#and her whole lifes in an upheaval

[xiaohuayaos]

Okay but Dongfang Qingcang putting on his whole bad ominous boy little show when he's taking Xiao Lanhua to see his perfect recreation of arbiter hall yet he still can't help but to have the tiniest TINIEST self satisfied smile when he reveals it to her because he really did try so hard to make it a perfect replica so she'd feel more at home and happy again and yeah it immediately all goes to hell 5 minutes later but God if it wasn't cute for that second

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[sl-ut]

even more streamer!ellie hcs

part one | part two

ellie is not at all embarrassed to admit that a large portion of her own fame was largely due to her connection to y/n

like ofc she was already fairly popular on twitch but its not like the average person who didn't watch streams would recognize her

she ends up making a new priv instagram bc she gains like 50k new followers in a month

she only has like maybe 100 followers on the new one and basically just posts random photo dumps, family photos, and especially the literal cutest and/or horrendous photos of her gf

posts a LOT on her ig stories on both accounts

her main pfp is deffffff some screenshot that she took of their happy little sim family or like their little minecraft guys standing side by side lol

ik i said before that she loves playing like the sims w her gf on stream, but she also LOVES playing roblox together

starting drama in dress to impress, causing havoc in bloxburg, making friends and enemies galore in tdi

her avatar is definitely so dumb like its probably the hamster or squirrel or like the most basic ass starter avatar with a shirt that has her gfs face on it

and her username is def like "y/nstan420" or something

when she's streaming alone she's more focused and serious (but still her silly little self) but when she's with others, esppppp if her gf is on with her, she defffff gives weston koury vibes like im actually giggling at this so hard

they both make tiktoks of each other

y/n once did the "watch my gf for me" trend and she came back to find ellie holding the phone and ranting about something so random like she was probably explaining her favourite theory about how the dinosaurs went extinct or something about planets and space idek

ellie doesn't really follow trends as often, instead just posting videos of her scaring her gf or pranking her or maybe even like mukbangs or something

loves to post fit checks before they go out to do literally anything

also likes to lipsync to dirty audios

the video always ends as she's about to get smacked upside the head

idk if i ever actually gave much backstory???? but here we go anyways lol

i think we've established that y/n is an up-and-coming actress

they met through a friend of dina's, who was a costume designer on the set of y/n's first big film

dina visited her friend on set on the last day of filming and she ended up getting an invite to the cast/crew party that night

jesse was tooooo busy to hang out with his bombshell gf ig???? so ellie got to go with her

she already knew who y/n was since she was starting to gain popularity and was immediately adopted by lesbian twitter

she was so nervous when she clocked her on the other side of the room

spent the whole night shuffling around the room to gain the courage to go talk to her

also spent all of that time trying to come off like the coolest chillest most confident masc ever like she wasn't constantly wiping the sweat from her palms lmaoooo

she finally was forced to lay on the moves when y/n came over to join in on the convo with her castmates

ellie made her laugh and vice versa

she shocked herself when she offered to grab another drink from the kitchen "for the pretty lady"

she immediately considered throwing herself off of the impossibly high deck

was even more shocked when the girl only laughed and hopped up to join her, fingers curling into her bicep

she totally wasn't flexing the whole time

dina was wandering around looking for her, way too drunk to be there much later considering that it was almost 2 am and had to work a ten hour shift tmr :(((

she didn't have much luck bc she never thought to check the upstairs guest bathroom

ellie constantly be fighting them uhaul lesbian rumours

but she actually was ready to upheave her entire life to follow y/n around the world

reposts any and all posts of her gf on her story

adds little hearts and stars and little taglines that earn her a scolding

like that one time she wore a tight-fitting corset on the red carpet that had the girls lifted to the heavens

she captioned it "i <3 my gf('s boobs)"

fights with haters in her gf's comment section

wears her gf's merch

omg the way she SCRUMPT when she saw the paparazzi pic of her girl wearing ellie's merch out on a random thursday

they hadn't even made it official yet

flirts with her gf in random comment sections lol

like y/n comments on dina's selfie and ellie is instantly replying to her

"u come here often?"

they have def been caught in compromising positions soooo many times

like by their friends, cast and crew members on set, y/n's manager, even the paps

ellie felt so boss when tmz posted a pic of her pressing her gf against the wall outside of the club they'd gone to on ellie's bday

els had her tongue down her gfs throat and both of her hands jammed up the front of her top, very clearly grasping and squeezing her breasts

they got a stern talking to from y/n's pr team but ellie actually didn't care

she def has phantom dick disorder in literally all aspects of her life

lets not forget that this version of ellie does not have experience in fighting and has not lived through an apocalypse so she's contextually less tough than normal ellie

but that doesn't stop her from mouthing off to assholes three times her size

don't get me wrong, she can hold her own and still works out on occasion, but she fr looks like a chihuahua barking at pitbulls when she gets yapping

speaking of, stoned!ellie absolutely loves when her gf be yapping

i love the dynamic of ellie doing a chat stream w her gf where ellie's got her in her lap, leaning back with droopy eyes and a dopey smile, still giving her gf all of her attention while her gf ends up being more of a "alert and yappy" stoned and is rambling about strangely philosophical topics and answering questions in chat

ellie is just sitting there just giggling and when her gf turns to her she just goes "ur so smart baby" and "u look so pretty rn"

omg omg omg i luv this pairing im never gonna stop writing them like

bonus: this is the vibe of the ck campaign i mentioned in the last part

[winters-rose-daughterofcain]

Fine I'll talk about Bridgerton

One thing this season made really clear to me is that Lady Whistledown is in a way a coping mechanism. It was stared by a lonely, neglected, unhappy seventeen year old girl who felt like she could scream until she collapsed to the ground and it would be into a void because no one would fucking listen to her.

Her mother constantly berates and criticises her, her father (while alive) barely speaks to her and is seen off to the side drinking when he's meant to be chaperoning her, her sisters are openly cruel to her and are still favoured by their mother. She has few friends, and the two relationships she holds closest both have significant blocks to them, with Colin it's her unrequited feelings and..... tbh her and Eloise's friendship is a whole different post and while they clearly mean the world to each other, there where fundamentally issues long before Lady Whistledown was so much as a drop of ink. I think they are both at fault for them and I love both of them, but Eloise's biggest issue comes from just not listening to her and in general as a person having a bad case of tunnel vision and hyper focusing on certain things while completely missing others.

Pen is outcast from society from the moment she steps foot in it, ridiculed and despised by those around her and bullied by girls her age for literally no fucking reason. She is seen as unattractive and undesirable, she believes the fundamentally human want to be loved a silly childish delusion because she is told from every angle that she is not worth it. She's not even worth listening to.

I think her resentment and hurt had been building for a while, she's never under any assumption that she will be treated or seen better. How could she be? When she is constantly reminded how much she fails to be what is wanted or respected or valued, primarily by her own damn family. Still, she's a kind girl. She's sweet and attentive and a good listener, she's patient and reliable and, before Whistledown started, probably extremely loyal, if how much guilt she felt whenever she genuinely betrayed someone says anything. She's someone who has never felt or had any power, who has so much hurt and resent and bitterness from years of this shit building and building.

But she's also smart and witty and funny and extremely intelligent. She has a talent for writing and words and clearly has the potential to be successful. I think being pushed into society a year earlier than she wanted (again, because her mother wouldn't listen) pushed her over the edge. She wrote her observations, the things she learnt from being pushed to the side for so long down, and published them. I don't think she ever intended for it to be as big as it was, and I think the bigger it got and still gets the more in over her head she is. Because for once people listened, for once people cared, for once what she thought and said and worked for mattered.

It is a young girl gaining her first glimpse at power and being deeply unprepared for the consequences. When things go wrong and she doesn't know what to do and no one will listen to her as Penelope, this is the only way she can make them. No matter how disastrous the affects, using Whiseldown gets results, it just also hurts people, pushing her further and further down this cycle where Whistledown is one of the only thing that makes her feel better and allows her to process the things in her life, while hurting the people around her and making her more dependent on it.

She truly meant to give up Whistledown after the disaster with Eloise, but on that night she had her connection or trust from the two people who she cared about and who cared about her the most broken. With the fight with Eloise and then overhearing Colin she lost both of them in the span of an hour, what else dose she have aside from her writing?

And again at the ball in episode one. Even after a complete upheaval of her entire look she still fails to talk to those guys, she still isn't enough, it's proof it is not her youth or her mother influence something fundamental in her can't do this. Then Cressida rips her dress with Eloise standing right there, then Colin comes and (even tho she is incorrect) confirms to her that he too, is embarrassed by her. So what dose she do? When she's miserable and powerless? She writes. She takes it all out in Whistledown and says the (admittedly true which is why it hurt so much tbh) cruel things about Colin, which she regrets literally a day later after actually talking to him. Adding more guilt and keeping her stuck in this cycle.

It's a business definitely, and there are many parts of Whistledown she genuinely enjoys, but I don't think it's good for her. It hurts the people around her and it hurts herself, she's in over her head and definitely knows she should stop, but I don't think she knows how. She doesn't let herself rely on others enough to be okay without this one thing that has allowed her to cope and be heard and respected and valued. That's also why I think she couldn't have stopped before this season, now she's finally getting that, she's finally being listened to and respected and valued and being told she is worth something. Not by many people, and it is still too new to change the fundamental thought patters about it she has, but it's a start.

Now she just has to grapple with that fact that this thing that has given her a voice and found her comfort might just be the dealbreaker for the real people in her life who can actually offer her the love and care and respect she deserves and craves and has been denied for so so long. It sucks and it's a cycle she can't get out of now, she's made her own trap without knowing how she did it.

That's what happens when a 17 year olds coping mechanism continues and grows and expands for years, when people unknowing pay to see more of it, and when she doesn't really know what else to do. Whistledown is Pens choice and all her actions for better or worse, but it would not exist without the context of her life. It would not exist if Portia was a better mother, if she had better sisters or a better family. It would not exist of other girls her age were kinder to her, if they excluded her a little less. It would not exist if she were not seen as a lost cause for love before she had the chance to try. Lady Whistledown would not exist if someone just fucking listened to her.

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: 2582 Days of Hell

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[One shot, word count 3326, Cw: none]

———————

Eleven months. Eleven fucking months since Alastor disappeared after that fight with Vox. And not a word or glimpse of him in that entire time. You knew he was alive. There was a tiny fragment of his shadow magick in the decorative finial of one of your hatpins. The enamel black eighth note at the end of a foot of thin steel was warm to your touch. It felt like your hand resting in the crook of his arm whenever you walked together.

If he’d died, that bit of shadow would have vanished and it would just be cold enamel and metal. So you checked it morning and night. You kept your usual rotation of pins; despite wanting the constant reassurance you didn’t want anyone to notice you favoring one accessory. Maybe you were being overly cautious, but you couldn’t help it with Alastor’s absence.

Niffty had vanished in a puff of ash about two weeks after Alastor had. Presumably your husband had summoned her to…wherever he was. There were other demons that had made deals with him in exchange for their souls. If he’d died all those deals would be void. But not one had dissolved, giving you more hope that he was recovering somewhere.

Which you needed. Every time you ventured beyond your territory or Cannibal Town, every television screen in your vicinity started displaying Vox’s face. The insufferable screen saver enjoyed rubbing Alastor’s absence in your face whenever possible. Sometimes it was just his face following you. Others, he staged talk shows or news stories discussing that last fight. He always circled back to the fact that he was active and your husband hadn’t been seen for months. The longer it was, the more gleeful he became.

Extermination Day was about a month ago. You spent the whole time gripping the music note pin, trying to detect any hint of Alastor running into the angels. Fortunately the shadow was unchanged.

Carmilla Carmine had called a meeting of Overlords to discuss the fallout from this latest attack. Meetings like this generally occurred every few years, often a result from something unusual happening. A drastic increase or decrease in kills, the loss of an Overlord, a particular district being targeted, all had warranted a meeting in the past.

This year it seemed there were several upheavals in territory and Overlords in charge. After Carmilla greeted the assembled demons, her focus turned to you. “Y/N. Will your husband be joining us today?”

Decades of performing allowed you to answer steadily, with a smile even. “No, not today.” Usually you attended these together, occasionally Alastor went alone. This was the first time you were there solo. There was an immediate bray of laughter from the other side of the table.

All three of the Vees were here today. Vox had a confident sneer on his screen (he’d updated his head to be a flat screen television a little over a decade ago). Valentino licked his lips before slowly grinning in what you presumed was meant to be a lascivious manner. Velvette, the youngest of everyone in the room, was texting rapidly on her phone. She’d been the one laughing and continued to snigger.

“Not today?” she asked without looking up. “Don’t you mean never, little Miss Frigid?” She finally glared at you over her shoulder, pink braids falling heavily around her face. “Why don’t you just admit what everyone in Hell fucking knows? Vox killed your twiggy arse husband and you’re useless without him.”

You did your best to keep your cool. This would be easier if you at least knew what Alastor was up to. Outright lies could get you in trouble later on, but admitting you didn’t know where he was? That would bring a shit load of trouble now.

“Surprising that ‘everyone in Hell’ is so eager to believe your tabloid drivel.” You waved a dismissive hand at the trio, launching a slight gust at them that frizzed Velvette’s hair. Not enough to undo her hairstyle, but she wouldn’t be able to fix it without taking it all down. The girl was fanatical about looking perfect in public; the loose hairs would drive her crazy.

Carmilla smacked the tabletop. “Y/N. You know my policy on weapons and magick at these meetings,” she said firmly.

You tilted your head slightly in her direction. “Apologies, cher, I just get annoyed by the chittering of little bugs.” You deliberately avoided saying that it wouldn’t happen again. Velvette growled. “If my darling Alastor was dead don’t you think that all the former members of this group he had ownership of would be coming after me?” You laced your talons together and rested your chin on top of them. “But I haven’t had to bother myself with any of them.”

Vox snorted. “Then why isn’t the pussy whipped fucker here?”

“I’ll admit you got some good hits in during that fight, Vox. So he’s taking a well earned rest.” Hopefully your tone was dismissive enough that they’d stop pushing.

Of course they wouldn’t. Especially not Velvette, she seemed to thrive on pushing buttons. She laughed again. “Ha! An Overlord taking what, an eleven month rest? Pathetic. If he can’t even show up to protect his territory I say it’s free game.”

Apparently the girl hadn’t gotten the message about you. Vox and Valentino exchanged a glance over her head as you smiled sharply at her. “Zut alors cher! Impatient, vapid, and misinformed? On top of being poorly dressed? I suppose you have that chip on your shoulder for a reason, ma petite.” You had the satisfaction of seeing her manicured nails digging into the table. “I’m not some pretty proxy little girl. Our territory is staying ours.”

Velvette was rising from her seat when Carmilla slammed the tabletop. “¡Es suficiente! Thank you for the information, Y/N. Velvette, take your seat. We have other business to discuss.” With that the meeting started in earnest.

A handful of minor players had perished. There were still turf wars going on but it looked like at least one new Overlord was emerging from the fray. Carmilla displayed a map of the city; one contested spot was close to your borders. You really didn’t have the motivation to go after it at the moment however. If you didn’t though, the brats might just do so instead. You could see them slowly creeping closer, putting pressure on you and yours. Although with the anger in Velvette’s eyes it might not be too slow.

The meeting stretched on. Before ten minutes had passed the Vees had pulled out their phones and the pings of text messages filled the air constantly as they texted each other. Despite glares from Carmilla, they kept going. It would almost sound musical if it wasn’t so strident.

There was discussion, offers and counteroffers for territory and cash, all with the undertone of tension. You participated enough to not be dismissed as an easy target. Carmine’s rule extended to the streets immediately around her building. Despite that, you could feel Velvette and her compatriots following you closely once the group started leaving.

Fuck this nonsense. Quickly, your wings flicked open and you pushed off into the sky. You didn’t even have to add anything to the downdraft; the Vees were knocked off balance, Velvette’s hair ripped out of its braids and tangled in the gusts. “YOU FUCKING OUTDATED BITCH!” she shrieked from below. Valentino could follow you but you doubted he would. He didn’t relish pain on his own person, just his employees.

You pushed yourself faster than usual on the flight home. The exertion helped distract you. But once you were home, the door locked securely behind you, all the emotions boiled over.

“Alastor you bastard!” you screamed into the cold dark house. “Where the fuck are you!” You sent out an involuntary rush of air; you could hear items pushed off surfaces, paper and cloth ripping. That was enough to stop you from screaming more, but it didn’t get rid of your twisted knot of feelings.

You didn’t have great night vision but you couldn’t make the effort to turn on the lights. You knew where the item you wanted was. You grabbed a bottle from the sideboard and made your way to the bedroom. You skipped your nightly routine, opting to just shed clothes as you walked. Your hatpin and hat you dropped on your vanity counter. Going by feel, you grabbed the music note pin.

In the past months you had arranged cushions and blankets in the mattress into a comfort nest. You couldn’t bear the empty expanse of the bed. Your nest surrounded you on every side with enough illusion of warmth to let you sleep.

You opened the bottle of whiskey. Not bothering with a glass, you chugged gulps until it was half empty. That wasn’t the way to treat good liquor but this wasn’t a good night. You capped the bottle, placed it on your nightstand for later before burrowing under the duvet.

Not even half a bottle of strong alcohol could keep everything at bay. But there were no Overlords here to mock you, no underlings to gossip, no friends to pester you. No Alastor waiting with a handkerchief after you cried all your emotions out. Just the drone of insects in the bayou and a drop of shadow attached to enamel and steel.

Maybe he could hear you through that fragment. You were going to talk either way. “Alastor? Please come home cher. I miss you. I can do this alone, I know it. I have been. But where’s the fun without you? Come home. S’il vous plaît?” At some point you started crying and eventually fell asleep.

You woke up to a hand on your shoulder and a voice calling your name. For a split second you hoped it was Alastor, but the scent of blood and rose perfume told you who it was. “Rosie,” you mumbled, not removing the duvet. She’d had a key to your house for decades of course.

“Darlin’, how long have you been in there?” she asked gently. She didn’t remove the duvet, perhaps knowing you needed to retreat from everything.

“When was the meeting?” you managed to ask. According to your friend, it had been a full day ago. “Since I got home from that.”

She sighed and rubbed your shoulder gently. “Y/N, dearie, you can talk to me if you’d like. It seems like you have a lot going on.”

You wanted to. Oh how you wanted to just let that knot of emotions loose. But even though you were friends, Rosie was still an Overlord, roughly equal in strength. You were vulnerable enough like this. If she knew Alastor was missing, would she be able to resist the temptation to take over? You hoped so but still didn’t want to take the chance.

A few long moments passed silently. Then: “You don’t know where Alastor is. Do you honey?” You froze. “Of course not, you wouldn’t have been so cagey at that meeting if you did.”

You flipped back the duvet enough to look at her. Nothing calculating in her expression, just worry about two of her friends. Her solid black eyes still managed to express concern. She answered your silent question “I’ve known you both for ages, darlin’. We’ve helped each other out plenty of times! If your man was really that hurt, you’d have let me help by now. So, you must not know what’s going on yourself.”

“Rosie, cher, you really are one amazing demon.”

“Oh honey, you flatter me! Let’s get something in you other than whiskey and we’ll talk.” You asked her to grab your housecoat, not feeling up to getting dressed but you also didn’t want to share every bodily secret, no matter how good of friends you were.

Later the two of you were sharing a pot of coffee, biscuits, and eggs. “Do you think anyone else has figured it out?”

“That not even you know where he is? I don’t think so. You’ve been acting as if he’s with you. And none of the other Overlords know you two like I do,” she said while adding sugar cubes to her coffee. “Alright, details, details. If I’m going to help you out, I gotta know what’s going on.”

There wasn’t much more you could tell her. She had seen the footage of Alastor and Vox fighting, then both backing down and his disappearance into his shadow. Vox had aired every angle he had of the incident multiple times. He’d even made an hour-long special with 3D models recreating the fight with dramatic shots and heroic close ups of his face. Part of the special even went frame by frame through Alastor’s shadows wrapping around him, pointing out every possible detail that Vox could spin as proof the Radio Demon couldn’t have survived.

While Rosie wasn’t about to believe Vox’s word, she did gently ask how you were so sure your husband survived. “Like I said, if the former Overlords he owns were free, they’d be coming for me. But also,” you hand the music note hatpin to her, “we made these in… the 1940’s I think it was.”

You let her examine it. The cannibal turned it over in her hands, gleaming steel flashing between her slim fingers. Before long she noticed the magick in the finial. She brushed her fingertips against the eighth note and felt Alastor’s distinctive green edged black power.

“Alastor has matching cufflinks with my power in them. So I know he’s alive. I just don’t know where.” You took the pin back and sighed. “I’m not about to let everyone know about this however. Especially when he hasn’t contacted me.”

“Well, shit. That makes things harder. Not a word from him?”

You shook your head. “He summoned Niffty a while back. I thought he might send her back with a message, some information, anything. But she’s been gone since a couple weeks after Alastor disappeared. I’m so scared of making something up and it backfiring! And if those brats find out I’m basically alone they’ll all come at me together.” You ran a hand through your hair restlessly. “I can take them on individually. Maybe even two to one. But if all three attack together? I’d be fucked.”

Rosie stayed quiet, letting you vent your fear out as she ate. “Well, one thing I can do is back you up. Both with what you say about Alastor and if those three come calling.”

“You’d…you’d do that for me? For Alastor?” Sure you were friends, but putting yourself on the line for another Overlord was not the norm.

“Of course honey! That’s what allies do; it's what friends do. We’ve done enough favors for each other that I’ve stopped counting, just like you right?” You had to nod at that. At some point it was silly to keep track who owed whom. “Not to mention, you and Alastor are much better neighbors than any of the Vees or their cronies. And you know my people, they don’t care for all that modern junk those brats peddle.”

You hadn’t realized quite how unsteady you’d felt these past months. Just knowing there was someone on your side helped immensely. Enough that you could think of your next steps instead of simply trying to endure what came your way. “Merci Rosie.” She squeezed your hand gently before encouraging you to eat. You hadn’t had much of an appetite recently but you needed to. Especially if you were going to rule your territory alone for now.

You and your friend discussed your options as breakfast disappeared. Rosie, reassured you at least felt a bit more stable, headed home after helping you wash the dishes. You then soaked in the bath, letting the warm water soothe the tension in your body. Your back and wings were sore after that dash home yesterday.

The hatpin was sitting on the bathroom counter. “I’m still mad at you, cher,” you said to it. Sound probably couldn’t travel through that fragment but you decided to act like Alastor could hear you. “And I’m not going to forgive you easily. But I’m not letting everything we’ve done together crumble because I’m upset. And I’m not letting those little bitches from the Vees crush us.”

You kept busy the following days. You quickly annexed that contested area for starters. No need to give the Vees a foothold so close to you and your friend.

Alastor’s broadcast station couldn’t do much without him. But there was space in the building. You moved recording equipment there. While you couldn’t write music, you recognized talent and you had an ability to pick what music would not just be popular, but endure past the moment.

Starting with an album of your favorite songs, you set up Songbird Studios. You leaned into the audio quality of vinyl records and the aura of class and exclusivity. Even though your library of music spanned genres, you were very selective about who could sign with the studio.

With a steady flow of income, you increased your power base. More deals and souls, favors and debts waiting for you to cash in, all of which firmed up your Overlord status.

There were days you cried, days you raged, days you wanted to stay in your nest and days you wanted to tear down the Vees tower brick by tacky brick. You confided in Rosie who continued to give you support and pinkie fingers to crunch when you were particularly upset. You were there when she needed someone to talk to and provide entertainment to Cannibal Town, both on your own and scheduling artists that worked for you.

It took a lot of effort, but you did your best to act indifferent at the Vees’ needling. The less reaction they received, the less fun it was. It took years but eventually they lost interest in messing with you.

You counted the days since Alastor vanished. Even once you knew his location, you kept track until you saw him in person again. Carmilla called a few meetings over those 2,500-plus days. You went to some, skipped others.

The latest one, you saw Velvette entering the building from your vantage point above. You were not in the right headspace to deal with the little bitch, knowing where Alastor was staying but not having seen him yet. Choose your battles.

Of course, when you found out later that your husband had attended that meeting, you wanted to kick yourself. And him. And Velvette but you always wanted to kick Velvette. Might as well add in the other two Vees while you were at it.

Once you reunited with Alastor at Charlie Morningstar’s hotel, you immediately moved into his suite. He kept the same motif as your home and it was easy enough to settle in. That night, you refused to let go of his torso as you laid in bed together. Even so, you were more relaxed than any other time in the past seven years.

“Two thousand five hundred and eighty two,” you said, your face buried into his side.

“Hmm? What was that, cher?” he asked, stroking your arm.

“Two thousand five hundred and eighty two. That’s how many days it’s been since I saw you last.” You sat up a bit to look at him in his vibrant red eyes. “I kept track.”

“I would expect nothing less from you my dear.”

“I’m going to take those days out on the person that separated us.”

His smile turned sharper. His sclera flickered black as his pupils turned into radio dials. “Will you allow my assistance, my dear Shrike?”

You reached up to stroke his face. You could feel your feathers sharpening. “Of course. I’ll need help after all. And who am I to deny the Radio Demon his revenge?”

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

[stolasspeaks]

There's a ton of discourse about the courtroom scene that was teased in the trailer, and I'm just as excited and terrified as everyone else about it, but I've got kind of a hot take about what I'd like it to actually be about. Because there's a super important character that I'm not seeing anybody consider, and that's Octavia.

And like, I don't think that this is actually going to be what's going on, but I do think that it would be an interesting take if the trial or whatever is actually about Octavia. Her custody or her future or something like that, because she's been conspicuously absent since Seeing Stars, except this mention in Western Energy.

Via. It'll all pass to Octavia, and I don't think that was just a throwaway line, either. Are Stella and Octavia staying with Andrealphus during the separation? That's a lot of time for two unscrupulous people to have access to a confused and upset teenager who's looking for answers, but who's also looking for someone to blame for the upheaval in her life. We don't know much yet about Stella's relationship with Octavia, but she does already think that Stolas is poisoning their daughter against her, so I'm pretty sure that she's not above doing the same thing.

So, yeah, while I'm pretty sure that this isn't the direction that storyline is going in, I am saying that it would be interesting if it was, and that I'm actually really excited to see how this whole broken and unhealthy family dynamic plays out.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Aurorise | ateez x reader

Pairing: prince!ateez x dancer!reader

Genre: royalty, historical fiction, poly, adventure

Word Count: 2278 words

Summary: The story of how you, a dancer, upheaved an entire monarchy all by falling in love with eight princes.

a/n: and so it begins... :)

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Chapter 2

Royal betrothals took place on the night of the Spring Equinox. Five years ago, when your cousin became engaged to Prince Chan, you left the village to pursue the dance group with your close-knit group of friends — Hoshi, Woozi, Hoseok, Moonbyul and Sakura.

As soon as daybreak arrived, the village was already stirring with frenzied movement and bustling commotion. The villagers excitedly and animatedly rushed about, chattering amongst themselves of who might become the Princes’ royal consort. And when the sun began to descend upon the horizon and night crept in, everyone hurriedly gathered in their designated spots in the palace courtyard, awaiting the verdict.

In your Kingdom, not only nobles participated in this event, but also families whose parents either worked in the royal army or the royal court. Your father was the Head of the Royal Guard alongside his brother who was his Second in Command. They bravely and fearlessly defended the Kingdom from opposing forces. However, after a failed and near disastrous peace treaty alliance, he left the position and opened a practice academy to help young men who were interested in joining the royal army when they came of age to prepare themselves. 

Your father’s dedication to the royal army even after resigning his post pleased the King and so, the royal treasury funded your father’s academy. This led to your family remaining in good graces with the royal family even if your Father and the King were no longer close as before, but it did fracture your relationships with the villagers, who were profusely calling and beseeching for financial aid to no avail.

As a result, if there was one thing the villagers delighted in more than anything, was the possibility of seeing your family embarrassed and humiliated by the royal family. All eyes were on you since your older sister had married the son of one of your father’s colleagues, and there were no princesses in the royal family for your brother to court.

The betrothal was to determine the future partners of Prince Chan and Prince Seonghwa and you were of age to participate but, in contrast your cousin, ho everyone knew had prepared her whole life for this moment and was the epitome in your family as the perfect candidate, you were a wildcard - a free-spirit who revelled in the spontaneity of life and never took a lesson on royal etiquette. 

The odds of you being selected was very low, and the idea of being rejected with all eyes watching felt like a sweet revenge for the villagers.

But you didn’t attend the betrothal. After a heated argument with your father about being a hopeless case and nothing like your cousin, you left that night with your friends. 

You never knew what happened.

-

And during a time like this, after your past history of foregoing the betrothals, being an overthinker did not help your situation. Gazing outside from your window, you were lost deep in thought, your mind preoccupied and racing back and forth. 

After registering Prince’s San actions, with a flustered expression - your mind boggled by his radiant smile and your racing heart, you arose from your spot, bowed to the King signalling your respect and then scampered out of the courtyard. Racing hurriedly through the village’s path, you dashed straight into your family’s home and into your room, locking the door. 

The news had rapidly spread like a wildfire and reached the ears of your father who was not pleased.

“You have to marry him Y/N.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Father, Prince San likes to play games. I’m not going to marry him.”

Your Father frustratingly massages his temples as he responds, “It’s just like before isn’t it? You’re going to only think about yourself and not about your family’s reputation.”

“Father,” you stress irritatedly, “The villagers already disliked us after the royal treasurer disclosed that the royal treasury will fund your school while their calls for help were ignored. They’ve been waiting for us to mess up one way or another. It doesn’t matter if I marry Prince San, they’ll find some way to twist it and make us look bad.”

“It does matter Y/N, let them know that the monarchy is on our side! That the King stands with us!”

“Are you not listening, Father? No one cares about a dysfunctional and corrupted monarchy, the only reason they don’t leave is because no Kingdom will give them an easy time for relocating in their jurisdiction.”

“Well maybe if you had attended the betrothal, we could’ve silenced them once and for all. But no, you only think about yourself. You’re not like your cousin.”

Tiredly you rub your forehead and place your face in your palms, trying to maintain your composure in front of your Father. Frustration and irritation are coiling inside you, ready to erupt like a volcano.

“Enough!” your Mother yells, “Y/N go to your room and try to relax and you, go make yourself useful for me and buy some groceries. Don’t come back until you get everything on that list!”

After the confrontation you stayed in your room, and for the last few hours, you continuously paced back and forth like a maniac, racking your brain to make sense of what occurred. The veil was still in your possession and sprawled across your bed, seemingly mocking you. You couldn’t even spare a glance, lest you started panicking again.

Any attempts at sleeping off the uneasiness failed as the moment you began to doze off, your brain decided to resurface the events and you jolted awake in anxiousness and worry. Now, you stared at the village intently, planning your next course of action. You concluded to not venture out of your room until it was time to leave with the group. If it was up to you, you all would have been on your way by tomorrow morning. 

Unfortunately, you all had decided to stay for at least a week - therefore, you wouldn’t be leaving your room until next Wednesday.

Hoshi arrived later in the evening to check in and update you on the recent gossip.

“Yeah you’re the talk of the town.” he expressed nonchalantly while munching on some warm buttered bread courtesy your Mother. 

“That makes me feel so much better Hoshi, thank you.” you responded sarcastically.

He narrowed his eyes at you before flinging the veil at you in retaliation. You caught it, and proceeded to batter him with it.

“Hey!” he cried, “You’ll make me drop my bread! Stooooop!”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” you asked out of breath, “Not your best friend being emotionally distressed right now!?”

After blocking your blows and stuffing the bread into his mouth, he captured you in a hug and began to pet your hair as an attempt to calm you down. You thrashed around a bit to continue your mayhem but gave up knowing that Hoshi is stronger than you.

“Relax,” he assured, continuing to stroke the middle of your head, “It’s only because all the girls are jealous that you’re the one who managed to single handedly and easily catch the eyes of the Prince. And their parents are even more envious, which is typical of them.”

“Yes but…”

“Remember when we first left to pursue the group? The Aunty who runs the fruit stall had so much to say about us! Now look, she was telling my mom the other day how she knew we were going to be successful and that she always had faith in us. A huge hypocrite! She’s lucky I’m afraid of my mother otherwise I’d tell her about her annoying kids and how rotten she is just like the fruit she tries to sell.”

Chuckling at Hoshi’s spiel, you remove yourself calmly from his embrace and turn to him.

“And your point is?”

“People will talk no matter what. They have nothing better to do and their opinion of you isn’t true. While I can understand their distress of being ignored by the King, for them to put the brunt of it on you is unfair and uncalled for. Just lay low until we leave.”

“Well that’s the plan but I wish it was that easy,” you dejectedly replied, “My father is disappointed again. I’m a huge disappointment to him again just like last time. He cares more about the monarchy than me.”

Hoshi squints his eyes and grabs you in another hug.

“Ack!”

“As much as I respect your Father,” he begins, “I don’t like the way he talks to you. But just know that you don’t have to be like your cousin, she’s on her own path and so are you. Hopefully your Father sees that one day and if not, we can ask our moms to rally up their groups and chase him and my Father throughout the village. I don’t know why they are so obsessed with the King.”

He frees you from his hold and holds your shoulders and smiles.

“It’s not like anything else will happen.”

“Y/N! Y/N!” your sister screams frantically, “The King is on his way here!”

You shoot up from your position, your eyes filling with fear as the anxiousness and nervousness returning and descending like a huge crashing wave. Sadly, Hoshi didn’t make you feel better.

“Hm, I stand corrected,” he commented.

Meanwhile, your Father puffs his chest proudly as he waits outside the gate. When the Royal Messenger appeared and announced the King’s arrival, your Father left all the groceries he was supposed to return with and rushed back. As the carriage pulls to a stop in front of him, he is already bowing as the King descends and saunters ahead while the villagers who are present whisper amongst themselves.

The King sits in a plush and cushioned satin chair that is your Father’s favourite and scrutinises the living room while your Father stoops in front of him.

“It’s been a while Y/L/N,” the King articulate curtly, “The last time we convened was at the betrothal.”

“It’s been long overdue to have you at my home, Your Majesty,” your Father responds, “It’s an absolute pleasure to have you grace us with your presence.”

 Hoshi judges your Father beside you while snacking on another slice of buttered bread. Behind the wall that separates the living room and the kitchen, a small group consisting of you, Hoshi, your older siblings and your mother are huddled together trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

The King settles himself more comfortably into the chair before continuing, “Your daughter neither attending nor participating in the betrothal is very surprising. Adding on to the fact that she’s a part of the most famous dance group throughout the lands yet, they never performed here until today. Most of them are from this village too, no?”

Unsure and shyly your Father explains, “What can I say your Majesty? Y/N is a free-spirit, she doesn’t listen to me and likes to do her own thing. I wanted her to attend the betrothal but she chose to pursue dance instead. And I told her that they should have their first performance here! But kids think they know better than their elders.”

Your mother shakes her head in disapproval and you peer judgingly as you hear your Father’s remarks. 

“Liar.” you mutter.

“She’s not like her cousin.” 

You roll your eyes at your Father but you can’t ignore the pang of hurt that flashes through you. If there’s one thing currently whirring in your mind, albeit it might sound selfish, it was that you shouldn’t have returned home. You should’ve stayed where you were.

“Well,” the King begins, “I am here because my son has requested my permission to marry your daughter.”

“Excuse me!?” you exclaim

Your family gasps and the Royal Messenger sideyes the kitchen, but it goes unnoticed by the King. Your mind spins feverishly and adrenaline shoots through your body upon this revelation. In a hushed tone, Hoshi shushes you and places a hand over your mouth to stop you from blowing your cover.

While all of you are flabbergasted and in shock, your Father beams excitedly and deeply bows to the King.

“Yes your Majesty! Of course we accept your proposal for Y/N to Prince San. What happened earlier spread very quickly across the village. And as her Father I was worried for her reputation. But now knowing this—“

“Not Prince San.” The King proclaims.

Your father stammers in confusion, unsure how to respond. Meanwhile, your heart rate accelerates and you turn to your Mother with worried eyes. She’s mirroring the same expression back to you. 

“Then…to who?”

“As per his request to me,” the King announces, “Y/N will marry my son, Prince Seonghwa, who is second in line for the throne.”

-

When it was revealed that you would not be in attendance, the villagers began to gossip that you bowed out early because you knew you were never going to be selected.

“I’m not surprised,” The Fruit Lady chides, “At least she has the common sense to know she’s not fit to become a wife to a prince. Then again, she and that rag-tag group wants to become dancers, so she probably used up all the common sense she had.”

The other villagers laugh and join in ridiculing you before making guesses about who might be selected. Once it wasn’t you, they didn’t care who it might be. But to their utter shock and surprise, after Prince Chan’s proposal to your cousin, Prince Seonghwa steps forward and declares unapologetically.

“I withdraw myself from this bethroment. I will not be proposing to anyone tonight.”

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Taglist: @chngbnwf

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stricken 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, ostricization,and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you were scarred by a storm years ago and its bringer has come to upheave your life once more.

Characters: God of War!Thor

Note: I did this finally.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You always know when a storm's coming. The hairs on your arms stand and your skin burns hot. The smell of rain is tinted by another scent. That of burning flesh and ash. Your scars raze as if struck again and for a moment, you cannot hear or see. 

Slowly, the scent of rain returns to you and the noise of the patter, sometimes more a hammering, as if to remind you of its bearer. The thunder is his war cry. The lightning his wrath. You do wonder why then it should’ve come down on you. 

You keep your hood up, your chin low. Though you hide, the villagers know who you are, they know of your misfortune. The calamity wrought into your flesh in veined scars. Your face is marked with the storm, zigzagged with lines as your left eye is struck blind and white. 

Yet it isn’t your name they whisper as you stop at a stall to buy grain. It is his. The Prince of Asgard. The might God of Thunder. The monster who made you like this. 

The air is thick, roiling with unspent moisture, and the clouds threatening in a grey ripple. You should have come yesterday. You should not have waited so long.  

You trade your coin and move on, gathering the small rations you can afford. You’ll return to your hovel, gather what you can from the garden, and check the traps for rabbits. It should get you through, though the frost does eat away at your harvest.  

As you have it, between the chirping of your disfigurement, there is worse creeping from the north. The snows have fallen heavy and whole lakes have frozen to the silt. You do not believe all you hear but you know better than to disregard the nip in the air. 

Your basket remains like but you’ve spent your limit. Your cloak shifts with your movement and you shrink lower as you near the group of adolescents feigning at battle with sticks. Their audience glimpses your passing and you hear their voices mingle with laughter. 

“It’s that crone. The burnt one,” comes a bit louder than is meant. 

You don’t stop. You don’t show that you’ve heard it. There is nothing to be said.  

“Cursed, by Thor’s hammer,” another chortles, “it is said he was forging and struck the blade too hard. In his wrath, he sent a storm. A mongrel like her drew it upon herself, broken like the sword.” 

Certainly, that too is a story to be met with skepticism. One cannot guess at what the gods do in Asgard nor why they bring only misery and chaos to Midgard. You cannot disagree that the storm was no favour to you. A curse, certainly, though the meaning can never be known. 

You move along, leaving behind their whispers and their sneers. Off to your solace, to your safe. Out of the path of any wandering soul or any blowing storm.  

⛈

A storm rages without. Water swirls and batters your small abode, built against the wall of a cave on a carpet of peat. You cover your ears as the winds whistle and wail. You quake beneath your cloak, eyes locked shut as you cower away from the tempest so much as your own memories. 

The blinding white flash and the scalding hot pain. Your fingers creep up to your chin and feel the rigged scars. You can never forget, no matter how you try. You can never be as you were. You are marked, you are damaged, and as the villagers have it on their tongues, broken. 

Even your family would not have you. You remember your mother’s wail as your father drove you off like some beast. ‘The gods have smited you themselves. You cannot remain or you will wreck ruin upon us all.’ 

Days of walking and tears, like the very storm that scarred you, a haze through which you trod until you could go no more. Until your head would split and the burnt flesh began to weep. A woman found you on the forest floor, rotting away from the corruption spreading through you. 

You don’t remember much of her. Only her touch and how she healed you. She bid you off with the cloak you wear and some food for your travels. Then you were alone and thus you remain. Not even the thieves will steal from you, nor the criminals darken your door. A curse is worth no piece of gold, no drop of blood. 

The pounding of rain relents. A chill creeps beneath the slats of your door and seep into the walls. You fill the earth with what kindling you have, the clay chimney puffing smoke up through the center of the roof. You hold your hands out to warm but find little comfort. 

You settle on your side beneath your cloak and stare into the flames. You shiver. It’s cold. Very cold. Typically, the rain chases away the chill but this is different. You can feel it in the ground. You curl up tight, clinging to your warmth, let your eyes close. Sleep comes but for lack of and not peacefully. 

Your dreams are a maelstrom. There a flames and ice, one after the other, sometimes together. Sharp pointed shards frozen and hanging, then licking tendrils of heat from below. You are lost in the land of sleep, tortured by a world built of your own fears and follies. 

You wake stiff and frigid. The fire has gone out. Not even smoke remains in the pile of ash. You move carefully, bones aching, scars tingling. You touch the hard ridging along your cheek and your fingers pulse from the cold. You can see your breath. 

How can it be? It was sunny before the rain. You get your feet under you and stand with a groan. Near the door, a strange dusting of white powders around the door, flecking in from beneath and around the edges. Snow? 

Were the tales true after all? You wince as suddenly your scars singe and sting. Ow. You recoil and cover your face with your hands, hissing and wheezing through the pain. It hurts terribly. Worse than even the first strike.  

You pull your hands away as your eyes water and you blink through your tears. You can see, at least in your good eye. There is no lightning, it is only in your mind. You shakily turn and search around. You cry out again as the agony surges once more in your head. 

Why? 

Your legs quake. Something is amiss. The frost has come and this meagre hut cannot withstand it. You take your rucksack and put what you can carry into it. Your water skin is strung across your chest and your pack upon your back. You wrap your boots with rags and your hands too. You haven’t the clothing for the cold but you will need to find something. Perhaps skin a hare or two. 

The door blows inward almost as soon as you touch it, another gust nearly bowling you over. You sway with the wind and cling to the crooked doorframe. You shove yourself out, just as quickly flattened to the wall by a flurry of snow. It dusts your face coldly and you pull up your neck scarf over your nose and pull your hood into place. 

You set off, hunched, reaching with your arms as you lift your knees over the treacherous heaps. You keep close to the rock wall. The thought of turning back stops you but it seems as foolish an idea. The hovel cannot hold for much longer. You need to get to the mouth of the cave and chance a sleeping bear within. 

You sidle along, slowed by the snow and the wind, the former soaking through your clothing as the latter whips around your hood. Suddenly, a roll of thunder, like war drums, churns in the air. The word dims and the furor sounds again; louder, closer. 

You cry out and lift an arm to shield yourself instinctively. You curl your hand into the rockface and holler even louder, closing your eyes as your memory summons another storm. No, it cannot be. Not again.  

A deafening boom shakes the ground and knocks you to your knees. You crawl along, keeping low near the ragged stone, those hidden beneath the snow jabbing against your palms. You whimper and whine, blinded by the thickening curtain all around you. 

Yet you never heard of the god raining down snow upon the lands. Only the slaking rains and the hot violence of his bolts. Never this. What sword has he broken this time? Perhaps it was his very own hammer.

The thunder overhead continues its horrid thrum as more pulses in the earth. Boom, boom, boom. You feel it beneath your hands. Your knees come down clumsily as you scramble through the piling powder. You open your eyes and still cannot see. The world is smudge in gray white and black, the sky flashing and darkening from one moment to the next. 

You cry out again as your scars burn. You push yourself back on your heels and grasp your face as you shriek. It hurts! So bad! Your eyes well and flow over. Your body trembles and collapses. You writhe in the snow, contorting with the agony as your flesh feels as if it is splitting. 

Beneath the incessant pounding comes a rocky noise. Like laughter it curdles in the air and chases after you like the steady boom, boom, boom. Closer and closer, louder and louder, the earth quakes in tandem with the cacophony. 

“I’ve found another,” the deep voice scoffs and snickers, “ah, Heimdall, you must see this--” 

The craterous voice halts and the air still. The snow drifts but the wind stops and the thunder relents, the world seeming to hum. You scratch at your face as the flames grow unbearable. You must be alight. It can be the only reason for such pain. 

The large figure, a blurry silhouette in your skewed vision, looms like a mountain. He steps over you, sliding a foot between you and the cave wall and flips you onto your back. You stare up at the sky, rolling in sheets of grey and black, the dark figure standing above, blotting out the clouds. You sob and plead. 

“Make it stop!” You beg as your hood falls back, “kill me! Kill me! It hurts.” 

He bends as your eyes roll back and he grabs your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. He pulls you half off the ground, not a single grunt for the effort. You feel whoever, whatever it is, looking down at you; upon you. A rattle rises in his gritty throat. 

“And what are you?” He breathes. 

You feel another surge and babble, reining in your wild eyes as you quiver uncontrollably. You make yourself look at him. You shudder and shake your head. Shaggy red hair, a braided beard, and eyes so blue they jolt you. Ink marks one side of his broad face as he wears fur upon his soldiers beneath emblems of the godly lands. 

“It hurts...” you rasp, “I am dying.” 

“You...” he grabs your chin, holding you by your shoulder. His thumb extends up your face to touch the scars and you let out a shrill howl as the agony piques. You latch onto his thick arm and thrash. 

“It buuuuuuuurrnssssssssss,” you scream as your spine arches. 

“Hmm,” he hums and throws you into the snow. You continue your desperate wriggling, the fire softening but not leaving you completely, “Heimdall!” He calls out like a war horn, “get your skinny ass over here!” 

There’s a tinkle of coy laughter and lighter footsteps that land on the boulder above. Your eyes drift over and you see another shadow, this one hazier but smaller. A dusting of snow flies up beside you as the other man lands beside you. No, not a man. 

Heimdall? Son of Odin. 

“Oh, Thor, what trouble have you found--” 

“Another one,” the other growls. Not the other, Thor. The God of Thunder. The beast who marked you. “Father says they all must come.” 

“This one?” Heimdall muses as his voice spikes with humour, “why look at her. Pathetic—wait a moment... brother, is this your handiwork?” He squats to see you closer and snickers again, “why how very peculiar.” 

“Bring her,” Thor barks and spins on his heel, swinging his hammer, “we haven’t time--” 

“You bring her, brother. As you say, you are so much stronger--” 

“Just do it!” Thor snarls and a peel of thunder breaks through the clouds. “I need ale.” 

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I hate those Daenerys is going to sacrifice herself/die theories so much it genuinely makes me tweak and I have never been the type of person to get upset at all over fiction or any type of media, but this irks me so bad because not only is Daenerys my absolute favorite character of all time, it’s upsetting how the female character is always the one who has to die for others sakes and never achieve anything for herself. Yes, it’s her destiny as AA to fight the Others, but that doesn’t mean that she has to die doing it. Like, seriously, after we got F&B and saw how many Targaryen women struggled with misogyny and being passed over for the throne, it feels upsetting to me if the one who is supposed to break the wheel will never have a chance to do so. I do love Bran but I do not see him fit to sit on the throne, not to mention how young he is and will be at the series end unless George does a massive timeskip, and after the whole world is in shambles after the Long Night, who is more fitting to sit on the throne and help mend things and lead the people forward? A well experienced ruler and fighter who will bring along a new age of change, or a child with no such experience? Perhaps it’s just me being salty but I just really want the best for my favorite character who I believe deserves to have her shot at having a home and being able to rule and change the world together with the other characters. Especially after the end of GoT, which no I don’t ever believe that George will go that route, but with how everything happened in the show, it looked like Westeros was a completely and utter mess and there was nobody capable left to pick up the pieces, Bran’s ascension to the throne was so random too and didn’t even feel satisfying or like a good conclusion (not that those two incapable idiots could ever produce a satisfying ending, but yeah). What are your thoughts on this? I just feel sad that fellow Dany fans are literally enthusiastically waiting for her death in the upcoming books as if there isn’t a better destiny for her :( The female character who managed to rise to power and become a ruler in her own right dying or giving that up to the men in order to “settle down” leaves such a bad taste in my mouth and doesn’t look like the subversion George has done with her character at all.

I definitely agree with you anon, Dany dying/sacrificing herself really doesn't seem to fit with her story. Yes, Dany certainly would be willing to die to save the world, but that doesn't seem to be where GRRM is writing her.

Dany's story is saturated with life; which is pretty ironic since she's been called "Daughter of Death". She's closely tied to themes of fertility (mother of dragons, helloo), rebirth (Azor Ahai, entering the pyre), and survival/endurance.

Dany's story shares very little similarities to characters who have been set up for death. For example, Robb. Dany may share some superficial similarities to Robb, but the signs of Robb's impending death are not shared at all. GRRM always sets up the deaths of his major characters from their introductions. That hasn't happened with Dany; if anything we see a set up to her surviving.

You're so right about how people are foaming at the mouth for Dany's death. Her dying after everything she's been through and everything she stands for is just...no. It feels so gross and has some really concerning undertones.

The woman who actually fought for change and made a massive upheaval in the status quo, who genuinely cares for all her people, who understands the responsibility of ruling, who demonstrates incredible wisdom, who only wants to make the world better dying for the sake of the story is just wow.

[xythlia]

↳ THE FEVER

› HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR SICKO HUSBAND ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER <3

› satoru x stepdaughter!reader [reader is like early twenties bc it was easier to write with my own age in mind idk]

› word count : 2k+

warnings : dark content stepcest, voyeurism, male masturbation, possessiveness, inherent power imbalance, peeping, showerhead masturbation, yandere ish, he's just a mega perv if I missed anything lmk!

Truth be told Satoru never thought he'd be the marrying type, if it were solely his decision he probably wouldn't have but with the external pressure to marry and produce a child he ultimately chose the path of least resistance.

A readymade family so to speak, a cheeky loophole to those unrelenting demands he'd heard since he was in his late teens. Not that he didn't care for his newfound family, he did of course. The solid golden band around his ring finger, tangible proof of his commitment. A smart, lovely, accomplished spouse with a daughter already on her way to becoming equally accomplished, if not more so.

He'd only been introduced to you a few months before the wedding date, he didn't push you for any earlier interaction because your mother had already warned him you were surly about the whole thing, distrustful of him as a would be father figure. And yes, it was a slow road to minimal acceptance but you'd made progress in the time after the wedding. For instance you no longer glare and pointedly ignore his presence in the house.

A win is a win, after all.

But as time has gone by Satoru found himself plagued by thoughts, not of his wife, but of his adorably aloof step daughter. He couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful you were, strikingly similar to your mother but with the dewiness of youth making you all the more enticing.

Maybe getting married wasn't such a bad thing.

At the same time it's become tortuous living in the same home together. Its a test of resolve, the way he can't help but stare at the way your sleep shorts have ridden up your ass when you blearily pad around the kitchen in the morning, grumbling about coffee. The way you routinely wear no bra in the comfort of the home without a second thought, although his every thought focuses around how it would feel to palm at your breasts, squeeze them and hear you whine in his hold.

All this early morning rumination comes to halt when he hears the gentle splashing sound of the shower from across the hall, pausing his endless train of thought as his cock throbs.

You're in the shower.

He can picture it: the way the water beads on your skin like rhinestones, the smell of shampoo and conditioner filling the room with the distinct scent of you, and the way soap would foam almost obscenely against the planes of your body.

If someone had the ability to print perfect snapshots of his thoughts they'd rival even the raunchiest porn publications in existence and his hand flexes against the satin sheets, fisting them in an iron grip as his cock throbs. His imagination isn't enough, the train of thought is veering into insatiable territory but it makes his pulse pound through his entire body. Lust and adrenaline mingling into a dangerous shot that he's already swallowed whole.

He has to see you for himself.

As he flings back the sheets and pads towards the bedroom door the tiniest sliver of guilt pierces the haze of desire wrapped around his brain like saran wrap. Of course he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't even be considering it. He's your stepfather and you're his stepdaughter, struggling to adjust to the upheaval of your life and finding your place in the brutal world you inhabit parallel to the normal one. Fuck, h should be helping, not daydreaming about-

His eyes catch you in the mirror first, back turned to him as you fiddle with a bottle of body wash. Satoru has to stop himself from gasping not just at the sight of you but at the flood of rapid fire thoughts that speed through his head.

Do you touch yourself? Surely you must, a woman in her early twenties is hardly unaware of self pleasure but do you finger yourself or are you partial to toys? Have you fucked someone? It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility, and he's seen you get dressed up for dates here and there before but it makes his blood rush thinking about some faceless nameless man getting to look at you naked, kiss that pretty pussy he's dreamt of, or god forbid be inside you.

The perfumed steam wafting from the cracked bathroom door makes his eyes flutter shut, hands flipping the waistband of his boxers down just enough to slip his aching cock out. He hisses as it springs free, lightly smacking against his abdomen. The pressure of his hand is only a bare, fleeting sense of relief considering he'd much rather see you soaking wet and on your knees in front of him, have your hands wrapped around him.

Spitting into the palm of his hand he wishes it was your mouth mapping the veins of his cock instead as he strokes himself, spreading saliva along the thick length of his shaft and his thumb swipes against his overly sensitive head feeling the warm precum leaking from his slit and it feels like he's made of hardened sugar that's now dissolving in the warm steam of the shower.

The pleasure is heightened both by the fact that this is beyond perverse and by the sick way his eyes can't move away from your reflection. The water rinsing down your body should be his fingers trailing burning paths over you, teasing adorable little noises from your lips and making you beg for him. The way your breasts look soaking wet is enough to make him nearly forget himself as his strokes become more frantic, panting in harsh, heaving breaths as his muscles scream to shove open the door and push you against the slick tile wall.

He can practically hear it, the yelp of surprise that he'd shush from you and the way you'd moan helplessly as his fingers swiped through your folds, tactile admiration of your pussy before stuffing you full of himself. It wouldn't be kind or romantic, not with the way you make him feel like a rotten dog, all starving neediness and if he sunk his teeth into you it's doubtful he'd ever be able to let go.

His breathing becomes so labored it's like a stone is pressing against his chest as he lets himself run wild, cerulean eyes blown wide but unseeing as the mental images over take him like a small vessel helpless against raging waves.

How would your hand look wrapped around his throbbing cock? Would you struggle at all, would it be new for you? Those impossibly wide, ravenous eyes are all devouring as he watches you run hands down your body. It's the sheer thrill of this entirely forbidden sight that has him nearly doubled over now, jaw clenched so hard surely his teeth would shatter if he were an ordinary man. His hand pumps his cock faster now, grip tightening as he swipes over his sensitive, weeping head and god would heaven be more than just a word if he could feel you around him. Would your eyes get that glassy, cockdrunk look and would drool slip shamelessly from the corners of your mouth as he fucks you senseless? What he wouldn't give to slap your cheek with his flushed cock, turn you into nothing but a taboo slut.

As you grab for the showerhead it nearly stops him dead.

As if you knew what kind of questions your unwelcome observer was asking.

So you do enjoy self pleasure. Seeing you adjust the jet of water and angle it just right makes his nerves feel like someone spiked fishhooks through them and yanked them impossibly taut. If only that jet of water was his tongue, lapping at your wetness and nudging your clit with his nose while your fingers tug on his alabaster hair. He'd have you on your back before you could blink, thighs squeezing his head and toes curling mid air from how thoroughly he'd work your pussy over. Fuck if only he could taste you-

The coil in his stomach snaps and he can't help the bone deep moans that escape his lips, thigh muscles trembling from the effort of keeping him upright as his balls throb and thick cum spurts in his hand. As he pants his ears ring, every sound as if it's coming through a cardboard tube pressed to his ears.

You'd look so beautiful with his cum splashed across your chest, your face.

Its not until Satoru feels goosebumps rise across the back of his neck that he remembers himself, remembers exactly what he's doing. Glancing up his eyes catch yours in the reflection.

Its damning, but he can't help being defiant against it. Grinning back at you, seeing your eyes wide with shock and your hand frozen poised above you as you were slotting the showerhead back in its holder. His heart hammers so hard against his ribcage it feels like surely it would break loose, splatter across the floor. Its a defining moment, will you scream threats at him or will you cower away?

You say nothing, do nothing but simply turn back around. Your slightly hunched shoulders glistening with moisture tell him enough, you feel exposed and vulnerable but lack the conviction to stand against the feeling. It shouldn't make him feel so elated but now he's got confirmation: you're weak in positions like this.

Would you be just as weak flat on your back?

[britcision]

So one thing I keep thinking about with the dungeon is the immortality spell

Here thar be spoilers

Cuz there’s this general assumption being made in and out of world that that’s just a thing that all the dungeons have (because that’s how dungeon crawler games work; you can save and come back and revive party members and things)

And from how the adventuring party culture is shown, it’s easy to assume that it’s just a general thing the demon sets up every time to keep adventurers coming back

After all, Chilchuck’s our only full time cast member who’s ever seen another dungeon, and he’s died a lot in his early career; makes sense he just got revived, all the dungeons work like that

And Marcille, who’s studied dungeons in general, gives us an overview of how it happens… but. She came to this dungeon specifically to study the immortality spell. For reasons

And Mr Tance gives us this description, which blatantly states that this dungeon is different

Now, other dungeons might have different immortality spells, and the Canaries definitely talk about dying like it’s something they do on the job just, on the regular

Like when Lycion explains they’re just gonna kill Fleki and revive her because neurological damage is harder

(Although somehow Mithrun’s fellow wardens are staying dead?)

So at the very least, there is something on some other dungeons that allows people to be revived, because the Canaries are at the Island for the first time in the 6 years since the dungeon existed

And yet, during the upheaval of the dungeon, Flamela says this

And holy shit gang, this tells us a lotta things

1) like everything else, the dungeon lord gets to decide if people can be revived on a per dungeon basis

2) it can be turned off. If you die in the dungeon suddenly you die in real life too, on a dime. As in, you revive the tank before the mage, and suddenly the mage is just dead-dead. The dungeon lord decides you stay dead on Thursdays? You stay dead on Thursdays

3) You’ve just gotta accept that any time the dungeon lord changes they may or may not do a reset to factory settings and wipe the whole dungeon, which is already super dangerous and likely to kill a lotta people

4) this is a regular fucking concern for the Canaries, who explicitly go in to fuck around when the dungeon (and associated lord) are too powerful

5) Flamela’s probably seen this before, it’s been a while and she lays it out in a very matter of fact way (and she’s. Dramatic. Cranky even.)

6) if Mithrun didn’t purchase Dungeon Immortality Insurance that dead Canary buddy in his flashback is dead-dead… and we don’t know if a single other member made it out of his dungeon soooo

7) Thistle is even more extra than we thought, since generic immortality is common enough to be taken for granted, but he specifically made dying illegal, which Mr Tance says is weird and he’s been doing this long enough to be an expert advisor

8) there is at least one other way to make resurrection work within dungeons. He didn’t even have to be like this. But he’s been doing it 1000 years and the demon may have gotten the idea from him

9) there have DEFINITELY 100% been adventurers who were used to the resurrection dungeons who bulled head first into a non-resurrection dungeon and are dead

10) Kabru is so fucking lucky he ended up at the Island if he coulda stayed dead he wouldn’t have hit 21. Milsiril probably steered him here on purpose as a baby dungeon

[syndrossi]

The Daemon/Laena marriage discussion in the last chapter has me thinking about Jon and Rhaegar being big brothers to itty bitty Baela and Rhaena 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Rhaegar finally having younger siblings to love without the need to protect them from Aerys 🥺 Happy about being named twinsies with his littlest sister and spoiling her rotten 🥰 Helping Rhaena overcome her natural shyness and not letting her get overshadowed in this ridiculous family (unless she wants to, and then he shows her how to use that to her advantage)

Jon giving Baela his old clothes and taking her down to the training yard, and when someone (coughs, Cole, coughs) tries starting shit about this Very Obvious Princess in too-big trousers starts doing warm up exercises with a wooden sword, Jon's like "oh this is just my new squire Bael, don't worry about it." Using his status to get Baela the training she wants, how he could never do that for Arya 🥺

The four of them being all grown up and having inside jokes together 🥺 Baela volunteering for the dangerous mission of routing Rhaegar from the library. Rhaena and Rhaegar both answering when someone starts to say "Rhae—" . The three of them calling Jon "Lord Commander" when he's being bossy (not that the girls know about his past life, just that they copy Rhaegar doing it 😂)

Both of them would enjoy having Laena as a stepmother better than any other options I think. She's fiery and light-hearted and cares deeply for her loved ones. And obviously she gets extra points for having Vhagar (rip to Aemond's increasing rivalry with Jon, who now gets to be up close to the biggest dragon on the regular)

Also lol at Daemon being the father of two sets of twins. He's the most efficient father in the whole family 😂

Awwww I love all of these! Especially them all being older and knowing exactly how to manage each other, and all of their individual dynamics. (Baela and Jon butt heads a lot, but are also thick as thieves. Baela adores Rhaegar and loves dragging him and Rhaena into mischief. Rhaena being thrilled whenever Jon can be talked into courtly intrigue because he can be so deliciously, unexpectedly catty, and enjoying quiet moments with Rhaegar, when they need a break from their exuberant twins.)

I've been going back and forth lately on whether Daemon will marry Laena. My original plan was "no," and Laena would have her twins in another marriage, given the very different priorities between her and Daemon. (Daemon's...just not that interested in marriage now, with all the upheaval he's just experienced. Unlike in canon at this point, he has two sons, and Rhaenyra's not available, and his top priority is keeping the twins safe. Whereas Laena needs to get married yesterday for her family's sake.) But the twins having twins sisters is so hard to give up. I might write up my waffling in a separate post lol.

[too-antigonish]

This is the Fred Thursday Endeavour prequel I dream about...

Sure 1960s Oxford had a lot to work with, but it’s got nothing on post-war London.

Picture it: The whole country is in the midst of social upheaval. Men are returning home after years away. They’re dealing with massive trauma and having difficulty readjusting to civilian life. Their families have spent years learning to live without them. The reunions don’t always go well. 

Constant shortages have led to thriving black markets and a rise in organized crime. A huge influx of working-age men leaves many unemployed and vulnerable to the worst temptations.

Neighborhoods, especially in the East End, are still littered with the rubble of the Blitz. Evidence of destruction is a daily fact of life and death is still a presence. Children playing in the ruins encounter unexploded ordnance on a tragically regular basis. 

Into all of this walks a young Fred Thursday....

As a soldier he saw brutal action in North Africa and worked with the partisans in Italy.  He had a passionate affair with a woman he now believes to be dead. The rest of his wartime service remains a mystery to us.

Now he’s back near where he grew up—one of three brothers in Mile End. Billy didn’t make it back from the war. Charlie is now running the family’s warehouse business—and dating some girl named Paulette.

He’s been reunited with his wife Win (he doesn’t tell her about the affair) and is just learning what it’s like to be a father to Joan. The three of them are living with Win’s parents over the ironmongers and it’s not easy rubbing along together, not with so many people in tight quarters.

Fred is trying readjust to civilian life, making the shift from soldier to the policeman he once was. The lines blur easily in the brutal world of the East End but Sergeant Vimes, his governor at Cable Street,  does his best to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Those are just the basics of Fred's story from canon! I look at it and ideas for episodes just start spinning out in my head. It would be such an amazing series!

And then...

Eventually Fred moves up, takes young Mickey Carter under his wing—and makes the mistake of going after Vic Kasper. When Carter gets himself killed and is then falsely accused of having been on the take, Fred has to get his family out. He takes Win, Joan, and now Sam, and leaves everything and everyone they’ve ever known. 

Oxford is a whole new world. The kids have never seen so much green. The house is bigger than they ever could have imagined. His new boss, DCS Crisp, seems nice enough...

Ahh! If I weren't horrible at imagining casting I'd already have a list!

And then I think, maybe the whole thing’s got a framing device. Maybe the older Thursday from Endeavour, from wherever he sits in exile, is writing this all down. He’s recording these stories of what it was like when he was a young copper.

I’d like to think that in the end he puts it all together to send to Endeavour (not Morse, but specifically Endeavour) as a sort of memorandum of understanding. He's telling him, "I saw what made you into you. Now I'm telling you: here's what made me into me."

Happy Thursday Thursday!

[corioheinous]

Can I just say how much I love love love it when a character or a group of characters are haunted by the absence of a person who was once integral to their lives. Especially when the entire narrative is structured around that particular loss like hands down my favorite television shows right now are Fleabag and The Bear which are both Masterful fucking examples of this (Fleabag’s dead best friend, though you could probably make a case for her mother too, and Carmy’s dead brother respectively).

And it’s like. The loss of these loved ones is so inextricable from the characters that survived them to the point where everything they do and say every choice they make whether good or bad is ultimately influenced by their grief. I’m catching up with the current Blue Period arc right now and really enjoying it, mostly bc of the complicated friendship dynamic between Momoyo, Murai, and Hachiro—and the lone piece missing from their friend group—Sanada. Murai’s experience with grief in particular is so fascinating to me because unlike Momoyo and Hachiro, he hasn’t been able to “move on” or cope with his grief in a healthy way. It’s sort of become this unsurmountable weight on his shoulder, this ghost-like presence that looms over his character constantly. When Yatora reflects on his loss in ch. 62, there’s an interesting emphasis placed on Murai’s expression—

—which made me realize just how emotional of a character Murai is through his facial expressions alone. Not necessarily in this chapter, because he’s very much putting on a brave face, but in chapter 64, you practically witness him going through every stage of grief at once. It’s honestly a massive transformation given that he’d been stuck in the “denial” stage for so long.

I think it’s interesting to think of Murai as both a character who is avoidant, repressive, in denial about his own feelings and the reality of the world around him (it’s mentioned also in ch. 64 that Murai didn’t even attend Sanada’s funeral, which is exactly the kind of immature behavior/inability to cope that you would expect from a character like him) WHILE simultaneously being someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. I reckon he forces himself to feel nothing at all out of fear that he’ll feel too much at once, and thus end up causing a scene like he did at Sanada’s posthumous exhibition.

Besides the cool back tat and funky earring, I wasn’t all that compelled by Murai’s character until I read through this chapter and experienced this entire emotional upheaval alongside him. I kind of just had to sit down for a bit after reading the last scene, after Yotasuke’s Murai-san, it’s okay to live your life holding onto that grief forever, isn’t it? comment which is such a bonkers thing to say (/pos) and God. Not to quote The Bear FX here but it really is satisfying to watch a character that you know needs to let it rip just let it rip. That laidback attitude and nonchalant expression of his were never truly the whole of it. I’m really satisfied with the way grief & loss has been framed through Murai, and I’m excited to see what his character becomes as he continues to both carry these feelings inside him and live to grow around them.

[atopvisenyashill]

any thoughts about how could it be the dynamic between viserys-naerys- daeron ii in fire & blood 2?

okay so straight up the dynamic i’m MOST interested in learning about in f&b2 is the viserys-naerys-daeron ii dynamic. first of all, those first two are just UNGODLY DISTURBINGLY YOUNG when they have children. viserys has naerys, his YOUNGEST child when he is sixteen. naerys has daeron when she is fifteen. viserys is a grandfather before he is 32 years old. it is truly babies raising babies out here!! i mean fuck, daeron has baelor under significantly less traumatic circumstances but he’s still only 17 by the time he starts having kids! that’s all just wildly interesting and disturbing to me. like, that alone, how close in age they all are because they all married & started having kids at crazy young ages, explains so much about why this period has always felt particularly deranged to me (“this period” being post dance where we get this incredible string of deranged freaks from aegon iii to aegon iv that ebbs into this vaguely “we’re having a targ renaissance yay” era that erupts into civil war anyways! i LOVE this conceptually i’m so ready to be annoyed when f&b2 comes out and i’ve hyped this all up for some more dumb sex stories from another court fool ajsjs).

but then secondly, okay, when you look at the timeline- daeron is born in 153 and the birth nearly kills naerys 15/16 year old naerys. aegon iii is still king for four more years. that last year, aegon iv spends his time (and the next two years after that) shacked up with megette. then aegon spends a few years shacked up/probably raping casella vaith the hostage, before running off to war. then he spends more time raping naerys, wherein she has a miscarriage, and aegon is sent away so he doesn’t rape her to death. daeron marries myriah, has a child with her. but before that child is two, in quick succession, his father comes back home & immediately starts raping his mother again, his mother nearly dies having twins & now he has a sister younger than his son, and daena unveils her new bastard who everyone thinks is aegon’s, and baelor is so distraught by all this he fasts himself to death. viserys is king, and likely dead before daeron’s second son is born and before daeron turns twenty. suddenly the person responsible for making sure aegon doesn’t rape naerys to death are daeron & aemon, who have NO authority over aegon. this man has the audacity to stay alive for twelve more years.

that shit is insane. daeron’s father is only around when he’s raping his mom. the closest things daeron has to a father figure are his uncle who wants to fuck his mom, his grandfather who is probably busy constantly (and also only in his thirties 😭), and his batshit insane cousin baelor. his childhood is marked by almost constant instability until it stabilizes for the worse when his cousins all get locked in the maidenvault, then gets thrown into upheaval once again as baelor & viserys die and now his dad who is only around when he’s raping his mom is suddenly back in town and has total control.

and naerys. she’s like if aemma lived long enough to parent her kids, but worse bc you could argue there was fondness of a sort between aemma & viserys. aegon and naerys hate each other. she is constantly pregnant and on death’s door from the age of fifteen (three years older than her father!) until the day she dies, in her early 40s. it sounds like worse than hell to me. it is a lifetime where the only source of comfort you have is the son you birthed at fifteen, because maybe your life is a nightmare but if you raise him to be marginally less evil, he won’t destroy the innocent little girl you know is going to be sent to court to be his wife. everyone else is actively holding you hostage and applauding you for taking the abuse so well. your whole life is screaming for help and all you get is tears telling you you’re so dutiful and brave.

and viserys just. watches it all happen. of course he does! his kids are simply ungrateful! he had to get married at twelve and his wife wasn’t born in westeros so they had nothing in common and at least they have a living father, they have no idea how lucky they are. why should daeron and naerys blame him when he gave them everything because he had nothing? it’s a shame it wasn’t naerys that offed this man. i do think she was his favorite kid tho and i bet he’s not subtle about it at all.