#and being a clever bastard

[nickblaine]

omg never forget the season 4 Nick turning June in meltdown

it's true. but now that some time has passed wounds have healed etc i hope we can all appreciate how motherfucking HOT that entire sequence was

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus with his head in his wife's lap, happily not paying attention to anything, humming one of athenas song and carving something

Some random guy: your majesty----

Odysseus: not bothering to sit up: whatever my wife decided is fine.

[mystiffox]

before jambound ch 29-30 and after jambound ch 29-30

[sunnysideaeggs]

If Rhaenyra married Daemon while Laenor was still alive and gave birth to Aegon and viserys, wouldn’t they be bastards too?

And if they are then Daenerys’ line shouldn’t technically inherit the throne. The next legitimate heir would have been Rhaena’s or Baela’s children but nobody knew

exactly anon, the show wanted to avoid the ‘bury your gays’ trope, but accidentally made bastards of all of rhaenyra’s children. or they could be legitimate: my personal pet theory is that the little rowboat that laenor escaped in was unfortunately ambushed by a mercenary ship, courtesy of daemon.

daenerys shouldn’t inherit the throne because the kingdom was rightfully conquered by robert, so she doesn’t have a claim to the IT by succession anymore. the targaryen line was replaced by the baratheon line. if we go by ‘lawful’ inheritance the rightful king is stannis and his heir is shireen, but again, the throne was (kinda) conquered by the lannisters, so now the baratheon line was replaced by the lannister line.

daenerys can win the 7K by conquest, and the ‘rightful heir’ thingy will only be a way to make her reign be accepted more easily. one big thing in asoiaf is that no one has an inherent right to the throne, and often the kingdom is gained by bigger army diplomacy. robert admitted it: he came and won the war, now he’s king. maesters brought up his grandmother rhaelle as a way to give him more legitimacy, but what could they do really? try and get him out of the throne and start another war?

if daenerys wins her conquest war the lords will make many excuses about her being ‘the rightful queen’ because she’s the last targaryen, but the truth is that no one can keep her from taking the throne even if she wasn’t. until another dude pops up and takes the throne from her and arguments about this new person being the rightful heir if we go by this tradition or blah blah come up again.

[kazooyah]

the new tekken character needs to be someone vehemently anti Heihachi. no more anti Kazuyas, we have enough of those bitches already. we need someone who fucking hates that old bitch so much they do not care when they get hit with the “BUTS IT ALL KAZUYAS FAULT” ray

[eatsbooksarchive]

Eris with a daughter I am gonna screammmm. Let me make it worse. What if said daughter was a bastard. Beron is alive. It was a mistake he did not fucking know until she was in labour but now she died in childbirth and here is a tiny bundle who has no one but him.

let me make it worse are my five favorite words when it comes to putting eris in any situation. i think no matter what — whether he loved the mother or was indifferent to the mother �� he sends that baby far away from court. far away from autumn if he can manage it. he knows what happens to females in his court. he can only imagine what would happen to one with no mother and his blood in her veins. issue there is who he would entrust her with? because if anyone knows who she is, she could be targeted to get to him. he might try to send her to summer. i have a hc that he has an anonymous aid network for ferrying orphaned children / widowed mothers / bereaved families / fae who otherwise cannot support themselves out of autumn and into summer. (cresseida has never been able to find out who it is she corresponds with, but she would do anything to stick it to beron. and eris. so she mostly accepts that her connect is of high rank in the court and cannot reveal their identity but would never think it could be eris.) so potentially he sends here there, where her high fae parentage eyes afford her protections even as an orphan. he would keep tabs on her as she grew, but i don’t think he would seek her out even once beron died. he would assume her happiest away from him, away from court, away from the danger of him. he would probably never know his daughter in any meaningful way, but he would think about her all of the time.

[infinitethree]

Theo pauses in the act of setting something up, but only for a moment.

Now that he knows that the Observers can be clocked, he's tapped into the same sense that has served him countless times before.

Most notably, they once screamed at him that something unwelcome was lurking around Cobble Keep.

Later, he learned that it had been Hero, and the fact that a blind, infamous warrior sensed his presence made the not-dog decide that he wasn't someone to be messed with.

But he had been reminded of that incident recently. His thoughts had gone to the Observers, and he wondered…what if he could do the same with them?

Evidently he was right. He can sense them hovering, a presence he had previously dismissed as the Fates.

Good to know.

Since he hasn’t been asked anything, he doesn’t bother to acknowledge them. Maybe keeping it a secret will be useful, who the fuck knows?

From the look of it, Theo is setting up an altar in the bunker under his room. He’s not in the living room, but instead in the room that would be used as his and his dad’s room.

Less likely that the smoke will be noticed that way. The air purification system will get rid of traces fairly quickly, but it pays to be cautious.

He’s dragged a small cauldron, candles, a books, and a few other things into the room.

To the side is a health potion, a dagger, and a rag.

Once he’s satisfied with his altar, he lights a fire within the cauldron and stokes it.

Then, he places items inside.

A book, some of his own feathers, and a wooden puzzle box. Once they’re all burning, he takes the ornate dagger– which usually sits among various trinkets in his room– and cuts his hand open.

Letting the blood drip into the fire, he says, “As your proxy in the mortal realm, I request an audience. I invoke your name, Scribe, and wish to know the face of the god I have served for all this time.”

The smoke rushes forward, filling his lungs with the taste of ash and knowledge.

When it clears–

He’s in a void.

The white void makes him uneasy, even more than a black one would. It feels wrong for a void to be white, to be able to see forever and yet see nothing.

His blood drips down, and when he glances at it, he sees it keep dripping unnaturally quickly in one direction.

With no other options, he follows it.

Knowing how long he’s walked is impossible. The Fates are silent, too, which is unnerving as hell.

Between steps, he finds himself in a library.

The floor and ‘ceiling’ are still the void, but now he’s surrounded by bookshelves. Glancing behind him, the shelves stretch into the horizon.

It’s so incredibly tempting to take one of the books and look at it. Most people would, but…Theo knows better.

This is the domain of a god among gods. He has not been given permission to touch anything, and thus, he will not risk their wrath by doing anything more than glancing as the titles as he passes.

The temptation grows, though. He sees names he knows, scrawled in characters that should be illegible yet are not.

Definitely a test, then.

Even when he sees a book labeled The Life and Death of Achilles Was-Taken: Sanctuary’s Greatest Admin, he only lets his stride falter instead of stop.

Eventually, a break in the shelves reveals a large, open area.

Theseus Was-Taken, living legend, nightmare made flesh and bone, The Blue Death, loving brother and son, and hero to hundreds of people, comes face to face with the god who set his story into motion.

The Scribe towers over him, their robes billowing in an unseen and unfelt breeze. The runes on the hem shift constantly, and as Theo watches, a galaxy dances across the rest of it. 

Their many hands are tipped with dark purple claws made of densely packed together words that shift in a headache-inducing way. Those claws hold quills as they scrawl in books that hover in the air.

The books grow and shrink constantly. Sometimes subtly, sometimes very obviously.

If they’re the Scribe, then are they editing on the fly…?

In the same manner as their claws, the crown growing through their hood and the mask they wear are made of more of those words, as is the halo around a massive, lavender eye sort of like an ender eye hovering above the crown. More eyes dot the halo-rings.

The only ‘skin’ that Theo can see are the mannequin-like arms, of which there are at least a dozen, hovering around them. He notes that, aside from the claws, they’re a silvery white color.

Silver and lavender, the same colors that the travel portals use.

Instead of a face, they wear a mask. Not a hard one, but instead it seems to be some sort of cloth. A large, sideways, geometric eye design stares at him.

So do all the slit-pupil ones.

Since they seem to be waiting for him to start, he drops to one knee and bows his head. “Scribe. I’m honored you agreed to my request.”

“The Showrunner is not the only one who possesses curiosity,” they sigh. Unlike their fellow god, the Scribe’s voice is measured and methodical.

He dares to ask, “Because I thought outside the box?” “It was a bold move, yet a calculated one. I do not dislike such things.”

Pleased with himself, he lifts his head. He blinks in surprise as he realizes the Scribe is holding the book he burned as an offering.

“A curious choice, to burn a diary,” the god notes.

He admits, “My actual one felt too mundane, so I copied everything by hand n’ made sure it was suitably fancy. But I’d be a fool to try n’ outdo a writer. I figured you might appreciate a first-person account of events.”

They hum, “Your subtle flattery does have its charm, I suppose.” “I’m glad you appreciate it.”

Next they ask, “What made you decide to include a puzzle box?”

Theo grins and replies, “You like putting me in situations where I have to be smart n’ clever. Hard to represent that in a physical object. I could’ve done a Rubix cube, but, uh– to be honest, I was worried about the smoke that’d make. Also it’s cliche.”

There’s a little chuckle, and the Scribe agrees, “Yes, it is cliche.”

He’s relieved they’re being so cordial. He expected…well, he wasn’t sure what he expected.

Something like the Showrunner, he supposed. A person who fucked with him and his seemingly just for kicks.

The sideways geometric eye of their mask subtly shifts. The Scribe tells him, “Very well, Theseus. Tell me what made you decide to do this.”

He knows an order when he hears one.

Taking a deep breath, he says, “I’m sure you’re aware of my– my quest. To find a way to be immortal, alongside my dad.”

“Indeed. An interesting reason for immortality, one that inclines me to not inflict upon you a fate worse than death.”

Theo shudders. He has no doubt they could, if they so chose.

He continues, “But– I figured, instead of going around, looking for that– selling my soul, as it were? I could come to you. N’ instead of immortality, the opposite.”

Asking his dad about it had been a tricky thing. He didn’t want him to stop this– because he would have, his dad would never condone doing something so dangerous– but he had to know.

He’d asked if his dad would be happy if he would start aging. If he’d be at peace, without the looming threat of outliving all of them hanging over his head.

Day had said yes.

And Lee, who had happened to come in, had agreed that their dad would be better off if he would have the promise of rest, instead of a life of heartache and loss.

That had been that. He had gotten the confirmation he needed from the two people it would most affect.

He continues, “I want my dad to start aging again. Not all at once, but just…from now on, his stopped clock continues. He doesn’t– turn into dust, or a fifty year old, or whatever. From the point his body looks like it is, it just continues at a normal rate. He lives his life n’ rests in peace. He doesn’t have to bury all of us n’ be left alone.”

Dropping to his other knee, he leans down and touches his head to the floor. “Please. Whatever price it costs, I’ll pay it. Let me make things interesting; let me shift the narrative. A new story, with new rules. A chance to remind us that we’re not actors in a show, we’re characters in a book.”

It’s a risk, using that kind of wording. But he’s banking on a rivalry between the Showrunner and the Scribe; on gods being egotistical and arrogant, and eager to prove that they are the highest power.

A sudden peal of laughter echoes through the shelves.

Startled, Theo looks up and–

The Scribe is laughing. It booms, echoing in his head with an aftertaste of things no mortal was meant to know, and that he knows better than to try and decipher. The mask shifts, the sideways eye turning into a sideways mouth.

A mouth with sharp, inky teeth. 

As the Scribe laughs, their arms spin around them, the hovering books they were writing in left unattended to.

He doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Eventually, the scene ends. The arms stop spinning, and the Scribe stops laughing.

The mask, though, remains a mouth.

That mouth subtly shifts as they chuckle, “Yes, yes, this is what I enjoy! A bold, clever thing you are, trying to outwit me and gain the upper hand! Using your knowledge as such– by the Overseer, such a delight!”

Someone that the Scribe invokes like that must be above them. Despite his curiosity, he opts not to ask. He just files it away for later use.

They drift closer, making no sound but the soft rustling of paper. “For being so entertaining, I will grant you this. As for your price…hah. You are familiar with the story of Cassandra, yes?”

The prophet cursed to never be believed. He nods, steeling himself for that.

“And of Echo?”

Brow furrowed, he nods again. A nymph who could only repeat what she heard. Where is this going…?

“In a similar vein, Theseus, I will impart upon you knowledge. You will be unable to share it. Your tongue will fail you and attempts to circumvent this will cause you pain. This knowledge will eventually be known to others, but they must uncover it themselves. When they do, they will fall under the same geas. Only those aware of this truth will be able to speak of it to each other, and each other alone.”

A shudder goes down his spine. He’s making things harder for everyone else, but at the same time…

They continue, “And, additionally, you will have a second burden. This one you will similarly be unable to share, but once that one is known, its knowledge will not be sealed.”

Whatever he learns will doubtlessly fuck him up. He's not naive enough to think otherwise; though he's technically gaining something, he's still paying a price.

It’ll suck, he knows that much for sure. But…maybe he can find some sort of way to use these secrets to help everyone.

He might be getting too used to playing the hero.

Taking a deep breath, he nods. “I accept your terms n’ the burden of knowing.”

The Scribe laughs again. This time, though, the sound shatters the domain he was in.

He returns either to his body or to the real world– hard to know which– and starts hyperventilating.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Aster and Daz aren't seeing their future, they're seeing the first of many alternate timelines.

But, far more pressingly–

The Observers are named incorrectly. Daz had named them based on the assumption that they were being watched, which was what they all assumed.

But, no; they should be named the Readers.

They're not being watched, they’re being read.

Theo? You okay? What happened, did it fail? The fire went out after all that smoke blew in your face. You look like you're gonna cry, what's wrong?

He opens his mouth, trying to blurt out the truth, but–

The words stick in his throat.

��The Fates weren't there. They don't know the secret.

Tears slide down his cheeks and a sob is wrenched out of his chest.

Nobody knows either secret, and thus, he alone is burdened with knowing.

He's not Daz; he won't be able to hide his distress.

Especially not from his dad.

Fuck. He'll have to come clean about what he's done.

First, though, he’s going to have a breakdown in the bunker for a while.

[krenia]

hey look turns out when you stop complaining and actually Do The Thing it's not that hard

[teaboot]

Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves three more, and two of those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of the two is young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

[razzle-zazzle]

love how the main villains of my South Park Bad End AU are a) a main character so deeply changed by his experiences that he's really only recognizable through his flaws* and b) a guy who appeared in a single two-parter and was mostly a parody of a real guy during it

anyway. Cavisuwa facts because I had to expand upon his characterization somehow:

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Cavisuwa is a raging misanthropist. He hates humans sooo much. The only reason he doesn't try to kill them all is because they have useful hands.

How did he possess Craig? Well, he's the Guinea Pirate! Stealing a body just kind of makes sense! It also explains the Michael Chertoff guise he wore in canon if bodystealing is just one of his powers.

The one thing Cavisuwa covets above all else? Power. Yeah, he destroyed all Peruvian pan flute bands so that giant guinea pigs and other giant guinea creatures could freely overtake the world, but his end goal has always been to stand above all else as the most powerful being alive. He wants to rule the world, and he doesn't want to be challenged on that.

Has never flipped anyone off, and never will. He'd rather smite them with lightning instead.

Soooo emotive, very gestural, constantly moving in some way when he's talking. Wears all his feelings on his face more than half the time. If you catch him off guard or get him angry enough, though, he'll be speechless.

Almost nobody realizes that the electrokinesis + strength are Craig's powers; they think that's all Cavisuwa. So Kenny & Kyle theorized that Cavisuwa chose Craig to possess specifically as a way to get revenge for the Peru Incident, and this is the general theory seen in the resistance.

Not every giant guinea pig actually agrees with Cavisuwa! Most of them follow/ally with him and enjoy having human slaves to help with grooming, but Cavisuwa's also not above exiling the ones that directly oppose him or refuse to fall in line. Guineatrice is a Guineasaurus Rex that works with the resistance (she's Timmy's main bodyguard + transport, kind of a spiritual successor to Gobbles)

Vain enough to take care of Craig's body/appearance, misanthropic enough to feel disgusted when splattered with human blood, still enough of a bitch to happily "put down upstarts" as loudly and violently as possible as an example to others. Tends to smell a bit like ozone/the air around him usually feels a little greasy thanks to all the electricity.

Resourceful enough to track down and possess Craig, clever enough to find powerful uses for Craig's electrokinesis, charming enough to convince Deery to murder Kyle and then forge an alliance with Stanny... and yet he still fumbled that alliance so badly in the end 😭

Wears a cloak made from spun giant guinea pig fur, both to try and alleviate the fact that he's possessing a human body and because it's bulletproof.

*and his general sad pathetic dog aura

[thesadisticsiren]

Part of me wants to make an AU where Shen Yuan never breaks the OOC lock, or at least breaks it WAY later. I want to see the shenanigans and loopholes he pulls on the system to get his way. He's a clever guy who can strategize and argue like he will die on ANY and EVERY hill, and he DID manage to twist things his way before the lock was lifted. I want to see how far he could GO.

Shen Qingqiu: Obviously the scum villain, upon finding out the little beast is an excellent cook, would keep those skills for himself. He wouldn't share or allow another peak lord or disciple to benefit from it!

System: USER, LETTING THE PROTAGONIST COOK FOR YOU IS OOC!! (￣_￣|||)

Shen Qingqiu: LET HIM? Let him your MOTHER! No, I'm MAKING him. He has to, it's part of his chores. He has to get up extra early to cook for me, and it takes up more of his time. Everyone else gets the Qingjing peak's quality meals, Binghe will have to subsist on whatever extras he can after cooking for this master. Plus if he does badly I have more excuse to punish him! Now shut up, Binghe's making Twice Cooked Pork and I have to watch him do it to make sure he doesn't poison anything. And not because he likes watching Binghe.

Additionally

system: USER WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Σ(っ °Д °;)っ

Shen Qingqiu, patting Binghe's head: What does it look like I'm doing, you bastard. I'm hitting him.

System: ...

Shen Qingqiu: I can't do it too hard, of course! I can't risk leaving marks where people might see them. I'm just being forward thinking!!

AND ALSO

Shen Qingqiu, to himself: FUCK how do I help Liu Qingge without being out of character-

System: NO WORRIES, USER!! ASSISTING THE BAI ZHAN PEAK LORD WITH HIS QI DEVIATION IS NOT OOC! o(*￣▽￣*)o

Shen Qingqiu: fucking WHAT?!?

[pan-matsuri]

"Cour" is not a real word, please stop.

[northboreas]

I cannot understate how clever and beautiful Penelope's response to wyfilwma is. In the original myth, Penelope literally isn't sure if the man before her is truly her husband, so she asks him to move a bed that is impossible to move. A fact about their relationship that only he could know. When he gets absolutely flabbergasted over this request, it's proof that it IS him.

In Epic there is only one change. Instead of Penelope being unsure, Odysseus is unsure of himself and feels like he would be unrecognizable to his wife. He keeps telling her over and over again, I am not the man you knew, and it's almost as though he's trying to convince himself, too. Like since he crossed every line he's killed all the gentleness in him, and he has to force himself to accept it. Penelope knows better, Penelope knows him. Instead of using their wedding bed as a way to prove it to herself, she proves it to him instead.

"See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over?

Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here"

Shes talking about their bed but she is also talking about their love, their history, everything that makes up their marriage. Its like shes asking him, if you truly are someone else- here's everything that we used to be, everything that we built together, throw it out. You're not the same, right? Then surely you can detach yourself from it all.

But he cant. he cant he cant he cant and she knows that. The shock and the outrage and the pain of being asked to do such a thing hits him with a full force and he talks of how he made the bed, what its meant to them, why he couldnt possibly move it away.

"Do you realize what you have asked me?

The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots"

To cut it from the roots would be to sever their love entirely, it cant exist without what came before and what came before was the two of them. He fears thats what she wants, a completely uproot of their life together. But the fact that he fears it, truly deeply cares like a sentimental bastard, the fact that he could never not be the man who loves her is what she's been trying to show him all along.

"Only my husband knew that

So I guess that makes him you"

like my GOD. THIS LINE. He cannot be anything but her love because he is the only man who knows what they are to each other. She says it and that is final. Moving it is impossible because seperating the man he used to be from the man he is is impossible too. They are one in the same.

"I will fall in love with you over and over again

I don't care how, where, or when

No matter how long it's been, you're mine

Don't tell me you're not the same person

You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting"

She is not loving him by ignoring the trail of bodies in his wake and her love does not change the carnage-- in fact she is the reason for it, she knows this and she doesnt care. This is her husband now and always. And as long as bloodied hands will still hold her weaving ones he is the same exact man she's been waiting for.

It is such a beautiful message to leave your audience with. It is so perfect for Penelope as a character and the emotional weight this song has elevated my understanding of the odyssey and their relationship. Twenty years is so long, everything has changed, we have done unforgivable things to get home to each other-- because our home is each other. You are sharp and cruel and I am cunning and so so angry and we are both so tired but guess fucking what, I love you. No matter how long its been, youre mine.

[sotc]

as fun as it is to talk about the sillay crow family dynamics, i'm soo interested in what this means for the crow familia going forward in a darker lens.

im mostly speaking from the perspective of a rook de riva who romanced lucanis btw <3

illario brought the axe down on his own head after failing to take first talon. he's imprisoned except to play house whenever caterina wants to see him around for family dinners before tensions inevitably shove him back into the cage he's been left to like some house pet lmfao. it's actually kinda fucked up and as a certified sicko i love it. especially considering the casualness in which lucanis describes all of this. crows gotta be a little unhinged<3

But!!! while lucanis was right that illario's reputation is ruined forever as a traitor crow beaten to his knees before every house that doesn't exactly free house dellamorte either. Talon houses will want their pound of flesh of illario for nearly trying to put antiva under venatori control. and yet lucanis refused. house dellamorte showed mercy. they are breaking the rules, making exceptions. this is not how the crows operate and there should--WILL be retaliations for it. illario left this house bleeding in his attempt to claim first talon and their blood is in the water now with house dellamorte having a sole heir who blatantly exposed a weakness and seemingly has no lineage to take after him.

and nevermind that we know murmurs amongst the crows will linger about a first talon being an abomination. i know lucanis kind of handwaves it off as at the coffee date like 'there could be worst first talons' but baby boy, you have avoidance and denial issues this WILL become worse of a problem the longer it goes on. <3

more under the cut bc i didn't realize this was getting so long lol

but in comes fifth talon viago de riva. a bastard to the king of antiva who wants to strengthen the crown. a man who has been ruthlessly exacting and meticulous to get where he is now. and the scariest part is that he has ambition, always has, and knows he has more power than the king himself to make plays if he needs to. this makes for a dangerous (and sexy) combination. in comes his protege rook. casting silly family dynamics aside, viago knows this union between house dellamorte and de riva is extremely beneficial for both houses but also very dangerous. even he knows his ties to teia show a weakness in him that other crows may seek to exploit. and while i do think he may be sincere about wanting rook to find their happiness with lucanis as he has with teia - i truly think he will not shy from showing the importance of a 'political alliance/union' especially with first talon house dellamorte struggling from the blow after all is said and done.

and of course, by extension to de riva, house cantori and the beautiful lovely miss teia, will be extending her support to strengthen their houses but also herself from any opposition. as much as i love that she's kind of the heart that brings this fucked up lil familia together, i know she is just as cunning and clever to recognize what this alliance does for her too.

and caterina.. well, without going into a whole thought piece on her, she has built her (and her grandson's reputation) entirely to instill fear in others, even command enough respect to know she's the one running things while lucanis is just a stand-in as first talon. but what happens when caterina is gone? another dellamorte dead just like all the others. all lucanis has left is himself and his traitor brother. how does he handle illario? how does he fair being a leader to the crows when he didn't want any of this in the first place and no longer has caterina to guide him? how does he wish to pursue carrying the dellamorte legacy (if at all)? does he seek a protege of his own to take on after him? i can't remember who says it (viago or lucanis) but there's a line about how saving thedas will make their houses immortal (hot and very sexy) but also how far can that reputation protect house dellamorte, really?

i don't really have a point to all of this, this is all just stuff im simply chewing on and letting out into the ether because the ripple effect of repercussions with what illario did and what lucanis now has to deal with fascinates me SO MUCH.

[thewritetofreespeech]

In the Dark

pairing: Aemond x Targaryen!reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: one night, while coming back from the Street of Silk, Aemond runs into an all too familiar figure in the dark. request from @brideofcthulhu10

tags: married reader, targaryen incest, tw: knives, tw: mentions of potential SA

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The Street of Silk was never quiet, but they were usually a bit more subdued this time of night. Aemond had planned for it this way.

Leaving the comfort of the palace to find comfort somewhere else, the prince always snuck out under the cover of darkness and returned just the same. No one the wiser. No one able to catch him and mock that he would be out here with whores instead of in bed with his wife. No one able to know what he was really doing here….

The prince adjusted his cloak to pull around him to make his way back to the secret tunnels of the castle. He rounded the corner and paused as he caught a glimpse of another figure in the streets. Not unusual, but not the usual sort either. Aemond’s good eye scanned the potential witness and noticed that their cloak was made of much finer material than any other in Flea Bottom. Too nice for peasants, though it clearly made efforts to seem plain.

Aemond growled through his teeth as he realized who it was. Even with the cloak, those whisps of silver hair that snuck out of the hood are a dead giveaway. Although Aemond had already memorized the gait. “What are you doing out here?” He hissed at his wife as he appeared behind her like a shadow.

You spun around fast. Wide eyed in startled fear, which quickly faded when you realized it was him. An odd feeling for Aemond, as it was usually the other way round when people realized it was him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing out here?” He repeated, still hissing, but more from the whispering now. “What are you doing outside the castle, alone, at night, without an escort?!” His blood boiled with each new remark to his list. Aemond thought his wife clever for a time, but he would have to rethink that in this lunacy.

You glared at him. “I do not need an escort.” You insisted. “And what are you doing out here? Last you told me; you would be with Ser Cristion for the night.”

The apple of his throat bobbed, but Aemond refused to admit he gulped at the accusations of his wife. True, they were both at fault here. Sneaking out unbeknownst to their people and partner. The only difference was that Aemond’s transgression did not come with the inherited danger a young lady, alone, in the middle of the night had. Your life was not your own now, and Aemond was angry that you were being so careless with it.

“That is immaterial. You do need an escort. What if I had been a stranger in the dark?”

“I can handle myself, Aemond.” You continued to insist. Why did the Gods have to give him such an infuriating woman as a wife? “I’m not the soft petal that other women in the palace are. I’m a Targaryen.”

True, you were not as soft as the other ladies. Rhaenyra may bare bastards left & right, and Daemon may be an opportunistic lech, but they had done right by their daughter. Teaching you to not only be an adequate lady of court, but also a skilled rider, both of dragon & horse, and how to defend yourself. Targaryens were never short of enemies. It was best to be prepared. But their Targaryen jewel had not been trained in the same way Aemond had. More how to hold a knife and properly thrust when the moment came, but not actually overcome a group of attackers if swarmed.

“Targaryen’s bleed just as much as anyone, ābrazȳrys.” Aemond told her. Stepping close. You predictably take a step back away from his ire. “We are not immortal like our beasts. What would you have done if I had been another man? Two men? Twenty?”

Your back eventually hit a walk. Locked on with Aemond’s eye as you felt a swell of fear in your belly at his words. “I…I would run away.”

Aemond cruelly laughed at your answer. “You would outrun twenty men? You’re fast, byka ābrazȳrys,” he remembers the races they had when they were children, before he sprouted to his current height, “but not fast enough to outrun twenty.” He then used that impressive height of his to quell around you. His arm coming up to place his hand against the wall. Blocking one exit. “What would you do if I had been a stranger in the dark?”

There was a tense moment between you. You felt trapped. You have to force your body to stay still and not tremble. “Stop it Aemond.” You hiss as you try to push him away. He’d made his point. Perhaps this was a bad idea. But you would never admit it.

“Who's Aemond?" Your eyes flickered up to him as Aemond’s voice sounded different. Void of the subtle hints of affection he had for you, and stone cold. A blade was suddenly out from by his pocket and by your throat. “I'm just a faceless, masked man in the dark.”

Your back went straight against the wall as you tried to create as much space as possible between you, Aemond, and the knife. “S-Stop it…”

“Make me.” Was his reply. “You’re a strong, capable Targareyn, aren’t you? Make me stop.”

You realize you can’t. You’re too afraid. This was indeed Aemond, your husband who loved you, but your mind kept thinking on what if this wasn’t Aemond. What if this had been a strange man in the dark? What is this wasn’t a test but truly real? An enemy of your mother? An enemy of Aemond? Or just a man like so many in the city who pulled women into dark alleys and forced them to their needs? What if this had been real?

Aemond saw the fear welling up inside you as tears came to your eyes in panic. He put the knife away and leaned in to give you a kiss. His build softening around you as the point had been made and the ‘game’ was over. You cling to Aemond in relief. Like a life raft out to sea. Overcome with emotions you kiss your husband desperately in a manner unbecoming of commoners in an alley, much less royalty.

Aemond kissed you back with equal fervor. Never missing an opportunity to kiss you. Relief also washed over him as well, thinking on the what-ifs if he had not run into you and another man did. What could have happened to you. The prince growled possessively at the thought and ran his hands over your body to claim it from these imaginary brigands. You moaned against his lips. Breasts heaving as you pant against him while his knee slid up between your legs as he bucked against you. “Let us go home issa jorrāelagon.”

You nodded fervently. You just wanted to go home now. Be with your husband. Be in the palace walls. Be safe.

The prince released you and the two of you walked back through the cobblestone streets for the tunnels. “Why are you out here anyway, issa jorrāelagon?” He realized you had never answered him.

“Father told me once of a spot past the Iron Gate that, if you look out at it at sunrise, you can see Valyria.” Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye. What a ridiculous story. Valryia was leagues away. He’d barely come close to it on Vhagar; though in truth he would never fly near the place after what happened to Princess Aerea. “I know it’s silly, but I wanted to see it.”

“Why now?” He asked. You had lived in King’s Landing on & off for most of your life. Had you wish to see ‘The Valyrian Sun’ (yes, he knew what she was talking about) you could have done so at any time before. Why now, alone, when such danger was about for them?

“In times of trouble, I look to the Old Gods more, like your mother looks to the Seven.” Daemon’s influence, no doubt. Or perhaps it was just her own. Aemond parroted the phrases and did the prayers when asked by his mother, but he would not truly say he was bound to one set or the other. “I thought it might bring me some clarity on things. Some answers.”

“Answers on what?” You don’t answer, which made Aemond suspicious, but he doesn’t pry further. “Why didn’t you just ask me to come with you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t go if I told you it was something my father taught me.”

He frowned. Did you really think him that petty of the man that he wouldn’t go just because Daemon Targaryen taught of it first. “Come. This way.”

You do not have time to react as Aemond took your hand and pulled you down a different alley. “Where are we going?”

“The proper way.” He told you. “You were headed for the Dragon’s Gate. Yet another reason why you need an escort.” You frown at Aemond’s slight but follow after him.

The two of you meet the ‘Valyrian Sun’ together. There is no cast of Old Valyrian in the sun beams, nor any of the answers you seek. But when you turn to look at Aemond amongst the sunrise, you feel some kind of peace. Some kind of answers. “Let’s go home.”

[neechees]

That's actually really common with Native characters, whether they're racebends or not, but there's always this need of people wanting to connect any fantasy elements of the characters, to Native American spirituality or culture, even when the same isn't done for other characters with the same fantasy elements as them.

Like we can't just have a Native American vampire, they feel the need to make this vampire turn into a Native deity. We can't just have a Native werewolf, their lycanthropy HAS to be linked to Native shape-shifting for some reason (& I'll admit this one has the most potential, but every attempt I've seen has STILL been butchered & racist). We can't just have a Native American who is also a wizard, their magic is somehow always linked to them being a "Shaman". There can't just be like a Native version of Superman or other superheroes, their superhero powers always somehow come from or are contact with Native deities.

I think people think theyre being inclusive & clever when they do this, and sometimes it IS out of a genuine desire to acknowledge the characters' culture rather than to just ignore it, but most of the time the cultural & spiritual aspects are butchered & bastardized anyways, so it still misses the mark & hits straight into The Magical Indian trope & Native mysticism. At this point its a pleasant surprise & subversive when their fantasy elements AREN'T linked to Native culture/spirituality somehow. There's ways to include Native characters' cultures into their backstories without stereotyping them & I wish this was understood & that creators strived for it more