#and I've never been on one of those rides in my life either which makes it funnier to me

[izzy-b-hands]

I wake up

I am immediately hit with a shame spiral

...I don't go back to bed bc i know that might actually make me feel worse and that i need to at least TRY and be productive (and maybe feel better as a result)

[solkara]

❛ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 , benjicot blackwood ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you were the apple of your family's eye a rare gem they would do anything to protect but sometimes even the purest doves crave something bloody

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , benjicot blackwood x fem! velaryon / strong! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , benji with the 10 seconds of screen time ateee tbh or wait is it not benji cuz I've heard some people say it's not so plz explain cuz I'm so confused lmfao !!

house of the dragon masterlist

⌗ you were a bastard. born from a night of passion shared between you mother and father. rhaenyra and daemon. but no one would ever call you a bastard. as you bore all the features of a targaryen unlike your siblings. white hair purple eyes. the seven kingdoms called you aemma reborn. as your striking resemblance to your late grand mother was uncanny.

⌗ growing up life was easy. your mother and grandsire doted on you. your siblings would go to the ends of the known world for you. ser harwin and leanor though not your real fathers stepped up and were there for you whenever you needed them. and though you had never met your real father your mother told you that he would love you.

⌗ truth be told there was nothing that daemon more than to be with you. his daughter. his oldest. but he settled for watching from afar for now. hearing about all of your achievements in pentos. how you had claimed the creeping death amaris. a dragon that had never been claimed and was rumored to be from balerion's final clutch. and it showed. as amaris was the largest dragon around. making vaghar look petite. and while daemon couldn't help but be the proudest man in the known world. part of him breathed a sigh of relief that his daughter didn't get hurt.

⌗ life was good. as you grew older tales of your beauty spread far and wide. from winterfell to dorne. you had suitors from all over flock to offer their hand. from dresses to castles. they offered it all. but were ultimately shut down by either your mother or grandsire. even the queen alicent tried offering the hand of one of her sons. but that idea fizzled out after diftmark. though it was still obvious that both of the queen's son's still bore a certain mixture of fondness and lust for you.

⌗ the deaths of harwin and laenor broke you. and after the the harrowing night of having to watch aemond lose an eye. you were exhausted. your eyes red and with no tears left to cry. you walked off to find your mother after having just finished packing. only to find her with an unfamiliar man. "mother?" you asked approaching with caution.

⌗ "my darling girl I want you to meet someone this is daemon your father" and for a moment your heart stopped as you looked at the man before you. you had dreamed for so long for the day that you would finally meet your father. and now it was here you didn't know what to do. but fear not as daemon took matters into his own hands. pulling you into his embrace which you gladly accepted. finally you left complete.

⌗ after that time seemed to fly by. your mother and father got married. your brother got betrothed to your half-sisters. and all of you lived happily on dragonstone together. with you and your siblings going for frequent dragon rides together. teaching them high valyrian. listen to your father's many stories he gained from his travels. and letting your mother braid your hair while the two of you giggled about the newest gossip.

⌗ though there was one topic she would never touch. and there were suitors. as princess rhaenyra had received hundreds if not thousands of offers for her daughter's hand. which she all denied. at one point there were so many that daemon restored to using a large chunk of them as kindle for the fire in their room. claiming "none of those vile pig's are good enough for my daughter" to which the heir agreed. the last thing she wanted was for her beloved daughter to be used by some lord as a broodmare.

⌗ but rhaenyra knew that she would have to wed her daughter off at some point. and that scared her. though her eldest was the blood of a dragon. you were gentle and soft. the apple of her eye and the thought of you being hurt. by a man nonetheless made her heart clench. and daemon agreed swearing he would rip any man. regardless of who. if they tried anything with their daughter. which was easy to say as the royal couple were under the impression their daughter's interest hadn't been caught by anyone. but oh how wrong they were.

⌗ see you had indeed had your eyes set on someone. who's name happened to be ben. the first time you saw him was at your name day tourney. where he jousted against a lannister. and won much to your joy. before going on to win the tournament. after asking for your favour. which you gladly gave. and you couldn't help but blush. as you couldn't deny he was attractive. even if he was covered in someone else's blood.

⌗ and so began the beautiful friendship between the two of you. as you went from secret love letters sent by ravens. to flying to see him whenever you could. truth is you were head over heels for him. just as he was for you. you were two half's that made a whole. twin flames if you will. and ben had made it clear that he would give you the world and that all you had to do was ask for it. a sentiment which you reverberated. the two of you had talked about a life together. married and with kids. now all you had to do was tell your parents.

⌗ but oh boy when you decided to tell them. was that an interesting conversation. your father nearly unsheathed dark sister. your mother nearly passed out in horror. your brothers were either confused or looking at benjicot like he was dragon food. and your sisters were smiling from ear to ear. but after they had all settled down you spoke. and the two of you made it very clear that you were madly in love. and after a few more threats from your father and brothers. a couple more happy tears and hugs from your mother and sisters. everyone had made peace with the fact and were overjoyed for the both of you.

⌗ and within the week news had spread to every corner of the seven kingdom's of your betrothal to the blackwood. and with was also said that the men of the kingdom's morned the loss of the chance to marry you by descending on brothels to drink and lay with whores. your uncles included. but you paid little mind. as you enjoyed life within your little bubble. spending your days with your family and benji. life was perfect. and you couldn't wait for the wedding.

⌗ and once the day finally arrived. you were jittery with nerves. dressed head to toe in white. you looked the spitting image of duty. as you walked arm in arm with your father towards the alter. the eyes of hundreds of highborns fixed on you in awe. but all you could focus on was. ben. your ben. as the two of you recited your vows with joy you sealed it with a kiss. and after the celebrations of the night. and your new husband threatening to behead anyone who dares mention a bedding ceremony. the two of you joined select family. from both side. to join for another ceremony. a traditional valyrian wedding. and as you sealed your love once more with a bloody kiss. you now truly had it all.

anon , May I please have a targaryen! reader, daughter of daemon and rhaenyra, born after jace like she looks so much like Aemma, and the kingdom would speak of her as Aemma reborn, being favored by Viserys and her people. Can imagine her claiming a dragon that was rumored to be from the late Balerion’s clutch, a stark contrast to the other she-dragons, with her own being a ferocious creature of black scales and fire of black and red. While she is loved in her kingdom, she is also loved in her family. Much like Helaena, the reader is the apple of the kingdom’s eyes and dearer to her family more than anything. And when the topic of suitors comes, all of them are horrified when the one that catches her eye is the Bloody Ben himself, Benjicot Blackwood. ps. I’m a sucker for a beloved character whom loves someone that is the exact opposite of her 😭💖 Requesting for more familial and platonic fic with the Benjicot romance just maybe being small 😩☝️

[nonotnolan]

Swap Broker: Social Climbing

Seeing James in a suit, Clay suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about scheduling a meeting at his modest apartment. The car that James drove was probably worth more than this entire building. Still, that was part of why he was hiring James in the first place. Clay was trapped in the lowest income tiers of society, and upward momentum was unheard of. He didn't regret dropping out of high school to take care of his younger brother when their mother passed-- their father had never been in the picture-- but now that his brother had a full ride to college, it was time to take care of himself for once. If he wanted any sort of life outside of minimum wage retail work, he was going to have to take drastic action.

"Legally, I have read you a few disclaimers before we begin," James said, pulling out some papers from his briefcase. "You are purchasing my services as a swap broker. This does not guarantee that I will be able to match you with another customer, and some customers may request additional payment. My servicing fees must be paid up front and in full. The body real estate market is new, and may be subject to new regulations at any time. You cannot trade more than ten years plus or minus your original date of birth, and any attempts to defraud security regulations will result in legal action, up to and including life in jail. If either client is able to prove misleading or fraudulent claims about their new body within the first 30 days, the swap will be reversed. Customer dissatisfaction is not a valid reason to reverse the swap process, so care should be taken prior to confirming purchase. If you agree to these terms, your payment will be considered a legal signature."

Clay paused, staring at the wad of cash in his hands. "You, uhh… you do take cash, right? I didn't even think about trying to get a money order."

James simply smiled at him. "That will be fine, Mr. Clay. It's not standard, but for you I will make an exception. Truth be told, I'm already making a few exceptions for you, but I've been able to pull strings to have it classified as charity work. Besides, all of your of the mandated background interviews have come back with glowing recommendations, which is why I have no issues taking such a risk on you."

"And I appreciate that, don't get me wrong. All the same, I… I'm just worried that no one will want to take my life in exchange for theirs," Clay said, kicking the carpet with his boots. "But anything will be better than this, and … well, I'm trusting you, James. I'm trusting you to find something for me."

"I actually do have a very promising lead for you, if you're willing to take it," he said, adjusting his necktie. "It's a very unusual situation, which is why most of my clients have not accepted this body. But for you… honestly, this might work. My client is local businessman Richard Hargrove, but the body for trade or sale is the body of his son, Aiden Hargrove. It's… legal, technically, though I'm not convinced Aiden fully understood the paperwork he was signing."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess… Richard expects great things from his son, but his son isn't matching those expectations?"

James nodded. "It's a tale as old as time, and it's a lot of emotional baggage to carry over into a new life. If you want to inherit the family money, you'll have to make certain that you keep Richard appeased. There's going to be a lot of family drama, while most people on the market for a new body are looking for a swap with no strings attached."

"No strings, you say," Clay said, absent-mindedly scratching his chest. "How often are people swapping bodies, anyway?"

"Honestly, we're starting to see a lot of designer body circles where people swap bodies every few months like clothes. People are trying to establish winter bodies, vacation bodies, bodies for formal events… it's a bit of a mess out there right now. But most people don't want to be locked into a new body forever, which… is what Mr. Hargrove is looking for. But since it sounds like that is what you're looking for as well... here's a photo of Aiden," he said, passing a headshot over to Clay.

Clay could feel his cock stirring to life in his jeans. Aiden was incredibly attractive. He also looked like an insufferable spoiled rich kid, but… well, that was probably true. "James, this man is gorgeous. There has to be some sort of catch, more than just the family drama angle you described."

"Well… yes. As a part of the swap agreement, Mr. Hargrove is requiring that the person taking his son's body signs a five year habitation agreement. It includes a stipend of $100,000 spread across monthly installments, but it states that you will only be able to contact your prior family through written, voice, or video correspondence. Nor will you be able to contact any of your prior friends ever again. For most people, that's a complete dealbreaker. For you, however…"

Clay couldn't help but laugh. "My younger brother is going to college several states away, so I already have limited contact. And the closest things I have to friends are people who are nice to me at work." He paused, taking off his cap and squeezing its brim as he thought it over. "I really don't have anything to lose," he said. It felt odd to say it aloud, but… he hadn't fully realized just how much he had been putting everyone else's needs over his own until it was pointed out like this. "I always knew it, I mean… it's why I hired you, I just… I never quite thought about it like that. James, I accept. Whatever you need me to sign, let's do this."

James smiled. "Excellent choice! I'll put in an offer this afternoon, and I'll be in touch with the next round of paperwork. It's not official yet, but given that Aiden's body has been on the market for over five weeks, I can't imagine that we're going to get any resistance."

------------------------------------------------------

"Alright, so that was four strokes, which puts me at… +8," said the new Aiden. "Not great, but at least I'm slowly improving. Ready for the next hole, Dad?" The first week or two had had its share of uncomfortable moments, but he was slowly easing into the expectations of his new life. Now, after a few months, life as Aiden Hargrove was becoming second nature.

Richard smiled at him. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Agh, Dad…" Aiden said, feeling himself starting to blush.

"No, I mean that," he said. "It was hard enough having to disown my first son… I was so worried about who my new son was going to be. But you… you're hard working, you're dedicated, you're sincere… how could anyone not be grateful? I'm… I'm bad at knowing how to show people that I care, Aiden. Too much tough love, they tell me. And if I'm going to start training you to take over the family business, that will only get worse. Which, I will be training you, son, you've picked up on sales like it was second nature. So… when we leave here, and I'm back to being a dick… it's because I expect a lot from you, okay? I'm proud of you even when I'm not showing it." Richard leaned in for a hug, which Aiden returned with an awkward embrace.

"Also, son, I keep meaning to ask-- have you been getting your dick wet?"

Aiden felt his stomach drop out from under him. "Jesus, Dad! That's not… do we have to talk about that?"

"You're almost thirty," Richard said, folding his arms. "It's well past time for you to get married. I'm not going hold sins of the old Aiden against you, but people are already starting rumors. An eligible Hargrove, unmarried? It's unheard of. I don't even care who you marry, as long as they make at least $150,000 per year. Are you gay? I've seen the way your eye wanders in the country club's sauna. The old Aiden was straight as an arrow, but we can smooth that over easy enough."

"I… yes sir, I am a gay man," Aiden admitted, as he desperately prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him in. "I haven't, uhh… I haven't had sex in this body yet. I've been focused more on living as the new Aiden. Adding a relationship to things felt… complicated. Especially since the thought of a queer scandal had me afraid to… pursue things, as it were."

Richard waved a dismissive hand. "Well, start pursuing them. You're a Hargrove now. We don't have scandals, we just have bribe money. Your mother and I are going to be celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary next year, and I expect to you be engaged by then. I need everyone to see that you are a force to be reckoned with."

------------------------------------------------------

Aiden leaned against the bar of the country club, waiting for his date to arrive. It was easy to adjust to the trappings of his new life, but he hoped to never fully lose sight of his roots. The navy suit he was wearing tonight was a designer piece that cost about two months of his old life's salary, and he was about to spend over ten hours of minimum wage labor on a single dinner. The universe had managed to reward all of those years of thankless labor with the opportunity to live Aiden's life, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to take for granted.

Trying to date as a gay man looking for marriage was complicated enough. Trying to date men who fit his new father's limited criteria was proving to be almost impossible. Most of the men who checked off all of the necessary requirements were either straight or insufferable-- but usually both. All the same, Aiden had high hopes for his date with Hunter. Unlike his previous dates, Hunter came into his wealth by creating and then selling his business at the right time. Hopefully that lack of a privileged upbringing would make him a tolerable human being.

Dinner with Hunter proved to be everything that Aiden had hoped for, and more. They were able to hold actual conversation, shifting from topic to topic without his date trying to brag about prior accomplishments or disparaging Aiden's interests as puerile. It was taking all of his restraint not to mount Hunter right there, in the middle of the dining room.

"Would you like to join me on a brief walk?" Aiden asked, once their meals had been finished and billed to his family's tab. "You'll have to forgive me if I am being too forward, but I took the liberty of reserving one of the... private cabana rooms at the edge of the grounds." His eyebrows waggled as he emphasized the word private, and the flush on Hunter's cheeks confirmed that the innuendo had not been lost on his date. Aiden swelled with pride as he observed the outline of Hunter's erection against his blue slacks as the man stood up, the most sincere sort of compliment he could receive. His own manhood was straining against his silk boxer briefs, and he found himself hoping that Hunter was sneaking glances.

"I... do have a confession, before we get too serious," Hunter said, as they strolled across the greens. "This is not my real body. My swap broker arranged for a three month loaner, while my real body is...being acclimated to my new wealth, shall we say. I'm paying someone to lose weight at the gym, whiten my teeth, develop a suitable skin care regimen... that sort of thing. And once I do get my body back, there will a wardrobe and hairstyle adjustment period..." He started to tug nervously at his collar. "Just a temporary side effect of being new money. I hope you don't find that too scandalous."

Aiden gave him a warm smile. "Far from it, I assure you. Your newfound wealth and status is part of your charm. It means you don't have any of the odious habits of my peers." He wrapped a possessive arm around Hunter's waist and pulled him close, a trophy to be displayed. "Besides, that sounds like an incredibly smart usage of a swap brokerage contract. If things get serious, I'll have to tell you about my own family's dealings with swap brokers."

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!

[cutielando]

the royals | c.l.

synopsis: in which the unofficial royal couple of Monaco ties the knot

my masterlist

Dating an athlete was never easy. 

The constant travelling, constant change of time zones, jetlag, busy schedule, rarely ever being back home in Monaco.

It was tough for both of you.

Charles and you have been dating ever since you were teenagers. Ever since he started his career in racing, you had been there with him every step of the way.

You were there after every win and every loss, every disappointment and every celebration. You were his rock.

His family loved you, treated you like you were one of their own. Especially Pascale, who couldn't thank God enough that her son had found someone as perfect as you.

After being together for so many years, he had finally proposed to you, the love of his life.

♡♡♡♡♡

The Proposal

"Are you ready to go, amour?" Charles called from the bedroom while you were touching up your lipstick in the bathroom.

Your boyfriend had decided to treat you tonight, seeing as you were both home for the summer break and wanted to enjoy the beautiful city of Monaco.

"Almost. It would've saved us a lot of time if you would've just told me where we're going" you sweetly said, trying to coax your boyfriend into caving to tell you where he was taking you.

"Nice try, amour. I've told you, it's a surprise" he chuckled, checking his watch.

Unknown to you, Charles was freaking out big time. He was bad at keeping secrets, especially from you because you knew him too well.

Planning this proposal weeks in advance without being suspicious had been hell for him. Having hurried and hushed conversations with his family making sure you wouldn't hear, trying to plan everything while you would be busy, trying not to seem like anything was wrong, the definition of hell on Earth for the Monegasque. 

"Alright, I'm ready" you announced, making Charles come back down to Earth.

His breath got caught in his throat because of how beautiful you looked. The dark red dress perfectly hugged your body and curves, the red lipstick you decided to wear making his mind go fuzzy.

"You look stunning as always" he stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss your cheek knowing you would kill him if he dared to smudge your lipstick the slightest bit.

"And you look as handsome as ever" you giggled, leaning into him until he dragged you out of your shared home towards his car.

The ride was fairly silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Charles drove while resting his hand on your thigh, your hand holding his. The music was playing softly on the radio and you gazed out the window, admiring the city you had long-ago started to call home.

"We're here" Charles announced as he parked his famous Ferrari in front of a top-notch restaurant in the heart of Monte Carlo.

"This is an expensive restaurant, baby" you said, eyeing it suspiciously as Charles helped you out of the car.

"Only the best for my girl" he kissed your palm as he intertwined your fingers and led you into the restaurant.

Once you were both seated, you looked around at the restaurant, only seeing ridiculously rich people dining away.

"You know I don't like it when you spend money on me" you complained, pouting, making your boyfriend smile.

"I know, but you know I like doing it either way" he shrugged and smiled.

You came from the same background as Charles, meaning that you were rich yourself. However, you never took your wealth for granted and you were really smart with how you spent your money.

That being said, ever since he started out in Formula 1 and started making millions every year, Charles made it his mission to spoil you rotten. Buying you clothes, jewelry, taking you out to exclusive restaurant, organizing numerous holidays throughout the year, he never failed to shower you in gifts.

It was one of his love languages, despite the fact that you had told him that he didn't have to do all of those things. He was too stubborn for his own good.

As you ordered and had dinner, small talk and laughs were exchanged between the two of you, the rest of the world drowned out in the background.

You could always lose yourself in his presence, being enveloped by your own little bubble where it was just the two of you.

As the night started winding down and people started to leave, you followed suit once Charles had insisted on paying for the entire meal.

"Are we going home?" you questioned as you made your way towards the car, your hear resting on his shoulder.

"No, we have one more stop before heading home" he quietly said, and you could sense a change in his demeanor.

Figuring it was nothing major, you decided not to question it.

♡♡♡♡♡

"What are we doing here?" you questioned as you stood on Charles' yacht, your horizon filled with the beautiful lights and nightlife of Monte Carlo.

When you didn't receive an answer, you turned around and found Charles down on one knee, holding a beautiful dark red velvet box which contained the most gorgeous ring you had ever laid your eyes on.

Your hands instantly went to your mouth, tears already threatening to spill from your eyes.

"Mon amour, I cannot even remember what life was like before you were a part of it. So many years have passed and I still manage to fall more and more in love with you with each day that passes. You have always been there for me, through every race, every loss and every win, you never once doubted me and supported me through my whole career. Seeing you already being a part of my family and being so loved by everyone made me want to make sure you would never run away from me. I love you more than words could ever express and I want to spend the rest of my days with you by my side, building the family we have always talked about. So, what do you say, my love? Want to make me the happiest guy in the world and marry me?" by the end, he had tears silently running down his cheeks, but his smile singlehandedly lit up the whole yacht.

You didn't even find the words to speak, opting instead for nodding your head vigorously, falling to your knees and throwing yourself in his arms.

He buried his head in your neck and laughed in happiness, relieved to finally get it off his chest.

"I love you so damn much, Charles Leclerc" you whispered, pulling away from the tight hug and letting him put the ring on your finger.

Your eyes were glued to it, the way it perfectly seemed to fit on your finger like it was meant to be there all along.

You couldn't help but pull him into a deep kiss, pouring every single feeling you couldn't convey with words in the kiss.

And in that moment, being wrapped up in the arms of the one you love under the lights of your favorite city, nothing could have been more beautiful.

Just you and your fiancé against the world.

♡♡♡♡♡

liked by y/n.official, landonorris, carlossainz55 and 4,293,485 others

charles_leclerc can't wait to spend forever with you, mon amour <3 tagged: y/n.official

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REQUEST HERE

[scarfacemarston]

hi i saw that you write for pride month and wanted to ask for a asexual female reader/Inquisitor with either arthur morgan or cullan rutherford. Maybe their reaction to it or just some fluff idc. If you decide to write something i'd be very happy but understand if you're not familiar enough with it :)

Happy pride month! ❤

I WAS SO EXCITED TO GET THIS. First of all, I'm ace so seeing someone interested in Ace representation was great. Second of all, you're the first person who has requested Cullen! I've been asking for requests about him for months! So thank you. : D This turned out way longer than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy!

Time passed agonizingly slowly as Cullen tried not to pace in his office, awaiting your return.  How utterly embarrassing for him, but in his defense, he had never felt this way about someone else before. Sure, there was his crush years ago, but that paled compared to how he felt about you.

He kept himself busy the best as he could, pouring over documents, attending meetings, and training recruits, all while ignoring the call of the lyrium on those lonely nights. He would keep his vow to you. He paused as he heard footsteps leading to the heavy wooden door.

"Ser? Commander? The Inquisitor has returned." the carrier said through the door.

"Good. Dismissed." Cullen called. He tried to mask the delight on his features. Yes, he could live without you, but now that you were in his life, he saw what he was truly missing out on.

He chided himself on the virtue of patience…for a moment before making his way through the battlements, trying to appear nonchalant. He struggled to hide the grin from his scarred lips as he saw you riding your horse into Skyhold. Cullen had no idea how you remained so composed even after such a long journey. Cullen made his way towards the gates to meet you when you gave him a tired but pleased smile, which Cullen eagerly returned.

"Inquistor. Welcome back." He breathed. He could have kissed you right then and there, but he hated the attention it would bring.

You reached your hand down to his, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Thank you. I've missed you. Sure, I was in good company with Dorian, Iron Bull, and Varric, but you're the one who was on my mind." You said sincerely, enjoying the hint of pink that spread across the Commander's cheeks. He cleared his throat.

"And I you." He said, squeezing your hand in return.

"Let's catch up tonight in your office? I really need a bath and something to eat." You said. Cullen blinked,

"Oh, of course. I'd imagine you're exhausted, but if you truly wish to meet tonight -" Cullen started.

"I do." you interrupted.

"Then I shall eagerly await you," Cullen said softly as he returned to his office, feeling lighter than he had in days. Still, time seemed to creep by, and the anxiety began to knot in his stomach when he heard the knock on his office's door……..

Later that evening, you crept across the battlements with a robe covering your body. Blessedly, only a few guards were on duty that night, and you were skilled at moving silently.

You knocked on the door lightly, hearing a warm voice on the other side telling you to come in.

Cullen looked up from his papers and smiled.

"You came! I mean, you came." Cullen exclaimed before attempting a more casual demeanor.

You stifled a giggle at the confident Cullen's dorkiness. Seeing him flustered and unsure but so utterly sincere was utterly precious.

"Oh. You're wearing your…night clothing. I see." Cullen trailed off, looking away.

"Of course, I came, but yes, I came in my night clothes; it's late, you know," you said, smiling softly. You paused.

"There was…something I wish to discuss with you," you hesitantly said, playing with the sleeve of your nightshirt.

Cullen's heart dropped to his stomach. Were you going to break it off with him? Well, he couldn't blame you for coming to your senses. It was too much to hope for, but he would do his duty to -

"Can we talk up there? It feels more private there," you said, pointing to his loft. You had been there several times before to care for him while he was recovering from his lyrium withdrawal.

Cullen blinked, confused. At least he tidied there earlier today.

Cullen made his way to the doors, bolting them both shut as he made his way up the ladder, offering you a hand.

Cullen sat on the bed and waited.

"I want to share a bed with you, but I don't want to have sex with you." you blurted out.

Cullen paused before nodding slowly.

"I see. I was unsure whether our relationship would lead to …that. We had not discussed it. I don't know, do people discuss this? Or do things just happen? As you can plainly see, I'm not the most experienced in relationships. My templar and Knight Commander duties left me too busy, and I was too …broken to pursue relationships. I still am, but you see past that, miracle that may be.

But I had my dalliances in the past, but nothing significant." Cullen attempted to explain. He paused, thinking.

"Is this a religious matter? An avoidance of sex until marriage?"

You shook your head negatively.

"No, it's not you. It's me. I just… don't have any interest in sex with anyone. You're handsome, and don't think I'm not attracted to you; I only don't feel any sexual attraction. I have never had one with anyone, and I know myself. I never will feel it with anyone. I know that must feel like a blow to you, but it's who I am. I've always felt this way." You revealed slowly, glancing up to his face. His expression was unreadable but not negative, either.

Cullen shook his head.

"Not every templar has had sexual relations. Some had taken vows of chastity. It sounds like this is a different matter." he said slowly; he took your hand in his.

"And that's okay. I myself had only felt some attraction to someone in the past but to no one else. Not really. I occasionally dabbled, but that was on infrequent occasions. It felt like something I was supposed to do, but honestly, sex wasn't all it was cracked up to be." He said, gently massaging your hand. He pat the bed beside him.

He sighed,

"Forgive me. I'm not used to discussing such intimate matters. I am trying, though." He paused.

"I had hoped that we could share such experiences. I was interested in seeing the difference between what I had experienced in the past compared to what I might feel now."

"I'm so-"

"No. Don't you dare. Don't you dare apologize. This is something that matters to you and as you said, is a part of you. You have accepted me - all of me, and I thank the maker for that every day. Who am I to turn you away?" He interrupted softly.

"I thought you would be upset with me. I've told people in the past, and they always thought I was crazy, a prude, or broken," you whispered.

"They were wrong. A relationship is more than sex. People have sex without relationships, why can't people have relationships without sex? Does this surprise me? Yes, but I've only had sex a handful of times in my life. You matter more than sex." He said, tilting your chin to face him.

"Thank you. You are an incredibly brave woman. I know it musn't have been easy to tell me. I can see the tension leaving your shoulders already." Cullen nodded.

You laughed quietly.

"You have no idea."

Cullen yawned.

"I'm sorry. I know you had a longer more tiring day than I have." Cullen apologized - but really, Cullen had hardly slept at all since you had left.

"Let's both get some sleep…if you're okay with that. I do enjoy our cuddling," you said, shly. Poor Cullen blushed again but said nothing as he removed his boots and armor before ending up with his tunic and breeches. You had laid down already, eager as he climbed into bed. You grinned before immediately snuggling to his chest, sighing in relief. Cullen wrapped his arms around you, feeling bashful all of a sudden.

"Do you …., are you still okay with …kissing? You never seemed to mind."

"Oh, I quite enjoy them, Commander." You teased.

"Is that so, my lady?"

You nodded, trying not to squeal as Cullen pressed his lips slowly yet passionately to yours.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." he grinned before yawning again.

"Now, let's go to sleep."

"A wise idea. Good night, Y/N." He said, blowing out the candle.

"Good night, Cullen." With that, you fell asleep, feeling lighter than you had in days.

[beatingdrumspouringwine]

Words from the Gods 3 - Signs

I think signs are one of the most difficult things to navigate early on in one's relationship with the Gods. As someone who enjoys doing the occasional lurk over on Reddit, I feel like I see, at least once a day, someone on r/Hellenism saying something to the effects of "xyz happened today when I did/was doing zyx, do you think [insert God/Goddess's name here] is [insert emotion here] at me?" And I think there's a few problems with viewing signs in this way.

Don't get me wrong, I completely understand where they're coming from, especially if these people have come from a religion like Christianity, where signs are frequently seen as a bit more ominous, and searched for with a fair degree of intensity. But signs are a bit different here, both in terms of subtlety, but also in meaning.

For starters, the Gods are never trying to make our lives hard. This will probably be something I repeat a lot over this series, because it's entirely true, but also not something that I see said nearly enough! When it comes to receiving signs, generally a lack of understanding what the sign means can be connected to a lack of knowledge about the God/Goddess who might be sending you the sign. There is a combination of both "historical knowledge" and "personal knowledge" that goes into interpreting signs.

Historical knowledge simply applies to what is widely or historically known about a God/Goddess. For example, Hera is associated with peacocks because of Argos in mythology, or Poseidon is associated with horses and the sea from his own traditional attributes. It's one of those things where, if you have paid any attention to the God you are worshipping, you'll almost definitely understand what's going on, or at least who's saying what.

Meanwhile, personal knowledge applies to something which is directly communicated between you and the God that you are worshiping. For example, even though there isn't necessarily a historical connection between Dionysos and moths, He still sends me moth wings every now and then, specifically eye spots. This is because, after reading the article Riding the Phallus for Dionysos (would highly recommend if you're over 18), I found out that animals with eyespots were sacred to Dionysos, and after that, I found multiple perfectly intact moth wings, all of which had eye spots on them. So even though Dionysos has no traditional connection with moths, He still pops them in my life to remind me that He's around.

The other thing, besides knowledge, is context. This would be why the God in question is sending you a sign. Generally, you should have at least some form of general knowledge as to why They would be doing so. I've found that signs are usually just a divine way of saying "Hey worshiper of mine! I know you've been [feeling alone/asking Me for something/needing a push to do something/etc.], so here is some proof that I'm around!" Sometimes, obviously, the signs that are something like "giving you a push" are a bit vague, but it shouldn't be something so incredibly difficult to understand, you're getting stressed about it.

If signs seem to appear with no context, and no knowledge of either what aspect of the God (historical or personal) it applies to, I would do some research of your own, to start, and maybe throw out a few prayers to the Gods you're suspecting of sending you the sign. At the same time, though, I wouldn't be too concerned. Sometimes, strange things just happen in this world, as do some weird coincidences. I remember that once, earlier in my practice, my parents were coming to visit. I wasn't even worshiping Dionysos at that time, it was mainly Hermes and Hekate. I was praying to Them for a good, safe visit, and seemingly in response, there were dead frogs scattered all over the roads. This made my stress skyrocket, and I was internally panicking the whole visit. Nothing ended up happening, and in the following years, I started noticing that around that time of the year, there were always dead frogs on the road. I was living near a pond, and during the mating season, there would be more frogs, which would get drawn onto the roads, and there would just be... more dead frogs. It wasn't some kind of display that I had angered my Gods, or that something bad would happen. It was just a freaky nature thing that happened to coincide with my prayers.

To draw a conclusion in all of this, I'll say the following: first and foremost, signs can be difficult to interpret, and I'll never fault someone for struggling with it. But at the same time, getting to know a God both personally, as well as historically, is always a good way to understand the signs easier. There is also, as always, the context in which you are experiencing the sign, and if there seems to be none of that, then try to find a natural explanation.

As always, if you have any questions, please feel free to come ask me about them: my inbox and my messages are always open! (I know my writing can be vague at times - whenever I write these, I am attempting to collect my ADHD thoughts into one coherent Thing lol)

[bomberqueen17]

holding it down

currently am being held down in the chair by Chita, who was waiting patiently next to my recliner while i was in the other room packing up my clean laundry. I'm going back to the farm today, and need to leave sometime before noon to arrive in time for dinner. The only productive thing I really did this week is that last night I made a Vat of Borscht that i'm going to bring to serve for dinner tonight so my sister doesn't have to cook. anyway. Oop Chita just had enough of absorbing my body heat / qi (we joke that's what she's after, absorbing qi by sitting on people) and has transferred herself to the other chair, where she will sleep for six to ten hours without moving much. Her life is hard.

anyway wittering on behind cut

my dreamwidth crossposter broke so i should figure out how to set up an RSS thingy there, idk how to do that though. i think tumblr did something that broke how they do RSS and that's why the crossposter went down.

I'm trying Vyvanse again, a slightly higher dose. One pill a day, I can do. Yesterday I just felt scattered and ran around not getting things done. I did go double grocery shopping with Dude, and there was a Pokemon Go thing going on so I was catching cyndaquils while wandering through the grocery aisles, and i just-- sometimes I can feel that what I am doing is really bad for my attention span, and I could super feel that this was not helping me at all.

"I need to meditate," I said, sweating, on the ride home in the car. (It has been so hot. It was so hot yesterday. It was 87 and so humid and even with the ac in the car I was just sweating. ugh.)

"So meditate," Dude said, but I don't know how.

I probably should start writing in my journal again. I had been using a like day planner thing, and I was doing pretty poorly at it-- i'd write goals but they were never concretely connected to anything, and mostly I was writing down what I did after I did it, but at least that tied me to reality somewhat. So I should at least go back to that, I stopped the last week at the farm when things were so fucking hectic I didn't do anything but work, eat, and sleep.

I don't know if it helps but doing nothing doesn't help either.

And it's a lie to say I did nothing this past week. I was very off my game, but I did consult two different medical professionals for whatever that's worth, and I did manage to get past a huge writing block that's been deviling me for over a year really.

The horrible heat is supposed to break, which is good timing, because there is no climate control at the farm, and the only air-conditioned room is insufficiently conditioned and so is usually warmer than the surrounding spaces. I would have had a miserable week if I'd been there this past week, when it was over 90F most days and wasn't getting below 75F at night. (It was 81F here this morning at 6am, but it is supposed to rain and the day's high will only be 82. So.)

I did get some sewing done this week, though not as much as I wanted. I did a bunch of laundry. I did not clean the house or make any progress organizing any spaces, which were things I had wanted to do. But the writing, I can't describe how important getting that writing done was for me.

I'm having trouble being confident in my writing currently, a couple of scenes I feel are not emotionally true to what I was trying to say. I did rediscover some old notes though, and I think I've figured out what was bugging me in the Geralt/Emhyr scenes, and what I should work on with them. (I think the background information that Pavetta was an unhinged little gremlin monsterfucker and that was what formed Emhyr's id is really important and I have to work out how to incorporate that into everything going forward.)

I also keep finding myself yearning to write some original stuff. So we'll have to see, if I can get through the backlog of ideas in the Witcher stuff and start winding some of that up (??!!?!?!) then maybe there'd be some time to poke those ideas.

Anyway. Cat tax, here is what Chita looked like as I began this post, being a feline seat belt holding me into this chair:

[image description: small gray cat, head turned and eyes closed, is lying on my green-clad lap and has one paw outstretched toward the camera, touching the gray arm of the chair we're sitting in, holding me in position.]

[detroit-grand-prix]

make you better - susie wolff x personal assistant!reader

Summary: There's nothing worse than getting sick when you live alone, far away from family. But someone unexpected steps in to take care of you.

Tags/warnings: Reader/ Y/N perspective, contains descriptions of an (unspecified) illness and references to a gun violence incident, not romantic/ship content.

Author’s note: I wrote this a while ago, right after I had COVID in early February. It was the first time I'd had a symptomatic case of it. I don't get ill often, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I had never felt more ill in my life. I was also living alone at the time, which made the entire experience especially terrifying. After that, I decided to find a roommate.

I wrote this as a way to cope with the whole thing because it was strangely more traumatic than I expected. I've shared it with a few close friends and wanted to keep it mostly to myself, but with all of the requests I've been getting for more Susie-centric fic, it felt like the right time to share it. The illness isn't explicitly named so as to not place it in a specific period of time. The sex/gender of the reader isn't specified, and it is also not romantic or shippy, and that was intentional.

Writing this brought me a lot of comfort when I needed it, so I hope you find it comforting, too.

“Okay, here you go. I have to leave,” a man says, as you swing your leg over the jump seat and slide off of the motorcycle he was giving you a ride on. 

“Be good,” he says, as you take one last look at him. He reminds you of your grandfather, for some reason. Your grandfather died years ago.

As you turn around and listen to the roar of the four-stroke engine take off, you look around at the street you are standing in the middle of. It was dark outside, like it was the middle of the night. The only lights are coming from nearby houses, and the sickly orange cast of sodium-vapor street lamps. There was something familiar about where you were standing, like you��d been there before, but it had been a while.

You turn around and notice a large building that looks eerily similar to your primary school. Without thinking, you walk up to the entrance and sit on one of the concrete benches outside the front door, and wait. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, but you have the distinct, creeping feeling that you are either way too late, or way too early to something.

You hear the sound of a church bell, but it’s oddly distorted and distant, even though it is likely coming from the Catholic church that should only be a block away. It rings four times. That can’t be right. It can’t be that early in the day, and you think you remember those bells being a lot louder, once. 

You get up from the bench and walk to the front door, giving a cursory tug at the old brass-toned handle. The door is locked. 

“Why am I here?” you think. “What am I waiting for?” 

These questions loop over and over in your mind, causing eventual panic to build in your chest. You’re not sure why someone - your grandfather, you suppose - would have just left you here. You think about walking back home, you’re fairly certain you know the way, maybe, but there’s just fog in the distance in every direction that makes you unsure of where you really are.

Not knowing what else to do, you lay down on the concrete bench and rest your head against the red brick wall of the building. Someone should come by eventually and tell you what to do, right?

As more time passes, you don’t see another soul. You just hear the distant, occasional peal of the church bells that sound increasingly distant. You’re still not sure what to do, so you do the one thing you know that you can do, even if it won’t help. 

You bring your knees to your chest and start to cry.

But then, the scenery around you shifts. You feel someone shaking your shoulder. Their touch is gentle as it coaxes you into the elsewhere. You open your eyes to see a dimly-lit room. It looks like a bedroom, but it’s not your bedroom.

There’s a petite woman with a light blonde bob haircut standing over you. She has a concerned look in her eyes, and her voice is so soft and quiet that it takes a moment to understand what she’s saying to you through the stubborn fog of heat, sweat, and pain that are gripping your senses.

“There we are,” she says, looking relieved once you manage to narrow your focus to her face. “I brought you some water and some more medicine. I know it might hurt to swallow, but do your best.” 

She holds out a glass of water for you as she waits for you to sit up, only handing it over once she’s confident your coordination has returned enough for you to not pour it all over your lap.

“Now, hold out your hand”. 

You obey, happy to have some instruction as she deposits two red-and-white capsules onto your palm. 

You pop the pills in your mouth and go to take a drink from the glass she’s handed you, remembering why she said something about it hurting to swallow. The water hitting the back of your throat feels like a hot knife, and swallowing requires conscious action. It’s difficult. You can only manage to drink just enough to get the pills down before you can't take anymore and start to cough.

“I know,” the woman says, her voice soft and sympathetic. You continue to cough, trying in vain to make it stop. “But we have to get that fever down.”

The coughing finally ceases and you settle back on the pillows you were laying on, and things start to become clear again, even though it feels like your mind is working on a delay.

The woman standing over you is named Susie, and the bedroom you are in is a guest bedroom in her condo.

Susie is your boss. A friend too, but your boss, first and foremost. You’re ill, and she’s taking care of you.

You came to meet Susie when you got a job working for a racing team in a division called Formula E. The team was called Venturi Racing and was based in Monaco. You moved to Nice, France to commute to work. It was a long way from home - a lengthy flight’s worth of a long way from home, but it was the kind of job you’d dreamed of having someday, so you jumped at the chance, packing all of your possessions and moving halfway across the world.

Monaco seemed like an alien world at first, but you settled into your new routine and your job quickly. The team principal, your boss, a formidable, confident woman named Susie Wolff, was the one that wanted to hire you, and you quickly hit it off, developing a sort of mutual trust that you’d never had with one of your bosses before. Before long, she invited you over to her condo for dinner once in a while. You met her husband and her son. Her husband was also team principal for a racing team, albeit one in Formula 1. He was in charge of Mercedes, and they made the chassis and power unit that Venturi used in their race cars.

You worked for Venturi for two years before getting a devastating announcement at a morning meeting in the early spring. The race team was being sold to Maserati, the Italian car manufacturer. They would take over the manufacture of the car itself and the power unit - the engine - severing the team’s tie with Mercedes.

Because of Susie’s own association with Mercedes, it meant that her time as CEO (which she had been promoted to from Team Principal) of the team would be coming to an end. She was an investor in the team as well, and would be selling her stake in the team to Maserati.

You were dumbstruck. New ownership meant a lot of changes would be made. You couldn’t imagine working for another racing team, or if you would even keep your job. Rumors of redundancies and the potential for reorganizing the entire structure of the team were abound, but you carried on with your job, going to London and Seoul for the last two race weekends, trying to act as if everything was normal. 

Susie announced her departure to the public during the weekend of the London EPrix.

The team finished the season narrowly as vice-champions, with Edo, one of the team’s drivers, finishing third in the driver’s championship. It was a season worth celebrating, but it was bittersweet, because it would be the last one as Venturi.

But one day, shortly after getting back from the Seoul E-Prix, Susie called you into her office. It was filled with boxes, as she was packing up. She only had a few days left with the company.

“I have a proposal for you. It’s going to sound unusual, but I’d like you to come work for me, just for a while. I will need an assistant to help me coordinate things, since I won’t have one here any longer.” 

She had an executive assistant at Venturi that organized much of her day-to-day work with the company. It made sense that she would want the continuity of that aspect of her life, and her current assistant was already slated to stay on with Maserati. 

But, your job wasn’t even remotely related to that kind of role. As you opened your mouth to protest, she cut you off.

“I know it’s not the kind of work you do here, and I know it’s not what you moved halfway around the world to do, but it will just be for a while, maybe a few months. I have some… other activities in the pipeline, but things aren’t settled yet. I will pay you what you make here, and then some. I will take care of transferring your visa sponsorship, and take care of the rent on your flat. If you want, after your non-compete clause in your contract ends in a few months, we can see about getting you a role similar to the one you have now in Brackley, should you so desire.”

Brackley, the town in the United Kingdom where the Mercedes F1 team was based - naturally, Susie would have more than a little sway in getting you a job with the F1 team, if you wanted it. Some might see it as some sort of nepotism, given that her husband was CEO and part-owner of the team, but that was the reality of the world of Motorsport. It was all about who you knew, and Susie was a very good person to know. 

You didn’t relish the idea of living in the UK after spending two years in the practically perfect climes of the French Riviera, but… 

“I’d prefer someone I can trust, and I trust you. I know you’re organized. You do great work around here. My son likes you, and if I can save myself the process of interviewing and hiring someone brand-new, I’d like to. At least give it some consideration, won’t you?”

She gave you the kind, warm smile she always gave you, and you asked for a few days to consider it, which she agreed to. 

In the meantime, your department met with the higher-ups at Maserati, asking them questions about their vision for the direction for the team. They assured you that they wanted to change as little as possible, not wanting to deviate from the patterns that made Venturi successful, but something about them rubbed you the wrong way, and you realized that you didn’t want to stay past the transition period.

You sent Susie a message to tell her that you accepted her offer. You left Venturi right after the changeover, telling your colleagues that you were going to take a bit of a break for a while. 

Being a personal assistant wasn’t the kind of work you necessarily enjoyed, but your job with the race team made you very good with the kind of attention to detail that being Susie's assistant required. You coordinated her travel schedules and all of the associated arrangements (hotels, cars, meals, special requests), sometimes having to work with her husband Toto’s assistant on the logistics. You responded to requests for interviews and scheduled those, handled all of the other inquiries she received (of which there were a lot) and even helped make arrangements for two keynote speeches she gave at various conferences. 

You also handled the smaller, daily minutiae - various errands, making appointments, doing the shopping for the household. You traveled with her sometimes as well when she was giving speeches at conferences or going to events. In just a few months, you went on trips to Ireland, Portugal, and even the United States.

For a woman that didn’t technically have a regular job after leaving Venturi, Susie was shockingly busy. 

“You’re a lifesaver”, she told you, more than once. “I know you don’t want to do this forever, but I don’t know how I got on without you.”

Hearing things like that, in addition to the more-than-generous wage Susie paid, made the work bearable, even enjoyable at times. Plus, she was generous and kind in a way that made you feel like you were her friend and trusted confidant, and not just her employee.

By the time the new year had come and gone, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine, until you woke up one Sunday morning in January, feeling a bit odd.

It felt like the early stages of a head cold. It was minor, an occasional sniffle and watery sneeze. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t worth worrying about. The heat in your flat was running at full-tilt, after all. Maybe you needed to tell your landlord that it was time to change the dust filter. 

You rarely got sick, and it was bearable when you did, so you didn’t give much thought to it. It was your day off, so you took some over-the-counter cold medicine and went about your usual Sunday. You went to the supermarket to do your own shopping, spoke to your mother on the phone (which was sometimes challenging, just because of time zone differences), tidied up your flat, watched something on Netflix, and caught up on some reading before going to bed early. 

It was going to be another busy Monday morning. Susie was due to give a keynote speech over Zoom for some conference, and things had to be prepared for her to travel to London for some meetings for the next week, so things had to be arranged for that. You fell asleep that Sunday trying to make mental lists of all of the things that needed to be done over the next few days.

You woke up with your alarm, and immediately knew that this was more than a simple head cold. Your nose didn’t feel stuffy any more, but your throat felt like it was on fire. You had woken up in a puddle of your own sweat, and your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Your arms and legs ached like you’d gone to the gym, which you hadn’t in… a while.

The thought of calling in sick crossed your mind, but remembering how much work you had to do that day dissuaded you. 

Plus, you felt better after a hot shower and chewing on some cough drops while you were on the train to Monte Carlo from your flat in Nice. The brisk walk in the fresh air between the Monte Carlo train station and Susie’s condo on the eastern end of the principality helped, too. 

You could have driven your own car in less time, but you preferred to take the train and walk most days. The weather was almost always pleasant, even in the winter months, and the scenery never got old. (Plus, the tiny, narrow streets in the principality were an annoyance to drive around, and finding parking in your own neighborhood in the early evening was often a nightmare. It was easier to just take the train).

By the time you got to Susie’s building, though, you started to feel bad again. You felt strangely winded, and your limbs felt heavy and achy again. You had gotten plenty of sleep the night before, so you weren’t sure why you were so exhausted. A seasonal cold or allergies had never made you feel this way before.

The building’s concierge greeted you on your way across the lobby, and asked you if you were okay. You waved him off, insisting that your windedness was just from the cold breeze. You stood by the elevator for a moment to catch your breath before getting on and pressing the number for the Wolff’s floor, concerned by how hot and sweaty you felt, especially given that it was chilly outside that morning. 

You fumbled with the key to their front door for a moment. The door wasn’t unlocking, and you started to panic, knowing that neither Toto or Susie would be in at the moment. Toto would have left for his work week in Brackley last night, and Susie would be out, dropping her son, Jack, off at school. After a moment of struggling with the lock, you realized that you were trying to use the wrong key.

Feeling momentarily sheepish and glad nobody was around to witness your blunder, you unlocked the door, hanging your coat, scarf, and bag on the coat rack in the entryway. You toed off your shoes and left them by the door, before heading to Susie’s home office and starting your usual Monday morning tasks. She had set up a desk for you as well. It was small, but neatly arranged with your laptop, a whiteboard, and baskets for incoming and outgoing correspondences that the housekeeper would leave when she collected the mail. Most mornings, Susie would leave you a still-warm breakfast pastry or the coffee she knew you liked, depending on how cooperative Jack was with getting out the door for school in the morning, and you almost always arrived when Susie was taking him to school. There was nothing waiting for you on your desk this morning, not even a cup of coffee. It was fine - you had no appetite anyway. 

You were in the process of cross-checking Susie’s calendar for the day with inquiries in her email when you were seized with a painful coughing fit, wondering how the air in the condo was so dry when it was located so close to the edge of the Mediterranean. That had to be it, right? Or maybe there was just a tickle in your throat. There was no way you were actually getting sick. You got up to get yourself a glass of water and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coughing fit to subside when you heard the condo’s door close.

“Good morning!” Susie called out from the entryway. She sounded cheerful as she talked, rounding the corner from the entrance to the kitchen. “My goodness,” she said, seeing you trying to contain your coughing . “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said between coughs, trying to get a sip of water down. “Just a tickle in my throat, I think.”

Susie looked at you skeptically. “I don’t know… you don’t look so good. You’re flushed, and you look awfully pale,” she said as she stepped closer to you. You could feel her eyes on you. When the coughing subsided, she surprised you by reaching out to put the back of her hand against your cheek, then your forehead. You knew it was cold out, but her hand felt like ice against your skin. It startled you for a second, but felt kind of good. You were starting to feel a little warm. “And you are definitely running a fever, my goodness. Are you ill?”

“No,” you said. “I mean, not really. It’s just a cold, I think.”

Judging by the expression on her face, she definitely did not believe you. You weren’t sure you believed yourself, anymore. You hadn’t wanted to admit it, but what you had was definitely not a seasonal cold.

“Well, I’m going to take you back to your flat. You need to get some rest. And I won’t hear any arguments,” she said, knowing you were about to argue. “I will be fine for the day, and I won’t have you working while you’re sick.”

You gathered your things, and Susie gave you a ride back to your flat in Nice. It wasn’t a long drive - a half an hour at most, but you still felt bad that Susie was not only taking an hour of her day to bring you straight back home, but also that you wouldn’t be able to do your job today. You had always been a bit of a workaholic, it couldn’t be helped.

As she dropped you off at your building, she implored you not to feel bad, assuring you that she would be fine.

“If you need anything, and I mean this - please, please call me, or send me a message. I’ll come right away.”

You promised her that you would let her know if anything changed, despite not planning on bothering your boss with such things,  and trudged up the stairs to your flat. You changed out of your clothes, put on pajamas, and took some more medicine before crawling into bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

You slept peacefully for a few hours, but then, vivid nightmares started coalescing. In one instance, you dreamed of your mother dying. It seemed so real - she was hanging on to the edge of a bridge you recognized from your hometown, and you couldn’t summon the strength to lift her up by her outstretched hand. You watched as she fell into the canal below and was swept away by the current.

The dream was so vivid that you nearly started crying when you woke up. 

It was dark outside. You scrambled for your phone to check the time, confirming that you’d slept until just past midnight, somehow. 

Other sensations became obvious as you came out of sleep - the fact that you were burning hot and drenched in sweat. On the bright side, the sinus congestion had cleared up, but as a trade-off, your throat felt like it was an open wound, or like you’d swallowed a bucket of rusted thumbtacks. Your head was pounding. You couldn’t ever remember a time when you felt this ill.

You sat awake for a few hours, trying in vain to soothe your tortured throat and quell the vicious coughing and rasping. You tried gargling warm salt water, which helped temporarily. You ate some ice pops that you’d found in the back of your freezer, left there from an awful heat wave over the summer. You took some cough syrup, wincing as it burned like cheap alcohol as it went down. It just caused more coughing, making your whole body feel weak. You couldn’t do anything else other than sitting on the closed lid of your toilet with your head in your hands until it stopped.

After that episode, you ran a hot shower to try to get the steam to clear the congestion in your chest, and rinse off the sweat that was now drying grossly on your skin. It helped enough that you were able to go back to sleep for a few hours.

You woke up when you normally would have been getting up for work, but immediately knew you would not be going in today. The guilt was momentary, but you felt even worse than the night before, barely wanting to move. Just as you were about to message Susie to let her know you’d be out again, she called you, taking you a bit by surprise.

“I just called to see how you were feeling,” she said.

“Not good,” you responded, surprised at how hoarse and thin your voice was. You hadn’t talked since she dropped you off at home the day before.

“Oh, you sound awful. Well, I -” she paused for a moment. “I’ll be there in an hour. Pack whatever you need for a day or two, comfortable clothes and that.” 

She said it without preamble or explanation. “What?” you asked. “Why?”

Surely she wasn’t expecting you to work… maybe she was going to bring you to the hospital? It wasn’t that bad, was it?

“I’d like you to stay with me until you feel better. You sound absolutely wretched. I was worried about you all afternoon, being all alone when you’re ill. I know you don’t have any family in the area, and I’d hate for you to need help and not have anyone nearby to ask. I can’t make you come stay with me, of course, but I would feel a lot better if I could keep an eye on you. Please.”

It was a tempting offer, and your flat seemed a lot scarier last night when you woke up from the nightmares without having anyone else around. On the other hand, Susie was your boss, and as an adult, you weren’t her responsibility.

“I… don’t want to impose, or to get you or Jack sick,” you said, hoping that would be a reasonable enough excuse. You would find a way to manage by yourself. “Plus, you have that Zoom keynote this week and London next week-“

“Nonsense,” she said. “We have two guest bedrooms. You wouldn’t be imposing at all, and I’m doing the conference presentation from my office, anyway. And you were ahead of the curve on the prep for London, so I’m not worried. Really. Please, let me pick you up.”

She knocked down your objections one by one, and not even two hours later, you were settled into bed in one of the guest rooms of the Wolff’s condo. Susie had supplied you with some cold water and hot tea, and set up a small humidifier on the nightstand. It was shaped like an owl, so you assumed that it had come from Jack’s room. You heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see Susie coming in. She had a tray in her hands with a steaming bowl, and something else that you couldn’t make out the shape of.

“I made you some soup,” Susie said as she set the tray down on the nightstand. “Well, I heated up a tin of it, really, but I thought you could use something to eat. And, I brought a thermometer,” she said, holding up the device. “I’m sure you still have a fever.”

She turned the thermometer on, and after it beeps a few times, holds it to your forehead. The device beeped urgently, and Susie frowned at the display.

“39.5,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

It was high, higher than you were expecting. No wonder you felt so awful.

She left the guest room and returned shortly after, with a medication bottle and what looked like an ice pack, wrapped in a small tea towel.

“Here,” she said, handing you two small capsules from the bottle. “It’s paracetamol, for the fever.” 

She handed you the glass of water she’d given you earlier, and you took the pills with tentative sips. It didn’t make it hurt any less, and you groaned and winced. It was just water, but it still didn’t go down easily.

“Sorry, it hurts,” you whined, your voice barely there at that point. You settled yourself back down onto your pillow.

“It’s okay,” Susie said, quietly. She took the glass of water out of your hands and set it on the nightstand. “I know it hurts, but getting some rest will help.”

She placed the ice pack on your forehead, careful to keep it wrapped neatly in the towel, and it felt amazing on your overheated skin. 

“Getting that fever down will, too.”

Susie took your hand and gently squeezed it before she turned around to leave. “I’ll come back in and check on you in a bit. Try and get some sleep. And don’t try to yell across the house if you need something, you can send me a message, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. Or tried to. Your voice was only vestigial at that point. “Thank you, Susie.” 

“It’s my pleasure, darling. Feel better.” She patted the top of your hand as she stood up to leave. As soon as she closed and latched the bedroom door behind her, you closed your eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. 

That is how it went for two days. You lost most of your time to sleeping. You had more fever-fuelled nightmares. Susie roused you every few hours to take your temperature, to give you medication, to try to get you to drink some water or eat some soup or some ice pops. She said she was worried about you getting dehydrated, and it didn’t help that you could still hardly stand to swallow anything.

She continued to bring you ice packs for your forehead to help with your fever, extra blankets when chills wracked your body, tea with honey, and cough drops that didn’t seem to do much. She brought you clear broth that you tried to drink but the salt stung your throat too much for you to manage getting much of it down.

For the rare moments you were awake during the day while Jack was at school, she sat in a chair next to your bed and talked to you. The conversation was mostly one-sided as you still couldn’t talk much, but she was very good company, and it made you feel better that she didn’t seem to mind spending time with you, even if you were too exhausted and raspy to be a decent conversation partner. 

At one point, she brought you a plush toy that looked like some sort of alien cat with tiny wings instead of arms. 

“Jack wanted me to give this to you to keep you company.” she said. It’s the first thing that made you smile in days.

On the third day, you had an especially realistic, especially frightening nightmare. It must have been inspired by the news you’d read from the United States about a shooting at a university campus, because you dreamed about the university you used to work for before moving to France. You watched in terror as one of your old coworkers was taken down in front of you. You get shot trying to run away, and the wound you sustain to your hip burned. You swore you could feel the blood running down your leg. It all felt so real.

You bolted upright from sleep for the second time that week, opening your eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, but that time, you can’t help but cry.

Your sobbing didn’t make much noise as you still didn’t have much of a voice, but it was enough to prompt Susie to come and check on you.

You were a little embarrassed as she sat  on the edge of your mattress and gathered you into a hug, but the embarrassment was momentary. You let yourself be held as you cry into her shoulder. She rubbed your back with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other, and told you that everything would be okay, and that you’ll be feeling better soon. She didn’t make you explain, she didn’t ask questions, she just let you lean into her and cry.

There was something in you that broke when you realized how badly you missed receiving this kind of maternal - or really, any, affection. You couldn’t really even remember the last time you’d hugged anyone. You moved halfway across the world, and while you don’t regret it, it feels awfully lonely at times. You don’t get home to see your family much, and your mother certainly couldn’t drop everything to fly halfway across the world to come and take care of you. 

It meant a lot that Susie is there for you, even though she didn’t have to be. She’s your boss, but she cares enough for you to look after you when you need it. The realization made you cry even harder.

You’re so thankful she insisted on you staying with her, because you’re weren’t sure how you would have managed to weather your illness, whatever it was, by yourself.

She calmed you down enough for you to go back to sleep, and, by some miracle, your fever broke by the next morning.

Within a day, your throat started to hurt less. Your voice came back, though it was thin and airy. Your appetite came back, and you started feeling human again. 

Satisfied with the progress of your convalescence, Susie brought you back to your flat after four days in her guest bedroom.

“Don’t even think about coming back to work until next week,” she said, as she parked her car in front of your flat. "I want you to be at one-hundred percent. We've got a lot of work to do, but I'll be fine until you're better."

You smiled, and thanked her for her kindness before you watched her pull her car away, keeping your eyes on it until it disappeared around a corner. Just telling her thank you didn’t feel like enough, but you’re not sure there is a way to thank her that would have felt like enough. 

[badkitty3000]

Would you write some bits of Tamed from her pov?

I'm not sure I have it in me to write a full story from her POV, but I can give a few little peeks into her mind (told in first person) while all of that story was going down. Under the cut due to NSFW

For those who haven't read Tamed, it's a one-shot I wrote of a physically older woman in full cougar form picking Five up, only to have him take her by surprise when he totally rocks her world. All told from Five's POV. Here's the link if you're interested in checking it out.

I've come across my fair share of hot young men in this store, but when I see this particular one in the cereal aisle, I do a double take and my jaw hits the floor. He's flawless. From that sculpted jawline, to his strong, lean body, and those sparkling green eyes. If I were the fainting type, I might be lying on the floor right now

He certainly doesn't act or talk like the other ones, either. He's witty and charming; not stammering and floundering for words like I'm used to having to deal with. When he alludes to having a sizeable dick, that might have been the first time I've ever blushed. This kid is something else. But I'm still going to be the one calling the shots and making him come to me. That's all part of the fun, after all. So, I make a show of leaving like I couldn't possibly care less if I ever see him again, but right after I turn the corner I actually fan myself with my hand like a character in a Jane Austen novel

I know he's looking for me. I've seen him a few more times at the store, but I make sure to stay out of sight, just to make the chase that much more fun. It's pretty hard, though, as I watch him casually walking along in a suit, of all things. A suit that is tailored like it was meant to showcase his body, which it does very well

When I finally decide I'm going to let him catch me, he's even more clever than I thought. We have a moment in the frozen foods department, and even though it's sexy as hell, he still makes me laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed with a man like that

Ok, so, I'm not sure what's going on with this kid. Fiber cereal, a three piece suit, a Stingray convertible, and now he's asking for scotch over a beer. I'm really thrown off my game, here

Holy fucking shit! I'm not sure if he actually knows what he's doing, or if he's just really good at faking it, but damn. After ripping my clothes off right here in the kitchen and dropping to his knees in front of me, I've never been so wet so quickly in my life

Damn, he's good. Really, really good, and he fucking knows it, too. The bastard had me practically riding his face before stopping just before I came, and I can't decide if I want to smack that smug look off his face or kiss it

I'm not sure what happened, but I certainly wasn't expecting this. I am always the one in charge; that's just how it goes. I'm the leader, the teacher, the expert. But not this time. Without even realizing how or why, I'm begging for him. He's gotten me so riled up and brought me so close so many times, that I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm not used to this feeling of not being in control, but with him, I just want more

I'm not sure what is happening when I look him in the eyes, but I haven't felt this way with someone else in a very long time. It feels good, I have to admit

No one has ever said I was the most gorgeous woman they've ever seen before, and it catches me off guard. I think he means it, too. He's certainly the most gorgeous man I've ever met, and when I look at his toned body, with the way his abs are cut just perfectly and his arms and shoulders tense when he holds himself over me, it takes my breath away. Then he pulls out his cock and I almost die. Thank you to whatever god is listening, because Fuck Yes! You know how most times the anticipation and the build up to something is so great, that you are almost always let down when it happens? Yeah, this is not that.

He's still taking control and torturing me by bringing me to the edge and backing off again. I love it and I hate it at the same time, and once again I'm begging for him to fuck me. He is absolutely loving it

When he's finally done with his little game, and he's ordering me to ride him, I do it without question. I think I will do anything he wants me to at this point. I'm under his command and if he wants me to ride him harder, I'll ride him harder. If he wants me to look him in the eyes while I bounce on his dick and he grabs my tits, then that's what I'll do. Because he's driving me crazy and I didn't know anyone could make me feel this good

After the best sex of my life, I fully expect he's going to be high-tailing it out of here before he can pull his pants back on, because that's what they all do. Which is fine, because I've gotten what I wanted, too. But this time I feel self-conscious because I think I might want him to stay. He's gentle and sweet and he doesn't bolt. He stays and I can't even believe how happy I am just because of that

Never in a million years would I have thought I'd be head over heels for a man that looks half my age but is actually twenty years older than me, but here we are. It's funny how we make the perfect pair, and I know how it looks to the rest of the world. That's ok, though. I'm used to being the cougar. But what the rest of the world doesn't realize is that he gets me purring like a kitten with just one look. Because thanks to one lucky day at the local grocery store, my life was turned upside down and my prowling days are over

Thank you, anon, this was fun! 🥰

If anyone wishes to read the one-shot that was written from Five's POV, check out Tamed.

[inkabelledesigns]

I know I'm posting a day late here, but Happy Birthday Bendy! February 10th, 2024 marks the 7 year anniversary of when Bendy and the Ink Machine came out. And boy, has it been a wild ride. Normally I would reserve this for my Bendy sideblog, @angelofthepage , but I'm posting it here because this is where I started years ago, and I want some of those people who don't see that blog to have a chance to see this. Because you guys are a part of this story.

In about three months, seven years ago, I was in finals hell, working through my process book for my packaging design class in one of the dorm lounges while my roommate had taken the room for herself again. And the only thing keeping me sane was putting Can't Be Erased and Build Our Machine on loop as I worked. BATIM only had two chapters out, and I didn't know everything about it, but I was so intrigued by what its deal was. I took one look at Sammy Lawrence and I wanted to know everything about him. Something about this barely started game, the idea of your characters coming to life to kill you, it thrilled me, intrigued me. It was something I was really afraid of, being so attached to my characters and putting so much of my identity in my art. And while the story isn't really all that much about cartoons themselves being alive, it gave me something else that ended up changing my life.

Over that summer, I would become obsessed, and for the first time in years, I let myself be a fangirl again. And maybe one day I'll pull up the timeline and tell you how it all went down. But right now, after all the celebrating of yesterday, I just wanna take a moment to appreciate the last seven years. All the people I've met, all the friends I've made. All the experiences we've had together, big and small. Some have been incredibly close, and others have been people I still smile about whenever I see them on my feed, even if we're not all doing stuff in the same fandom anymore. There's some people I've fallen out of touch with that I likely won't ever see again that I miss. There's some I'll be lucky if I never see again. There's the official voice actors for Dark Revival, which I've had the pleasure of working with on community things here in the fandom. I regularly moderate their livestreams (or Lovestreams as we call them) where they sign prints and interact with us fans (and sometimes I'm tech support, once an ink machine technician, always an ink machine technician xD). I'm honored to call a lot of them my friends, we've had some truly wonderful conversations. I've spent a lot of time in a variety of servers, trying to uplift people and make for a positive fandom experience for everyone, fans old and new. Sometimes it lands me in interesting places, like helping out over on the Inky News channel. The host, Brandon, invited me over to guest star on his anniversary stream yesterday, and in the past I've been fortunate enough to showcase my art on two of his interviews, one with Dave Rivas and one with Adrienne Kress. Sometimes it lands me on fun projects, like working on a fan game, and for the first time it's not as a voice actor! I'm a writer. I've had my work uplifted in turn too, meeting people who value me for me and also cheer me on when I try new things (sometimes entirely new mediums like doll customizing). I got my first helpful constructive critique in this fandom, and it was something I ASKED for. That is a huge personal milestone! I have a really complex and twisty set of feelings about critique, and finally, I feel better, because someone helped me start to unravel that just by being themselves and being thoughtful. It's inspired me to want to be better in how I handle critique and problem solving with others.

I spent so much of my life putting my self worth in other people's hands. I thought I would never be good enough to have friends who didn't treat me like garbage. I thought I'd never be a good artist in any sense of the word either. But I was wrong. I've grown. I'm valued, I'm wanted. I don't have to hide parts of myself to be desirable. Sometimes being the silly, goofy, fangirl that is Kat is enough. My art is enough, my ideas are enough, my flavor is tasty, and I am a goddamn treat. And after so many years of not knowing that, I'm glad I finally do. And it's all because of the people. It wasn't ever that my flavor was bad, it's that I hadn't found people with a taste for it yet. Bendy's greatest gift was giving me a fresh start, a chance to meet new people, good people, and for that, I'm forever grateful. Even though things have changed, I'm glad I met each and every one of you, you all taught me something valuable along the way, and I think about those experiences we shared often.

I won't lie to you, I've been rather frustrated with Bendy lately. And I think a lot of it has to do with the games not truly having grown with me. At some point our paths deviated, and there are elements of what's come and what's coming that are getting away from what really enticed me about the very first entry, the things I valued most in it. But in some ways, analyzing that has led me to figure out what made that first game so special. It was human. It was a character focused game, and each of the characters, while vague, gave us just enough about themselves that we could feel for them, get invested, imagine, maybe even sympathize. Everyone is a tragedy, but they're all different flavors of tragedy. And it was seeing people explore that, seeing people write these characters in ways that were so human, that really built a connection. For some people, Bendy is another indie horror experience. For others, it's something to indulge in that hits hard on a personal level. In many ways, it attracts a lot of us who feel like misfits. It's many things. But to me, the magic was in the people. The people in this universe, and the people in its real world community.

It has solidified my belief that people should play with fiction however they want, no matter how far it deviates from the canon, no matter how weird it is. Go be interpretive, go tell your story, go be free to make what speaks to you! (All I ask is that you're thoughtful about tagging it so people can make smart choices about engaging with it.) All stories are worth telling. Even if no one gets into it, having told it makes a difference.

Whether you're someone who's been there from the beginning, or someone that's new to Bendy, I hope you're all having fun. Whether you've finished exploring the world or you've just begun, I hope you've found something valuable. Thank you, for coming along for the ride. Here's to many more fun experiences and stories, be they official or be they in the fandom. Happy Bendyversary!

[ofblackskies]

So this blog has hit 1'000 followers recently, and that gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies about all the people I've met along the way. The ones I talk to every day, the ones I've fallen out of touch with or who are no longer a part of the community, and the ones I keep on my dash even though we never speak. This blog is one of my safe spaces and that's primarily because of all the amazing people I keep around. So I figured this was the perfect time to give all y'all a little extra love.

My ride or dies here, my hoes before bros, the loves of my life, these are the people who make every day on here worth it. These are the people I hope I never ever lose contact with - and if I do it's their fault and they deserve to be punished for it tbh.

@devilsanddarlings - Chrissy and I have been friends for 12 years both on and off of tumblr, but more importantly before tumblr and after tumblr. I have no doubt in my mind that we'll be friends until the end of time. I would trust you with my passwords, but I would also trust you with my life, and I do trust you with all my secrets. You've been with me through the epic highs and lows of high school football everything, and if we ever lose touch it'll be because I'm dead. And even then? I'mma haunt your ass. So be ready.

@acourtcfmuses - Alana! You and I are going on 8 years knowing each other, and you're so awesome. You're one of my oldest friends from this hellsite, and the only one who's really active anymore. And when I say active, I mean active. Nobody has more characters than you. I've finally broken 100 and I'm still nowhere near being able to be in the same race! Not only that, but you do so well with all your canons, and your ocs are all so well put together. Thank you for always being around when I need you - even if we are on completely different time lines, you always reply when you can and that means a lot.

@hellgiven - Charli, you're one of the few people that I would follow to any blog they made. I don't care what the fandom is, I don't care who the character is, so long as it's you writing them, I know it will be good and I know that we'll find a fun pairing to write! I tell you things I don't tell hardly anyone, and you let me bitch when I need to but you don't ever take it to heart, and I love that. I love you &lt;3

@snnydcys - Lumi, I know I give most of my attention when it comes to our friendship to Channy, and I know I'm terrible at getting to replies in a timely manner - but Channy deserves the attention, and you never bully me about how slow I can be. You've adapted Sonny into this multi-fandom baddie, and you did it in such an organic way that I could never have imagined could be done with a Disney character. I'm always so impressed by the way you've made her fit everywhere. And I promise I will get to doing other things with your other characters. I promise.

@carp3diems - Bluejayyyyy! First of all, obligatory mention of the soulmates: Cal and Del are everything and I swear any time I go to write a reply for him that isn't for her, he's in my head whinging and asking where she is. The fact that I have an oc who's so obsessed with yours is honestly such a vibe because I too, am obsessed with you. You're a great friend, and you only pressure me to write when I explicitly ask you to - which is exactly what I need sometimes. I'm a sucker for all of our little ships and plots and dynamics, even the ones that we're just getting started, and I adore youuuu.

@unitcd - Fabian, we share a love of Jeremiah and a hatred on Conrad, and them there could be fighting words to a lot of people, but we get along so well! Even without that basis, I think we would have become friends eventually, and I'm really glad we did! Even if I'm terrible and don't reply fast enough.

These are the blogs I follow that either I don't write with much, or just haven't had the chance to get out of that 'new follower' stalking vibe with yet! This is also where I'm sticking those people I just don't talk with much ooc (at least not on a daily basis) but I still love so much! I adore you all, and thank you for making my experience on the dash so awesome, it wouldn't be this good without being able to read your threads

@unbearablyindifferent / @tobeblamed / @seesgood / @klaeus / @salvatoraes / @stanfordprepped / @tvintedspvrk / @fcntasyadvcnturc / @localsalt / @takeflight / @lcvelj / @lcveblossomed / @fuckedprophet / @inspotlight / @gunchamber / @benbraeden / @sunsymbols / @malka-lisitsa / @rhaegore / @stcllla / @shesdaylight / @cruelprincae / @sarcasticsnackpack / @saltzitivo (!!! I would say a lot more about you but you know. We don't do a lot here on tumblr anymore, but Hallie is one of my absolute favorite people on the planet alwaysss, my aussie sister <3)

@thcdarlingboy - Blair isn't active right now, but she will forever be one of my favorite people I've ever met on this hellsite. Every day I hope she comes back to throw her characters at me, and because I think of her on such a frequent basis, she deserved an honorable mention on this list despite the fact that her blog hasn't been active since 2020. Blairbear, if you do pop on at any point in time and see this, I want you to know that I love you and I miss you &lt;3

Now, if you've gotten through all of that and made it all the way down here, you deserve something special. So anyone who reblogs either this post or my promo by this time next week will get entered to win some sort of graphics prize. We can chat about what you want if you win, but the realm of options is anything from base icons, to a promo or blog graphics. I'll be picking two randomly generated people, and one person by hand. The only rules are that you have to be following me (this is a follow forever giveaway, after all), and you have to reblog either this post or my promo. Reblogging this post will gain you two entries, because I really want to give the loves of my life some love and get their names out there a little more! But I know it's long as hell, so no pressure! And good luck! May the odds be ever in your favor.

[caseynovakslut]

Cross-Examining Casey

Casey Novak x Female Reader

The never-ending bustling sounds of the streets of New York could barely be heard on the seventh floor of the NYPD's Special Victims Unit office. The bustling inside was enough. The cases that came through these walls daily were graphic and disturbing; you'd have to be disconnected to some extent just to cope with the things you see. Special Victim's just so happen to be those extreme cases involving sexual assault, kidnappings and child predators.

You'd probably wonder why l'd pick up a job that's so stomach-rattling. "She must be a messed-up individual herself!" And for that assumption, you'd be right. I've been on the opposite end. I've had to be the one on the stand, and maybe that's what led me here. I had an idea of what I wanted for myself. I did this as a last resort, I wanted to help women in the way I wasn't and made a career out of law. I could never have dealt with prosecuting addicts; l've seen too many back-handed judges, lawyers, and cops get away with wrongdoings in the eyes of the law for monetary and personal gain. My morals lie in helping people, not in the amount dimes I can put in my pocket. I honestly don't dislike my job, nor do I regret a thing, because if I wasn't here, I most likely wouldn't have met you, Casey Novak.

Casey Novak was a prosecutor on the 11th floor. She also worked for the SVU. She was a glistening ruby in this dark building. I don't know how her light stays so strong, almost like she's never struggled a day in her life. I know for a fact that's not true, though. She walks into the courtroom with such a confidence that it will always go in her favor. That we'll catch the latest psychopathic pedophile predator. Maybe that confidence is what makes her one of the best prosecutors in the precinct. I see it over and over again-the way she handles herself in a courtroom. A true Hedy Lamarr: beauty and brains. You wouldn't expect her to be so sharp, so quick-witted, and precise. For goodness' sake, she rides a bike to work! She's such a character, she can't help but plague my mind.

The clock nears 11:30 p.m., and I'm wrapping up my work for the day. Casey should be finishing up here soon too. If she doesn't, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. She's really been cracking under the pressure of this current case in a way l've never seen before. It's a case involving a schizophrenic serial rapist who targets brunette college students at local bars.

We've had this case open longer than we should, even though we've caught the 'perp'.

Now it's just an issue of his mental health and if he was lucid. If he didn't know whether he was aware of committing the rapes or not. Poor Casey, having to be the deciding factor of which way the case will go. It's also a matter of whether the case will be successful for her or what could be morally correct. Who's to say her morals are free of bias either? I'll have to do something nice for her tonight, I thought.

It's now a quarter past midnight, and I bring my hand up to knock on Casey's office door.

In my other hand, I hold a bag of Pongsri Thai, which I barely made it to on time, just to share with Casey. A simple gesture, but I'm sure she'll enjoy it, Thai food always puts a smile on her face. Knowing that it was worth the rush.

"Come in!" I hear her call out, her voice reverberated from the other side of the door. As I slip past the wooden slab on hinges, I knock again on the doorway to get her attention off the legal briefs in front of her. Not that I don't love seeing it—she looks so pretty, focused on her papers, red pen in hand, so concentrated you could see her almost unnoticeable tiny frown pulling her lips. Her eyes finally meet mine.

"Hey, Case." I hold up the Thai takeout with a grin slowly creeping onto my face. "Howabout you take a break from work, and we get out of here for the night?" I take slow steps closer to her desk. She puts her pen down and crosses her arms in front of her.

"You know I can feed myself," she huffs through a smile. So defensive for a prosecutor.

"Good luck with that. The crime might not shut down at midnight, but your favorite Thai place does." I sit down on the right corner of her desk now. "I miss you, you know? I know we aren't official, but I also want you to focus on yourself, or even focus on me, like you do a case file." She frowns at that, and I continue, trying to cheer her up from my previous statement.

"Not that I don't think you're amazing at your job; it's not that. You're just so bright, and I don't want you to lose your spar–I don't want you to dim, I jus–" I continue to trail on, probably embarrassing myself at this point.

"I appreciate the Thai. Really." Thankfully, she interrupts me. "I appreciate you too." She stands up from her leather desk chair and sits next to me on the desk. I finally get to take in her outfit: a black suit with spaced-out red pinstripes. Under the jacket of her wool set, there's a red tank top that compliments the silver necklace that lay just above the tops collar. The matching skirt falls just to her knees. My eyes trail lower, now noticing her smooth, bare legs to her cute red kitten heels. She knows she doesn't need any extra height. I do all of this in a quick motion—I'm good at observing things quickly; it comes with the job. When I look back at her face, I focus on the words coming out of her lips. I briefly watched the way they made out each vowel.

"You always know when I get too into the work. Sometimes I just can't be peeled away from it." She gesture's to me "without some assistance." no gaps between her words she continues, almost so I wouldn't take her next words in "It's been different for me since you came here." That's all it took to stand up and set the food down on the floor. Casey's eyes watch my every move, every step closer to her. I now stand in front of her and entangle my hand in her brunette hair. I can feel her inability to speak. There's this silence that pours out of her. It's always amusing how I can do that to her–bring someone so confident and precise in a courtroom to silence.

Knowing Casey, her silence is permission. I take it, and with that, I press my lips to hers.

It feels like the first time, every time–the softness, the way she tastes of rosey lip balm, the way she smiles into the kiss, and how you can feel her teeth when you deepen it. It's different with her every normal turn-off is a turn-all-the-way-up . I tighten my grip in her hair, tilting her head to the side to get a better angle as I trail a line of kisses down her cheekbones to her jaw. She lets out little sounds that drive me crazy.

"Casey," I breathe into her ear, her face painted in faint pleasure. "We have to finish our Thai before it gets cold," I tease, my voice shifting from a seductive whisper to a more cheeky tone.

"Haah... okay, get me all excited just to make me wait." she replied, trying to sound annoyed, but the smile on her face knew better.

"Be excited for your Thai." I roll my eyes at her and smile back. "Let's go back to my place."

This is an around season 5 timeline Casey fic feedback, reposts, kudos, comments are all appreciated. More parts will be in the making within the week. Will it get explicit next chapter ? 😳

[quillkiller]

the "narcissa and lurthur and bellucius" anon here (maybe i'll just start calling myself 🤍anon so that i can recognize my own asks later) , your answer has just made me even more invested in the whole idea. so narcissa had a relationship with alice/lily. the most obvious timeline is it happened in hogwarts, before her marriage. then they all graduate and immediately get married, all three of them. at which point between those two events does narcissa break it off? or is her partner the one to end it? narcissa chooses bellatrix, she refuses to do what andromeda did, she refuses to leave her sister alone. bellatrix becomes her priority, alice/lily gets left. it isn't a surprise to anyone involved because they have been fighting about politics for some time already - alice/lily is incredibly involved in the order, has strong opinions and despises voldemort, while narcissa is absolutely disinterested in the war, her focus is on her personal relationships, her family. the relationship ends, narcissa marries lucius and she never looks back because she has bellatrix and then later draco.

but how does pansy factor into all of this? she's supposed to marry draco, she spends a lot of time at the malfoy manor. what is pansy's relationship with her parents? are they neglectful, is that why it's so easy for her to fall into closeness with narcissa? pansy yearns for care and affection and she'll take it from any sources she has. is narcissa just a source or is she actually important to pansy as a person? then to narcissa pansy is kind of like the younger sister she never had, kind of like a daughter, someone to project onto. she can put pansy in her own position and see what it felt like for druella to have an obedient daughter, a doll. the relationship is a bit similar to sugar mommy - sugar baby thing, narcissa buys pansy expensive clothes, jewelry, teaches her how to do makeup, gives pansy clothes that once belonged to her or her sisters. she invites pansy over, they are alone in the malfoy manor, drinking in the living room and then they somehow end up in narcissa's bedroom, laying in silk bedding, pansy's just in her lingerie and narcissa's touching her (non-sexually, more just like... mapping her body), talking about how she used to be beautiful like that too and how pansy is similar to her sisters

oh, also! do narcissa and lucy have separate bedrooms? i feel like they would

🤍

you're back!!!! hello!!! 🤍🤍🤍

it's making me so so happy that you want to yap about this au with me.. mwah thank you 🤍

(again, she/her for lucius even if she's in the closet)

so!!! narcissa's relationship with either alice or lily can be very different. with alice i always imagine that they were involved in a romantic relationship at hogwarts, and yes in secret. narcissa considers alice the love of her life and the one who got away. if it's a lily/narcissa au then they never properly get together and it's more that they're drawn to each other during their years at hogwarts. they're a little obsessed with each other and neither of them have the vocabulary to comprehend that it's a crush. in this au they're both deeply closeted and smothered by comp-het. i've written a short little one-shot about them before here <3

^ this is the extent of lilycissas relationship, but lily haunts narcissa for the rest of her life

lily isn't the love of narcissa's life, but she could've been. might've been. she represents a life not lived and a love that never was but at least that not-love is narcissa's and narcissa's alone. so depending on the relationship her storyline in the lurthur to bellucius timeline can differ slightly

if it's nobleflower, then i tend to think it's alice who finally breaks it off. but alice is also the one pleading with narcissa to give them a chance. narcissa always knew how it would end but sort of closed her eyes to it. not necessarily in denial, but because she's a hopeless romantic who wanted to ride it out for as long as she could. she'd probably get upset with alice and try to change the subject whenever alice tries to broach the 'what about after hogwarts' subject. and i think alice kind of lets her because they're young teenagers and it's their first love. while you're still full of what-ifs and fantastical hope. there's marriage talk between lucius and narcissa while they're still at school, and narcissa tries to keep this from alice for as long as she can. the news breaks out as soon as narcissa turns 17, which is the catalyst for the nobleflower breakup, andy leaving and narcissa sticking with bellatrix and finall committing to the role assigned to her. she was doomed from the start and now it's here !!!!! her and lucy get married almost immeiately after graduation :/

and yes, bellatrix does become narcissa's top priority !!!! andy leaves for love and narcissa stays for love. cant bear the very idea of leaving bella on her own. bella got married shortly before narcissa, bella has protected them all their lives, and narcissa looks up to her, admires her. bella was both a mother and an oldest sister. narcissa feels indebted to her, i think. indebted in a way andy, the middle-child, never did. here's how i see the black sisters <3 narcissa never dreamed of leaving, she just dreamt of a window in the wall of her cell..... like i said in the previous ask. makes me sick...

AND YES !! EVERYTHING YOU SAID ABOUT THE ARGUMENTS ABOUT THE WAR AND AND NARCISSA BEING DISINTERESTED IN THE WAR BECAUSE IT JUST DOESN'T REALLY PERSONALLY AFFECT HER AND SHE NEVER FULLY UNLEARNS PREJUDICE.... she's just so. sheltered, priveliged, isolated and she never really dreams of getting out and so she never really changes. her point of view only extends so far. until she has draco ...

pansy/narcissa

this is something me and kara have talked about a lot.... and kara is the one who brought up how she usually tend to hc that there was marriage talk between draco and pansy.. but then they have to call it off after the war obviously because the malfoy image is ruined and pansy is the one who sold out harry potter to voldemort. pansy is shunned by the entire wizarding world, deemed a traitor

i always assumed that there's pureblood courting rituals when it comes to potential engagements, and this is how narcissa and pansy get close. i imagine that pansy starts spending more and more time at the malfoy manner, and maybe often even stays the night in the guest room. narcissa sort of takes on the responsibility to prepare pansy for what it means to be a pureblood wife, and that's when they start crossing the line in their relationship because narcissa teaches her how to please a man, how to be submissive, how to be obedient, etc

and yes, this au is also dependant on pansy having a bad relationship with her own parents. i think most pureblood children do, and i think it's even worse if you're a girl in that sense that you're already a disappointment because you're not a son. kara also has a hc that pansy grew up with a lot of brothers and she's the daughter her parents neither wanted or need, so she's just more of less forgotten. she wasn't ever really brought up as a pureblood daughter either because her parents already had sons and several heirs to spare. so they dont really raise her at all. so she's neither a son or a daughter, really.

so pansy never really had a mother, and narcissa doesn't really have sisters anymore. she loves draco, but her girlhood is lost to the past and here comes pansy who reminds her so much of her sister. and here comes narcissa, who's a mother that pansy never had.

there's a whole 'i never had a daughter' and 'it feels like it did with my sisters' and 'i never had a mother' but there's also this. other tension to their relationship. there's this growing intimacy getting mixed up and tangled and wires are crossing. they're both so touch-starved and yearning for what they could be for each other and it's just never enough. it just grows and grows and grows. i don't personally think they ever sleep together, but i do see them sharing a bed and falling asleep together. they're meeting up in secret, late at night. narcissa is bathing and washing pansy. teaching pansy beauty etiquette but there's just this sensual element to the whole thing. narcissa will shave her legs for her, paint her nails, do her hair, etc. and yes, projection is a big part of it. like you said, narcissa being able to put pansy in the same position she has been in, to see what it feels like to be her mother, how it feels to have a daughter- and narcissa absolutely has twisted fantasies about being able to keep pansy. she'll have pansy laid out on the bed like you said, in lingerie, and map her her body with her her delicate fingers, and she'll have twisted fantasies about preserving pansy and keep her just like this for narcissa to play with and do with as she pleases

AND YES !! it absolutely does turn into a sugar mommy / sugar baby type relationship. that's 100% it. narcissa does all these things for pansy, and she spoils her, and buys her things, etc. oh they make me sick ....

pansy does care very deeply for narcissa, but i also do believe that narcissa could've been anyone. pansy is in a very vulnerable position and that's something that narcissa, knowingly or unknowingly, takes advantage of. and i think anyone could've taken advantage of pansy like that with the right instrument. this entire relationship is honestly just a gigantic character study of repressed lesbianism that they (mostly pansy) don't fully comprehend and the cycle of abuse. and i also like this au because it doesn't redeem narcissa. she's a victim and an abuser, she really did have good intentions as a sister and mother and a wife and as a role model to pansy and she just failed at all of it. sometimes good intentions aren't enough and some people will never forgive you

and YES, i absolutely do believe narcissa and lucy have separate bedrooms !!!!!

in addition to this, there's a continuation of this au where rita and pansy strike up an unlikely friendship where rita gives her an internship at the daily prophet after the entire wizarding world her shunned and turned their backs on pansy. this relationship would genuinely be entirely platonic and extremely healthy for both of them. sort of like a aunt/niece type relationship where they just become this out of nowhere-family <3

this took me well over 1h to answer...... i love yapping....

[sunny12th]

Dany's names for her dragons, and her reasoning behind them, are pretty interesting. What I find most interesting though is that she ends up claiming and riding Drogon, the dragon named for her first husband who bought and raped her. We aren't given any reasoning behind his naming but I believe it must come from Dany's dragon dream. In this dream, her physical and emotional pain is burned away and she is then able to reconnect with life and those around her.

"'Khaleesi,' Aggo murmured, 'there sits Balerion, come again.'

'It may be as you say, blood of my blood,' Dany replied gravely, 'but he shall have a new name for this new life. I would name them all for those the gods have taken. The green one shall be Rhaegal, for my valiant brother ... The cream-and-gold I call Viserion ... His dragon will do what he could not.'

'And the black beast?' asked Ser Jorah Mormont.

'The black,' she said, 'is Drogon.'"

Viserys is another of Dany's abusers but her explanation for naming a dragon after him makes some sense. All she ever wanted was for Viserys to take care of her as a brother should, now she has a chance to fulfill that need in another way. She'll care for Viserion as his mother and eventually Viserion will care for her.

It also might offer some foreshadowing for Viserion's fate. If I had to guess which dragon would die, I would predict it'd be Viserion dying to protect Dany. This would fulfill Dany's wish that he 'do what [her brother] could not,' which is to say that Viserion will protect and care for Dany. I'm not totally convinced any of the dragons are going to die but, again, if I had to guess then I would say Viserion will shield Dany from some danger and die as a result. Viserys died because he threatened Dany's unborn child, Viserion might die to protect Dany (and possibly another unborn child).

This might also be foreshadowing for whoever ends up riding Viserion. Viserion's rider will do what Viserys could not - they'll protect and love Dany. I've always thought Jon should bond with Viserion (if he gets a dragon) because 1) Viserion is cream and gold which matches the colors Jon is usually associated more than Rhaegal's green and bronze and 2) Jon will do what Viserys couldn't. That's pretty much a given, Jon will love and protect Dany. Something Viserys never could. Viserys also planned on marrying Dany, something he couldn't do, and it also seems likely Jon will marry Dany.

Based on the above passage alone, one might assume Dany would eventually ride either Viserion or Rhaegal. Viserion will do what Viserys could not, he'll love and protect Dany. Best way to do that is as her mount. The bond they never had as brother and sister will manifest as rider/mother and dragon. Rhaegal is named for Dany's "valiant brother" whose memory gives her strength several times throughout the series. She even has visions of herself in Rhaegal's armor, fighting men in ice armor on the Trident - foreshadowing future battles against the Others in Westeros.

Yet she ends up riding Drogon first - the largest and fiercest of the three. "Balerion, come again." There's foreshadowing in that as well. Balerion was the Conquerors dragon and Daenerys will be a conqueror in her own right. She'll be known as "Aegon the Conqueror with teats." With this, it does make sense that she would eventually ride Balerion's reincarnation. Drogo also was a well-renowned warrior, he never cut his braid, and had a khalasar of 40,000 mounted warriors. Naming Drogon for Drogo might be a way for Dany to keep some of Drogo's strength with her. His strength had been her protection when he was alive.

She named her three dragons for "those the gods have taken" but Dany could just have well named Drogon after another member of her family. Her father, mother, or even Aegon the Conqueror. She could have named him after Ser Willem Darry, the only real caretaker she ever knew. There's no explicit explanation given in the text for Drogon's naming so we're left trying to piece it together. Or, I'm left because this is has been bothering me for years now. Let's look at the dragon dream that I believe is the catalyst for Dany naming Drogon after Drogo.

"She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again ... There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet ... She opened her arms to the fire ... let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much...

She touched one, the largest of the three ... Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream...

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather."

The dragon dream is the turning point for her. Riding her Silver becomes easier and she "began to notice the beauties of the land around her." The dream manifests in reality when Dany's physical pain alleviates and she begins to grow stronger each day. Her experiences with Drogo begin to change as well - she begins to experience pleasure during their sexual interactions, just as she begins to find pleasure and joy in life with the Dothraki. Drogo does nothing to help her, these changes come from Dany (and her dragon dream) alone. She even begins to take control in their sexual encounters (or as much control as a bridal slave can, I guess). Their relationship changes and they become more affectionate to each other. All of this stems back to her dragon dream - cleansing her, tempering her, and scouring her clean.

Dany seems to realize it is the black-and-scarlet dragon she dreams of ("Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream..."). This specific dragon is reaching out to her, despite not yet being alive, at her lowest - when she has resolved herself to suicide. This dragon transcends death and life to connect with Daenerys and burn her pain and weakness away. Dany may have claimed Drogon in the fighting pit but it feels like Drogon claimed her first. She claimed him as a mount but he claimed her first, as his mother.

Since she recognizes her black-and-scarlet as the dragon from her dream, the dream that took away her pain from Drogo's rape and led her to gain some control in their sexual encounters, Dany associates this specific dragon with Drogo. With the pain he inflicted on her, the resilience she needed to survive, and the flames in her dream that didn't burn but left her stronger than before. She also places the black-and-scarlet egg by Drogo's heart on his funeral pyre - a place of intimacy and love but this also reminds me of Dany eating the stallion's heart to give Drogo's unborn son strength.

I've always wondered about the dragons breastfeeding from Dany when the pyre was ashes. Maybe, before they started breastfeeding, they ate Drogo while he burned. They do eat cooked meat, after all. This will probably never be confirmed but I love the idea of Drogon eating Drogo's heart to gain his strength.

Drogon specifically is the dragon Dany recognizes from her dragon dream. He burned away Dany's pain (inflicted by Drogo) and made her strong enough to change her relationship with Drogo. He woke beside Drogo's heart and possibly ate his heart too. Dany fears and loves Drogon, as she once feared and loved Drogo.

[dwellordream]

thoughts on Art/Tashi in Challengers

a really common take i've seen put forth a lot is that Art is fundamentally a submissive character- capable of being sly and manipulative, sure, but generally passive and docile, waiting to receive whatever Tashi or Patrick have to dish out for him.

my take on the Art - Tashi relationship is a bit different. in that i don't really view their marriage as one where Art is slavishly devoted to Tashi while she feels free to do whatever the hell she wants- or to extract whatever submission, labor, or humility she feels she needs from him.

first of all, we are told early on in the film that while Art and Patrick are both from extremely wealthy families- tennis is generally a sport in which only the wealthy or well-connected have the opportunities to go pro- Tashi is not. we don't have any evidence that Tashi grew up in poverty, and this seems unlikely, but i think it's safe to assume she is from, at most, a middle class background in which tennis was likely considered an expensive extracurricular- and then career- for which sacrifices had to be made by the family as a whole.

when we first meet Tashi, she is riding high on her first big wave of sponsorships and brand deals. all of these deals are likely contingent on her continued success as a tennis player. we then discover that early into her time at Stanford- likely during the first semester, as she and Patrick weren't long-distance for more than several months- Tashi is severely injured and her tennis career grinds to a halt. it's actually not clear whether or not she actually got a degree from Stanford, either- as she ruefully remarks later in life, hitting a ball with a racquet turned out to be the only thing she was good at. it is very possible Tashi dropped out of Stanford following her injury. but regardless, this injury changed the entire trajectory of her life. all that money from those brand deals didn't vanish overnight, of course, but I doubt it was something Tashi could comfortably live on for the rest of her life. we then learn that Tashi was engaged to Art in 2011. at this point Tashi is around 23 years old. their daughter Lily looks to be around 5 in 2019, when Tashi is around 31. Tashi was married and had a child relatively young, especially for a (former) professional athlete. now, i'm certainly not implying she was coerced into a relationship with Art, or that she primarily married Art for financial security. but I do think many viewers prescribe a very calculated attitude to Tashi, while portraying Art as well-meaning but clueless. Art and Tashi got together when she seems to have been emerging from a period of serious depression and emotional turmoil, with a veiled joke/reference to her having considered suicide. almost immediately upon reconnecting, Art offers for her to take on a (likely paid) position as his coach. whatever Tashi was making as a hitting partner for other young tennis players is likely not much. for Art, the proposal of a business relationship and a sexual/romantic one was one and the same. the same night he offers Tashi a job, they also ignite a romantic relationship. in the present day of the film, i've commonly seen people describe the marriage as one where Tashi completely dominates Art, emotionally manipulating and negging him into continuing his tennis career despite his doubts and exhaustion, and stepping out on him with other men whenever she feels like. but we also see that Art craves this dynamic. when Tashi does restrain herself from criticizing him, he grows frustrated and begins to demand she show her affection- and in Art's mind, Tashi's affection means her anger and contempt. when Tashi asks Art if he needs her to threaten to leave him if he doesn't win, i never took that as a serious, vindictive threat on her part. she sounds world weary and exhausted by his emotional whiplash between reluctant competitor and insecure manchild. i don't actually think Tashi would have left him. i do think, however, that had they never reconnected with Patrick, Art might himself have asked her for a divorce. it's not just that he can know longer give Tashi the experience of vicariously living through his career. she can no longer coach/mother him effectively, in his view. Tashi does just about everything Art asks her to in the film. she is the one who expresses caution and reluctance when he eagerly asks her to first become his coach. she is the one who tirelessly works to keep him competing. when he asks her if she can quit, she doesn't vocally protest and is more so exhausted by nothing she says being enough for his ego. that isn't to say she is this cheery, humble little wife toiling without a voice of her own, but that I don't actually think the power dynamic is as uneven, with Tashi holding all the cards, as people make it out to be.

that's not to say Tashi doesn't hold any power or dominance in the relationship. absolutely she does. she knows Art will always find her attractive, always want her approval, always be at least a little in love with her. but it's also power that Art persuaded her to take in the first place, and power she accesses through her marriage to him, and to me that's a core theme of the movie. Tashi is not some helpless little girl who stumbled into a wealthy marriage. she's intelligent, ferocious, and demanding. but she never would have found Art appealing in the first place had he not also had that same potential.