all magical and Muggle folk

was born to septimus and cedrella weasley (née black) and had two brothers

married molly prewett, who took his last name

Selina Sapworthy

griffindor

born before 1969

award-winning author in the fields of Herbology and plant-related Divination

worked for the international quidditch team

Wainscott

was born before 1981

worked as a nurse at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under Poppy Pomfrey during the 1990s

she has no canon first name, but I usually call her Carmen Wainscott

Lucinda Thompsonicle-Pocus

designed the list for materials needed by the students

chief attendant of witchcraft provisions for hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry in the early 1990s

Stebbins

no canon gender

in 1976, they refused to stop writing with their quill even after the time ran out (during O.W.Ls). they got in trouble with flitwick because of it

they have no canon name, but I usually call them Alexander Stebbins and hc them as male

Camelia

was a teacher during the 1990s

possibly a member of the slug club

was murdered by an unknown deatheater after the battle of Hogwarts

after she stopped teaching, she got married

she has no canon last name, but I usually call her Camelia Solis

Patricia Rakepick

was a dark witch and a world-famous curse-breaker for gringotts wizarding bank

exceptional student, top of her class, who, regardless, was always in trouble

attended hogwarts from 1967 to 1974

was said to be friendly with the marauders and even "mentored" them in troublemaking

Olivia Gleaves

was reported missing together with her relative toby in 1997

Caspard Singleton

invented the self stirring cauldron

was born in 1959

Sturgis Podmore

member of the order of phoenix and fought in both wars

was a member of the advanced guard in 1995

was put under the imperius curse by a death to break in the department of mysteries and was sentenced to six months in azkaban for it

Tilden Toots

born 1959

worked as a famous herbologist, potioneer, and radio personality and presenter

was said to have three green thumbs due to both having a wizarding condition and radial polydactyly in his left hand

Davey Gudgeon

visited hogwarts during the early 1970s

nearly lost his eye trying to get close enough to the whomping willow to touch its trunk as part of a game. since the incident, students were forbidden to go near the tree for their own safety, and possibly for the tree's own safety as well

Florean Fortescue

died 1996

summer of 1996, he was abducted and later murdered by lord voldemort

was an expert on the subject of medieval witch-burnings

owner of florean fortescue's ice cream parlour in diagon alley

Albert Runcorn

high ranking wizarding official during the administration of pius thicknesse

he investigated alleged muggleborns and uncovered dirk cresswells muggle ancestry

might have been sent to azkaban for his war crimes against muggleborns

Mary Elizabeth Cattermole

muggleborn

unknown maiden name

was described as small with dark hair that she wore in a neat bun

she lived at 27 chislehurst gardens, great tolling, evesham with her husband and children

Reginald "Reg" Cattermole

sun in libra, moon in virgo

he had three children with mary (Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred)

lived at 27 chislehurst gardens, great tolling, evesham

Bilton Blimes

lived in the highlands of scotland in the 1980s

taken up both residence and employment in the picturesque little all-wizarding village of hogsmeade as the proprietor of zonko's joke shop

Narcissa Malfoy

born narcissa black

pureblood

born 1955

cousin of sirius and regulus, younger sister of bellatrix and andromeda, wife of lucius malfoy

was never a deatheater herself, but also believed in blood purity

slytherin

Lucius Malfoy

born 1954

slytherin

pureblood

deatheater and believed in pureblood supremacy

Thorfinn Rowle

deatheater who fought in the second war

he fought at the battle of the astronomy tower, where he accidentally killed fellow deatheater gibbon, burned rubeus hagrid's cabin, and tortured harry potter

on 1 August 1997, he tracked harry potter, ron weasley, and hermione granger to tottenham court road along with antonin dolohov disguised as construction workers, but the two death eaters were defeated and their memories were modified by hermione to cover their escape

Bellatrix Lestrange

born bellatrix black

pureblood

born 1951 and died 2 May 1998

cousin of sirius black and regulus black, older sister of andromeda tonks and narcissa malfoy

deatheater and believer of pureblood supremacy

slytherin

Zabini

mother of blaise zabini

famously beautiful and had seven husbands who died mysteriously

was known by horace slughorn, which is the reason he invited blaise into his compartment

she has no canon first name, but I usually call her Zoya Evelyn Zabini

Emma Vanity

slytherin

she was captain of the slytherin quidditch team from 1972 to 1976

Lucinda Talkalot

slytherin

she became captain of the slytherin quidditch team in 1976

Septima Vector

professor of arithmancy may have also been the advanced arithmancy studies teacher

known as really strict teacher who gives very hard homework

Evan Rosier

born between 1953-1966 and died in 1981

deatheater

pureblood

possibly related to the (female) black cousins

was killed by alastor moody

Regulus Arcturus Black

died 1979

pureblood

dratheater that turned on voldemort

little brother of sirius black, and cousin of bellatirx, narcissa and andromeda

slytherin

Dorcas Meadows

died 1981

died in the first war and was killed by voldemort himself

was a member of the order of phoenix

Glenda Chittock

born 1964

was the host of the wizarding wireless network program, witching hour. being host of this enormously famous radio program, she is featured on a chocolate frog card

Gwenog Jones

welsh

became a professional quidditch player and later achieved fame as the captain and beater of the welsh all-female quidditch team, the holyhead harpies

later, became the manager of the Welsh National Quidditch team

was the favorite student of slughorn and inducted into his club

Alecto Carrow

deatheater

sister of amycus carrow

after the fall of the ministry of magic in 1997, alecto was made professor of muggle studies; she taught the thinking that muggles are lesser than wizardkind, and likely taught the pureblood-philosophy as well

when severus snape became headmaster of hogwarts, she was appointed as deputy headmistress, alongside her brother (who was appointed as deputy headmaster)

loved to torture students that opposed her

Amycus Carrow

deatheater

brother of alecto carrow

was made DADA professor in 1997, which just became Dark Arts while he thought it

Amycus liked to cruelly punish and torture the students who opposed the new regime

Dolores Jane Umbridge

born 26 august 1961 or earlier

halfblood

slytherin

I don't have to explain her further, do I?

Arnold "Arnie" Peasegood

born 1976 or earlier

worked at the ministry of magic. by 1994, he worked in the capacity of obliviator for the accidental magic reversal squad and also as a hit wizard

Cereus Greengrass

had a blood malediction

Rodolphus Lestrange

pureblood

most likely slytherin

deatheater

Rabastian Lestrange

deatheater

pureblood

most likely slytherin

Severus Snape

needs no explanation

Mulciber Jr

was friends with snape

slytherin

deatheater

threw hexes at muggleborn students

assaulted mary mcdonald violently

has no canon first name, but I usually call him Bruce Mulciber

Avery Jr

was friends with snape

deatheater

slytherin

found it funny when mulciber tried to use dark magic on mary macdonald during the 1975-1976 school year

has no canon first name, but I usually call him Edmund Avery Junior

Wilkes

was friends with snape

deatheater

slytherin

died while trying to avoid being put in azkaban

has no canon first name, but I usually call them Juliette/Willhelm Wilkes

Rita Skeeter

didn't like bilton blimes for a prank that kept her from being able to get into the slug club

was a journalist who wrote for the sake of people reading instead of facts

could transform into a beetle (did the animagus training sometime prior to 1986)

Steve Laughalot

captain of the slytherin quidditch team from 1968 to 1972

slytherin

Florence Greengrass

bertha jorkins once caught her kissing a boy

Tamsin Hillicker

was reported missing along her relative iola

Gibbon Chavez

was a deatheater

it's unknown if he fought in the first war if he got sent to azkaban

Zamira Gulch

author who wrote "practical household magic"

also wrote for the daily prophet

D. L. Boot

went to hogwarts during the 1970s

has no canon first names, but I usually call him Douglas Lloyd Boot

Aurora Sinistra

works as astronomy teacher

her lesson are at night so she sleeps during the day

Emmeline Vance

died in 1996 during a deatheater attack

was a member of the original order of phoenix and probably fought in both wars

Sybill Trelawney

half-blood (muggle mother; wizard father)

made the prophecy about voldemort and the chosen one

she predicted that peter would escape and return to voldemort

worked as a teacher in hogwarts and was fired by umbridge

was born on march 9 in an unknown year

was engaged to a guy with the last name higglebottom but refused to take his last name so the relationship didn't last

Millecent Bagnold

ravenclaw

worked for the ministry

was elected the minister for magic of great britain in 1980

Pandora

mother of luna lovegood, wife of xenophilius lovegood

died during an experiment and luna watched

unknown maiden name

Barty Crouch Junior

deatheater

played by david tennat so obviously the most attractive man ever

received the dementors kiss on June 24th 1995

Doris Purkiss

(in 1995, during an interview) gave sirius an alibi for the night of the peter pettigrew + 12 muggle murders (she said they had a romantic dinner bc sirius= stubby boardman)

lived at number 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton

Annalena Gleams

born annalena murk

griffindor

was a prefect

Dahlia F.

slughorn kept a picture of her in a viking maiden costume on his shelf

was a singled out member of the slugclub

apparently became an opera singer

Wendy Slinkhard

british

wrote at least 1 book

may be related to wilbert slinkhard, the author of defensive magical theory

was invited to the slugclub

slughorn kept a picture of her signing her book copy

Blossom Degrasse

famous herbologist, author, and potion master

released the book called "A Humble Guide for Potion Brewing You Cannot Live Without"

Mafalda Hopkirk

born 19 February–20 March, in or before 1973

assistant in the improper use of magic office at the ministry of magic

was incapacitated and impersonated by hermione granger

hopkirk's polyjuice potion was described as having a "pleasant heliotrope colour"

presumed that she was a kind and good-natured

E. Lima

e. lima was a wizard or witch who competed in duels. the daily prophet published a special report in 1996 about a duel between e. lima and m. mina, that was the final match of a dueling competition

has no canon first name or gender but I usually call them Estelle Lima and hc her as female

M. Mina

m. mina was a wizard or witch who competed in duels. the daily prophet published a special report in 1996 about a duel between e. lima and m. mina, that was the final match of a dueling competition

has no canon first name or gender but I usually call them Marcelina Mina and hc her as female

Verruca Buckthorn-Snyde

was a dark witch, who was a high-ranking member of a dangerous organisation known as 'R'

was also a metamorphmagus who could change her appearance at will

Villanelle

noted to be a skilled linguist

madam villanelle was a witch who worked at flourish and blotts in the 1980s and early 1990s

has no canon last name, but I usually call her Villanelle Solis

Olivia Green

ravenclaw

worked for the british ministry of magic as an unspeakable in the department of mysteries

eventually became the defense against the dark arts teacher in the 1990-1991 school year

Regulus Moonshine

developed a potion to suppress hags' normal appetite for human flesh. lost several chunks of own body while conducting the clinical trials

the daily prophet called him "professor", but it is not known if he ever taught at a wizarding school

Dirk Cresswell

mid-1990s he became head of the goblin liaison office, at the ministry of magic

fluent in Gobbledegook

a favourite student of slughorn

probably muggleborn

Augustis Pye

trainee healer at st mongo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries in the dai llewellyn ward

was interested in muggle medical practices

Bones

child of mr bones and mrs bones, sibling of amelia and edgar, and parent of susan

has no canon first name or gender but I usually call them Lucas Bones and hc them as male

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 9 months ago

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A lifetime of dates (part 1)

After being together for twenty years, Natasha and Katya have been on many dates in their lifetime. In this series, we see one from every part of their lives.

- Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova from the Forgotten Ghost series) - Wordcount: 1.2k - Warnings: bit angsty, but with a happy ending - This series will have multiple parts (6 or more) to celebrate my book Forgotten Ghost reaching 2 Million reads on Wattpad! We're kicking off with the Black Widow movie era (post Accords/Civil War) so this series will be out of order. Masterlist

A/N: thank you @nataliasquote for this idea! Couldn't imagine a more perfect way to celebrate 2 mil.

2016

''I can go without fries, you know?'' Katya said as Natasha turned onto the McDonald's parking lot.

It was dark, the only time they stepped outside their safehouse—or car, if that's all they had at that moment—if they could help it, but tonight, Natasha decided a date night was long overdue. Since they went on the run, months ago, there'd been none. There'd barely been any kisses or hugs either, let alone sex. They'd both been too depressed to do so.

But ever since they snuck onto a flight from rainy London to sunny Rome and started driving north in a stolen car, Natasha seemed a bit happier. Maybe it was the sea, or the sun giving her much-needed vitamin D, but when she saw the poster in the local supermarket advertising a drive-in cinema, she was adamant on going.

The movie wasn't important. The fact that it was in Italian even less—they both spoke it fluently. What was important was that for those two hours, their lives would be about something else than surviving the day. They'd at least try.

''It'll be quick, there's barely a line,'' Natasha insisted, already pulling up behind the last car in the short drive-through line. She reached up to ensure her hood was on and covered her face as much as possible, nervous now that they were no longer moving fast. Her eyes shot in every direction, checking all mirrors repeatedly.

''You're risking a lot for date night,'' Katya teased half-heartedly, wondering where this sudden motivation came from. She feared one of Natasha's fears had taken the overhand, especially the one that revolved around losing her.

''You said you missed french fries.''

That was both sweet and sad. Grasping at straws, that's what it felt like. Desperately doing anything to try and make the other happy, even momentarily. But french fries weren't going to fix anything.

Katya kept her concerns to herself, though. Nowadays, Natasha didn't want to be confronted with anything.

The guy operating the ordering system would never know Natasha wasn't a native Italian if there wasn't a camera. Her speech was fluent and without accent, and the girl at the pick-up window didn't look at their faces twice. Before they knew it, they were on their way again with an amazing-smelling bag on Katya's lap.

Finding the drive-in cinema was a bit of a hassle. Since they solely survived on burner phones and tossed their last one in a bin back in London, they couldn't pull up a GPS. But they found the location, bought their tickets the same way as buying food at McDonald's—through the car window, with stolen cash—and found a parking spot at the back of the field.

It was too dark for any of the surrounding cars to see who sat in this one. It was perfect.

Katya reclined her seat and unpacked the brown paper bag on her lap, handing over Natasha's portion of fries and a milkshake. The redhead was less eager to relax, but tried to, flicking her eyes away from the surroundings and to her freshly fiancée-turned-wife. It was the smell of the food that reminded her exactly of how hungry she was.

''Thanks,'' she said, in the same monotone voice she'd used for months. Katya just smiled back.

The movie started shortly after. The days had been a blur lately, but within seconds, Katya was reminded that it was the week of Halloween when she recognized the first scenes of the movie, Friday The 13th. No movie would ever scare her. Straight-faced, she watched the scariest of them. They could never relate to the horrors she had seen in real life. That's probably part of the reason she couldn't focus on this one.

The silence between her and Natasha felt weird, like it had for a while now. Their silences never used to be weird. In fact, most of their time spent around each other happened in silence. But so many unspoken things, so much sadness, hung around their heads like a raincloud. The rain never fell, but the cloud went wherever they went, pressing, looming overhead.

No matter how many times she said that the past no longer mattered, Katya knew Natasha still beat herself up over everything that happened. Choosing the 'wrong' side in the fight around the Accords, therefore not being there to prevent Katya from being brainwashed again. Putting their relationship in jeopardy in the first place. The big, ugly scar on Katya's shin that reminded Natasha of the literal hurt she caused.

''Natalia?'' Katya muttered, glancing at her face. It was so dark she could barely see it, the screen too far away to provide any light.

''Hm?'' Natasha didn't look away from the screen, placing another fry in her mouth. Her movements were on edge, restless about being around so many people.

''You know I love you, right?'' Katya saw her jaw pause. Another thing they didn't do often anymore; say they loved each other. It was worrying how quickly usual things became unusual. ''Things are shit, but it's you and me, always. And that's enough for me.''

Natasha swallowed thickly, because of emotions or not, and turned to face her. For the first time since everything went down, Katya was blessed with a look that she realized she'd taken for granted. That look that said, 'I love you more than anything in this world'. A less intense version of it, but it glimmered in her eyes in the dark.

''I know. I love you too,'' Natasha said softly. She tried a smile, barely reaching her eyes. But her words were sincere, and Katya's pathetic heart skipped a beat. ''Always.''

The air in the car lightened, the raincloud started to thin, and Katya smiled, placing her hand on Natasha's underarm. They were still them, incredibly in love, just disconnected from each other at the moment.

''Thank you for doing this for me,'' she whispered, as the people in the cars around them screamed at a jumpscare. Natasha tensed up again, but Katya knew the best way to return her focus to her. ''Can I ask for one more thing?'' She waited until her intrigued wife nodded. ''Kiss me?''

A genuine smile flashed across Natasha's face. She put her fries down, took Katya's face in her hands, and kissed her. It was nothing like the short pecks they shared lately. The press of her lips was tender, but the way they moved against Katya's felt desperate too. Desperate to tell her what her words couldn't. Desperate to keep her. It hurt in a good way.

They were both out of breath when she pulled back.

The raincloud had disappeared. Both their smiles came from a place of real joy. Katya missed the warmth on her cheeks when Natasha removed her hands and was quick to snatch one of them up, intertwining their fingers. Without a word, as synched as they both were, they burned back to the screen. But not without cuddling up to each other first.

Scooting closer to the middle console, Katya rested her head on Natasha's shoulder, feeling a squeeze of her hand down in her lap. She'd craved this, as touchstarved as she was. For an hour longer, they could fool themselves that all was right in the world. That they were just two lovesick newlyweds on a date.

Katya already knew, but this gave her more faith that they'd be alright. And who knew, maybe they'd be in Italy again some day, under better circumstances.

#katandnat #katyaromanoffpetrova #natasha romanoff #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader

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zmediaoutlet · 1 year ago

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Survey results time.

At time of downloading the data we got just over 300 responses, which is not bad for a survey that was long and complicated to take! I'm sure my shamelessness helped. Being a survey for a specific crowd, we also didn't get anyone (as far as I could tell) taking the survey in bad faith, which is a legit surprise. Special shout-out to the several people who, when asked to write literally anything to say they understood what was going on, wrote "literally anything"; additional shout-out to the person who wrote "penus and hole" (sic). You get it, anonymous person.

I'm going to share the top results for the questions here, but I'll also include the raw data as a sheet at the end in case anyone wants to actually go through it with a fine-tooth comb. This is not a survey where cute pie charts or graphs would be useful or readable, so get ready for some sweet-ass numbers:

Story Genre

Unsurprisingly, our leaderboard for most favorite story genre in the 'Anytime!' category is as follows:

Hurt/comfort (153 votes)

Angst (142 votes)

PWP (139 votes)

We just like the guys to get the shit beaten out of them, angstily, and then they can feel better by jerking off about it. The ideal evening.

The big loser in genre, with 34 buds flat out saying "not for me", was Dark!fic. That said, Dark!fic also got 112 votes (third highest) for "has to be JUST right," so we can probably take from there that while as a group we don't hate dark content, we have pretty strict definitions for a) what counts as dark, and b) what kind of dark we're willing to take.

Gencest/gen was arguably the most 'eh, idk?' of the genres, with respectable showings in every category from Anytime to No; most people don't hate it, but people aren't really seeking it out either. It's definitely There.

Story Setting

The winner of most 'Anytime!' votes for story setting is close to my heart; the podium is:

Bunker era (142 votes)

Canon-close, codas, etc (129 votes)

Pre-series/weechesters (126 votes)

It feels good to know that canon is on our side. This may help explain why various alternate universe settings didn't do so hot with the respondents -- the least fave according to this survey is an age!swap AU, followed by a raised apart!AU. Writers who are making Sam the big brother who lives in Cleveland while baby Dean lives in Seattle, you keep living your truth, but readers are rearing back.

That being said, while Canon Divergence isn't an overall winner, it has a full 149 votes in the 'Dig it' category; so, while we may generally prefer canon, we're willing to be led on a garden path away from it. We just want canon to be within shouting distance, at least.

Canonical Character Variants

Here's where the survey gets more complex. I've always been interested in how and why people are fandoming about things, and simple 'yes/no' surveys rarely dig into that meat. The point of the superego/ego/id separation is to really interrogate -- hey, do you like to read about (for example) soulless!Sam because you find it interesting on a high-minded level, or because your heart-strings are getting tugged even if you think it's kinda dumb, or just because it makes you so hornt-up you can't think straight? All are valid, and all are possible simultaneously, but it's interesting to prod at to see how the interest is working. You might also just be like, eh, it's fine, or GOD, STOP, and that's fine too. So, with all that said:

Superego winners:

demon powers!Sam (202 votes)

soulless!Sam (177 votes)

blood addict!Sam (160 votes)

Y'all like to really brain about how Sam is fucked up. I get it.

Ego winners:

Trials of Hell!Sam (186 votes)

blood addict!Sam (180 votes)

demon powers!Sam (161 votes)

Still all Sam, and no surprise that his saintly pale sleeplessness is winning the heartstrings battle.

Id winners:

demon!Dean (205 votes)

demon powers!Sam (175 votes)

blood addict!Sam (165 votes)

Again, no surprise: fandom girlies (gn) love their bad boys, lol. Soulless snuck in at #4 here with 163, presumably because working out still wearing a belt was juuuust dorky enough to kick him off the podium; #5 was Smith & Wesson at 162, probably because if they'd been left in that AU for ten more minutes they would have been fucking over the top of Dean Smith's desk. Glad we're all on the same page, there.

The nopes here were an interesting mix. In the full-on No Thank You category we had Michael!Dean and Gadreel!Sam (with 52 and 53 votes respectively) -- it would be interesting to know if that was due to dread of the storyline specifically, or just how No Bad Wrong it felt to have it happening. These two also led the 'meh' category, although they were joined on the podium of bad by Endverse!Dean (128 Meh votes), which frankly shocked me. Y'all aren't into his thigh holster? C'mon now. Sure, he murders his friends without compunction, but -- thigh holster!

Story Tropes

These ones were fascinatingly all over the place, which is exactly why I wanted to do this. Going to just run down the S/E/I podiums real quick, then 'Hard sell', then No --

Superego winners:

Outsider!POV (211)

Someone Finds Out (191)

Mental health issues (190)

Ego winners:

Mutual pining (252)

First time (242) AND Sick/injured (242)

First time in a long time (235)

Id winners:

Jealousy/possessiveness (224)

First time (218)

First time in a long time (180)

Now, part of what's interesting about these is how they fall off in other categories. Outsider POV wins handily at Superego with 211, but then drops all the way down to 92 votes at Id -- which isn't nothing, but clearly it's preferred to have a heckin' think about how other people view the incest relationship, rather than thinking it's just So Hot that people might. Similarly, while people do think it's so so hot for one brother or the other (or both!) to be possessive at 224 votes, when it comes to the superego that drops right down to 134 votes, presumably as the brain wakes up and goes RED FLAG!

Entering the land of no thank you, we shall have two anti-podiums:

Real hard sell:

Infidelity (127)

magic/powers!Dean (125)

Unrequited/no relationship upgrade (110) AND "Carver Edlund" fandom

This is a much more mixed bag. Infidelity and Unrequited are no surprise here, because it Feels Bad, Man; magic!Dean also not really a surprise, given that most of our respondents prefer being closer to canon, and Dean is very much our mundane buddy in the show as presented. (A delightful buddy, but a distinctly nonmagical one.) Carver Edlund fandom makes me laugh mostly because it's such a bananas thing to exist in the show. Sam and Dean reading big bang fics about each other? Collectively we just... don't know what to do with that. Weird.

Squick/No/Maybe one exception:

Permanent character death (140)

Infidelity (108)

Eating disorders (102)

Again, no surprise in the anti-winners of 1 or 2 here, but number 3 surprised me, personally. ED fic used to be a pretty big wedge of common tropes that people would seek out. Perhaps it's gotten less popular over the years? Or perhaps just that the people who like it REALLY like it and so chat about it out loud, while those who don't quietly bury it in sand, lo as a cat does with their leavings.

Most extreme delta in 'general interest' (whether that be S,E, or I) to 'ehh' (whether that be Hard Sell or Squick) is first time. Y'all loooove your first time.

Sexy Tropes, Vol. 1

This is where I really wanted to know if people could pull apart their interests between brain and heart and guts. Hopefully people were honest, as requested. Some of them we know are slight liar answers, because the hits on AO3 tell a story that can't be refuted -- nevertheless, here's what people were willing to admit to.

Bulletproof kink/will read any version:

Bedsharing (158)

Incest kink (139)

Size kink (133)

your friendly neighborhood survey creator is jumping up and down going 'wooo' that size kink made the podium. also I hope everyone understood that incest kink meant, like, indulging in the incest of it all via 'oh you're so totes my brother and i want to suck your dingle for that reason specifically', but I realize that could've been clearer.

Easy sell/you don't have to work hard for me to enjoy:

shameless bottom!Dean stuff (151)

switching (147)

voyeurism (138)

the first one here genuinely surprises me considering what I see getting written most often; is this a case of just not being in the right venn diagrams, or the 'easy sell' just not matching up with what people are being sold? Curiouser and curiouser.

Medium sell/not my fave, but I can see how it appeals:

bad/awkward sex (120)

phone sex (114)

in [drug/alcohol] veritas (110)

edging into awkward town in a few ways here: we don't love these, but we can see how it'd be fun. or not fun, in the case of bad sex.

Hard sell/this is unbelievable or uninteresting so you have to work hard to get me to enjoy it:

always-another-gender!AU (84)

multiple Sams or Deans (73)

genderswap (magic) (72)

so, in general, we prefer to keep the penises around and intact, but just one Sam penis and one Dean penis, please. Here, I'm interested that the volume is much lower than in the top category: maxing out at 84 hard sells compared to 158 bulletproof options means that we're willing to give more of these tropes a chance, even if they're not our faves. How accepting we are!

Squick/no/maybe one exception:

always-another-gender!AU (83)

A/B/O elements (65)

multiple Sams or Deans (51)

strong overlap with the hard sell; and, keeping in mind that people were able to choose multiple options, it's possible that some of those were identical votes. Again, please keep the penises straightforward and only two at a time. A/B/O is interesting here, especially given what we know of how well it does on AO3; while it's a big squick for a lot of people, it also has decently high votes in bulletproof/easy, averaging 82 votes. Mixed bag!

Sexy Tropes Vol. 2, Electric Boogaloo

Bulletproof kink/will read any version:

Possessive/claiming sex (129)

Marking (hickeys/bruising) (116)

Hair pulling (103)

Let's glance back up at the Id winners in the story tropes above, hmm quietly to ourselves, and move on.

Easy sell/you don't have to work hard for me to enjoy:

Marking (hickeys/bruising) (135)

Hair pulling (130)

Possessive/claiming sex (121)

Well, that's boring. So let's expand so as not to be repetitive:

4. Dub-con (116) 5. Dom/sub (113) AND Underage (113) 6. Knifeplay (107)

There we go. Pretty easy to put all of those into one fic, too.

Medium sell/not my fave, but I can see how it appeals:

Blindfolds (128)

Painplay (116)

Shibari/rope play (112)

We're starting to lose interest as accessories come into play. Interesting to compare D/s and its relative success against painplay -- so, tell him what to do, but don't hit him while you're doing it. Fair enough.

Hard sell/this is unbelievable or uninteresting so you have to work hard to get me to enjoy it:

Fucking machines (94)

Vore (80)

Mommy!kink (77)

Entertaining mix here, haha. General feasibility may be rearing its head here. (Also, for my own entertainment: daddy!kink got 67 Hard Sell votes. People generally prefer to keep it as horizontal incest, not vertical incest.)

Squick/no/maybe one exception:

Feederism (164)

Vore (161)

Extreme underage (157)

No surprises here, although some fans of the nibbly variety of wincest may be disappointed by vore's poor placement. Note also that 'extreme' is in the eye of the beholder; we'll leave aside value judgments, as we have for the whole survey, and note that people are not indulging in a version of underage they find to be personally past the line, or at least are not admitting to that.

At a glance, the closest matchup between bulletproof for some and a squick to others is bloodplay, with just 1 vote separating the two categories: 44 bulletproof, 43 squick. Next time someone tries to tell you that 'everyone' likes or doesn't like something, please take it with an entire shaker full of salt.

Dynamic & Position Preferences

I tried to encourage people not to think too hard about this one and just answer on instinct. Who knows if that worked. But here are some overview takes:

Toppy/dominant: Sam takes the lead here, with 69% of respondents being in the 'Love it!' category. Nice. (217 votes)

Dom Dean earned a respectable 52% of 'Love it!' votes (163).

However, I was also interested to check out the inverse --

subby!Sam: 44 'Very no thank' votes (13%) subby!Dean: 27 'Very no thank' votes (8%)

It's interesting to leap way back up and compare that against 'shameless bottom!Dean stuff' doing so well in the rated E categories. Makes you ponder.

Actual sex position: Frequently switching takes the win here, with 61% of the vote (194 votes). Sam always topping edges out if people must choose, with 144 votes; Dean always topping is our lowest choice, with 112.

Service!topping: this is a fairly niche fic type, but it does still exist -- I guess in a world of bottoms someone's got to actually get up and do something, and it is hilariously an almost perfectly even split:

service!top Sam: 50.17% (151 votes) service!top Dean: 51.50% (155 votes)

A healthy percentage of people said they didn't care about these questions either way, and more power to them. However, they were wildly outvoted by those who did.

Multishipping Time

Our final categories are when other people get their grubby hands on Sam or Dean, either canonically(ish) or in our fandom activities.

Canonical relationships for Sam

Jess wins, quelle surprise. :) 161 people Dug It and who can blame them.

Amelia LOSES, shocking no one: 112 people said Fuck That.

Eileen was definitely a mixed bag; her results, in order, were: Meh: 92; Fuck that: 76; Worse than meh: 66; Dug it: 44.

Canonical(ish) relationships for Dean

Note here: it was too unbalanced if we only went with people Dean officially dated. However, the show leaned hard into a few unrequited male relationships for him, which we included here, and no one sent me hate about it so I guess that was fine.

Benny wins the Love It! category with 129 votes, barely edging out Cassie at 122. Benny is best boy, so that fits.

Cas loses with a full 99 Fuck That votes, which is probably what we'd expect from a wincest survey. That said, he also got 93 Dug It votes, so it's a pretty balanced showing.

Poor Lisa sits firmly at Meh with 148 votes. It's not that we hate you, Lisa; we just don't really know what to do with you. Which is pretty much how the relationship went in the show.

Shipping Sam like FedEx

We returned to the S/E/I model for shipping as we did for tropes, because it means something very different to go 'oh sure, I can see how that would be interesting' vs saying 'I want them to fuck rawnasty and I don't care why they're doing it.' Apologies if I left out your favorite side-ship but, shit, there's only so much time in the day.

So, we return to the podiums:

Superego:

Ruby (132)

Rowena (121)

Cas (102)

Ego:

Rowena (121)

Cas (106)

Ruby (90)

Id:

Ruby (125)

John (121)

Rowena (118)

So that was going on sedately until Dad came in like a hammer. Fascinating. On the other hand:

No:

Lisa (234)

Donna (222)

Claire (219)

Interesting to me that these three are ladies that Sam theoretically could have got up in but people are not into it, regardless. This is slightly different to Dean's 'no' category -- spoilers for three inches of screen space!

Dean, Shipped by UPS

Superego:

John (129)

Benny (115)

Lisa (99)

Ego:

Benny (134)

John (116)

Lisa (102)

Id:

John (147)

Benny (128)

Crowley (114)

Well. That tells a slightly different story, ahem. Enjoy the various tropes that will be applied, Dean! And then we get:

No:

Amelia (245)

Kevin (223)

Gabriel (217)

Comparing to the Sam 'no' above -- these three are slightly more 'traditional' Sam ships, though the wincest shippers are nevertheless not into them for Sam, either. Dean literally never spoke to or saw Amelia on screen, so it'd be a determined shipper who'd make that happen. Not undoable, though!

Conclusion

Syke: there isn't one to be made. This really shows how diverse the taste is in the wincest community, or at least in the wincest community that a) happened to see this survey over the last five days and b) bothered to take it. This particular group leans slightly toward e.g. toppy Sam, or slightly toward switching, but when you look at raw numbers what you see is that at least one person LOVES every single one of these things, and at least one person fucking HATES every single one of these things, and so -- so what? Write what you want. If you see a niche of something that you love where you feel like not enough people are writing or reading, try to fill it. If you're worried "no one" will like it, well -- you're wrong. Someone will. It just needs to get seen by the right people.

That's where fandom comes in, to spread the love even if something isn't bulletproof for us -- reblogging a post to say, 'hey, my mutual made this thing, look at it!' What a joy it'd be if someone saw it and loved it to absolute shattering bits, and then found their little bulletproof community, and happiness was made. What's the point, if we're not making each other happy.

Thanks for participating if you did, and reading all this if you did. Here's a link to a google sheet (read only) with all the tables of raw data if you're interested. I'll post some of the more entertaining fill-in answers later.

s&d shipping survey results: November 1, 2023 - Google Sheets

#happy wincest wednesday #wincest #survey results #warning this is really long lol #but thanks for doing the thing <3

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masha-nikita · 6 months ago

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The Archetypes of Red Rose, White Rose

I need to balance my brain out due to sudden onset of depression. It is the result. Rommel is probably the only general who, even if you draw him from the back, he's still recognizable- flowers, a camera, and love for beauty. Rommel has a Venus-Mercury conjunct with a direct Neptune influence; he is going to appreciate artistic expressions.

In fact, this colored-doodle with an unintentional Mucha vibe has the energy of his wife Lucy in mind. According to some sources, Rommel wrote home to Lucy daily, as it was reported to be his mental crutch- I imagine it to be transcendental emotional support, not unlike my own experience, my own relationship with our Tumblr community here. Whether you guys interact with me directly or not, you keep me alive. My sincere thanks to you.

Lucy was a formal dancer in Danzig with a decent middle-class background, her father seemed to be a land owner- Lucy being able to do art, probably added to his admiration for her- fellow artists, angelic companionship.

I suppose he did need emotional supports, and a lot of it-- Rommel is the only high commander with whom Kessering "the smiling Albert" did not get along-- which is a feat. After all, Kessering was very renowned for his exceedingly cordial and diplomatic temperament. The same could be said of von Rundstedt, the calm, gentlemanly, old Prussian field marshal. These two could put up with some bad BS from any one else, except Rommel. He was too intense, too mentally off-balance, too difficult to deal with for his colleagues.

There are a few things I noticed from Rommel's biography (including the Trail of the Fox, 2005), that allow me to make some observations. His love for Lucy appears to be non-sexual. They had their only son 12 years after marriage. That is a pretty long time, not customary with a Scorpio man who has a 8th house Mars (who is supposed to have at least above average sex drive).

As a matter of fact, Rommel had a daughter with Walburga Stemmer before his marriage with Lucy was finalized. At that point Rommel’s family felt the need to step in and strong-armed him back with his fiancée-- one reason being to prevent the young lieutenant from the pitfalls of sex and alcohol. In my humble opinion, the subtext here might be Lucy would not lead him astray in that regard, therefore his conservative family would rather have him marrying Lucy.

A side note, Stemmer family still holds a collection of hopelessly romantic letters from Rommel. Did Rommel write comparable letters to Lucy at that point in time? A bit hard to tell.

I could not recall which article comments that Rommel was "hen-pecked' in the household, but Lucy was dominant at home, that part had been very true.

Ouch, I don't know, some aspects of this living environment must've been toxic to Rommel no matter how much some folks wants to romanticize it. It is horrible to be in a friend group where there's a mean girl boss who takes pride in ruling over her husband and turning any girl who crosses her into a persona-non-grata. But I digress. Back to my title.

Nevertheless, for me, Lucy being archetypal White Rose still holds water as a concept.

The Red Rose- White Rose archetypes originated from the same-titled short novel by Zhang Ailing, one of the 20th century's greatest female writers. She depicts love's tragedies as Chin dynasty fell apart and China marched into an era of post-colonialism, world war II, civil wars and partisan conflicts-- and eventually, modernity.

White rose is your ideal wife, the guardian of your family's social standing. She is angelic, she seems docile, she reminds you that you are from a place of honor and integrity, not of seedy backgrounds and carnal desires. White rose kills love by loving you, by being stable, by calming you down whenever you freak out. Very slowly, she castrates you, she brings you home to domesticate you.

The Red Rose symbolizes those dark desires, a black hole that sucks you in to have sex with you, a fragrant bed, a sex dungeon you do not have the will power to claw yourself out of. Red rose loves you by conquering you, destroying you and everything you represent and cherish with triumphant strides. Very quickly Red rose tears you down, burns all your bridges, until you are beyond recognition, until you are flesh, blood, fire and desire, a literal mess.

It is implied in Ailing's novel that men invariably choose the White Rose, because they are human, all too human. Marrying her, he regrets it; not marrying her, he regrets it even more. Such is love's tragedy in the face of humanity, and tragedy is the only inevitability in Ailing's universe. That's why I pull Lucy in as a faint through-line in my Montgomery x Rommel fanfics... not that I am going to write any more, I don't think so.

And yes, Red Rose is synonymous with Bernard Montgomery, in my fandom brain's humble opinion.

I know I am weird.

#fandom stuff

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junkgatorswritings · 5 days ago

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The Prisoner of Azkaban

Hello, I started reading the Harry Potter books with one goal in mind: to prove that one of the reasons it has so many plot holes is because JKR didn't plan out the marauders era.

This book is better than the last one on account of JKR actually (to some extent) figuring out what happened in the marauders era. Now maybe I'm just a tragic backstory type of gal but I really want to know exactly what happened. But I'll get onto my questions later.

Here's what we learn about Lily Evans in this book:

She was a bad egg (Aunt Marge pg. 28).

She begged Voldemort to kill her instead of Harry, and didn't take his offer to move aside (pg. 179).

James and Lily were Married (pg. 204).

Dumbledore advised the Potter's to go into hiding after a spy tipped him off (pg. 204).

There you go that's all we get. Which both makes sense and doesn't. She wasn't technically friends with the Marauders but you'd think that she'd be mentioned at the very least.

James Potter:

He was a wastrel (Aunt Marge pg.28).

At some point probably around their 5th year (because this is when they became animagus) the marauder's map was created (pg. 192).

You never saw James without Sirius (pg. 204).

He trusted Sirius more than all his other friends (pg. 204).

Sirius was his best man (pg. 204)

Technically it says "they" named Sirius as Harry's godfather but lets be honest it was probably mostly James seeing as Sirius doesn't mention Lily at all (pg. 204).

Dumbledore advised him to go into hiding after a spy tipped him off (pg. 204).

James trusted Sirius so much he told Dumbleore that he thought Sirius would rather die than give up their location (pg. 205).

James insisted that he use Sirius as his secret keeper (pg. 205).

James told Lily to take Harry and go, that he would try and hold Voldemort off (pg. 240).

He was exceedingly arrogant, a small amount of quidditch talent made him think he was a cut above the rest, and apparently he strutted (according to Snape pg. 284).

He saved Snape from an exceedingly deadly prank that was set up by him and his friends. James got cold feet at the last moment, so saving Snape's life was just a way of saving his own future (according to Snape pg. 285).

James would have done the same thing as Harry and go see Sirius himself when he popped up on the map (pg. 339).

James must have used the invisibility cloak fairly often, Remus makes a mention of "the number of times" he saw James disappear under the cloak (pg. 347).

Was one of the cleverest students in the school (pg. 354).

He helped Peter become an animagus and he himself became an animagus in fifth year after trying since third (pg. 354)

There were several near misses for the Marauders when they were running around with Remus on full moons, nothing specific is mentioned about with who or how. They laughed it off because they were young and carried away with their own cleverness (pg. 355).

James didn't actually know that Snape had been told about the whomping willow, but at great risk to himself he pulled Snape back before he could come face to face with Remus (pg. 357).

He was too arrogant to believe that he shouldn't trust Sirius (Snape pg. 361).

He flew as well as Harry (pg. 372).

James was nicknamed Prongs because his Animagus form was a stag (pg. 411-412).

He would have been disappointed if Harry never found any of the secret passages out of the castle (pg. 424).

Dumbledore knew James very well, and he thinks that James would have spared Peter Pettigrew as well (pg. 427).

Sirius Black:

He was rumored to be Voldemort's second in command (pg. 39).

He has a nasty temper, whether this is just a current timeline thing or not is debatable (pg. 161).

At some point probably around their 5th year (because this is when they became animagus) the marauder's map was created (pg. 192).

Madam Rosmerta was shocked to hear he'd gone dark, in fact he was the last person she thought would (pg. 203).

You never saw Sirius without James (pg. 204).

James thought he would rather die than tell anyone where they were hiding (pg. 205).

People think that Sirius got tired of playing double agent and the Potter's death was a declaration to him (pg. 206).

Sirius showed up to the Potter's house almost immediately after they were killed, he got there right after Hagrid pulled Harry out of the house (pg. 206).

He tried to get Harry from Hagrid, but failed (pg. 206).

Said he wouldn't need his motorbike anymore (pg. 207).

He was found laughing with Peter Pettigrew's severed finger in front of him in a crater caused by a magical attack thought to be caused by him (pg. 208).

Fudge believed that Sirius was unhinged for sometime after Voldemort's death (pg. 209).

Sirius was in a picture of James and Lily's wedding as the best man (pg. 212).

Sirius was one of the cleverest students in the school, it took him the better part of three years to figure out how to turn into an animagus (pg. 354).

He could transform into large enough of an animal to keep a werewolf in check (pg. 255).

Sirius thought it would be amusing to tell Snape how to get past the whomping willow (pg. 357).

He blames himself for the Potters death because he's the one who convinced them to make Peter their secret keeper (pg. 365).

The night the Potters died he went to check on Peter and found him gone, it didn't feel right so he then went straight to the Potters house (pg. 265).

He thinks that Peter is weak and talentless, he thought that they could fool Voldemort by making him the secret keeper (pg. 369).

He didn't go insane because he knew he was innocent, and that wasn't happy so the dementor's couldn't suck it out of him (pg. 371).

He thought Remus was the spy (pg. 373).

Remus Lupin:

At some point probably around their 5th year (because this is when they became animagus) the marauder's map was created (pg. 192).

He thinks that the makers of the Marauders map would have thought it entertaining to lure Harry out of the school (pg. 298).

He was very young when he received the bite that turned him into a werewolf. His parent's tried everything to fix it, but there was no cure. (pg. 353).

Dumbledore brought him to the school, and planted the whomping willow, so there would be a safe place for him to transform. Because there wasn't anything else to destroy he tore at himself. (pg. 353).

He was happier than he'd been in his entire life at Hogwarts, he had friends for the first time (pg. 354).

He made all kinds of excuses about where he was going when he transformed because he was afraid that his friends would leave him (pg. 354).

They used to roam the castle and Hogsmeade grounds with his friends, which is apparently how they learned so much about the castle and eventually got the idea for the Marauders map (pg. 355).

Remus and Snape didn't get along (pg. 357)

He thought Sirius was the spy. It's unclear if this is because he was put in prison, or he thought so before James and Lily died (pg. 373).

Peter Pettigrew:

At some point probably around their 5th year (because this is when they became animagus) the marauder's map was created (pg. 192).

He was a fat little boy always following after James and Sirius (pg. 207).

He was always bad at dueling according to McGonigal (pg. 208).

He received the order of Merlin First Class (pg. 208).

His mother got back the order of Merlin first class and Pettigrew's finger in a box (pg. 215).

Was helped by Sirius and James with becoming an animagus, it took him the longest (pg. 354).

He was the Potter's secret keeper, because Sirius convinced James that no one would suspect Peter (pg. 365).

He betrayed the Potters (pg. 365).

He's been hiding from the death eaters more than Sirius (pg. 368).

He always liked big friends who would look after him, it used to be the other Marauders (pg. 369).

Peter never did anything for anyone unless he could see what was in it for him (pg. 370).

He says that Voldemort forced him to spy, but almost immediately back tracks and says that Voldemort was taking over everywhere and that he would have killed him (pg. 370-371).

General Marauder's era knowledge

Harry theorizes that Lucius Malfoy was in the inner circle and knew about Sirius (pg. 215).

According to Snape the Marauder's map is full of dark magic (pg. 289).

Snape was jealous of James, apparently of his quidditch prowess (pg. 357).

Snape saw Remus being led across the grounds by Madam Pomfrey one night and became curious (pg. 357).

Snape tried to get in on Sirius' advice and was then pulled back by James; saving his life (pg. 357).

Now on the surface this is a lot of information but here are my questions that I'm pretty sure aren't answered.

Why did Sirius think Remus was the spy? Was it simply because he was a werewolf?

Why did Peter betray them? Yes in theory it's because Voldemort was growing in power but was there a specific event? Did he get captured and then flip? Did he seek Voldemort out?

If Remus did think Sirius was the spy before he was sent to azkaban, why?

Where the hell are Lily's friends? One of her friend's is the only one who lives past the second war and she's part of the order, why doesn't she ever talk to Harry?

#harry potter #mauraders #lily evans #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #plot problems #questions #prisoner of azkaban #mistrust

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cynthiav06 · 14 days ago

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I loved the Vengeance saga, an absolute banger. Might be my second favorite after the Wisdom Saga, but here's the thing:

Odysseus wounding Poseidon or even being able to use his trident or trapping Poseidon amidst the storm is all extremely unlikely as in impossible even in the Epic canon.

Before everyone starts a riot, here's why.

Poseidon is a god. Not just any god either, one of the Elder Gods (as in first olympian gods). In fact before the Dark Ages of Greek, from at least Homeric Era to Classical Era, Poseidon was called Wanax or was at least heavily associated with him by the Myceneans and was the old King of the Gods according to them. But I digress.

Point is Poseidon is basically an Eldritch horror on legs while Odysseus, despite his brilliance and strength, is just a mortal, not even a demigod, a human. Albeit one blessed by the wisdom goddess.

Poseidon is a God of storms. And sure Epic might have some different connotations but apparently not cause Hermes himself quotes in track 2 of Vengeance saga Dangerous that no mortal can survive Poseidon's storm I.e he created it so he's the stormbringer confirmed. Plus, Odysseus himself does say that he will make Poseidon stop the storm.

That aside, Poseidon is literally the God of the Seas. No god, not even Zeus, can beat Poseidon in his own bloody domain. So Odysseus has no chance.

Even if Odysseus trapped him on land, Poseidon can create earthquakes with his trident, which is also prominent in his lore. So that's a no, no.

Sure, Odysseus could have made Poseidon drop his trident, but even if that happened in no scenario, would Odysseus be able to lift it. Poseidon's trident was forged by elder cyclops and is one of the three absolute weapons of power in Greek myths ( the other two being Zeus's bolt and Hades's Helm). These weapons were designed specifically for these gods and obey none other. Not to mention it weighs a lot, i.e., "only a god can lift it heavy."

In the impossible scenario that Odysseus lifts it(by some miracle or other), Poseidon could just summon it back to his hand.

For all those saying maybe Poseidon can't do close combat, he has fought titans. He has to all but breathe strongly in Odysseus's direction, and Odysseus will literally die, which is why Odysseus's survival is Odyssey is such a legendary feat.

It also beats the point of Odysseus's legends. Odysseus is the King of Ithaca, sure, but he's no demigod. He doesn't even have any special abilities aside from quick thought or the occasional godly assistance. He's basically a mortal that achieves things everybody, even demigods, failed at all through his wisdom, wit, and trickery. He is only human, but his mind is what makes him on par with the divine.

Odysseus resorting to physical fighting against a literal god goes against his very nature. Odysseus is the smartest Greek hero, a strategist, a manipulator, and he knows very well how to play to his strengths.

In the original works, Odysseus escapes Poseidon the second time due to intervention from both Athena and Ino. Ino is the goddess of protection, especially the protector of sailors. She gifts Odysseus with a veil of protection. And Athena pulls her usual strings.

This is Odysseus playing to his strengths. He has the situation in his favor, a plan as he has convinced these gods either with his past deeds or his unbreakable will to intercede on his behalf. By manipulation or sincerity, doesn't matter. He lies, manipulates, tricks, and thinks his way through, so he would never ever resort to a 1v1, that too physical with a god.

[Circe was a special case. He had the blessing of molly on his side due to him earning Hermes's favor. Through a plan]

I love Epic, I do, and I love Jay even more. He's phenomenal and Epic the musical is an absolute work of genius and I know he said he is taking inspiration from video games and anime which might lead to some divergences but this is a bit too big of a liberty from both the source material and the essence of Odysseus. Sure, it's enjoyable and badass, but it's a disservice to the original Odysseus in a way.

Just wanted to give my honest opinion cause I love Epic so much, especially with its imperfections.

#epic the musical #honest thoughts out of collective love for greek myths and epic #the vengeance saga #odysseus #poseidon #epic the ocean saga #epic the musical brainrot is real

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links-in-time · 1 month ago

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Captivity

My second offering for Whumptober 2024. I realised I'd been ignoring Twilight even though he's one of my favourite boys. So unfortunately that means he gets a whole whump fic all to himself. Enjoy

Warnings: Descriptions of blood and violence. Read at own discretion.

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

The walls of stone were cold and slick with slime and other substances. Straw had been spread on the floor in a vain attempt to soak up the fluids. Not that it made the room any more pleasant or comfortable. A tiny window high above head height, no more than a few inches square, provided the only source of natural light. Torches held in sconces around the room, flickered and sputtered in the airless space.

A fist swung into Twilight's jaw, for what could have been the tenth, or the hundredth time. The hero wasn't sure at that point. He'd already lost consciousness twice, much to the annoyance of his captors. But he'd be damned if he relented and gave them what they wanted. All he had to do was hold out until his brothers arrived and rescued him. However long that might be.

According to the shift from sunlight to moonlight coming through his miniscule window, Twi estimated he had been imprisoned for at least four days. His captors had fed him a few times since then, and given him enough water to sustain him, but not to slick his thirst.

Twilight knew that if he did what they wanted, then he would be rewarded with a proper meal and plenty of water. His jailers had promised him such. Though there was really no trusting their words.

SMACK

The slap stung Twi's already bruised cheek, his face already raw from the constant abuse. Briefly he tugged against the hands restraining him, but quickly slackened again as the pain dulled to a minor ache.

The heavy iron collar around his neck was honestly causing him more pain and discomfort at the present. The chain linking him to the wall constantly trying to drag him downwards. The collar itself was just loose enough that it twisted and rubbed against his neck. Twilight could feel the sore spots underneath the rough metal. He wanted to scratch them, to pick off the scabs and rub them until the itch and the pain went away.

“Transform you little prick!” Twilight's tormentor screamed in his face, spit flying from his mouth.

Oh yeah, that's what they wanted from him. Twi had almost forgotten why these brutes had nabbed him in the first place. He supposed it was his own stupid fault for getting in this position. Twilight had grown too comfortable around his brothers. He'd let his guard down in multiple ways. But after the discovery of his biggest secret, he had been transforming more and more frequently in front of the others.

They had accepted Twilight's other form with as much love and kindness as any of their other oddities. But Midna had always warned Twilight about what could happen if the wrong people saw him shift.

In a rare era with no Ganon and no hero, the time the Chain found themselves in was surprisingly tempestuous. The royal family was experiencing a lack of popularity, and faith in the gods and goddesses of Hyrule had slumped. Statues and shrines sat abandoned or graffitied by vandals.

Overall, none of the heroes had felt particularly welcome in this era. They had made themselves known to the current King, but he could offer them little in the way of information about Dark Link or black blooded monsters.

Someone had suggested a night out to relax and enjoy a brief moment of genuine peace. There had been a tarven, drinks, and a hearty meal. A few more drinks. A tipsy Wild had challenged Twilight to a race from the gates of town back to their camp. Knowing he could win without breaking a sweat on four legs, Twilight had transformed without thought for where they were.

Midna would have slapped him senseless.

He was paying for it now of course. None of the boys had noticed the group of thugs watching them from the shadows all night. A group of strangers in bright clothes with strange mannerisms had quickly drawn attention of an unsavory manner.

Twilight guessed they had grabbed him at some point in the night. How none of the others hadn't woken at the sound of intruders he might never know. But the thugs had tied him up and tossed him into a cart before dawn. Blindfolded, Twilight had little to no idea where he had been taken. Only that he had bounced around in the back of a wagon for a few hours, before being bundled into some kind of cellar.

His face stung, and his shoulders and ribs ached. His lip was split and bleeding, as were several notches in his left ear. What he wouldn't give for a potion, a loaf of bread and cheese, and a good day's worth of sleep. What he got was another slap across the face, before his tormentor yanked his head up by his hair.

“You sure are a stubborn, stupid son of a bitch. You know that!” the man grunted.

His breath smelt of fish and stale beer, never mind the terrible body odor that Twilight got a whiff of every time he got close. Twi had nicknamed him Stinky.

“I'm…” Twi groaned. “Not your son.”

“Why you little…!” Stinky hissed, frustrated by Twilight's continued obstinance.

The brute pulled Twi's head back while he punched him hard in the ribs. As Stinky let go of Twi's hair, he doubled down by kicking the same spot with his boot.

“Argh,” Twi coughed, winded and wincing against the pain. He definitely heard something crack that time.

“Easy,” one of the men holding Twilight's arms warned. Though he sounded pretty casual about it. “The boss won't thank you for breaking his pet.”

The boss, Twilight had heard him mentioned several times during his imprisonment. However, he was yet to have the pleasure of his acquaintance. Apparently he ran a black market in odd creatures and Hylians with strange abilities. A handsome teen who could turn into a ferocious wolf was apparently worth a lot of money.

“I need a break anyway. This fucker’s face is gonna break my wrist!”

Stinky grumbled, examining the dried blood on his knuckles and forearms. He gave the other two men a nod and Twilight's arms were dropped. They fell like dead weights at his sides, tingling as his blood rushed back to his extremities. As the men brushed past him towards the only door, one of them bumped Twi with his knee, knocking him forwards onto his hands.

“Haha, there ya go! He's a mutt afterall!” He chortled, giving the other thug a nudge to make sure he got the joke.

Twilight choked against the pull of the collar and heard the men laughing, as the door was opened and slammed shut. A heavy bolt was slid into place before the voices and footsteps of the men faded into the distance.

The young hero remained on hands and knees for a while, limbs shaking as they struggled to hold his body weight. Arms which could stop a rampaging goat, or even wrestle a Goron (with some special boots of course). He doubted he had the strength to do either of those things.

Twilight took stock of his injuries.

Where to begin? He thought grimly.

His face had taken so many beatings at this point he wasn't sure where one injury ended and the next began. Twi's right eye felt swollen and sore and there was a ringing in his ear that didn't want to go away. His shoulders ached less now that his arms weren't being yanked behind his back, but they were still stiff when he tried to move them.

Sitting up slowly, Twi shifted his legs to bring them around in front of him. He didn't dare move around too much in case he reached the extent of the chain connecting his collar to the wall behind him. He had done that already, the first time he'd been chained up, almost strangling himself before he relented his struggle. For now he rested his back against the slimy wall, working more dirt and grime into his beloved tunic.

Twi swallowed a few times. Stinky had definitely broken a rib with that last kick. Twilight could feel how tender that spot had quickly become. If they weren't careful with him, they could easily puncture a lung. Twilight didn't think the boss would be too happy with that. Then again, if his minions couldn't prove that Twilight was a shapeshifter, then he was worthless to them anyway. In which case he assumed they'd probably give up and just kill him.

“No, don't think like that,” he berated himself. “You're going to get out of here, and you'll see your brothers again. You just need to hold on a bit longer.”

He knew he wasn't the most emotionally stunted or traumatized member of the Chain. However, Twilight usually liked to pride himself on keeping his emotions in check when the situation required it. When his captors loomed over him, demanding answers and a reaction to their beatings, Twilight gave them nothing. He would force a smile onto his face and spit their insults right back at them. Midna had given him plenty of training in that area too.

Slumped against a filthy stone wall, cold, bleeding and bruised, a heavy iron collar dragging at his neck, Twi had no one left to perform for. He was in pain. He hadn't seen a friendly face in more than four days. He wanted a bed to sleep in and a warm meal lovingly prepared by his crazy cub.

Twilight folded his arms and legs in and let himself feel it all. Head resting on his scuffed knees, his tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked into his grime stained trousers. Twilight tried to keep his breathing even, but a sob escaped him, making him tremble with the force of trying to hold it back. His shoulders heaved despite the deep ache in his muscles. Cries tormenting his raw throat, as he pulled his arms tighter around his knees. And he cried.

They were ugly tears, dripping with dirt and traces of blood as they dribbled over Twi's lips. He coughed when he struggled to draw air into his lungs, which only made him cry harder at how miserable he felt.

A crash echoed in the room above. Twi sniffed as he fought to stop crying. His body tensed, ready for whatever was about to happen. Ears trained on the floor above, listening for voices or further disturbance. Twilight thought he heard someone scream, a man's voice, strangled and desperate. He hoped it was Stinky.

Then there were footsteps running towards his cell door. He heard someone throw back the bolt before kicking the door open.

Twilight's eyes grew wide as relief flooded his body. He felt light, giddy even. If the face staring back at him hadn't been set into a scowl, Twi thought he might have grinned like a madman.

“We got the three thugs upstairs, are there any more Twi?” Time asked briskly.

There was a thunderous look in both of Time's eyes and a faint smattering of blood dappled his left cheek. His hand gripped the sword at his back, ready to attack if an enemy jumped out from the shadows. When Twilight shook his head, Time lowered his hand and made a quick scan of the basement cell.

As he took in Twilight's form, shrunken and cowering against the wall, covered in blood and dirt, Time softened. His anger had fuelled his rampage through the building above, but now he allowed it to fizzle out. Though his frown returned when he noticed the shackle around Twi's neck. As he crossed the room Time dropped to one knee, heedless of the blood and grime seeping into his trousers. Twilight looked in far worse shape than a dirty knee.

“Are you hurt?” Was his first question, as he gave Twilight a cursory look over.

“Nothing I couldn't handle,” Twi sighed, quirking the corner of his mouth.

“Don't give me that. You're going to give me, Hyrule, and the Captain a rundown of all your injuries and you'll subject yourself to healing and rest,” Time insisted, a little shocked by the lightness in Twilight's tone.

“You'll get no arguments from me Old Man,” Twi nodded, dropping his fragile mask of confidence.

“Good, glad to hear it,” Time replied, glad to see that those thugs hadn't completely knocked the sense out of his descendant.

Time lifted a hand to cup Twilight's cheek, but he hesitated when he examined the extent of the bruising on his face. One eye was half closed due to severe swelling and a trickle of blood slowly dripped down from one ear.

“S’alright,” Twilight huffed. “You can't hurt me any worse than they have already.”

Time tried not to think about that and settled for giving Twilight's knee a comforting pat. Though what he wanted to do was gather his descendant in his arms and hold him close to his heart.

“The others are searching more abandoned buildings in the area. I'll go up and see if I can find the keys to get that thing off you.” Time indicated the collar and Twilight couldn't fail to notice the acid in Time's voice as he said the word ‘thing’.

“Okay,” Twilight replied, voice cracking on unshed tears.

This conversation and the realisation that he was being rescued had brought on a wave of exhaustion Twilight hadn't expected. His head began to droop and Time couldn't help but reach out and catch Twilight's head as it tipped to one side.

“Hey, are you with me cub? Will you be alright if I leave you here for just a few minutes longer?”

“Yeah, I'm alright. Go, I'm not going anywhere,” Twilight chuckled in an attempt to further reassure his mentor.

“Okay, I'll try and be as quick as I can,” Time insisted, pushing up to his feet once more.

As Time turned and walked towards the door, Twilight called out to him.

“Check the one that stinks like fish. And if he doesn't want to talk, give him a good kick in the ribs for me.”

Twilight's devious smirk leant speed to Time's steps as he hurried back up to the floor above. Moral code be damned, these men had hurt one of his boys, that made them monsters in his book. And he knew what to do with monsters.

#legend of zelda #fandoms #the legend of zelda #fanfic #link #linked universe #lu chain #lu twilight #lu whump fic #linktober 2024 #whumptober #whumptober 2024 #link twilight princess

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