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raspberryfingers · 8 months ago

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A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 12)

A/N: this chapter is probably my favorite addition of the rewrite :)

WARNINGS: NSFW

Word Count: 5.6k

—————

I sighed as I watched the last of my luggage be loaded into the wagon. I had packed light, because hopefully this excursion would only take two weeks at most. Both Sansa and Loras had packed a bit more, however, for if all went well they would not be returning to King’s Landing.

It was so early in the morning that the sun had not yet risen, and the only people at the entrance courtyard of the Red Keep were the nightguards and the men accompanying us. I regretted that we had to leave so damned early, as I’d wanted to say goodbye to Tywin.

It made me rather sad, because I hadn’t a clue if he’d even remember me helping him to the Tower of the Hand when he woke up. His last memory of me might be the feast, and he would not see me again for two weeks.

“Are you alright?”

Feeling Ser Elias’ hand at my shoulder, I turned around and looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Processing what he’d said, I instantly nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just rather anxious, I suppose. Quite a lot relies on this going right,” I said with a sigh, holding my arms and trying not to think about how much could go wrong on this trip. Elias nodded with understanding, removing his hand from me.

“I understand. However, know that if it should go wrong, it is not your fault. If you cannot wager peace, there’s not a soul on earth who would’ve been able to.”

“Yes, well, the peace agreement was also my idea.”

“And one that I consented to.”

Ser Elias and I turned our heads at the sound of another’s voice, and I was surprised to find Tywin approaching us. I instantly smiled, going over to him and meeting him halfway.

“How are you already awake? Do you feel alright?” I questioned, pressing my hand to his forehead and examining him. Even in the darkness he still looked quite miserable. There was no doubt in mind he’d already vomited at least once.

“I feel entirely awful, but I had to come see you off. I told my guards yesterday that they were to wake me early this morning with no exception,” he explained, reaching for my hand and holding it in his. The feeling sent goosebumps up my arm, and I was somewhat flattered by the fact that he was this ill and had still come all the way down here.

“Will you be alright getting back to the Tower of the Hand?” I asked, noting that he had no coat on over his shirt and pants, just a cloak. I was certain he intended to go back to sleep after this. I prayed he would, he desperately needed it.

“I will be fine. My head hurts quite terribly, that’s all. How are you feeling?” Tywin’s free hand came to my arm, and it made me oddly sentimental. I did not want to leave him.

“Nervous, but that’s to be expected. If I tell myself everything I told you, it helps me calm down. I’m rather convincing that way. I just need to focus on rationality instead of my nerves,” I told him, unable to resist the urge to crack a joke as I squeezed his hand. He smiled gently, not enough for anyone else to notice if they were looking.

“Well, you convinced me, and I had no qualms with the messier route. You are doing a good thing, remember that.”

“But… what if… what if things go horribly wrong, Tywin? What if I give Robb Stark his sister and two war prisoners with her? Then what?” I voiced my fears, for Tywin was the only person I felt comfortable voicing them to. He instantly shook his head, an entirely serious look on his face as he did.

“That is not going to happen. You will persuade the Young Wolf and you will end this war. You are capable of that, I am certain. And, in the impossible scenario that Robb Stark is utterly stupid and decides to take you hostage, I will call every last bannerman and come for you. I will be dead and rotting before any harm is ever done to you,” Tywin assured me, raising the hand on my shoulder to my cheek and holding eye contact as he said it. Somehow, his words were more comforting than I’d even thought possible.

“Oh Tywin…”

I embraced him then, my face pressed against his chest as I shut my eyes and just let him hold me. One arm wrapped around my torso, and the other hand came to my head, fingers intertwined with my hair. I could feel his breath on my scalp, and after a moment his lips too.

“You will return to me, (Y/N), safe and victorious. And when you do, I will hold you just like this. Do you understand?” Tywin whispered, pulling back a bit so he could look at me again. I nodded, giving him a frightened, desperate smile as though I was trying my hardest to believe his words. I needed him to be right.

He kissed my forehead then, and I wanted to sob. I had just barely admitted to being in love with him, but either way, knowing that I had to part with him for two weeks was impossible to accept.

“I’m going to miss you, Tywin,” I muttered, looking up at him solemnly. His lips parted, and he looked entirely shattered at my statement. He nodded, closing his eyes.

“I will miss you as well, dear girl.”

We stared at each other for a moment more, but Loras calling my name from across the courtyard made both of us look over. I sighed, knowing it was time for us to leave.

“I will see you in two weeks, Tywin. I will make sure of it,” I said, giving his hand one last squeeze before turning around and going up to my horse. I quickly mounted up, trying my hardest to make the aching go away.

The large gate to the Red Keep opened, and as our small group began to move out, I looked at Tywin one last time. He only stared, but it was reassuring all the same. The fear dissipated, and in its place came determination. Yes, I would see him in two weeks, and when I did, I would smile from ear to ear as I announced the end of a war.

—————

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but Tywin was already utterly miserable. He’d become accustomed to your visits in the morning before either of you had anything to do. It was a pleasant way to start his day, and without it he found himself somewhat aggravated. Now he found that it was hard to get work done without thinking about you or wondering where you were.

He had no idea if you were safe, or if you’d reached Robb Stark yet. He suspected not, but it was a small group and would allow you all to move quickly. Still, it irked him to not be 100% certain of your safety and wellbeing. He was glad you weren’t traveling in a wheelhouse, for that would’ve attracted far too much attention.

Sitting at his desk now, Tywin caught himself considering all these things. It was late morning, and he’d be having lunch soon. He could picture you doing the same, sitting with your brother and his wife. He tried not to think about the fact that Ser Elias was there with you too.

There was the frustration again. Tywin groaned as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. It was a never ending cycle of missing you and wishing you were here, then onto thinking about whatever you might be doing, and finally remembering that Ser Elias was with you the entire time.

He knew that you were probably right, Ser Elias surely only saw you as a sister or a daughter, but how could Tywin not feel any jealousy at all? The man was six and a half feet tall, not to mention tremendously fit and good looking. It made the Old Lion miss his youth, for once upon a time he wouldn’t have felt insecure compared to a man like that.

Tywin sighed, blinking a few times as he considered just how badly he wished to have you all to himself. Gods, what would it be like to kiss you? To hold your cheek and feel the softness of your lips? He couldn’t even fathom it.

He thought back to the day at the inn, remembering how his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you in the tub. He hadn’t even meant to look, for he’d never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but gods, you were beautiful.

Tywin hated the way that he thought about you, because he knew that whatever had happened to you as a girl had clearly made you wary of men and their intentions. He could not blame you, and yet somehow even he desired you. It made him feel disgusting, almost as though he was no better than the two soldiers whose tongues he’d cut off.

Of course, it was different. Those men had wanted to rape you, he wished to make love to you. The vision of it was only erotic because Tywin pictured you wanting him just as much as he wanted you. And, it was not as if desire was the thing he could feel when he thought of you. The affection and love had come first, then with it the lust.

It was odd, for he had fucked whores at various points in his life, but that was merely to relieve his lust. There had been no desire for any of those women, he had simply paid them to make him feel good. He never kissed them, either. But gods, he wanted to kiss you.

That was the difference, he guessed. When he pictured himself fucking you, it was imagining your moans that made his blood rush. Because yes, he could certainly think about how good it would feel to be inside of you, but it was not nearly as attractive as the thought of you being pleased by him. You would look so pretty that way.

Tywin sighed, lifting his head from the back of his chair and looking down to find what he already knew was there. The strain in his pants had grown uncomfortable as he’d allowed his imagination to run wild, and now he simply felt frustrated.

It had been quite some time since he’d requested a whore from the brothel. Normally just being around you left him content enough to simply touch himself when he grew aroused, but he felt quite insatiable now. Then again, he did not want to fuck a whore, he wanted to fuck you. And thus an idea sparked into his head.

Tywin reached for a blank sheet of parchment, instantly scratching down his instructions on it. He was sending for a whore, though not just any random one. He wanted a girl with your hair color, your eyes, and your height. He pictured every feature of yours perfectly in his head, discovering that if he’d wanted to he might’ve described you in exact detail. But no, the request must be general. Even then, it already was risky enough for him to be doing this.

Before he could think twice, the Lord Hand found himself finishing and sealing the letter. He would take it through the tunnel after he had eaten lunch, and that would be that. He expected a girl would be waiting in his chambers after supper. Somewhere deep down, Tywin knew it would be the last time that tunnel would ever be put to use. It was quite the relieving thought.

—————

Tywin was grateful to be back in his chambers, for he’d just told the king of your plan. True to his word, the Lord Hand informed his grandson about something he ought to know. Unfortunately, Joffrey had not taken well to the news. Tywin hadn’t expected anything less, hence why he’d waited to tell him until after you had left with Loras and Sansa.

But gods, that boy was cumbersome. So much so that Tywin had almost entirely forgotten about the request he’d given to the brothel earlier that day. Entering his bedroom, he was surprised to find a whore there waiting for him. She was still dressed, though only in a transparent fabric, and she had draped herself across the sofa.

Tywin froze as he took in her appearance. In terms of characteristics such as hair and skin, she matched you quite well, but in terms of actual features there was hardly a resemblance. Taking a deep breath, the Lord Hand told himself it was fine. He did not need to look at her face while fucking her, even if he had looked at yours in all his fantasies.

“My Lord,” the girl greeted, slowly sitting up and giving him a seductive smile. Tywin found that her boldness irked him. You were not timid, to be certain, but he’d found there were some respects in which you were surprisingly vulnerable, and this would certainly be one of them.

She stood from the sofa, striding toward him in a somewhat teasing manner, almost as if trying to trigger some sort of instinct. Standing before Tywin now, she began to undo his coat. He did not deny her, but he did not do anything to encourage her either.

With her face closer now, he noted that she was similar to you in age, probably in her mid-20s. That made him feel a bit better, at least. But still, when she smiled up at him it was almost aggravating. You did not smile like that. Yours was much prettier.

Tywin began to wonder if he even really wanted to have sex with this woman. She was not you, and you were all he wanted. But then again, he was still annoyed over the conversation with his grandson, and surely it couldn't hurt to blow off some steam this way.

“Would you like to undress me, my Lord Hand?” she asked with a giggle, completely removing his coat and his shirt. Tywin looked down at her, remaining silent for a moment.

“Undress yourself and go sit on the sofa,” he commanded, not a single hint of emotion in his voice as he did. The whore smiled and nodded, making quite a display of herself as she shed the thin gown off. She moved back to her original spot with a very seductive sway of her hips.

Tywin let himself admire her for a moment, for he couldn’t deny that she was attractive. She had spread her legs as she sat, giving him quite the view. He wished he could see you in such a position; it would be the prettiest painting he ever saw.

Slowly, Tywin removed his boots and then approached the woman. She sat a bit straighter with expectation, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. Again, he found himself thinking of you. What might it be like to have you gazing up at him in expectation like this? He could imagine himself brushing your cheek with his fingers and tucking your hair behind your ears.

He would not touch this whore like that, though. Such intimacy was reserved for you alone. Instead, he merely undid the ties on his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. Tywin wasn’t fully hard yet, for truthfully the thing arousing him most was picturing you in place of this woman.

But, either way, he welcomed her to touch him as he stood before her. The whore examined his cock with a smile, instantly reaching from him and beginning to stroke. The sensation was pleasant, but Tywin remained entirely composed until she moved forward a bit and took him in her mouth.

In response to that, he let out a deep exhale, looking down at the top of her head and nearly moaning when he realized that she looked just like you from this angle. Her hair was perhaps her largest similarity to you, and Tywin found himself reaching for it eagerly. His fingers weaved through it, and his grip was firm yet tender.

The thought of you licking and sucking him this way fully hardened the Great Lion, and his hips involuntarily bucked into the whore’s mouth as he pretended that it was yours. He groaned rather loudly, fighting back the urge to let your name slip from his tongue.

All sorts of ideas about you began flooding through his head. He could imagine your hands grabbing at his hips, pulling him in even farther. And to have those lips, those soft, convincing lips wrapped around his cock… gods, it sent a shiver up his spine.

The whore swirled her tongue around his tip, but he did not feel that. Instead he felt you doing it, and he cursed out with utter delight. Of course, he could not entirely convince himself. Had it really been you he would’ve laid you across the sofa and buried his face between your legs already. For some odd reason, he also felt that you would be a woman bold enough to grab his balls while doing this. It was no particular fantasy of his, but the idea of you touching him in any way was absolutely titillating.

Tywin felt his abdomen beginning to tighten, and he shook his head, opening the eyes that he hadn’t even remembered closing. He glanced down at the whore, removing his hand from her hair. Feeling this, she glanced up at him.

“Enough of that. Get up and bend over,” he instructed, swallowing and catching his breath as he took a step back. He watched the woman do as he’d requested, hands planted into the sofa with her ass raised toward him, and he nodded to himself. Her build was not exactly like yours, which of course served to disappoint Tywin, but it was close enough that—if he were to really put some effort into it—he could convince himself.

He approached her then, one hand grabbing at her hip and the other reaching for his erection. Tywin found his breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up at the girl’s entrance. He simply kept his eyes focused there as he pushed in, imagining how you might moan his name and arch at the feeling of him stretching you this way.

Well, that was what he had been imagining until he was interrupted by the sound of the whore’s moan. Her voice was nothing like yours, and even if he had never heard your cries of pleasure before, logic told him it would be nothing like the sound he’d just heard.

As he slowly began to thrust into her, he attempted to ignore her whines, simply shutting his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the walls around his cock, because even if she wasn’t you, it obviously still felt rather good. Whores were paid for a reason, after all.

Both of Tywin’s hands were on the woman’s hips now, and again he thought of you. He remembered what it had been like to wake up at the inn with his arm wrapped around you, how his breath had caught in his throat when he realized.

That memory made him thrust a bit faster, and he let out a low moan as he did. The whore replied the same way, though her moans were far louder and much more exaggerated. It made Tywin increasingly annoyed, for not only did it not sound like you, but he knew it was fake.

This kind of stimulation might warrant a few soft moans or gasps, but nothing like the lusty cries that this woman was currently making. Tywin had enjoyed plenty of late nights with Joanna, and was not ignorant to what actually made a woman feel good, which was exactly how he knew that the current moans coming from below him were entirely exaggerated.

Attempting to ignore it, Tywin simply shut his eyes again and chased his own pleasure. He wondered if he even should’ve bothered asking for a woman that looked like you, for he was not spending very much time with his eyes open. Well, it had at least been convincing when she’d taken him in her mouth.

Already thinking of the subject, Tywin found himself imagining how you might moan. More than that, he imagined the way you might gasp his name and shudder as you did. Well, he was trying to. It was hard to do when the whore was quite so loud.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the woman, he decided he’d had enough. Perhaps it was rude, but as he gave the command he did not particularly care. “Hush. Be silent.”

The air felt tense for a moment as the whore silenced herself; she was certainly unaccustomed to men requesting such a thing. Normally, the more she moaned the more they enjoyed it. Well, it didn’t matter. She would stay quiet for the amount that she was being given.

Now that it was quiet besides the slapping of skin, Tywin felt free to give in to his fantasies. He ran his hands over the woman, though really he was running his hands over you. He craved the warmth of your skin, the feeling of you beneath his hands.

His thrusts became stronger now, and Tywin groaned rather loudly as he gave the whore’s ass a firm squeeze. This was pathetic of him, and he knew that, but his lust for you was so immense that he couldn’t help it. More than that, he simply wished to kiss and hold you. He certainly would not do that to a whore.

Tywin licked his lips, swallowing and breathing heavily as he exerted himself. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and so he leaned over the woman a bit to hit a deeper angle inside of her. However, upon doing so, he inhaled her scent.

He thrusted a few more times as he processed it, but for some reason Tywin could not ignore the perfume she was wearing. It was rather nice, but it smelled nothing like yours did. For some reason, he’d been able to ignore every other difference, but this was his breaking point. He could not ignore just how different from you this woman was any longer, and he sighed out with disappointment—more in himself than anything—as he pulled out of her.

The whore turned her head to look back, confused at what had just happened. Tywin was pulling his pants up, and he walked over to his nightstand to fetch the coin purse for her.

“For your time,” he said, bringing it back over to her. She was sitting on the couch now, feeling rather displaced and anxious. She’d never had a man just full on stop without finishing before.

“My lord, I apologize if I was unsatisfactory. Would you- would you like someone else?” she asked, looking up at him with a sort of embarrassment. Tywin took a deep breath as she said it, shaking his head. He suddenly felt bad.

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t that. And I’m fine, thank you,” he said, trying to reassure her without revealing anything. Had he spent a night with her a year ago, he would’ve found it rather satisfactory. But that was obviously very different now. Tywin could’ve been given the most desired whore in the world and he still wouldn’t have been content.

“Would you like me to be someone else..?” she trailed off, seeing the look in the Lord Hand’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a man who was clearly imagining another. Usually they had little shame in moaning other girls' names.

Tywin only stared at her, handing her the coin purse and then stepping away. She nodded at him, not wanting to push it. She rose from the couch, grabbing her discarded dress and showing herself out through the tunnel. In the morning, Tywin would have a letter sent to seal the thing off. There was no use for it now.

The Lord Hand merely sighed, going to the small table and pouring himself some wine. Surely he was disgusting for this. He didn’t even want to think about how you would react if you knew he’d fucked a whore with you in mind. Again, the guilt came back to him as he considered that perhaps he was like every other man. Gods, it was horrible to love you and want you this way when he was 100% certain you did not feel the same in any capacity.

Tywin sighed as he set his cup down and made his way over to the bed. He still had an erection to handle, and he supposed he’d get by just fine on his own. He undid his pants completely now, going fully nude and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

He reached toward his nightstand, pulling out a handkerchief from inside the small drawer so he wouldn’t make a mess when he finished. Though, he wiped the whore’s slick off of himself first. As he did that, however, he noticed your handkerchief still sitting on top of the stand. He had eaten the cookie the morning you’d left, but he had not moved the cloth itself at all.

An odd urge gripped Tywin, and he set aside the white cloth in his hand and instead reached for yours. He smiled fondly as he examined it, wondering if perhaps your sister or grandmother had embroidered the red roses around the edges of it, for you had once noted to him that you’d never been quite as good at it as them. The first letter of your name was also there in the corner, big and somewhat dramatic. It was pretty, and Tywin liked it.

He intended to put it back on his nightstand, but a sudden whiff of flowers hit his nose and he instantly stopped. Slowly, with an unparalleled amount of hope, he brought your handkerchief up to his nose and inhaled.

Smelling your perfume on it, he instantly exhaled and shut his eyes, allowing himself to fully take in the scent. Somehow, the familiarity of it made him feel as though he was holding you in his arms, or perhaps even just sitting beside you.

Tywin Lannister had never imagined himself being overly fond of some floral scent, but suddenly he could not get enough of it. He found himself burying his nose in this damn cloth, laying back on the bed and getting comfortable as he continually inhaled. He was so obsessed with your scent that he nearly moaned out.

Before he could even fully process what he was doing, Tywin was reaching down with his free hand, taking a hold of his cock. He was practically throbbing now, and the ache for you was so intense that even the slightest pleasure—combined with the rosy perfume filling his lungs—made him shake.

He began to rub himself, slowly at first, as he moaned out. He could picture you sitting beside him, your hair perfectly messy and a smile on your face as you touched him. You would take joy in seeing him become a mess under your hands like this, wouldn’t you? Tywin gasped, handkerchief still pressed to his face.

He forced memories of you saying his name into his mind, his hold on his erection tightening now. He began to rub a little faster, breathing catching in his throat as he looked down at himself. Compared to the warmth of his hand, the feeling of the cold valyrian steel ring made him shudder. The texture of it was almost painful, but you had given him that ring. You had held it in your hands.

Again, he moaned out, still bathing in the scent of roses. In his mind you were still there beside him, watching him moan as you squeezed and tugged. He could see you, naked and beautiful as you tortured him this way. He wanted to kiss you.

He started to rub himself even more vigorously now, a moaning mess as his hips came up to meet his hand. Tywin practically whimpered, and his legs were beginning to shake. It was never like this when he touched himself. The scent of you alone had turned him into this.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N)! Oh gods… (Y/N)…” Tywin applied extra pressure to the tip of his cock, choking out your name with absolutely ecstasy. He could feel every single muscle in his body tensing, as though he were some sort of wild animal.

He found himself rolling onto his stomach, momentarily stopping and reaching for the body pillow against his headboard. With absolute desperation, he lifted himself up for just long enough to push it under him. Once he’d done that, his hand went straight back to doing what it had been before, and he groaned again.

The handkerchief was still against his nose, and with the pillow beneath Tywin, he could imagine himself on top of you. Not only that, but he felt your stomach pressing against his as your back arched, and he saw you throwing your head back with pleasure.

Tywin moaned as he continued to pleasure himself, not caring at all how hot the room was growing. He was sweaty and tired, but your scent urged him to keep going; he listened quite obediently.

He was thrusting into his hand—and the pillow as well—with extreme vigor, forehead pressed to the mattress as he panted out. Even if he’d wanted to, Tywin could not keep your name from his lips, especially as he imagined how you might shake and quiver beneath him in the midst of an orgasm.

He felt like a madman envisioning all the ways that he would take you. He wanted you beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Or perhaps he would kneel before you, thrusting with your legs over his shoulders. Then he would take you from behind, his hand on your back as your forearms collapsed beneath you out of sheer pleasure. Tywin wanted you on top of him, hips rolling against his as your breasts bounced and he sat up to kiss them. There was the scent of roses again.

Tywin shuddered, for there was too much on his mind. That was not all he wished to do to you. He saw himself inserting his fingers into you, curling and pumping as his thumb rubbed your clit. Surely that would make you sing his name, which was erotic enough as it was. Not only that, but the Great Lion imagined what it might be like to bury his face between your legs, holding them open as they shook. He would feast like a man starved.

Gods, it was a euphoric vision, and he’d found a particularly enjoyable rhythm with his hand. Tywin knew he was close, and his moans had become entirely pathetic, whiny and loud in a way they hadn’t been in years.

Suddenly, his abdomen squeezed tighter than before, his hand clenching around the handkerchief as he took another good inhale. Roses, roses and you. That was all that existed as he felt an all-consuming pleasure in his groin.

The fresh cloth from earlier was entirely forgotten about, and Tywin did not care whatsoever as his seed spurted from his cock onto the pillow beneath him. He had surely ruined the case, but that was not even a thought to him as he cried your name out, so overwhelmed that his hand was forced to slow itself.

For a few seconds, the Great Lion was entirely frozen, moans becoming quieter and more relaxed as he came down from the peak of his orgasm. He had to swallow and catch his breath, exhaling deeply and blinking a few times to reorient himself.

Tywin was so exhausted that he nearly fell asleep then and there, but the thirst in his throat forced him to roll over onto his back so that he’d wake up. He glanced over at the pillow, surprised at just how large his spend had been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spilled so much.

Your handkerchief was still in his hand, and he stared at it for a few seconds before bringing it to his nose again. The scent had previously aroused him, but now it was comforting. He suddenly wished to hold you, to pet your hair and kiss your head.

Though, the reality of what he’d just done also hit him and drove utter shame and guilt into the Hand of the King. As if he had not degraded you enough by imagining you when he was with a whore.

Tywin sighed, sitting up slowly and reaching for the cup on his nightstand. The wine felt good in his throat, not to mention it soothed whatever nerves were gathering in his stomach. He was overthinking now.

As he laid back in bed and cleaned himself up, Tywin also thought about how you were doing at the present moment. It was weird having no contact with you, and it would stay that way until you arrived back at the Red Keep. At least, he prayed that was what would happen.

He merely sighed as he contemplated, pushing the body pillow off the bed and onto the floor. He slipped under the covers then too, trying to get comfortable. It was extremely late now, and there was no doubt in Tywin’s mind that he’d fall asleep rather quickly.

After all, the scent of roses still hung in the air around him, and he prayed that it would never fade away. Perhaps, for once in his life, the gods would listen.

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drconstellation · 10 months ago

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The Cupperty Ceremony

Every bit of food and drink in both seasons has a metaphorical significance, even if you don't realize it.

Tea is no exception. Its one of the few times an eastern philosophy creeps into Good Omens, but it still meets with a western ideal. It's also intrinsically linked to Aziraphale and his affected British style.

Coffee gets more of a focus in S2, and has a specific meaning around freedom and liberty, whereas tea appears more in S1. But the metaphorical meanings around them are fairly consistent across both seasons, with stereotypes for the British drinking tea and the Americans only drinking coffee put aside.

Lets start with Muriel on the doorstep of the bookshop, at the beginning of S2E3, asking to come in, because its noisy outside.

Aziraphale, after a moment to take in who they are, is the epitome of politeness as he welcomes them inside.

You might think "well, isn't this just Aziraphale being typically Aziraphale?" in this moment, but soon we shall see its a relevant part of a ritual going on here.

The bookshop is noticeably quieter on the inside. There is just the two of them. Aziraphale offers Muriel tea in a fine china cup, with a blue pattern, and gold trim.

Muriel is not sure what to do with it so they just hold it. Aziraphale makes a point of demonstrating what should be done: He tells Muriel the tea is "to drink," then looks at it, sips, and makes both an appreciative expression and sound.

Muriel seems repelled by this, and declares they are just going to look at theirs. Aziraphale patiently, still polite, lets them do so.

Up to this point, there are actually two levels of meta happening at the same time. The first one is a tea ceremony (which I had a go at once before, and got the wrong one!) and the other is about trying to get Muriel to take the first step in "going native."

A tea ceremony always starts with a courteous invitation. The tea is prepared, then served and offered to others. It should be taken in a tranquil, peaceful setting, perhaps in a harmonious natural environment (such as a Garden) and with only a few people at a time (two people is considered a "superior" experience.) The tea ware is important, as it should allow the fragrance of the tea to be appreciated (we have some fine china, Heavenly-coded.) Appreciation of the tea's qualities is undertaken, first with the eyes, then by smell, then tasting. It is considered an art, a process of spiritual enjoyment, a means of cultivating the moral character - and then Crowley bursts into the bookshop with his flirty comment about going by train and breaks the fragile connection Aziraphale had been trying to establish with Muriel.

*sigh* Timing, Crowley! Can't you see I'm in the middle of trying to subvert a fellow angel here?

I was recently reminded that tea and coffee have a connection in GO, in that that they are both linked to the American War of Independence. While the speech that gives us "Give me liberty, or give me death!" conjures the stormy winds of war sounding trouble approaching, the Boston Tea Party was the initial spark of the brewing conflict.

I realize there is a LOT of stuff written about this particular bit of history, and it can get quite political even in these modern times, so let me frame it in a Good Omens frame of reference if you aren't familiar with it - the colonists in the New World were upset at how they were being ruled from afar by the British and staged a small protest about some new laws imposed on them by dumping ship-loads of valuable tea leaves (a daily consumable pleasure people had become hooked on) into Boston Harbor on the night of 16th December 1773. To disguise themselves they dressed themselves as indigenous people, or "native Americans" as one might have said. This was just the beginning of further rebellion that led to war a few years later.

So here is another reason Aziraphale offers tea to Muriel, and not cocoa; he can see how fascinated they are with with everything Earthly around them, and he hopes to ignite a spark of rebellion in them, too, by introducing them to the more civilized pleasures (*ahem*) that he knows and enjoys so well.

While there is little tea to be seen in S2, there is plenty to be seen in S1. Perhaps the most prominent one for this discussion occurs right near the beginning, when Gabriel surprises Aziraphale in the sushi restaurant in S1E1.

Aziraphale offers to tea to Gabriel, and Gabriel shuns it. He, like most of the angels we meet, have no real interest in Earth. It's "gross." Ah, well. He gets to change his mind in S2.

So where else do we see tea in S1?

The Four Horsepeople: War orders four teas, one black, and a cheese sandwich in the diner where they all meet up together for the first time on Earth. We don't know who the sandwich is for, but I'm going to guess its for Famine. Reasons below, with Shadwell. (Cheese and tea make a nice savoury pair for a snack, if you haven't tried it. I'm partial to tea with cheese and crackers on the side from time to time.)

The Tibetan Tunnelers were on tea break from digging tunnels all over the Earth when we meet them, where they mention they were transported into the tunnels when they themselves stopped for tea back in their real lives on the surface.

Shadwell's infamously sweet tea, with either nine sugars or condensed milk, needs a mention as well, as it appears several times. Shadwell is an Aziraphale parallel-character, living on the fringes of society and starving for attention, even though he makes feeble swipes at Madam Tracey's attempts to care for him. The sugar represents the amount of care or "sweetening up" he needs.

When he first meets Newt he gets the young man to buy him a tea and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Remember the cheese sandwich War ordered for Famine? A packet of cheese flavoured crisps is a parallel here. Newt has turned up and finally given someone Shadwell someone to sink his teeth into.

Finally, we need to return to Crowley - its coffee, as black as his soul for him, please, and extra strong (six shots is for the number of Hell.)

Because he's already "gone native," just like Aziraphale, and he wants to maintain his freedom. He's left the Garden, and Heaven, behind him, and he'll do anything to keep it that way, thank you.

I'd like to thank my mutual and other food meta writer @vidavalor for discussing some of this off-list some time ago. We mostly see things the same way, I believe, but one must tread one's own path sometimes. They have some different ideas around some of this, but I'll let them say it in their own words.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #muriel #gabriel #four horsepeople of the apocalypse #shadwell #the tibetan tunnelers #and a cheese sandwich #six shots of espresso #gone native #gross matter #it's what humans do #tea ceremony #cup of tea #cupperty

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pipsqueaks89934 · 3 months ago

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Yandere Naga King x princess reader

Warnings: touching and forced marriage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For over 100 years humans and Nagas have been at war so when you’re father (the king) got a letter from the Naga King saying that he wanted to have a peace treaty since he wanted the war between humans and Nagas to be over. When you heard about the peace treaty you were over the moon in joy until you found out that in the treaty he wanted your hand in marriage and your father being the king and wanting the best for the kingdom he agreed almost immediately since he also wanted to stop the fighting between our worlds so there you are standing in a white translucent dress with only your white panties and bra being the thing covering your private areas.

Why me out of all my siblings? No one will ever take me seriously if I wear this on my wedding day.

After a few more minutes of looking at yourself in the mirror, you hear a small bell meaning it’s time to meet and marry your new husband and as you’re walking down the aisle you hear people talking about how you look and how what you’re wearing is so inappropriate and unladylike. Once you were standing in front of your soon-to-be husband the pastor started talking but you weren't listening to a word he was saying, you were too busy thinking about your new life with the naga king.

“Do you take this man to be your husband?” the pastor asked while looking at you with an expecting look.

“…I do…” you mumbled as you looked down at your feet.

After you both said your I do’s he led you to a carriage where all your stuff was being loaded.

“While the wedding was happening I had your maids and servants load all your stuff so we could go ahead and set off,” he explained while looking at you with a kind smile. “I hope that is okay with you princess.”

“It's fine,” you whispered while walking over to the carriage. “Let’s just go!”

“Whatever makes you happy,” he whispered in your ear. “My queen.”

Once everything was loaded in the carriage you and your husband got into the carriage so you both could go to your new home. After a few minutes of sitting there in awkward silence, with you looking out the window, your husband decided to take things into his own hands and get closer to you so he could put his hand on your thigh.

“You look so beautiful in that outfit dear,” he whispered while playing with a piece of your hair. “I’m glad that I finally have you after years of waiting.”

“What do you mean?” you asked while turning to look at him.

“I saw you playing in the woods when you were little and I couldn't help but fall in love with you,” he whispered while he slid his hand slowly up your thigh. “That’s why I asked for this peace treaty because I knew that your father would never say no to one.”

You wanted to pull away from him but you didn't have anywhere else to go so you just stayed there and let him touch you while he whispered in your ear. The hand on your thigh was starting to get closer to the sweet spot in-between your legs. Once his hand made it there he started kissing, licking, and biting at your neck.

“Can we wait until we get there?” you ask politely as you gently push him away.

“As you wish,” he answered but still keeping a firm hand on your thigh. “But once we get there you will be mine in every way possible!”

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siancore · 8 months ago

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Pockets of Peaceful Bliss

A little glimpse into small pre-canon moments between Rick and Michonne at the Prison. Based on this post by @myobsessionsspace

There was a lot to figure out after the run to King County, the reunion with Morgan, and finding a new and tentative balance with Michonne. Rick found himself wanting to seek her out, so he did. He found her where the guns they had secured were being cleaned, checked, and loaded. She was in the main communal space helping the other survivors. Rick entered the room and walked around inspecting the weapons – offering assistance when needed – but always his gaze found Michonne.

He watched as she cleaned and oiled one of the handguns, loaded its clip, and placed it aside. She was so studious in the work that she was doing. So focused on the task at hand. So willing to fight for Rick and his people. To earn her place amongst them. Carl had made the call: She was one of them. And Rick was relieved by that call, not that he understood why.

After Carol, Maggie, and a few others had finished what they were doing and left the space, Rick watched to make sure he and Michonne were alone before approaching her.

“How’re they lookin’?” Rick asked, gesturing toward the row of handguns Michonne had prepared.

“They’re good,” she replied, lifting her gaze to meet Rick’s eyes. “They’ll get the job done.”

Rick nodded his head and Michonne mirrored the action before she moved to walk away.

“Michonne,” he said quietly, causing her to stop in her tracks. “I just wanted to thank you again for today.”

She shrugged her shoulder, shook her head, and said, “You don’t have to thank me. Any one of us would’ve went on that run with you.”

Rick placed a hand to his hip and shifted his weight to the corresponding leg as he gestured with the other.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “But not just anyone would’ve been patient with Carl like that. Taking him to get the crib.”

“It was nothing, really,” she tried to brush off.

“And to go get that photo for him,” said Rick, as he averted his gaze a moment. “For Judith.”

A beat of silence passed between the pair before Rick said, “Thank you for that. It means a lot to Carl. Means a lot to me.”

He gave Michonne a small, sad smile which she returned.

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly.

They stood there then, staring at one another, not knowing what else to say, but not really wanting to move away from the other. After a minute, Rick spoke once more.

“Carl also mentioned you found a cat statue,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a little amused grin.

Michonne smiled as well and said, “Oh yeah, the cat sculpture. It’s gorgeous. Thought if I was gonna stick around for a while, I might as well find something other than Merle’s shining personality to brighten this place up.”

Rick nodded his head and huffed out an amused laugh. That felt odd to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed and meant it. He held her gaze and marveled at how a small smile lit her whole face up. He wondered what it would look like if she beamed brightly at him.

Rick shook the thought from his mind and then said, “I hope there’ll be much of a place left here after we fight this war.”

Michonne’s smile faded away and a staunch expression covered her face.

“There will be something left here,” she said firmly, unequivocally. “We’ll make sure of it.”

With that, she gave Rick another certain look and a nod of her head, before walking away and leaving him standing there. The exchange between them was so fleeting, but it was exactly what Rick needed, even if, at that moment, he did not understand why.

It was turning into a long night. Rick had just put Judith down to sleep for the evening after she had had a restless time. It was late when he finally got her settled. After he was satisfied that the small girl was finally sleeping soundly, Rick then went to check on Carl who looked like he was not ready for bed. The younger Grimes had a flashlight in hand while reading.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Rick, startling his son somewhat. “Shouldn’t you be sleepin’? Thought you finished reading a while ago.”

“I was just gonna go give these to Michonne,” said Carl as he held up the stack of comic books. The ones Michonne had asked to read after he was done with them.

“I think it’s time for you to switch off the flashlight and get some sleep,” he said with no real chastisement to his tone. “It’s late, and I ain’t dealing with two grumpy kids in the morning.”

“But what about the comic books for Michonne?” Carl asked right away.

“You can give ‘em to her tomorrow,” Rick replied. “Lights off, please.”

“Okay. Goodnight, dad.”

“Night, son.”

...

Rick smiled to himself as he went to the communal kitchen to clean Judith’s bottle. Carl really cared about Michonne, and she cared for Carl. Watching them become closer was really nice. They were building a nice life at the Prison. Judith was healthy and growing, Carl was finding his way. Rick continued his musings until he found Michonne in the kitchen nursing a warm cup of milk.

“Hey,” said Rick, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.

“Hey,” she replied with that small smile Rick had begun to seek out. “Finally got Judith down for the night?”

“Yeah,” Rick replied as he filled the bottle with hot water. “Finally. I also found Carl up still reading those comic books you brought him.”

Michonne’s smile widened at that news and Rick wanted to draw the moment out longer. He soaked the bottle in a plastic container and then took up a seat at the small round table Michonne was sitting at.

“You like that, uh?” he asked playfully. “That I’m probably gonna have to deal with two sleep-deprived, grouchy kids tomorrow?”

Michonne let out a little laugh and it sounded like a sweet song to Rick’s ears.

“No, of course not,” she proffered with her hands raised. “I just love that Carl’s really enjoying the comics. It’s good to see him being a kid.”

Rick smiled and bit his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It is. Thank you for that.” “I didn’t do anything,” she replied.

“You brought him the books,” said Rick softly. “That helps. You’re always helping and doing nice things you don’t have to do.”

“Yeah, well, Carl’s a good kid,” said Michonne with an adoring little smile. “He deserves it.”

Rick nodded his head and then grew contemplative for a moment.

“And it’s not just the stuff you do for Carl,” Rick added. “It’s what you do for everyone here at the Prison. You’re always the first one to put your hand up to go on runs. Always making sure the safety of the people here comes first. Always sharing your skills. You’re just so good – thank you.”

Michonne’s face was awash with something Rick had never seen before: Something akin to shyness.

“Well, it’s what you do when you care about people,” she said softly. “When you care about someone.”

The pair sat staring at one another for a stretch and Rick could see it. The moment of vulnerability in Michonne. He didn’t want her to withdraw, so he spoke up in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear you. And I gotta admit, even though the comics are keepin’ Carl up after bedtime, you’re really good at gift-giving,” said Rick, before running his hand over his face. “You brought me the clippers, so.”

Michonne smiled at that as the weight of their little moment dissipated in the late-night air.

“Yes, and I see you haven’t used them yet,” Michonne teased, causing Rick to let out a little laugh.

“True,” he said, padding his palm against his facial hair once more. “I think it kinda suits me, though.”

Michonne let her eyes roam over Rick’s face as she gave him an appraising look.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I think so, too.”

When Rick finally went to bed that night, he closed his eyes and pictured Michonne’s pretty smile. It was the first time in a long time that his dreams were not plagued with blood and wailing. It was nice, he mused in the forgiving morning light. Nice to have the small moments with Michonne. Nice to share in those little pockets of peaceful bliss.

#richonne #richonne fanfiction

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txttletale · 8 months ago

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(Other than the really weird bit about "Male presenting Doctor") what were your thoughts about the specials?

pretty mixed bag, pretty messy, but good overall. i think they were very obviously a nostalgia trip for people around my age lol and it worked! i loved seeing tennant and tate back onscreen together, their chemistry hasn't aged a bit, and honestly just watching doctor who that wasn't written by chris chibnall was a breath of fresh air. they weren't boring, like seasons 11 and 12 were, and they didn't go too far off the other end into nonsense like flux did. characters want things again! the show can let itself just be silly! i was literally cheering out loud when donna and the doctor were just saying random scifi gobbledegook at each other for like a solid several minutes during the star beast.

the structure of the specials kind of baffles me. i love wild blue yonder--i think it's definitively the best of the specials as a standalone, it's absolutely fantastic, creepy and atmospheric and bringing things around to RTD's strength, which is well-written characters interacting with each other and letting good actors just act. but at the same time i dont understand why it exists? it feels like...idk. imagine if you watched the star wars original trilogy but instead of the empire strikes back the middle film was just a feature length film about luke and han surviving on an ice planet with no reference to anything that happens in the last film except the two characters' relationship. and then the next film was still return of the jedi, unchanged. it felt like that

i liked all the weird campy silliness of the star beast and the giggle, and they were both very fun! neil patrick harris gave a fantastic performance, there are a lot of very memorable sequences from the giggle, but it's very very all over the place. so many threads get kind of picked up and go nowhere. the toymaker's haunted house dimension goes nowhere. RTD's eyerolling social media commetnary goes nowhere (thank god tbh but yknow im illustrating something here). even the toymaker kind of goes nowhere, after ncuti gatwa shows up he's bascially an afterthought who loses by dropping a ball. obvious parallels to david tennant's first episode with that ball scene could be made, but just... aren't. it feels like load-bearing sectikons of the plot and themes were cut out to make room for a backdoor pilot for the stupid fucking UNIT spinoff

oh and it goes without saying i fucking hate all the UNIT wank in the star beast and the giggle. i hope space nine eleven 2 happens to their stupid fucking avengers tower i cannot stand kate stewart who is constantly a murderous bonehead (in the giggle alone she gets two pepole killed by not listening to the doctor and assuming that this teleporting godlike entity could be restrainted by Two Guys) who is both in and out of universe just a boring nepo baby with no merit of her own

um. i still dont know what happened with the regeneration. i think the implication is that when david tennant dies hell time travel back to become ncuti gatwa inside himself--at least the rehab dialogue seems to make that implication. but it's not really explained or explored? baffling. i do think that fourteen getting to settle down and live a peaceful life with his friends is cute.

oh yeah and the ask said other than that but goddd there was some good stuff in the star beast and honestly with the state of the UK media i will take any perspective on trans people that includes baseline human erespect but some of those lines made me cringe so bad. anyway overall i am cautiously optimistic for the future of the show--oh ncuti was fucking great did i mention that i instantly bnought him as the doctor he owned the scene, the moment he was there it was clear he was the protagonist, and i liked the church on ruby road well enough too--i am cautiously optimistic but i worry that a big UNIT-shaped tumor will devour huge chunks of it and it'll be annoying. also russel t davies is like 60 and i just dont want to hear what he has to say about twitter so im not looking forward to dot and bubble

#ask #doctor who

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mylittleredgirl · 3 months ago

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today i'm thinking about b5 worldbuilding choices that seem like they were deliberately chosen to differentiate it from star trek. (this is a joyful statement, by the way, They Both Look Nice.gif)

i'm not talking about hyperspace/jumpgate technology, which is way too structurally load-bearing to think of as just Not Warp Drive.

it's more the small-ticket differences, like earthforce using american measurements (when the real life american military uses the metric system), and the sometimes conspicuous absence of the sci-fi technologies that are most iconically identified with star trek: transporters, replicators, all-purpose tricorders... and phasers with a stun setting, which is where things get kinda fucked up.

the sci-fi gun filling the phaser niche on b5 is the PPG. it's also a bloodless energy weapon, but it only has one setting, which is at least as deadly as a modern gun (i say "at least" because of how often someone is "killed instantly" with a single shot). officers are not armed with a less-lethal option.

in season one, it's routinely emphasized that no one except earth force personnel can have weapons of any kind on the station. the ban is pretty hardcore. not even religious ceremonial knives are allowed, there are active scans of everything coming on board, and security has the right to check for weapons even in the "foreign soil" of ambassadorial quarters.

there are a quarter of a million people here on any given day, mostly civilians, many of them aliens. there's a backdrop of petty crime, mostly theft and fistfights. occasionally someone gets stabbed with a homemade shank. security has Shit To Do! people to arrest, and so on. but the total weapons ban means that in the vast majority of cases, anyone that security can expect to encounter, especially inside the station (vs. the customs area) will be unarmed.

and this all seems like a recipe for disaster. a human in uniform killing an unarmed alien bystander (or a suspected petty criminal who hasn't been charged with anything) is going to be a problem for the Don't Start Wars With Aliens station!! of course the initial peace train derails mid-series, but at the beginning, sinclair is really holding on to the goal of peace by his fingernails. you would think that both he and earthgov (who Really want to keep earth out of war) would prefer that the random dumbasses in security carry a non-lethal option as a first-line weapon, even if they are also armed with a backup PPG... which implies that the humans in the b5 universe just never bothered to work on this technology.

meanwhile, in the real world, police tasers came into use in 1993, at the exact same time as b5 started. the idea that cops should have a way to subdue someone resisting arrest without shooting them was a pressing concern in the national conversation... so somehow it ends up being worse than just picking american riot cops off the street and sticking them in space. to us at home, especially in the 2020's, it fits in with the rest of the "hey, don't you and the good guys think this is kinda fucked up?" stuff, but it's not treated that way, because the good guys don't notice it at all (that's honestly a theme with law enforcement issues in b5 in general, but that's another post).

which is why i wonder if it was a Not Like Star Trek choice early on to avoid "set phasers to stun," and it just never came up again.

#babylon 5

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they-hermes · 2 months ago

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Curious to see more if your combiner teams/combiner headcanons? Especially for the first five (Constructicons, Stunticons, Aerialbots, Combaticons, & Protectobots).

What kind of dynamics do you see between teams (both Con to Con combiner teams, and Con to Autobot combiner teams) and within teams? Who gets along better with others and how do the combiners feel about their components? (Only thinking platonically here)

I love combiners (especially the Stunticons and Protectobots) to death and there aren't enough combiner fans who truly care about the combiner and the components. Just interested in seeing sole of your headcanons for any/all of those five, if you want to share any!

ahhh combiner fans lets all come together!! this is a loaded question and im happy to answer bc i love combiners and their components! im gonna put em in a little g1 general continuity soup

In general for me i dont really like the idea of combiners being born together as a team i think idws approach where everyone had their own lives until they (by choice or force) became a combiner and learned to work together. also i dont like treating them as children/recently born bots even though thats literally what happened to the aerialbots/ stunticons/technobots. basically an outside force made them combiners instead of being directly built as one

the aerialbots are the only team where i see them referring to eachother as "brothers". i think they're close enough to consider themselves family. the others have more complicated feelings that range from "coworkers" to "tight knitted friendgroup" to "those people who i combine with"

between the teams the autobot gestalts are much more friendlier, Hot Spot and Silverbolt definitely get along, until hot spots energy tires silverbolt out. individually the protectobots are older than the aerialbots, but the aerialbots were a combiner group first so superion is older than defensor. the two teams work together a lot and have common goals. they'll even hang out together either separately or all together, like air raid and blades will spar a lot (and end up in first aids care)

(for idw i imagine rook and alpha bravo get along, for obv reasons)

the decepticon gestalts hateee eachother lmaoo. its a constant battle of 'wow these other freaks are so incompetent and stupid. good thing im the only normal one here' except they're all stupid. onslaught technically has the youngest combiner as bruticus was formed after menasor and devastator but he himself is only a couple of centuries younger than scrapper. motormaster is the youngest yet refuses constructive criticism even tho his combiner is clearly the most unstable and has subpar leadership skills that take a toll on his teams output. actually the rest of the teams dont hate eachother as much as their commanders do, blast off and dead end exchange maintenance tips, and vortex likes hanging around the structies for mindless conversations while they work

and for bot vs cons, they cannot stand eachother. the protectobots are the only ones trying to be nice; the aerialbots are assholes and the cons are worse. dont bring up hot spot or silverbolt around onslaught and motormaster respectively, or they'll both blow a gasket. the combaticons, built head to toe for war destruction and everything worse, cant stand seeing the protectobots act all peaceful and helpfull and shit, its disgusting.

as for the combiners... well they dont think much. see for the average combiner, it's hard to think that your arms and legs are separate people when you're trying not to get your face beaten into. they have some awareness, but very little, and dont know their components names. they can access shared memories and information, but thats about it. defensor hears about his components from the humans and thinks they're nice, superion thinks the war would be over by now if he didn't have to decombine and combine over and over again

#ahh this is already super long #but it was fun!#sorry it took so long lmao #transformers #merc mumbling #combiners #superion #aerialbots #defensor #protectobots #bruticus #combaticons #devastator #constructicons #ask n answer

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thesiltverses · 1 year ago

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any clues on whats next after tsv ends ? :)

No concrete confirmation, but we did put out a Patreon post back in spring with a few draft pitches, to gauge initial interest and see what kind of genre storytelling folks were most excited to see from us.

I'll paste them below, so you can see the kinds of things we've had in mind (#2 and #3 were the most popular, but it was a fairly even spread outside of that). We've had a few more really fun ideas since then that I'll keep schtum about for now.

General feedback was that people were most enthusiastic about seeing ongoing, multi-season projects from us, which makes perfect sense and is much more sensible for us anyway in terms of sustaining a livelihood / retaining audience members along the way.

That said, TSV has been a three-year endeavour which is a big commitment, and personally I think the best horror is often self-contained, short and sweet.

So I'd really love to have the time to work on a few miniseries-type shows as well, but also need to recognise that we likely don't have the bandwidth to juggle two projects simultaneously.

With all that in mind, I think the direction we're hoping to be able to pursue is:

1+ shorter horror miniseries or one-offs with production or network partners (if they want to work with us) where we're largely on writing duties or with a lighter load.

1 longer, ongoing weird-fiction show which is all ours, baby, all ours.

Draft pitches

#1: Manes

Genre: Historical horror, cosmic horror, family drama with murderous stakes

Influences: The Terror Season 1, pretty much.

Summary: In 208 AD, the ailing Roman emperor Septimius Severus travels north across Hadrian's Wall into Caledonia, with the aim of finally uniting Britain under imperial rule.

For Severus, there's more at stake - his two sons are openly at odds over the succession, and it's openly said that civil war will follow the emperor's death.

Severus himself rose to supreme power through violence and the elimination of his rivals. Now, haunted by the possibility of revenge by the shades of the divine dead and dwelling unhappily on his legacy, the emperor hopes to share his final triumph with his sons and demonstrate a different lesson to them - that an equitable peace is a lasting possibility.

But as the Roman column makes its way north into apparently endless woods, surrounded by cronies, schemers, Britons, soothsayers, priestesses of Cybele, and more, the emperor and his family find that their enemy is nowhere to be seen - but they are being pursued by a force that is both strange and terrible.

And soon enough, the Romans realise that they have perhaps strayed not into Caledonia at all - but into a hostile realm of their own imagining...

Why make this show? We adore period horror, and there's far too little of it out there.

Severus and his family are a fascinating set of characters who we'd love to spend some time with - as ethically-compromised participants in a very Shakespearean tragedy, and as individuals whose heritage, religious beliefs and psychologies allow us to explore aspects of ancient Rome that haven't been done to death in fiction already.

#2: I'll Dance In The Deep Shadow

Genre: Weird-fiction noir, paranoid espionage fiction, cosmic horror

Influences: Cold War spy classics, Roadside Picnic

Summary: Across the water from the mainland UK, a vast walled city has come unexpectedly into existence.

The city’s walls are composed of purest shadow; its leaders have not revealed themselves to us, nor have they made demands of us.

Upon its streets, our own dead and forlorn doubles wander; grinning doppelgangers who seem to know something terrible from the future that’s to come.

We call the city Umbra.

Umbra is a bottomless well of shadow and secrets; its darkened landscapes are home to suppressed memories turned savage and monstrous.

Its citizens and its guards are twisted echoes, repetitions, and whispering relics of the world's buried past - and they will not reveal Umbra's purpose to us.

Around Umbra's great walls, representatives from the world's governments gather and plot against one another - mercenaries, guides, spies, black-market traders, scientists and killers - to infiltrate the city, map its streets, and navigate its dangers for themselves.

Why make this show? Less of an Eskew sequel than it probably sounds at first glance, this one.

We'd love to do a paranoid, twist-filled, pessimistic John Le Carre-style spy thriller, with multiple characters who can neither trust themselves nor each other - and we feel like we've got some really interesting horror themes around memory and forgetting here to explore with this concept.

#3: Our Wars Have Ended

Genre: Dark fantasy, New Weird fantasy

Influences: The Black Company, the Bas-Lag series, Gormenghast.

Summary: It’s a strange time to be alive.

Thirty years ago, countless legions of the ancient dead rose from their graves to conquer the living lands; lands which now rest in an uneasy - but peaceful - state of occupation.

Withered corpses sit upon the thrones of the living and play silent courtier in the shadowed halls, acting out the rituals and habits of their past lives while dead men and women keep watch from the ruined towers.

Mortal historians and linguists frantically mediate between our returned masters, trying to keep the peace - which estate belongs to whom? Who shall rule eternal? Which traditions deserve to live on?

But this is a time of wondrous change, too - new technologies, empowered by the revelations of the Dead Reclamation and the will of the Ancestors. Strange machines rumble through the hills and necronautical vessels delve into the unexplored territories of the afterlife itself.

And it has been announced that the Hollowbrow Queen will unite the nation with a powerful gesture, taking on a living consort in a marriage of the fleeting and the eternal.

On one side of the conquered country, an old veteran leads his mercenary company on a reluctant expedition towards the capital, in the employ of a long-dead king on a mission of revenge.

On the other, a young dead-diver and essayer into the realms of the dead is hired to investigate a peculiar mystery, and a conspiracy that may involve both the living and the returned…

Why make this show? Because Game of Thrones had no interest in the (to us) enjoyable questions of 'well, why do the ancient dead want to conquer the living, exactly? What happens once they've done it?' and we'd love to deconstruct that and play with the idea of loathsome undead aristocrats from every period of history squabbling with one another over what their conquered nation actually means.

Because we think we've built up the confidence and the skills to take a big swing at an epic adventure story and a semi-traditional fantasy - it feels like an idea that could potentially appeal to a wider audience while remaining true to our own core values of Weirdness, Horrible Things and More Weirdness.

#4: To Those Who Wait

Genre: Cosmic horror, dark comedy, mockumentary

Influences: Dead Set, Ghostwatch, Savageland, Evil Dead

Summary: Eskew Productions has gone in a surprising direction with its latest production - a new reality experiment and dating-show podcast.

Eight lovelorn singletons have been given rooms in the exclusive Gregory Hotel. Over the course of six weeks, these contestants will go on dates, carry out team challenges, and ultimately try and find themselves a life partner - all without seeing each other's faces.

The aim of the experiment? To prove that good things really do come to those who wait.

As they pore through a mixture of recorded and behind-the-scenes footage, however, it may become very apparent to listeners that something else is waiting in the Gregory.

And one by one, our contestants find themselves at risk of far more than being voted off...

Why make this show? As a great big act of play more than anything else.

We adore horror mockumentaries, but in audio-drama they tend to be faux-journalistic.

Doing a show that instead mimics hokey reality shows to the point of being mistakable for the real thing, but turns out to be a ghost story instead...that's a lot of fun to us.

#5: In The Devil's Counties

Genre: Historical horror, cosmic horror

Influences: Nathan Ballingrud's Wounds, Seven Samurai, Between Two Fires, Dog Soldiers, Aliens…

Summary: As the Magna Carta states: “All evil customs relating to forests and warrens, foresters, warreners, sheriffs and their servants, or river-banks and their wardens, are at once to be investigated by twelve sworn knights of the county, and within forty days of their enquiry the evil customs are to be abolished completely and irrevocably.”

In early-medieval Sussex, a motley group of knights rides out to investigate tales of ungodly horror and acts of forbidden worship from deep in the English countryside - including Ralph Dagworth, 'hell's mapmaker'.

What the party of knights discovers out in the warrens and the forests of the county, however, is far stranger and more terrible than any Christian conception of hell…

Why make this show? Again, because we're itching to have a go at some period horror, and that weirdly specific Magna Carta quote is just too fun to pass up as a springboard for some 'isolated squaddies in enemy territory' storytelling. (Sadly, it does have a more grounded explanation.)

#6: Strangling Knot

Genre: Anthology horror

Influences: Junji Ito, experimental 8-bit horror, Black Mirror's Bandersnatch

Summary:

“The rules of the game are simple. This is a place of endless forking paths and one exit.

There’s something terrible in here with you. Get ready."

A Choose Your Own Adventure-style horror audio anthology; each episode is a distinct story with branching paths that may lead to failure (most of the time) or escape (more rarely).

Why make this show? This is likely the only show that we could reasonably produce as a side-project (and we've been chatting to a couple of other talented horror creators about it already, sssh).

We'd like to be able to play with single-narrator horror storytelling again that's relatively quick and easy to produce - but we do want to at least try and ensure it doesn't feel like we're repeating I Am In Eskew.

There's some really fun stuff happening out there already with CYOA-style audiodrama, and that seems like an opportunity that's ripe for playing about with.

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robertoarts · 2 years ago

Text

Semper Fi

I am not a writer by any means, but I just had this idea, and I couldn't get it out of my head.

This takes place after the end of Avatar 2 so expect spoilers. I am 100% just gonna make shit up here, hope that's ok. idk where this is going, I have covid and ItS 4:21 am, but here you GO I have NOT READ THIS SO IM SORRy FOR MISTAKES OK

This WILL be multiple parts if ya want

Also sorry for the info dump at the beginning but really am not a writer and wanted to provide some context ok

Na'vi Quaritch x Fem Na'vi Reader (former RDA)

(1,896 words)

Some tags ig

[slow burn, like the slowest of burns ok?, memory loss trope, i can fix him trope]

[warning - blood mention]

You have been sneaking through the forest, entertaining yourself, bounding from tree to tree, sent out on a hunting mission along with a few others. You split up a while earlier to spread the load more evenly. Hunting has never really been your strong suit, you preferred blades to bows, and you're larger than most na'vi women, leaving you a little less agile. You knew it had something to do with the human physiology you used to have. You took pride in your strength, and being in the military gave you a purpose...for a time at least. You mostly worked with scientists, working escorts and the like; you were basically a glorified chauffeur, and when the RDA came to Pandora with the promise of new life and new land, and you being a solid 20-year-old marine, you did what you do best.

You were assigned a role on the AVTR team working on a separate subsection; you didn't fully understand what they were doing or why, but it had something to do with integrating the humans and the Avatars, removing the need for the linkbeds altogether. This idea was the beginning of something they called the Recom project. The work was a success and a small group of humans fully integrated into their Na'vi counterparts. You were one of the first ones they tried the experiment on. Being the muscle, the risk of you dying would have little effect on anyone. You were happy to oblige; you preferred being in your avatar body.

Your time in Pandora was a complex one. While protecting the scientists, you fell in love with the planet, the culture, and the people. As you spent time in Pandora with the scientists, you lived among the Anurai Clan. Renowned for their artisans and craftsmen. It went against everything the RDA said, the people weren't savages, their planet was beautiful, and their connection to Eywa was sacred. You kept this to yourself for a while. Being the property of the RDA, you knew not everyone would share your sentiments, but as time passed, you knew you were not the only one. When the war with the sky people began, you and over half of the scientists took the side of the Na'vi, and the rest went back to continue their Recom research.

The war with the sky people and the Omaticaya clan is well known, but the effect on the Anurai clan was severe, almost wiping them out. Few true Anurai remained after, and you, as a united people, moved away from your home, settling somewhere new to find peace, knowing the RDA would eventually react.

The 17 years since have been a mixed bag. You had become good with crafting, knives were your speciality, but you also carved small sculptures in your spare time, usually making Thanators for members of the Clan. With it being their totem animal, you had numerous requests. And while RDA did respond, your focus was on helping the Anurai clan breathe life back into what they once were, and slowly the Clan has begun rebuilding. You did anything they asked, hunting, gathering but mostly fishing.

That is the quest you had been sent on this eve. Although you were more significant in size than most, you had a stillness about you in the water, making you a pro and capturing the river fish. The walk was extensive, but you still enjoyed the physical exertion—a soldier trait you couldn't kick. One leg in front of the other, repetitive motion to keep your mind still. The view was spectacular, too, you didn't connect with Eywa often, but you felt her all around you as you travelled.

You picked some Nurra berries while walking the route to your favourite part of the river. There were places closer to the Clan, but you liked to take the time to walk to your favourite spot. A home away from home, a small waterfall with a cave hidden beyond the water, the fish were more relaxed, and you had set up a little space in the cave with some things you preferred to keep private.

As you throw some Nurra berries into your pack, your ears prick up. The forest shifts. It feels quiet, almost unnatural. You immediately slow, bend low, a unsheathe your knife. You move slowly, down to the ground, and deliberately to make little noise.

That is when you hear it, groans, almost inaudible. They sound pained? Close by, off the path ahead. You move towards it, holding your knife to your chest; it is bigger than the average, handcrafted by yourself, your personal initiation to your Clan. The groans get louder, and you prepare for anything as you follow. You slowly push some flora out of the way, and you see...a man?

Shock grips your soul. You see an RDA avatar wearing military gear, completely ripped to shreds, blood-staining his green tank top. His face is towards the ground, and you can see his typical Jarhead haircut and his kuru, the hair around it dishevelled, showing his skin in unprotected areas. Your ears roll back, and you hiss in his direction. What is an RDA soldier doing out here?? The sound of your hiss stuns the man into movement, desperately turning, pushing himself off the ground, mud covering his face, turning to look. Fear tugged at his face, ears submissive and mouth agape.

You leap towards him, knife at the ready, "What are you doing out here, soldier!?" you shout in English. He tries to push himself away from you, confusion painting his face. "I... I " you hear a deep drawl. With menacing intent, you begin to move closer, standing taller to assert your dominance. You were wearing some traditional Anurai garbs but opted for leggings which one would usually wear for riding, another human perk you hadn't shaken yet; the feeling of pants made you feel safer. The sky above you opens up, and you feel the wet drips on your body as you stand. The sound is roaring, and rain begins belting down to Pandora with heavy ferocity.

The man looked pathetic below you, scared, wet, and bleeding. He was helpless; he had no weapon you could discern and seemed desperate to get away from you. He is pushing himself away, digging into the wet ground to find traction.

"Answer me, kalweyaveng!" your voice boomed out, causing him to flinch, his tail swinging recklessly behind him. "I don't know!" He shouted in response, "I don't know where I am, I don't...I don't know how I got here. I can't .." your head tilts at his answer.

"You can't....? What is your name, soldier?"

"I don't..." the man looks scared and confused; he looks around, pulling himself further away from you. Your eyes widen, you take the risk and take your eyes off the man, looking around for any sign of backup. Was this some trick? You can see in your peripheral that he is trying to stand, and you turn your head to look. He is holding his midsection, the rain accentuates the crimson colour leaking from his fingers.

Guilt pangs at you, this man acts like he doesn't know who he is, where he is or why he is here. And now he will die alone, scared in a place that is not his home. You lift your knife, ready to move toward him and take his life. He isn't even looking at you anymore, he is pushing himself off the ground, standing. As he stretches out before you, you can see he is exceptionally tall, his body holds muscles in a similar way to yours, not of the Na'vi living at home, all limbs and grace. He is dejected, almost accepting of his coming fate. So much needless death, you think to yourself, reluctance seeping from your being as you inch your way forward.

That's when you see it, atokirina, a seed of the tree of souls. Not one, but two. Floating their way over to this strange man, in this madness, seemingly missing every torrential raindrop divebombing their way towards them.

Doubt and reluctance combined with this sign from Eywa were enough to sway you. If Eywa could accept you, why could it accept this man? You slide your knife back into its tstalsena. You take a breath, cautious, and say, "Semper fi", moving towards him, grabbing his arm and placing it over your shoulder and sharing his weight with you, "Come on stranger, let's get you out of this rain, I know a place not to far from here we can take shelter.". He winces, letting himself relax a little, putting more weight onto you. He is far more strung out than he let on, which you didn't think possible.

The two of you make your way to your safe space, unsure of what to do with the avatar yet. Better to take him away from the Clan for now and figure out what to do later.

Supporting his weight was beginning to grow tiresome, but you can see your waterfall ahead, the rain is relentless, and you can feel the man shivering around you. You have shared silence on your journey here; his tiny breaths seem to grow weaker, and worry begins to sit in your stomach. You pull more of his weight onto you and walk faster.

You pull him into the cave, walking underneath the waterfall, the water warmer than the rain, and you pass through. You place the man down, leaning him against the back wall of your cove, in front of the small fire pit already prepared. You take out your knife and begin striking the hilt onto a rock, trying to create the spark you need to warm your new five-fingered friend.

An orange glow and the following warmth emit from the pit, and you start throwing on logs to generate more heat. You move to a pack with some different medicinal poultices and bring them over to the stranger. He seems to have passed out since placing him on the ground, he is weak and injured. You take what you have and do what you can, lifting off the dark green tank top and seeing the damage to his muscular chest. You smear the goop onto the open wounds on his body, and they are not severe, he will not die from these just yet. Due to your walk through the rain, his face is no longer muddy, and you can finally get a good view. He looks young, younger than you, maybe in his 20's? He is handsome, his short hair suits him well; short hair is something you do not often see among the Na'vi people as their hair often tells stories. He is cute, you think as you examine the damage to his face. He also has a burn on his neck, which you treat the best you can. You are not a healer, it is not your strong suit, and you a very quickly using up what medicine you have stashed away, you will have to ask Euatx for more when you go back. Around his neck, you see tags, you peer at them, hoping to get a glimpse of his name; the tags look damaged, and you only see one name.

"Huh. Hello Miles."

Translation

kalweyaveng - son of a bitch

atokirina - woodsprite

tstalsena - knife sheath

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar quaritch #quaritch #miles quaritch #na'vi quaritch #colonel quaritch #quaritch x reader #na'vi quaritch x reader #omg i hope this is okay #lmk if its shit #mine

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terrence-silver · 5 months ago

Note

Also I had the best idea the other day after seeing Nick Marini Silver in the camo(?) with young Kreese in the cave.

Post 'Nam Terry Silver, with his new little ponytail, going back home to Cali only to somehow meet innocent hippie Beloved whose all about love and peace and hope- all the things Twig was concerned with- until it was purely just survival and he had to evolve into a Cobra. Yet, he can't help but become obsessed with Beloved...

Summer of Love.

Twig!Terry Silver x Reader.

―

You had a ‘make love not war’ badge pinned to your jacket and Terry Silver thought that was the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Of course, you weren’t the only one; that year in California there was an abundance of these smiling, airheaded cockroaches drifting around aimlessly with handmade embroidery featuring their empty, meaningless slogans — jeans patches, spray paint backpacks, sharpied on mud-crusted sneakers, assholes hand painting Yoko Ono’s likeness on their shirts thinking they’re making some big statement, vans decorated (if it could be called decoration) with corny, one-word mottos in the likeness of ‘Peace’ and ‘Love’ that made Terry’s gut lurch up in amusement at the vapidity. Must’ve been easy. Ranting about peace and love from the comfort of home, the easy summer of the West Coast washing away all problems with a warm, seaborne salty breeze, not doing anything at all but slum around in the heavy shade, but regardless, in spite of all their comforts, they all gave the impression of being dirty. Unwashed. Something the ocean couldn’t exactly scrub off considering it was internal as much as, often times, external. He thought you were the dirtiest of all. Not physically, but something about your manner as you spoke enthusiastically about your plans to go overland, on a trailer from one end of Europe, all the way Bangkok, through the Silk road along the Hindu Kush mountain range gave him the irresistible urge to wash your mouth out with soap and make you swallow the bitter, soapy load.

-"Kabul, Peshawar, Amman. I guess I wanna see these ancient, hallowed places before they’re irrevocably changed."-

You explain, engrossed in your own imagination like a child, a colorful crochet blanket sprawled out beneath you in the back of an open van, your legs hanging and dangling from the edge. Terry had learned you didn’t exactly have an address in the classical sense. Heck, hilariously enough, you didn't even drive the very vehicle you were laid up on, considering the act somehow backwards and harmful, a notion that made you inherently comical, ; you came to California and by extension joined your traveling troupe, to, as you put it, see the world. Go wherever the path took you. For all you were concerned, he was just some guy with the same goal in mind and not someone who just rotated back to civilization a couple of months ago. Who’s already seen the world, alright. Who’s already walked paths you could scarce imagine. Who’s already witnessed the change you were babbling on about firsthand. He left one country behind and came back to a totally different one. A country filled with people like you. You were everywhere, one way or another. Unavoidable. Reflected in every face. Every person. Every sight.

-"You know? Everything is eventually changed, usually for the worse and it’s good to grab the chance and see stuff while they last, in their original form."-

You continue, leaning on your elbows and smiling, your enthusiasm and zest like a biting into something way too sweet; both addictive and slightly disgusting. So. You wanted to go to Goa, Bangkok and India. What was next? Go to Vietnam too? Carry a transparent that said ‘Americans go home’? Was that it? -"Oh, I know exactly what you mean."- Terry interjects, feigning innocence, watching you idly twirl one of the suede leather frills on your shirt, not in a manner deemed seductive, because no, you weren’t out to seduce him or anyone. He could tell as much. He could tell someone who had insidious intentions from someone who didn’t. You merely thought you’ve made a new friend in him these past couple of weeks in the grand soulsearch called life, feeling relaxed enough to act whoever you wanted to act in front of him — he cultivated that atmosphere for you on purpose, wanting to have you trust him, wanting you to be relaxed, right before…right before — well, Terry wasn’t entirely certain what he wanted to do to you just yet, but he was certain it would hurt. -"I just recently came back. And the place isn’t the same."- He tells the truth by effectively lying; things have changed, yes, you just weren’t privy exactly how things changed for him. So naive and wide eyed, he told you he was part of the Peace Corps and you believed him because you had no reason not to. You didn’t think people were fundamentally bad, just occasionally misguided at worst and that was a worldview so alien he thought it should be placed in a jar and examined under a microscope for good measure. You went by Beloved around these parts, after all, instead of your actual name. That alone deserved to be scrutinized and laughed at in the line up of all the other facts about you that were funny all on their own. But then again, Terry found he strangely enough didn’t mind. He knew your actual name, and he recently discovered he didn’t want to share it with anyone. -"All around Asia, yeah? Right on!"- You beam up, a light visible in your eyes. The light of admiration. Heavy, omnipresent, addictive. He wanted more. Needed more. Revolted that he did, yet still craving it. He wanted to take that light and crush it in the palm of his hands like a puny ant. But, he needed to separate you from everyone else here first; separate you from all these cockroaches mingling around with too many eyes that could potentially be on him. So far, nobody suspected him to be a returning vet. Especially you. That was your fatal flaw, Terry figured; the fact you trusted anyone at all.

Least of all him.

He supposed, irony of all ironies, that the handful of hair tied at the nape of his neck helped the overall impression and image you had of him. Half of the bums here had long hair. None was like his, of course. Unlike theirs, his hair was sacred. But, it helped perpetuate a certain look. Even the Cobra ink on the side of his ribs; you were convinced it was an aesthetic statement and no more than that.

-"I really respect that, Terry. I wish I could go too. You’re so lucky!"-

You sigh dreamily, throwing your head back under the shade of the van’s roof.

Lucky?

He was lucky?

Sure, why not, so long as you keep bearing your neck to him the way you were.

-"Yeah, Cambodia, Thailand, Korea."- Terry keeps perpetuating a half-lie, seated on a low wooden lawn chair in front of you, his blue Ford pick up truck he procured for the occasion parked nearby, neglected and busted up just enough to give him the visage of some working class schlub mingling with other schlubs, the fan from inside your the van blowing in a cool breeze his way; he’s been to all of those places, that much was true, you just weren’t aware of the context he was there in; admittedly, you didn’t hate returning army men either like he initially was convinced you and all of your ilk would, finding roundabout ways to question you of your worldviews — no, you merely thought they were deluded, lost souls someone took advantage of, which was somehow only ever more infuriating than plain old hate. Humiliating. Pitiful. Like a disgustingly sympathetic nod nobody asked for causing him to feel a bit like a stray street dog someone threw a dry bone to chew on. Terry Silver preferred death rather than for someone to feel sorry for him, fueled to an even darker place every time you were hideously empathetic, towards him and the whole world, hit with a flash of greed, wanting your stupid kindness for nobody but himself. So, he keeps on lying. Anything to momentarily distract him from the violence brewing around in his mind like a tempest. -"But, my favorite experience has to be with the Peace Corps in ‘Nam, hands down. It was life changing."- Terry allows himself to smile, finding the urge irresistible. He’s told you so many made up stories about his volunteer work abroad that he almost felt bad for you and how desperately you believed him. Almost. All those hours spent on various lawns, picnic blankets, on the backseat of a car, walking along the beach, spinning made up scenarios you ate up like a child full of wanderlust, eager for someone to tell them a story of how the world is full of possibilities. Hope. Terry leans forward suddenly, his elbows pressed against his knees and your body moves, matching his, engrossed in the conversation, looking at him like he was about to share with you the answer to life itself. -"Would you like to go one day?"- Terry asks, all figuratives and future tense, chuckling, and oh, he would take you down a path unwalked before. That’s what you said you wanted after all. Go wherever the road took you, no? You nod vigorously, smiling wide, a warm twinkle in your eyes. Trusting. Pliant. Unspoiled.

He returns the gesture, bearing his teeth in the visage of happiness.

So, you wanted to have a Vietnam experience and that could very well be arranged.

But, thing is, he doesn't.

The thought remains firmly lodged in his head, all the things he could to do to you, make you suffer, take that sweet, sparkling light in your eyes and ensure it is a dimmed, lifeless thing after all the various methods through which he could cause you pain. Make you suffer again and again until you're a husk and your lesson has been learned; a remainder forever that life isn't just travel and seeing pretty places, instead, he's laid up with you in a pretty place all of his own, thinking he deserves his Summer of Love too, perhaps more than anyone else --- after all, he's fought for it. Toiled for it. Seen his friends murdered for it. He spent months in a cage for it. He's earned his place in the sun tenfolds over. And he enjoyed the game. He enjoyed this role he played in front of you. If Captain Turner could see how now he'd say he's 'gone native' and the idea only serves to amuse Terry doubly so --- the notion his commanding officer would be mad at him for anything only intensifying him further, supposing he wanted to spite the man from beyond the grave, if possible --- your head in Terry's lap, the foliage of the palm tree casting a long, heavy shadow from above obscuring your face, your jacket riddled with badges cast to the side in the beach sand at the foot of the tree. Thank fuck. -"You know, I always thought my travel companion wouldn't be anyone but myself."- You sigh, keeping your eyes closed only to flutter them open suddenly, looking at him engrossed in the task of smoothing the top of your head, fingers drawing patterns along your scalp. The thin layer of skin atop of the skull, potentially so easy to peel. -"As in, that I'd mostly be hitting the road on my own."- You continue; Terry spots the odd bit of hesitation in your voice. You lean up because he lets you, your weight prepped up on your elbows. -"All these others, they have someone other then themselves. Not me, though."- You glance further down the beach and the ramshackle collection of vans parked up along the coastline, the distant sound of music echoing through the seaboard. Beatniks making a barbeque and someone strumming a sappy guitar tune. Your tribe. The punks that drove you around. Dragged you from place to place. Occupied your time. Perpetuated this way of living you took to heart. Not for long, though. -"But, I think that's changed now."- You remark, forlorn. Of course it has changed. You were less and less a part of them and more and more a part of him than you could imagine. That's the way he liked it too.

-"When I leave here, I'd like you to come with me, Terry."-

You ask sweetly, halfway pleading, as much as he relished the notion of you begging him for anything, imaging you doing so on your knees, he had to concur internally that as much as you were convinced of the opposite in this very moment, you weren't in fact going anywhere. Where would go anyway? San Francisco? Out to Mexico? The thought made him want to throw his head back cackling. No. You didn't realize it just yet because Terry didn't want you to realize, but you'd be staying put, right here, with him. Indefinitely. Instead, he gives you the softest look he could muster to camouflage his intent, something within him melting and bleeding forth like warm, overly sugary pus, as he nods slowly, that desire to scrub the inside of your mouth out with soap every time you talked about leaving for somewhere else subsiding for a second, taking a backseat, overtaken by a certain gentleness, the assurance it was all just make belief on your part anyway because you wouldn't be going no matter how badly you were convinced of the opposite and no matter how badly he was convincing you of it. -"Yeah. Sure thing."- He says, absentmindedly, deliberate in his choice of words, deciding to never say 'yes' or 'no' decidedly, but you never notice, falling back on his back momentarily content and closing your eyes once more, seemingly enjoying the ocean breeze, choosing to trust the way you always did so far and when you're not watching, he weighs his options between tossing the 'Make love not war' badge he took off of your jacket into the sea and keeping it for himself as a memento and deciding it belonged to him rather than the depths of the rolling waves. After all, in Vietnam, they always had the tendency of collecting trophies. Sometimes it was ears. Sometimes it was chopped fingers. But, in your case, the notion of separating you into pieces he could keep starts becoming less and less alluring compared to the idea of having you whole and this thought hits Terry helming the steering wheel with you beside him on the passengers seat, all tender smiles and quiet warmth. During the war, he always daydreamed of someone writing him the way Betsy wrote to John --- the way all the other boys had sweethearts, wives and fiancées writing them too, wondering what it would be like if it was you who wrote to him, filling every page with your idealism and this puny belief in a better tomorrow. A field opens up in front of him. A coastal superbloom spreads as far as the eye can see. He figured you'd get a kick out of this shit, and just as he thought, you do, sighing deeply. -"Words can’t describe how pretty this is, Terry, so I’ll say nothing."- You turn to him, appearing serene, shrugging simply, your hand on his shoulders, touching him. He allows the gesture, leaning into it. Of course it was pretty. Desert Lillies, Verbenas, The Indigo Bush and Dune Evening Primroses spread on for miles. That's why he privatized the place. That's why he owned it. For you to indefinitely do what you liked with it. A gift you didn't even know was a gift just yet. -"Lets just enjoy it together, okay? Take in the moment."-

Terry feels his lips spread and a smile form in place of his stoicism so far.

He couldn't help himself. He brought you to a field of flowers and you were convinced he was the best of men. You were wearing a jacket riddled with pins, a weaved wicker purse, the birds chirping and your face was sunkissed with light; the fact he had to ruin this moment and squash the innocence of it both filled with blood with heat and made his gut lurch out in pain. Terry allows his himself to cackle quietly ---- at first as a slow rumble emanating from the back of his throat and then open, into his own chin. You give him a confused look. You were going to hate him so much for what he was going to right now and he both relished and reviled the fact.

-"What’s wrong?"-

You ask.

-"This is really funny."-

He manages. And it was. It genuinely was.

-"What is?"-

You prod on, scooting closer like you were worried for him, your fingers squeezing and kneading his shoulder and the concern shoots his blood down into his groin; at this point, he's outright laughing. How could he not?

-"Peace Corps."-

Those two words alone provide him with enough humor for him to barely contain it.

-"I was in Vietnam, but not with the Peace Corps."-

Terry shakes his head, feeling his own mouth pucker up comically, like he was teasing a child for believing his elaborate story about the toothfairy, and still, your trust stands there unshaken, your expressions lost and confused. You really bought into this crap.

-"Wait, what do you mean?"-

You scoot in your seat, fidgeting a bit, poor, beautiful idiot, your bag and all its many jiggling keychains and ornaments firmly clutched against you like a subconsciously protective barrier, your body facing him. A man just comes along, tells you a story and you go with it because your philosophy in life and first instinct was to not think someone just went along lying for its own sake, but see, that's where you were wrong. Terry supposed he loved and hated you for it, envying and coveting you and how unpolluted your mind was. Anyone could've come along and sold you on some bullshit and the idea of that momentarily infuriates him and relieves him --- he was infinitely glad it was him and that he was the first.

-"And I lied because you provided me with such wonderful sensations. Hated to see it ruined."-

He continues, ignoring your previous queries, the budding shock on your face positively delicious; the way it spontaneously grew in scope in real time as you sat in his busted up car surrounded by a meadow of flowers like a scared fairy or a deer caught in the headlights about to be trampled --- he could have the image and the whole scene commissioned and painted, framed and hanged above the mantlepiece facing his tub so he could have the vision of your naiveté collapsing in on itself for all eternity, admiring it while he bathed, had his mourning champagne, took calls. Touched himself underneath the searing hot water. Squeezing his cock in the palm of his hand. -"What sensations?"- You mouth, more breath than words at this point.

Your body language changing slightly. Skittish. Uncertain.

-"Friendship."-

Terry smiles into the word.

-"Hope."-

He adds leisurely, chewing on those four letters like they're bones.

-"Love."-

Finally, his hand grips the place where your shoulder blades meet your neck, caressing and squeezing there, ensuring his own body is distant; he was touching you and you weren't to touch him. Not when you were so close to realization and then, with in an instant, it hits you. The light from your eyes is gone and he feels the space in his trousers tighten. His teeth digging into his lower lip. -"You were in the army!?"- You gasp, like your lungs lacked the oxygen necessary for you to actually raise your tone and yell out, your voice crackling your throat as you tried to move backwards, further into your seat and the door on the passenger's side --- Terry doesn't let go, his hand still ever-present on your neck. A lover's touch transforming into a vice grip within seconds. He shrugs, deliberately mocking, paraphrasing and twisting every hippie-dippie bullshit talking point he's ever heard ever since he's stepped back on American soil.

-"What can I say, I was a demographically exploitable, impressionable youth and the big mean man from the poster tricked me into killing Gooks. I wouldn't have otherwise. I'm strictly anti-violence."-

Terry senses his own brows shooting up in a make-belief mask of feigned, parodied innocence only for your own to furrow and you look offended. Angry, for once in your life. Beautiful enough to consume. -"You're making fun of me!"- You cry out, desperately as he grabs you, both hands, and you struggle, to no avail. Your running days were over. You'd stay put for a change and you'd stay down. -"Don't you love me?"- Terry cocks his head only to find you quelled. Hesitating. Oh, you loved him alright. You just loved the pacifist idiot listening to you how you wanted to be a nomad backpacking in every backwater dump on the surface of the planet and not the man with the past and you couldn't immediately reconcile the two without betraying everything you stood for. -"I ---"- Your mouth falls open and he feels you shiver, your words caught on the precipice of your mouth. -"You said you wanted to see ancient places before they're changed, but do you think they were built on notions of peace? Every empire you'd like to travel to with me was built on war and conquest."- He shakes you, only slightly, hoping it'll make you come to your senses. You thought Xerxes in the remnants of Persia you wanted to see was a pacifist with a flower garden atop of his head or something? Did your beatnik friends tell you that? Your eyes shimmer, horrified, glossed over with suppressed tears he wanted to lick off your cheeks. -"God, what else did you lie about to me."- Your voice is barely audible, raspy, like the gravitas of the situation only just started settling in. If he wanted to mess with you further, now would be the ideal time, so he does just that, pointing his nose across the field, towards the skyline of the city and the tallest tower visible from plain on the outskirts of the highway. Impossible to avoid, juxtaposed like a distant fortress against the blue sky vista. Terry points the tip of his nose towards it, feeling rather triumphant of Dynatox's expansion. -"That compound. I own it. Along with half of the real estate in the country. Content?"- He snarks, tilting his head at your outrage. Not only was your lover a war criminal, he was an eco-terrorist mass profiteer as well. He's fucked you and you loved it too. -"I don't know you. Jesus. I don't even know you."- You murmur, wiggling out of his grip and moving because he lets you, very well intending to give chase once you practically jump over the closed door of the van, and unto the grass. Sure, why not. He'd get to fuck you knee-deep in flowers next. It was perfectly in-line with the life you led. He steps out of the Ford, slamming the door shut, his arms open and inviting once he finds you hastily walking down the meadow, no doubt intending to hitchhike your way back to the city. He couldn't allow that.

-"Why are you running? You've got it all now! A ticket away from backpacking your entire life away with a bunch of aimless bum punks!"-

He speaks plainly then; the jig is up, he tells himself, and playing games as only as fun as the revelation of true intent. His true intent being, taking you, his diamond in the rough, cleaning you up and separating you from those who'd get you hooked on a life of slumming it on every street from here to India. His wild blossom needed to be plucked, re-planted, placed in a hothouse, tended to, domesticated and copiously watered until it bends or breaks for him. You're practically running at this point, glancing back at him, face radiating ire. You were pissed the fuck off. Nice. Perfect.

-"Maybe I'm an aimless bunk punk too! Have you thought about that!? But, at least I didn't kill anyone! And I don't lie! Get away from me!"-

You yell, and Terry doesn't recall the last time he's seen you this angry, if ever, but the vision makes him smile and this point, he's so hard he can practically feel himself pulsate as he follows after you at a brisk pace, allowing you enough leeway to have you stupidly think you can just walk away from him while he's right there only to come up from behind you, always in your shadow, grab your forearms from the back, stop you in your tracks, spinning you to face him. Chest to chest, face to face, there was no escape. Why should his well-earned Summer of Love ever end? Have you asked yourself that?

-"See, that's where you're wrong, baby."-

He practically giggles, steadying you in his grip.

You're slippery, like a bar of soap. Luckily, he's stronger, not intending to let go.

-"You aren't an aimless bum punk. You're mine."-

He states the fucking obvious, grinning at the levels of your vexation growing.

-"And you are lying. You're lying to yourself when you refuse to fess up that you care about us."-

He inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dragging itself against the outline of your neck, inhaling all that sweat, the aroma of the great outdoors, the pollen of the field caught on your skin, smiling against you as he spoke, feeling you dig your fingers and nails into his arms, the jab of pain a relish, like an injected aphrodisiac in his system. His hand travels down, cupping you between your legs and on instinct, he hears your breath hitch. You liked that, didn't you? He rubs up against the side of your thigh, craving raw, dry friction. -"When you pretend that targets living in mud huts halfway across the planet getting napalmed matter to you as much as they do."- He presses his mouth next to the lobe of your ear, caressing the shell with his lip, feeling a slight shiver there, like your body spoke out in confirmation instead of you, even as you pushed and struggled, spilling words of venom when it was so clear your very nervous system craved to shout out a definitive 'yes'. -"You murderous son of a ---"- You seethe, trashing only to get hooked even more firmly against him, until he's practically embracing you not unlike wrangling a slithering Cobra, attempting to tame it. What's wrong? Were you afraid your friends will exclude you if they find out you've been getting fucked by a vet? Will they label you as less progress for it? Take your hippie credentials away? The continues massaging the seam between your hips, swearing he could feel the warm sensation of moisture and heat through the fabric, watching your mouth part even as you struggled. Bodies don't lie. He finds your zipper and the material of your panties underneath it, soaked to the very flesh. Ah, yes. There it was, all your political philosophies flying out the window proven just by how wet you were for him. -"You don't care about it that much."- Terry whispers laced with giggles, finding the bare skin of your cunt ready for his touch. Suddenly hungry, he devours your neck with kisses in-between words, pushing you backwards, hands all over, on the small of your back, around your waist, coaxing you down into the bed of flowers. He was going to have you, right here, right now. He's slept under the open sky and the wilderness for months and months only up until recently before rotating back to civilization, so for all intents and purposes, this should've been true return to form. -"You care about how good my fingers feel inside of your cunt much, much more and the thought of not being morally upstanding while getting fucked kills you on the inside."- He laughs, on top of you, finding you were no longer fighting it, maybe just barely, enough to make it interesting for him. The faintest spice of struggle with his hand up your leaking hole.

-"It kills you that your lizard brain rules you when I'm near."-

His hand propped up underneath your head, pillowing your contact with the bare soil underneath you, he admires you, all of you, cooing to you surrounded by flowers bent and broken at the stem through the impact of you both laying down in the bosom of the meadow, or more like, crashing into it; he supposed he despised the natural world as a whole --- a distaste he cultivated in Vietnam, in the jungle, overgrown, deep, impossible to traverse, during six months of monsoon rain, the perpetual, sinking moisture of the ground and the insects, centipedes as long as his arms, snakes, scorpions and things stemming forth from the muddy, slick bowls of the earth that would make any man's skin crawl, mowed down, culled and leveled, sprayed from above with an orange dust, the brainchild that birthed everything he wanted Dynatox to be --- a great equalizer of nature. The big, final X. But, you? Seeing you surrounded by the natural world? He supposed the only way he could ever tolerate nature is if it is in relation to you personally and no other way at all. Terry found no use for it unless it was in connection to you. That was his own lizard brain working overtime when you were near and he wanted you, needed to hear it from your own mouth that you were much the same as him. Weak around the resolve where he was concerned. -"Say it."- He demands it, firm lipped, his hand fishing around his trousers, pulling his cock out, hard, dripping precum, entirely ready for you. You shake your head, avoiding eye contact, pinning your gaze up at the sky; he could swear he spotted the faint, pale glimmer of suppressed tears. -"No."- You mouth bluntly. No? That just wouldn't do in this dojo. -"Say. It."- Terry repeats himself, insisting, annunciating every syllable, not intending to do it a second time, pulling your trousers down to your knees and spreading you. You could've shut your knees, but you never do; not that it would've stopped him, if anything, it would make this all the more profoundly enjoyable, but he reads desire, guilty, transgressive, hidden between the lines, yearning to burst forth. You wanted him too, but it went against your core values. Were you really as free as you thought you were, though? If you couldn't even fuck who you really wanted? Sounded like a miserable way to live. You moan and sob up at the same time once he's inside of you, bucking your hips up against him, managing a single word.

-"Yes."-

-"Yes, what?"-

-"It kills me ---"-

You stutter, attempting to repeat his words back to him beat by beat, only to stop, cutting yourself off once Terry picks up a pace, back and forth, back and forth, his fingers long since having undone your blouse, your tits and nipples bare, kneading them, greedy, wanton, unsure of what he'd do first, what he'd rather touch and when, finding he wanted all of you at once, no waiting, no hesitation, on a plot of land he owned, fucking someone who belonged to him.

-"What kills you?"-

He encourages, kissing along your jawline, biting, all spit, lack of decorum.

Finally, you break, and the tears flow like a river, your hands pinned above your head.

Complete defeat. Complete surrender.

-"You do."-

You whimper under the warm breeze, giving up even the faintest notion of finishing your sentence the way you should've; but he didn't mind this subversion. Actually, he rather prefered it, finding your mouth and kissing it deep, longer and hard, separating himself if only just a moment mid-trust to admire his handiwork and the pink bruise left behind on the side of your perfect lips that promised to grow blue by tomorrow --- a punishment for his tiny lack of control. Punishment for you not parroting his words back the way he ordered. But, you weren't going anywhere anymore, the final destination being right here, in this very city, so he'd have all the time in the world to train you as he liked. Teach you as he wanted and he feels his own throat hum in contentment, his cock lodged deep inside of you, remembering your badge and how he still had it somewhere in the inside pocket of his jacket left behind on the driver's seat of his truck; claiming one thing and then claiming another and ultimately, claiming everything you were, piece after piece, part after part, from the smallest, most insignificant pin, to the biggest, most crucial segments that made up who you were.

-"Good. Perfect."-

Terry murmurs victoriously, smiling, caressing the hair sticking to your forehead slick with sweat.

#terry silver #terry silver twig #twig terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #hippie #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; slurs #tw; lies #tw; subcultures #tw; period typical attitudes

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 28 days ago

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The movement to ban Republicans from using public bathrooms is launched. : [Thanks Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

[from Anne Lamott]

I have located my pink pussy cap but am not yet ready to put it back on. These things take time. A whole week passed after the election before I could turn on CNN. My personal husband has a tool he promotes The Things I Do Every Day, and once again, I wrote out my list: Prayer, chores, meditation, my animals, friendship, walks, a little writing, a nap in the late afternoon,

Also, I live by Auden’s advice: Trust in God, take short views, and read the New Yorker. (I am sure he meant to include People magazine, and Us.)

When I feel most like a walking personality disorder, I go to meetings of other people who have somehow, miraculously gotten and stayed sober, and other meetings for people with tiny control issues and the disease of good ideas for other people, usually family, and one other group of people like me who have eaten entire carrot cakes in their car in parking lots.

(I am addicted to almost everything, except gambling, although I do get a thrill loading dollar bills into change machines, when the quarters drop down, often getting more change than I need.) (It’s really sad.)

I also go to church every Sunday and five days after the election, I drove to the east Bay with my friend Teri. The sermon, projected on the screen behind the pulpit, was called You Must Have Forgotten Who You Are.

And I had. I’m a news junkie who couldn’t look at the news, someone for whom reading has been the great love of my life, who couldn’t read the papers or Twitter or get lost in a book. Someone who rises up in protest against war and political madness. An agitated, self-righteous woman of peace and love.

But I noticed a few things,

I noticed that I was not alone. I was with a dear if cranky friend, the single most Jewish and lesbianic person I’ve ever know, with whom I ride to church every Sunday. Our shoulders were touching.

And I was in what Martin Luther King called the beloved community, a rich, gathering of people who were singing their pain, and their gratitude and faith, their hopes, focused not on their grieving, terrified selves but on the sweet, sweet shepherd of their lives, and other people’s hurts.

I started remembering who I was, not in my head but in those connections— a dear friend, my community, and the sacred. I could breathe again in a way that I hadn’t since November 6h. This little church starts the service with Sacred Breath from the pulpit, where we all close our eyes and breathe in holiness, as one. Of course, I’m sitting there going, Breathe in God’s love—my butt itches, I wonder if I left the back door open and the kitty got out, and the coyotes ate her—deep breath out—I’m so happy to be there, that woman should wash her hair more, my butt still itches. But when all else fails, follow instructions, right? So I breathed.

In her sermon, the minister made a passing reference to Jesus’s admonition that when injured, we turn the other cheek. Some theologians think that turning the other cheek is actually an act of civil disobedience- a protest, of sorts, standing firm in what we believe in—to do what is right, which in the end always means love. This is so subversive, to take injury and say, You don’t decide who I am.

But when does the resistance to the rising tide of Christian Nationalism begin? My darling friend, the writer Douglas Foster had texted me that morning: “It already has. Pro immigrant organizations burgeoning in every city. Big philanthropic moves to clothe, feed and house people. Lots of examples of new public housing and mental health provisions seeking to scale up, support groups for women, and families with trans kids who will need help getting to places where their health care needs will be met. You, me, a bunch of others.”

After church, Teri and I always eat sandwiches as we drive home, the sacrament of peanut butter and jelly, possibly my favorite food, the sacred elements of dark bread, creaminess, sweetness. We unwrapped our sandwiches, tapped each other’s food in a toast, no pun intended. Cheers. And it was good.

Anne Lamott

#Anne Lamott #words and writing #humor #commentary #election 2024 #Christian Nationalism #you me a bunch of others

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idiotwhowritesshipstuff · 2 years ago

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Hello~ I hope you're doing well~ Can I get kanade otonokoji and Setsuka chiebukuro dating headcanons~

Just like with the other general dating headcanons, this takes place in a non despair au. My rules dictate that Kanade is always a yandere no matter how peaceful the rest of the world is so this falls under yandere danganronpa for her.

For the sake of those who don't want to read yandere content I'll flip the order so Setsuka is on top and Kanade is on the bottom.

TW: Kanade Otonokoji

Setsuka Chiebukuro and Kanade Otonokoji dating headcanons

Considering Setsuka is her class' big sis who promotes unity in the class, they would be the first people she informs about her getting into a relationship which will earn a wave of congratulations from the class with all of them being happy for their defacto leader getting together with someone.

Get ready to be a frequent subject of Setsuka's jokes and pranks, she doesn't pull anything on you with malicious intent nor are her pranks with you anything like what she did with the girls in A Woman's Fantasy, they're all good light-hearted fun which at most will spook you a little. She readily encourages you to try and get back at her as she enjoys the challenge and little prank wars are great ways to have quality time together which is her love language.

For dates, Setsuka doesn't have any particular preference so long as you two get some quality one on one time together. She loves being the big sis of her class, she was the one who assigned herself the role afterall, but for dates she would rather they not be around. She would love to have Sora, Shinji and Hibiki help her prepare for a date but during the date itself it's just you and her. If she did have to list a preference she prefers dates that have you two actively doing something together like playing a game or going hiking together over movie dates or generally more passive dates.

Prior to you two dating, Setsuka definitely showed you her Devil's Eye. It's a major sore spot for her and she would never date someone prior to informing them about the true nature of her right eye as not only would there be the risk of you reacting poorly much like the kids at her school did but also if she can't trust you with her right eye then how could she ever date you? Romantic relationships are built on love and trust and if she didn't tell you about her childhood operation by a quack doctor then that means she didn't trust you enough.

There is no need to worry about jealousy from Setsuka, out of all the SDRA2 cast she's the one who will never get jealous. She is an extremely physically affectionate person and her extroverted personality makes her want to spend time with loads of different people so she won't take any issue to you doing similar. At most she would tease you about showing affection to other people, jokingly asking things like "No affection for your girlfriend?" but it's always playful and never serious.

Your confession where you professed your feelings for her was the happiest day of her life. Kanade had meticulously planned the past few months for you to reciprocate her feelings, she had held off on doing anything traumatizing to you yet as she couldn't risk you seeking another for comfort so stuck to more minor sabotage to prop up her image in your eyes while using her shy persona to still be approachable to you. When you two finally start dating, no one is made aware of it for a day as Kanade wants to savor her victory for herself but she eventually tells Hibiki who spreads the news to everyone that you and her are an item now.

To you, Kanade is the perfect girlfriend. She's cute, she's popular, she's talented, she's open-minded to activities outside of her band, she's a caring sister who is always by her sister's side even when they disagree, she comforts you after a student you were close to mysteriously disappears- Now that you have made the decision to date her, Kanade can go about ensuring your relationship is permanent.

Dates with Kanade are pretty much your wish is her command. She is gifted at essentially everything so if you want to have a karaoke date? She'll sing with you and let you pick every song. Date at the movies? She'll pick out the best seats for you two and get your favorite popcorn and soda. It may be a bit concerning to you how much Kanade is willing to let you be the decider for everything but Kanade honestly doesn't mind, if you do mind and want her to pick something based on her preferences she'll be overjoyed though may not be entirely honest about what she actually likes depending on how squeamish or sensitive to loud sounds you are.

Your relationship with Hibiki is a bit of a doozy. Kanade wants you to be friends with Hibiki but she doesn't let you get too close. Whenever you question it, she spouts excuses about how jealous she is that Hibiki gets more attention again, essentially guilt tripping you to back off.

Unlike with Hibiki and a childhood friend reader, Kanade wouldn't always want you to be in a puppet state like Hibiki. The idea is appealing to her but the puppet state is essentially her way of having her loved one to herself without any fear of someone taking them away so if the mysterious disappearances and deaths she cause leave you emotionally vulnerable enough that you solely rely on her, she may let you keep your sanity depending on how accepting you are of what she's done to Hibiki. If you lash out, even just out of shock, you can kiss your sanity goodbye. If you remain composed and don't do anything to provoke her, she'll let you keep your mind if only because she enjoys seeing you emote as her sister's expression is quite dull in the puppet state.

Kanade's jealousy is 10 to the power of 1000, she gets jealous over you spending time with anyone and everyone save for Hibiki and as stated earlier, she doesn't appreciate you getting too close to her either. Kanade is someone willing to torture and kill over you smiling at another person so unless you actively isolate yourself from people outside of the Otonokoji twins, expect to set off her jealousy during your relationship at even the most innocent of interactions. The only real bright side to her jealousy is that due to the image she needs to maintain, she won't ever actually truly express the full extent of her jealousy in your presence, she's usually only appearing mildly upset though can get extremely scary if you have a close friend.

#danganronpa x reader #sdra2 x reader #super danganronpa another 2 x reader #super danganronpa another 2 #setsuka chiebukuro #setsuka chiebukuro x reader #kanade otonokoji #kanade otonokoji x reader #yandere kanade otonokoji #yandere danganronpa

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