#and i have all my necessities provided (well most of them) so like. i would feel ungrateful for wanting anything more

[caffeinatedopossum]

I always feel bad for being even a little dissatisfied with my circumstances and then I remember that most of the people around me (both irl and online) would probably go absolutely bonkers in my circumstances

[teenagefeeling]

how are name-brand frosted mini wheats 2 entire dollars more expensive than the generic? literally there's no difference between them 😭

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

how do you find public spaces to fuck (re:the rooftop + dyke)?

sincerely, horny lez

Good question, I will answer it in this response eventually, but first, you have to sit through me intellectually jerking myself off for a moment because I think it may provide some useful perspective.

Public sex has been part of my life for as long as I've been having physical sex at all. As an adolescent it was mostly out of necessity, but these days it's mostly out of convenience. The vast majority of the sex I've had in the last year or two has been public.

I think it's important to clarify that for me at least, public sex is not an act of exhibitionism. If there's any sort of philosophy behind it besides sheer utility, I'd say it's something like not allowing our society's mores and hangups around sex and privacy dictate the terms on how and where we (especially as gay people) engage with our sexuality.

I think there's this gut impulse many people have--including many gay people--around public sex, and I think it speaks to the reactionary view of human sexuality that is unfortunately the stock standard in these times. For many, the idea of people having sex in public gives them some sort of 'ick' that they can't seem to articulate.

Often discussions around public sex are framed like this: "if I walked in on people having sex, it would make me uncomfortable, I didn't consent to that, so people should not be having sex in public." It would be fairly reasonable to experience discomfort in this imagined scenario--in fact, I think most people probably would--and that discomfort isn't a problem. The problem is that the premise assumes a few crucial points, notably that 1. Walking in on public sex is a common occurrence and/or the desired outcome for those engaging in it 2. Discomfort is a form of harm 3. Exposure to (non-hegemonic) human sexuality is capable of causing some kind of nebulous psychic damage to the witness.

To the first point: in my decade or so of regular public sex, I can only think of one instance where I was actually walked in on. It was an alley off of a major road and probably only at around 1030p. I mention this because we absolutely would have chosen a different, more secluded location/time if we were doing anything other than fully clothed kink and maybe some kissing, because again, the goal for most is not exhibitionism; no one really wants to be walked in on, so we choose locations where it is less likely that we will be.

To the second point, I have little to say besides that it simply isn't. Discomfort is an everyday part of life and is something all people experience regularly without calls to stop every potential source of it. So what is it about this topic that makes people react this way?

This leads us to the third point: non-hegemonic modes of sexuality are treated as degenerative and caustic and therefore must be hidden (or eradicated) entirely from the public sphere. It is the classic double standard; think of things like the "Don't Say Gay" or "DADT" laws or more broadly the attempt to remove even the mention of the existence of gays from curriculum. Most of the people who fight for such measures likely don't take the same issue or action with a 48 foot billboard for the local strip club or with a heterosexual couple kissing on screen.

And while the spot that people place the line may differ greatly, this ire against public sex still draws from the same well of reaction against perceived degeneracy that the fascist draws from. If this is not self evidently a negative thing to you, I have little I can say to convince you.

Some may be thinking 'okay, even if it is not harmful or degenerate, why do public sex?' To me, it is just as strange that so many keep their sex lives confined to the home and I could posit the same question. Neither way of doing things is any more natural or unnatural than the other, one is just the societal default. If it would bring you joy, why not engage in public sex?

The world is large, and if you know where to look, there are countless spaces you can carve out and stake the pervert's claim to. Alleyways, parks, bathrooms, rooftops, and beaches are the first to come to mind for me. To answer your question directly, you find them by making them and taking them.

Time is a large factor here as well. A given spot in a park at 9p may not be suitable, but might be more so by 11p, and even more so by 1a. My experience is that the later it gets, more spots become viable with less heavy precautions.

Another factor is coverage. An open field is riskier than behind a tree. The middle of an alley is riskier than behind a dumpster. You want to limit the amount of vectors through which you could be exposing yourself. I value coverage from sight lines over seclusion.

Something else you want to think about is whether or not you are on private property. If you are, it's possible that there are security personnel sitting in a car somewhere nearby or a resident who notices you. At that point, the issue is not even the sex, it's the fact you're there at all.

Finally, you always have to be ready to dip. Be aware of your surroundings as best you can, listen for cars and people, don't get too caught up in the moment that you're blinded. You gotta be ready to pull your pants up and walk quickly away. I'd rather be safe than sorry. If something's not right, get outta there. If you can't, well, don't have your dick out at least.

Anyway, all that to say go out and have fun. Good luck and enjoy yourself. The world has room for you to fit yourself into.

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! Could I request Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir reactions to you accidentally walking in on them having a little “fun” with themselves 😉

(YES I'm a slut for all of these guys so it would be my pleasure! also apologies for the wait, its been a weird couple months 😅 I figured this worked a bit better with an already established relationship so hope you enjoy :D)

(Includes Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir (separate) x gender neutral reader - established relationship - warnings for smut/allusions to smut obviously)

Legolas:

Legolas can usually keep his desire very well contained, so if he's reached this point you can safely assume he's getting desperate. This also means that he's almost ashamed when you catch him in such a state. He'll cover himself as fast as possible, despite the fact that you've seen it all before, and the tips of his ears turn pink as he mumbles apologies. He might need some assurance that you don't mind before he settles, and will fumble over his words slightly when you offer to lend a hand... literally.

"I would not want to impose, meleth nin..."

"You're not. I want to help you..."

Aragorn:

Provided he's in a safe space, this is one of the few times Aragorn completely lets his guard down. He's so used to getting himself off quickly, almost roughly, as a matter of necessity, so his hand only slows when he feels your own over the top. He startles slightly at the contact and laughs breathily when he sees you, your hand moving to replace his own with a much softer pace. You leave little room for argument when you capture his lips in a kiss.

"My love..."

"No need to be so rushed with yourself. Let me..."

Boromir:

Boromir is not shy around you at all and barely even pauses what he's doing when you walk in on him, though his pace does slow. He's also the most likely to tease you over it. In your defence, it's rather difficult to look your love in the eyes when his hand is still moving over his cock. He'll joke about wanting your assistance, but will never pressure you if you're not in the mood.

"I'd appreciate your help sweetheart, but if you'd rather watch then I couldn't refuse such a pretty audience..."

Faramir:

Faramir is a little more on the reserved side, though not nearly as much as Legolas. He visibly tenses up when someone enters the room, but he relaxes again as soon as he sees it's you. (He will deny that he's blushing though, even though he's definitely flustered by the object of his imagination appearing so suddenly.) He'll gently encourage you to stay, if you want, not wanting to outwardly say he wants your help but definitely implying it.

"I... I'd appreciate it if you stayed, darling..."

[marleemutt]

TLDR: im a black trans artist who can use some help right now following the sudden passing of my only sister - her doberman is now the responsibility of my parents and we can use help for his food, supplements, toys etc.

Kofi (help me send Chewy orders to my parent's house)

Wishlist (literally send him things like toys, treats, etc.)

⬇️ more info ⬇️

hey guys

some of you might be aware of this already, but early October, my eldest sibling & only sister suddenly passed away due to a seizure, she had been dealing with epilepsy her whole life.

this has been incredibly difficult for me, and my family. her passing was incredibly sudden, she was only 30.

for the past month or so ive been struggling to find any motivation to draw, and barely able to work.

she was the incredibly devoted owner of a doberman named Remi(Ramsey). Me and my sister traveled 4 hours to pick him up three years ago. He's a goofball who tears up socks and needs constant supervision. My parents love him, but I can tell he is a lot of work for two people who have fulltime jobs and have lived long lives.

I'm going to try to help them take care of him as much as possible, I feel that it's the least we can do to honor my sister's memory, since she loved him so deeply.

My sister always wanted a doberman, for years she would watch videos about dobermans and talk about them to anyone who would listen.

Remi wasn't easy to raise - I shared a room with my sister when she got him in 2020, she still worked a 9-5, five days a week, so I was his nanny for most of his difficult childhood. I was his chew toy for the first year of his life about - but that only made him bond closer to me. If he wasn't following my sister, I was choice #2. Dobermans are "velcro dogs", they were bred to guard their owners, and because of this, they are fiercely loyal. I've been moved out of my parent's place for going on 3 years, and my sister had just moved with Remi out a few months prior to her passing.

A week before my sister's sudden passing, we had to board Remi at my dog daycare job while my family and I took a trip out of state. When dropping him off, although he was happy to see me again for the first time in months, the moment my sister turned her back to him he began to panic. He got through the boarding all right but my coworkers told me he would cry and wait by the door for me or her. When my sister picked him up, they said he jumped all 80+lbs into her arms.

Since my sister's passing, Remi has been directionless. He's with my family, people he trusts, but he's bored, confused, and heartbroken. My sister would often take him to the dog park, social events, on runs, etc. but my parent's can't do that in their age. If my apartment allowed large dogs, I would take him, but I can't, and I see him maybe twice a month if possible.

Ramsey's Christmas List

I made a christmas list for him of things that might help my parents better take care of him. We're trying different food brands out because he struggles with frequent stomach issues, and we can't seem to figure out what food my sister was feeding him. This list is by no means a necessity for him, but I tried to add things to help with his boredom and keep him stimulated when my parents can't give him all their attention.

i do want to state that my family is capable of providing him with the essentials to live, we arent irresponsible. i would just like to help my parents out since a 3 year old 80-90lb doberman is a lot of work to be suddenly placed on them soley. And I worry for his health and well-being sometimes - Remi has a tendency to eat/tear random objects when he's bored.

please consider donating whatever you can. Everything goes directly to him.

thank you for taking the time to read this, and possibly reblog if possible. ❤️

[sunshine-theseus]

Bia | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader

Words: 2.8k Summary: you create your own boots and meet the most beautiful girl  - sorry I also used this to info dump about the necessity for boots designed specifically for women to lower injury risks Warnings: none i think. lemme know if there are any requested by - @hottiedogs375 i hope you enjoy, it's probably not my best :( definitely not as good as pequeña i think

My family was more of a cricket family than a football one. I wasn’t really fond of either, the shouting was always too much, and the food was somehow sloppy yet rock hard at the same time. Even when we watched at home. The living room would be full of sweaty angry men, sometimes my mum and sister would join if our team was actually doing well. Meanwhile you’d find me in my room at the very back corner of the attic, my room, with headphones on to block out the noise, usually designing something.

Despite the cricket background, I found myself intrigued by the design of women’s football kits. In my design and technology class in year 13, I fell down a research rabbit hole on football boots for women. It was then I discovered the lack of adaptation for the shoe. Women often just wear smaller sizes of boots designed for men, which has been one of the factors in the increase in injuries in the women’s game and I’d decided I wanted to fix that.

That’s how I found myself in front of a crowd, made up of possible brand ambassadors and sponsors, as well as a range of women’s athletes from across the world, pitching my idea.

“And that’s why brands like Bia are important to the growth of women’s football. The shape of the boot, the length of studs, the sole support, they’re all contributing factors to how players perform. When women footballers use the men’s boots, which is basically the only option, they aren’t going to grow used to the details designed for male anatomy. It’s causing stress on not only their feet but every ligament, every bone, every piece of them is suffering because they have to try and adapt to things they can’t possibly adapt to.” I felt like the closing of my speech was rather strong, especially as I watched players and possible sponsors stand to clap. The noise echoes throughout the auditorium and a happiness bubbles within me.

“Thank you for providing me this opportunity. Please, if anyone has any questions.” I gesture to the stand-up microphone in the middle aisle, and people rush to line up.

“What made you intent on creating a boot specifically for women, risking money and time on something people have tried to do before? Something you knew wasn’t guaranteed to work?”

“I know it’s funny, but my family was not a football one, so I didn’t grow up knowing much about the game. But in my a-levels design and technology class, we had to research an issue prevalent in an existing design, and I for some reason was just drawn to the idea that women don’t even get the choice of having a boot made for them. I found it unfair and uncaring. Everyone expects women to play at the same level as men yet won’t provide them with the necessary equipment to do so without them having to risk, quite possibly their career. And I couldn’t just move on after the class, I knew that I had to do something about it. So I’ve spent the past 3 years perfecting the design and building the brand, to be here in front of you all today.” Another round of applause is heard throughout the room before the next person steps up.

She’s a footballer, that I know. Young, no older than 21, my age. And very very pretty.

“This question probably isn’t quite as important as that one but, what made you pick the name Bia? It just seems like an interesting name.” people chuckle at the question, and the (newly discovered) Australian shyly looks around.

“No, I love this question. Bia is the Greek goddess of force and raw energy. She’s actually Nike’s sister, the goddess of victory and very obviously the brand. I think Bia resembles a lot of things within female athletes. They have this driving force and unbelieve power that they bring, and it just felt so right.”

“That’s sick. Can I also quickly ask, sorry, are these boots made for every female athlete? Like can someone in track and field use these or are they just for footballers?” the girl smiles brightly after her question, and I have to remember not to lose focus.

“While the primary focus is obviously footballers, I have researched the compatibility of boots between sports and yes, a professional sprinter like Sharika Jackson can use them just as well as you or Alexia Putellas could. And of course as the brand grows we’ll be able to develop even further and broaden our research further in creating boots fit for anyone.”

-

Questions carry on for a while, then I disappear behind the curtain that’s suspended behind me, rushing to remove my microphone. Eventually I slide out the side door and reach the separate room booked for ‘mingling’ after the panel.

Between talking to rich people desperate to make it seem like they care about others, and athletes who are very eager to know everything they can about the shoe, I try to keep an eye out for the nameless Australian. Every time I think I’ve spotted her; it seems she disappears. Bodies keep moving and she seems to be one of them.

Then I bump into someone. We both go stumbling but she catches me just before I head for the floor.

“I am so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.” And there she was, the girl I’d been looking for.

“No, no need to apologise. I’m Y/n.” I give her a hand to shake.

“Kyra.” There’s a pause before she continues.

“I’m a big fan of your boot. It’s truly incredible.” It’s hard not to blush and sputter out random sounds at her praise.

“Thank you. I’m really hoping this function works out.”

“Well I was thinking, when it does, if you need ‘a face of Bia’…”

“Oh my god yes that would be amazing. Seriously you have no idea how cool that would be.”

We talk for quite some time, and she sticks by my side when someone else comes to talk and ask question. When it’s time to go home we exchange numbers and that’s the first and last time I see her for a while.

-

5 months later is the next time I see Kyra in person. We’d both been travelling a lot, me for sponsors, ambassadors, and athletes, her for work. I’d expected to meet with her a few more times before we kick started the ‘face of Bia’ photoshoots, but as the fates had it, we found ourselves in a large warehouse, photo equipment, and many boxes of my shoes filling the space.

It suddenly all started to feel very real, and that made me nervous. So I packed myself into a small room in the corner as I tried to calm down, hoping the isolation and quiet would help me feel better.

Not even 2 minutes in, someone is following and taking a seat next to me.

“You right?” the voice is familiar and smooth.

“Yeah, yeah of course I am. It’s not like the biggest thing I’ve ever worked for in my life is basically in its final stage of release in the next room and I’m freaking out about it. What if they aren’t actually good? What if th-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You sent me a pair 2 months ago, and I told you I would test them before saying anything, and I did just that. I took them to training. Ran on the pitch, walked, kicked the ball, passed, made risky moves. And what did I tell you after that?”

“‘These are the best fucking shoes ever.’ But what if they aren’t?”

“Listen Y/n, how many other athletes, not just me or footballers, did you send a pair to for testing?”

“Like 43. Basically every one that came to the panel plus some more.”

“How many told you they were good?”

“43.”

“Exactly. So we’re going to go out there together, you’re gonna tell the photographer what you want to see, every opinion, every change, anything, and we’re going to finalise your fucking dream.” Kyra picks me up without me even agreeing, and basically carries me out to the set up.

Ali Kreiger, despite her recent retirement, was currently being photographed. She’d been the one to reach out to me when she heard from, someone, and wanted to be an ambassador. I probably screamed so loud my neighbours thought I was getting murdered that day.

“They’re going to want a couple photos of you too probably. Either with the shoes or with one or all of us. Okay?” Kyra rubs a hand up and down my back as I take it all in.

I nod vigorously and try to shake my hands to get rid of the remaining nerves, eventually taking a seat next to the photographer, Eve. She asks for my input on every shot and manages to carry out my vision without fail every single time. As players filter in and out, I begin to truly relax and allow myself to take in the moment.

Zimmorlei Farquharson and Poppy Boltz, two AFLW players for the Brisbane Lions, were being photographed together when Kyra slid into the spare chair next to me. She didn’t say anything but when I looked over, I had to quickly look away again. Her outfit wasn’t something out of the ordinary, a loose cropped top and bike shorts, plus the sage green boots she was promoting. But the strip of skin that was exposed between her shirt and shorts was enticing and it was hard not to stare at the way her muscles contracted every time she moved in the seat.

I’m certain she caught me staring.

As she stands to take over the Australian Football players, Kyra leans over and whispers in my ear. It takes me a moment to process her words and by then she’s already under the lights.

“Good thing we’re taking some pictures. They’ll last longer.” To say I was stumped was a rather big understatement. Was she flirting with me?

I don’t get to think about it too much, Kyra looking my way every time she changed position or began to play around with the ball provided.

Not long after, I’m asked to join all the girls in front of the camera for a few shots. I knew it was coming but my heart still dropped into my stomach, and I choked on my breath. As expected, it’s Kyra who grabs my hand and instructs me to breathe slowly. Her thumb runs over the back of my hand and the motion begins to sooth me.

I take a place in front of the camera and the group of athletes. I’m not quite sure how to stand, but Kyra takes the space behind me, resting an arm over my shoulder and the other around my waist. It forces me to lean back naturally and as the girls around us take a stance, Eve continues to shoot.

“You and Kyra have a lot of chemistry by the looks of it, and she’s who you’re most comfortable with. Use that. Make it natural. The girls around you will adapt.” I expect the comment from Eve, but it’s Ali who puts a hand on my shoulder and reassures me.

With that instruction, and a nod from Eve, Kyra jumps on my back. It’s a pose that helps with showing off the boot and making me laugh. She then jumps off and takes my hands, turning me to face her as she dips. I rush to catch her as she falls, our faces a hair width apart.

Before I can think, I close the gap. My lips press hard against her’s as the camera shutter repeatedly goes off, but I don’t think anything of it. Until I pull away.

I almost drop her once my thoughts catch up to me.

“I am so sorry. What the fuck did I just do?” the rest of the girls had already walked away, so it was just us.

“Nothing you should regret or feel bad for.” Kyra stands right in front of me, our lips basically touching again.

“And maybe you should do it again.” I pause for a moment before leaning back down, kissing her again.

~~~~~

It takes three more weeks for the official brand release. After years of designing, making, spending every cent I had on these boots, Bia was officially the first woman specific sports boot.

Kyra’s first Arsenal game wearing them was the day of the release. She ended up talking about them in post-match interview after being asked “how were you excelling so well in the midfield today?” Not only was Bia’s sale numbers skyrocketing and the media account blowing up, so was my own.

I’d of course attended the match, excited to see them as an officially released boot. Someone had spotted me in the crowd and tweeted about it, talking about ‘the creator of that new boot brand is watching Kyra rep them for the first time live’. Someone else had caught me hugging Kyra on the pitch after the game and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The rumours could only be expected. They also couldn’t be denied. Not without lying.

“I’m so proud of you.” The smooth Australian accent almost lulls me to sleep as we rest in Kyra’s bed, the sheets hiding our bare skin.

Her fingers trace shapes on my hip as she holds me, and I kiss along her collar bones and neck.

“And also very, very grateful for your genius brain creating those boots. Not only for helping my game play, but for bringing you to me.”

“I’m also grateful for my genius brain bringing us together.” I tease before softly kissing her.

It’d been impossible to escape her charm after our kiss at the photoshoot, so naturally we went on a date. And another, before she asked me to be her girlfriend. Eve sent me those photos just in case we wanted them in the brand release post. They currently sat in my hard drive, but it was very tempting to post a couple.

Kyra wanted a moment of privacy before the world knew, but I knew it didn’t matter whether it was out or a secret, as long as I had her.

-

A new power couple is on the rise in the world of Women’s Football. Creator of new women’s sports boots brand Bia, Y/n L/n, spotted with girlfriend, Arsenal and Matildas midfielder Kyra Cooney-Cross at a café in North London this morning before the London Derby. The couple confirmed their relationship mere days ago with photos of the lovebirds kissing from L/n’s brand shoot.

I laugh at the article as Kyra pulls into the Emirates parking, hand in mine. I’d become rather acquainted with her teammates and they begged me to come to the London Derby on the weekend. I couldn’t refuse when my girlfriend pulled out the puppy dog eyes and promised to ban me from any sort of affection, specifically kisses, for the week.

“You better win. I have a bet going with Niamh that you’ll beat her and I cannot lose a bet against her again.” Kyra chuckles and leaves with a kiss, sending me into the friends and family section of the stands.

It was nerve wracking going alone, but it was for Kyra and that was all I cared about. Supporting her like she supported me.

-

Kyra doesn’t start, which had been expected. Despite it, the girls were playing well and were up 3-1 at half-time. No yellow cards for either team had most people shocked though. The derby was known to be rough and physical, yet it seemed things were rather calm for the situation at hand.

There’s a substitute at half-time that puts Kyra back on the pitch. I blow a kiss when she looks my way as she jogs out and she pretends to catch it and place it on her cheek. Both of us are unaware of the interaction being caught on the big screen while people wait for the countdown.

It’s when extra time is announced that everyone in the stadium knows Arsenal have won the game. The Chelsea players look tired and defeated and the Arsenal girls don’t look much different, apart from the massive smiles that grace each one of their faces. The final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts in deafening cheers for the gunners, and I can’t help joining in.

After congratulating the blues on their performance and huddling with her own teammates, Kyra comes running for me. The guard on the other side of the barrier grows wary when I stand, clearly about to jump it, but Kyra gives him the okay and grabs me by the waist, helping me join her on the pitch.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I whisper as she stands on her tippy toes.

Her arms wrap tightly around my neck and mine go around her waist as she pulls me in for a kiss. It’s deep and passionate and the crowd around us cheers, some of the girls joining in.

“We’re both kinda killing it aren’t we?” I let out a laugh as she hops on my back, pointing me in the direction of her Matilda’s teammates, even Sam, who are grouped in the middle of the field.

She sprinkles kisses around my face as they talk between each other and I’ve never felt more content.

Fuck cricket, football is the sport for me.

[cherryheairt]

Chapter Three: Pit of Snakes

@shabnam2005 for any questions or comments too!

Aemond’s departure left Saryna feeling more conflicted than she'd imagined herself to be. Once, she despised the thought of one man leading the Realm and deciding her life for her-and still did. However, the resentment had simmered down to a calm flame after getting to see the man beneath the crown.

He seemed to realize the weight that rested upon his shoulders with a solemn acceptance, although looking at his tired expression beyond the defensive exterior reminded Saryna that the Targaryen was merely a boy, still. His youth was easy to forget when he had outlived the majority of his family and controlled the largest living dragon—but the proximity allowed Saryna a closer look than most.

His face was only marred by the scar that crept over and under his leather eyepatch, and was otherwise perfectly smooth and clean. No wrinkles nor moles or blemishes, as if his skin was made from hardened porcelain that was carved rather than gently formed throughout time. His hands were calloused from his sword training but still rather unscarred and pristine. He had known few battles, perhaps none, and lived the same amount of years that she had. And yet, this boy was given the Realm.

She tried to keep such pitious thoughts from the forefront of her mind. He was still a fearsome kinslayer before he was a boy: that fate was chosen by him when he killed his even younger nephew. Death was irreversible, even to the God-like Targaryens who claimed the Western skies years ago.

It was all too easy to blame Aemond for his forebears’ sins, but Saryna decided to give him a chance. Only one, that she desperately hoped she would not grow to regret sooner or later.

He was her only chance, after all, to live a life outside of this forgotten farm.

When the letter came by raven, something that she had never gotten the privilege to receive before, Saryna couldn't help but feel a slight girlish giddiness rise in her belly to her throat. A raven, black as the deep night sky and eyes as dark as the sea: here to deliver a message to Saryna and Saryna only. As if she were a Lady of a high house being summoned to have tea with the Queen, Saryna carefully ripped the wax seal from the parting of the paper and bit her lip to stop its quivering. From excitement to fear to anticipation, she went through a multitude of emotions while wondering what the contents provided.

‘Saryna,

Unfortunately, my duties prevent me from directly seeing you and giving this offer myself.

Come to the Red Keep with Fracsor. You will be housed and fed adequately: provided for well beyond anything you've been granted previously. So long as you swear your loyalty and your service to me in front of the Seven, you will be taken care of.

I will send for a wheelhouse to be delivered to you. Take only your most precious belongings, as cloth and necessities will be provided, also. A tailor awaits you as well as chamber rooms in Maegor's Holdfast.

The King,

Aemond Targaryen’

Saryna thumbed the fine print while mulling over the offer. She supposed that now the only thing holding her back was sentiment. This was her childhood home where she grew up with Tarkan and her beloved parents. Her first memories and all her hardships were delved deep into these woodboards and all the doorways wafted in the faint scents of those who no longer lived there.

New and old memories flooded her mind.

Her parents teaching her High Valyrian, sharing twinkling and prideful looks whenever she fluently pronounced a sentence. Her brother training with her in the yard, the salty musk of sweat hanging between them as they breathlessly laughed and fell to the floor in exhaustion. Fracsor following her around and scorching the grass beneath her feet when they were both mere hatchling and child, exploring boundaries and learning to communicate though they could not speak plainly.

Her first meeting with Aemond, the man that she killed near the lakebed, her first flight with Fracsor.

The sheep and chickens would be taken care of when Tarkan came back, surely. It would be much harder on him, especially considering he also would have to take trips while keeping in mind how long the livestock may go without being kept. Saryna scanned the fields anxiously, as if waiting for Tarkan himself to appear over yonder. Would he lose the farm? The generations of blood that had presided over it, lost all due to Saryna's selfishness. Their neighbors, though kind enough, would jump at the opportunity to take in their animals if they could no longer afford the property and all its taxes.

She tried to reason with herself, that she was not in fact selfish but forced into this. The reasonable part of her mind nagged disappointedly at her, but she resigned to begin her packing.

The toiletries could bear to be left, as the Keep would likely have much better quality ones awaiting her. Clothes from the farm would be an embarrassment to Aemond if she continued to wear them in his halls despite being offered new gowns. Kitchenware would be left for Tarkan, as would all of the furniture and bedspreads. Saryna focused on heirlooms, or what little her parents left behind.

She shuffled between the main room of the house. It was as if it had been stuck in time, permanently still and waiting for its owners to return to their beds once more. Dust began gathering in the corners and on the odd objects kept on the nightstands. The bed was made as it was every morning even as they got older. Dips in both sides of the bed from their wear throughout the years, as they had always been too stubborn to replace the old mattress. She lifted her mother's jewelry box, her main goal at the moment, and gingerly pried open the lock from the stained oak wood.

It was lined with thin blue velvet to prevent any scratches upon the jewelry's faces. Her mother rarely wore any, being extremely humble both in life and work. The only necklace she wore was the one passed from her mother and so forth, the most ancient gem in their family from the beginning of their line.

Saryna lifted the silvery necklace and appraised it, running a finger across the cold blue stones and smiling at the memories rushing into her mind. Her mother, sitting on her old vanity and clasping the piece around her neck as she got ready for her once-in-a-blue moon night out. She and Saryna's father would go to a tarven and not come back til the sun was up the next morning. For weeks after each date night, Saryna's mother could be heard humming the festive tunes she heard at the taverns.

She reached down to place it back to pack it up, but stopped herself when she noticed a small black cloth underneath where the silver necklace laid. Lifting it, she gasped upon seeing a rich ruby-lined collar style necklace hidden at the bottom of the jewelry box. It had to be hundreds or thousands of gold dragons, at least, with it lined with true gold that held each generously large ruby. Some chains hung from the main piece, holding even more stones. It looked quite fit for royalty, and Saryna's suspicions of her parents possibly stealing Fracsor’s egg from the Dragonpit grew ever more. Were her parents thieves as a product of their access to the Red Keep? With such an easy way in and out of royals’ lives, it would be so easy to steal many things that would go unnoticed.

Her stomach held a pit, feeling nauseating the more she thought about it. What was the point of keeping precious jewelry if not to sell it? It would have helped them years ago, when they struggled in their old age. They didn't steal for their own monetary benefit, but rather for their own satisfaction.

She placed it carefully back into the box, covering it with the cloth and clamping the whole thing shut. She would bring it, if only to keep it safe.

Saryna spent the rest of her time scribing a note dedicated to Tarkan. It read in High Valyrian:

‘Brother,

I have been summoned to court by the will of The King Aemond Targaryen. I do not know when I shall return, but I leave everything to you in my absence. Do not worry about me, for he has promised to take care of all of my needs. Stay safe, and take care of the farm.

All my love,

Saryna.’

She sighed, running a finger across the dry ink and folding it neatly. With no wax seal, the note simply looked out of place on the orderly desk she sat at. Staring out the window, she found the wheelhouse waiting for her.

She glanced around the cabin. Would this be her final day in it? Vaguely, she couldn't find herself mourning her life as a farmer. This was what she had hoped for, all those years ago.

As she stepped outside, she realized the distance between her home and the wheelhouse was due to the driver's own precaution. Fracsor lay in front of the house, staring the lone man down as if he were his next meal. “Lykiri, Fracsor. Follow the horses.” She muttered into his ear and placed a small kiss on the area below his eye.

Saryna left her home without a glance back, nodding her appreciation to the chamberlain who so graciously opened the door and took her bag right out of her hand.

“Oh, that's—” She began, being cut off with a sharp shake of the man's head.

“No need. Please, settle in, it will be a short journey.” Although his words were chipped, they were not impolite, and she found herself settled into the bench seat and gazing out to the passing grassy hills of her farm.

🍒

The hours after her arrival felt like they were going to slow and too fast all at once. The sights, smells, and warmth of the Keep was nearly overwhelming to her understimulated senses. The first thing she noticed was that it rank of sweat and sex all around her, not even able to be escaped in the Red Keep high above it all. The sights were quite beautiful from so far up, but were sullied by the beggars that the wheelhouse passed on the dirty streets.

The one stop they made was right in front of the Dragonpit. The sight was much more daunting than she had ever imagined. This was where Fracsor has supposedly come from, and where her parents had worked their entire lives as well as their parents before. The pillars were massive and ornate, if not slightly dusty, and Fracsor was hesitant to enter. “Come, boy.” She urged, patting her thigh as she descended the steps. It was dim and eerily silent but she pushed on, finding the first empty catacomb that looked like it was meant to fit a dragon. She caught a glimpse of more blue scales down the path, but decided that her curiosity would have to wait to be satisfied lest she get herself eaten. Fracsor grumbled with displeasure as Saryna attached a long iron chain around his lithe neck.

“I'll visit soon. Sleep, now.”

Two maids ushered her directly from the wheelhouse and into Maegor's Holdfast without so much as a ‘hello’. She was forced to watch the fine paintings and architecture pass her in a blur of colors and textures as they sped off to her new chambers. A hot bath was already waiting there for her in a room attached to her bedchambers, which were an attachment to what appeared to be a regular living space. These chambers that were all interlinked were bigger than her entire cabin—each. It stunned her that each room was entirely for her and her alone, and it dawned upon her how lonely such solitude would be.

She gasped when she felt nimble fingers tugging at her dresses’ strings, turning and covering her bosom with her arms and accusingly glaring at the maid behind her. The maid only narrowed her eyes in bemusement, tilting her head like a cat might. “You must bathe, m'lady.” Was all her chipped voice said.

“I will.” She defended herself. “Why can't I undress myself?”

She backed away. “Forgive me,” she bowed her head and worked on folding a simple white chemise over a chair. “The seamstress will be here within the hour.”

As Saryna stepped into the hot water, she was pleasantly surprised at the immediate relief it brought her sore body. At the farm, all the bathwater was room temperature at best and freezing cold at worst. She sighed and leaned back into the tub, hesitantly allowing her hair to be wet and scrubbed by the silent maid.

It took a while for the foreign feeling to get used to, but when Saryna closed her eyes and imagined that it was her mother standing over her and gently washing her hair as she used to, she allowed herself to relax.

The seamstress entered with a loud clamor, random baubles falling from the supplies piled up in her arms and huffing at her young assistant's lack of use. “Alora, go back and fetch my green ribbon—you brought black!”

‘Alora’ scurried out with a hasty apology and the seamstress dropped everything ungracefully onto a settee. Covering herself modestly, Saryna was unsure of what to say.

“Well, come on, dear. I don't have all day.” The lively old woman crossed her arms over her chest and did not bother looking away from her in the tub.

Saryna stepped out with the legs of a newborn deer, stumbling slightly and straightened by the two maids who worked immediately to dry her off.

“You're shorter than I expected.” She grunted with displeasure. “Now I'll have to alter the temporary dresses even more.”

“I can wear my dress, I'd hate to cause trouble.” She replied meekly.

The woman glanced to the sad rag on the floor, almost as if a hard stare might burn it where it lay. “Gods, no. I'm not cruel.” She rolled her eyes and brought up her measuring tape. “Arms up!”

Saryna obeyed, though did not once make eye contact with the lady. She held her breath as the tape fastened around her arms, chest, hips, legs, and every other place she didn't think would matter in clothing. Finally, the seamstress clicked her tongue as she wrote the final measurement.

“Now, let's put this on you.” She said, guiding a fine velvety green dress over her head. As the maid behind her worked to tighten the corset, Saryna cursed every noble lady and man that made such a thing standard.

The woman hummed and shook her head, confirming her suspicions as correct. Saryna awkwardly stood on her crowded settee as the woman worked to hem the bottom skirts, then worked to begin on the other dresses in the pile similarly. “Whose are these?” Saryna wondered out loud.

“The Queen Regent Alicent's.” The quieter maid replied. “Of course, from when she was your age. These garments haven't been used in the last twenty years.”

Saryna feared that the retired queen might spot her parading in one of her old dresses and execute her on spot for her disrespect. “What-no I cannot wear such things.” Her hands flew to untie the corset.

“You can and you will.” A masculine voice said sternly. “It is only for a few weeks while Matilda works on making you your own set of dresses.”

“Your Grace,” Bowed Matilda and the two maids.

“Your Grace.” Nodded Saryna, slightly quieter.

“You are unhappy with the dresses?” He asked, fine brow raised.

“They are lovely!” She stammered out quickly, fearful of mocking the Queen Regent's personal taste. “Is it not disrespectful to wear them?”

“If I say that day is night and night is day, then that is how it shall be.” He said dryly. “Anyway, It is merely a temporary arrangement until the new ones are finished. You couldn't walk these halls as a guest dressed in…” Aemond eyed the rag on the floor. “Your previous attire.”

Saryna blushed in slight embarrassment at his tone. “I understand.” She said, “Thank you.”

“Is the dragon securely in the pits?” He continued.

“Fracsor is fine. Unhappy to be sure, but I'll keep him company during the day.”

“Come to me every time you wish to go beyond the Keep's gates. I will call upon a wheelhouse for you.”

Saryna's eyes widened. “Every time? It isn't a far walk—”

Aemond's nostrils flared out like a bull’s. “Every time.” He stepped closer, nearly eye level with her despite her standing upon the settee. It was strange to be taller than him, it made her stand up even straighter.

“I see,” she muttered.

Aemond turned to seamstress who plucked away at the other hems of the old dresses. “I want the new ones green, too. Or white.”

“All of them?” Matilda had the gall to question. “For every season there should be balance—”

“All.” Aemond left no room for questions.

“Saryna,”

“Yes?” She asked, tilting her head down to look at him from his place at the doorway.

“I'll send someone to fetch you for supper.” The door closed with a harsh, ‘click!’ and his straight blond hair was finally out of sight. Saryna released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, a sigh of relief and a burden gone from her shoulders.

“He wants to sup with me?” She asked no one. Matilda muttered under her breath angrily, something about no taste in the royal family or something. The maids went back to work, fixing the flowing skirts around her ankles and whispering excitedly to each other.

“We'll find you some slippers, my Lady!” The more talkative piped up again, seemingly eager about the news.

The quiet one nodded but looked just as content.

“It's just Saryna.” She corrected softly.

All she got was giggles in reply.

[coeluvr]

“in the snow”

| 0.7k | Hunter x Reader | 16+ |

Author's notes: sorry to my 4am thirsty anon, I couldn't do what you wanted and this is a tiny bit angsty, forgive me? <3

The heaviness of the snowfall made visibility almost non-existent.

The biting cold pierced through every layer of clothing you wore. However, your body ran warmer than most, so the freezing temperatures didn’t affect you as much.

Hunter, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. Their body ran colder, and you could see them shivering.

You stumbled upon a small, secluded house in the forest. It was old and worn, but it had a fireplace. You didn’t waste any time gathering firewood and igniting the hearth, the crackling flames brightening the room.

As you sat on the creaky wooden floor, you pulled the blanket tightly around both of you.

It was a single blanket, barely enough to cover you completely, but you didn’t mind. You knew that your body was warm and Hunter needed the warmth, and you were willing to provide it in any way you could.

Hunter, shivering uncontrollably, leaned against you, their body seeking solace and respite from the frigid air.

The crackling of the fire served as a soothing soundtrack to the stillness around you. As they wrapped their arms around you, their head found a comfortable spot nestled against your neck. It was an intimate embrace, one born out of necessity rather than desire.

The feeling of Hunter’s touch, their lips grazing against the exposed skin on your neck, sent a shiver down your own spine. It was an unusual sensation, knowing that Hunter would never have indulged in such intimate contact under ordinary circumstances.

“This would be more efficient if we didn’t have our clothes on,” Hunter murmured, their voice groggy with fatigue. There was no mischief or humor in their words, only a genuine desire to alleviate the cold that gripped them.

You felt warm, partly from the warmth emanating from the fireplace and partly from the unexpected suggestion, you asked, “What?”

Hunter didn’t answer, instead they tightened their hold on you.

Unable to decipher the meaning behind Hunter’s words, you leaned back into them, and your eyes fluttered closed. The sound of the crackling fire melded with the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

However, as you allowed yourself to relax, you felt a peculiar sensation. Hunter’s hands, which had been initially wrapped around your torso, began to shift gradually. They moved slowly, cautiously, until they settled between your thighs.

The cold of their hands made you shiver.

Barely above a whisper, Hunter’s voice reached your ear, the words slightly slurred, “It’s warmer between your thighs.”

Their words hung in the air, a statement that intrigued you. It was as though the grogginess clouding their mind blurred the boundaries between friendship and intimacy, blurring the lines of propriety.

Part of you wanted to question what was going through their mind, to understand their thoughts. But another part of you wanted to indulge in this moment. After all, it was you who had convinced Hunter to indulge in this closeness, and now the boundaries were being tested even further.

Tentatively, you parted your legs ever so slightly, granting them further access to the intimate space between your thighs.

A low chuckle escaped Hunter’s lips, sending a tingle down your spine. Their hands, previously tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, now moved to firmly close the distance between them. The warmth that had briefly enveloped your most intimate area receded, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation.

“Don’t do that, not for someone like me,” Hunter whispered, their voice a mix of desire and resignation, a plea for you to maintain the boundaries that have been established between you. Their words carried a weight of self-restraint, a reminder of the limitations they believed they possessed.

As you began to consider Hunter’s words, their hands found their way back to your torso. Hunter drew you closer, wrapping their arms securely around your waist.

Feeling their breath tickling your skin as they buried their face into the crook of your neck, made you gulp. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness, was both comforting and electrifying. In a hushed, heartfelt tone, they murmured, “Thank you.”

Those two simple words held a depth of emotion you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if this moment meant more to them than you could have imagined.

[thievinghippo]

49, emmrich/sonnet

The prompt is a kiss for necessity!

#

“When you were a novice, Rook, I’m assuming Professor Langpichler led your lower Necropolis tour?”

Rook nods and slips her arm through Emmrich’s. They’re in one of the many twisting hallways of the Vault of the Beloved. This has become one of her favorite pastimes: simply exploring the lower Necropolis with Emmrich. With his lichdom, there’s not a spirit who would dare keep them from hidden rooms and secret passages.

“She did. How’d you know?”

“Professor Langpichler and I are the only ones who lead that tour. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I like to think you would remember if I had led your tour.”

Rook squeezes his arm. Well, squeezes the gossamer and damask that protect his humerus. “And then my crush on Profess Volkarin would have started that much more quickly.”

“Well, I’m actually quite grateful you only attended the one lecture and weren’t one of my former students,” Emmrich says, sounding quite serious. “There are boundaries I refuse to cross when it comes to my students. Even ones that have been out of the classroom for years.”

“To be fair, I was on the waiting list— Wait. I see something shiny in that room.”

She loves finding treasure, even if it’s something other people consider worthless. If she’s patient enough, one merchant or another will pay coin for everything she picks up. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself.

The room is small, with only one closed sarcophagus against the wall. Chairs lined up against the other. On top of one chair, a solitary king’s gulder.

“Your nickname is aptly given,” Emmrich says as he enters the room behind her.

“You take that back, Emmrich Volkarin. I am not a cheat,” Rook says in her most long-suffering voice. Emmrich tilts his head. “Oh fine. A bit of a cheat. But only at cards. And only to keep people on their toes. Really, I’m providing an educational experience. They should thank me.”

And that’s when the door slams shut.

One of the first rules of the Necropolis is never lose your exit. Plenty of Mortalitasi and Mourn Watch alike have perished in the past thanks to the twisting, unmarked nature of some of these halls. Or dying from thirst in locked corridors.

Granted, Emmrich can’t die from starvation or thirst, but Rook very much can. And that is not the heroic death she expects, not when she still has to kill a pair of elven gods.

Emmrich immediately goes to open the door. It doesn’t budge. He takes his stave and attempts to unlock it. Nothing.

“I’m trying very hard not to be nervous,” Rook says as she walks up next to Emmrich. Even though he has no body heat, she still wants the comfort of him.

A chill passes through her and she suddenly senses a spirit on the other side of the door. “Is that spirit… giggling?” Rook asks, grabbing Emmrich’s free hand. “I can’t sense what type. Doesn’t feel malicious.”

“A spirit of devotion, darling.”

“Devotion? Really?” Rook can’t keep the smile off her face. Spirit of devotions are quite rare, and only reveal themselves when they want to be part of a couple’s happiness. “But why’d it lock us in here?”

Emmrich strokes the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “I shall ask.” He straightens to his full height. “Spirit of devotion, we thank you for your attention. We humbly ask for your help to leave this room.”

There are times Rook can admit to the slightest bit of jealously when it comes to Emmrich’s knack with spirits. She simply doesn’t have the same report with them. So while Emmrich is clearly having a conversation, all Rook can do is wait.

“Ah, I see. Well, spirit of devotion, that will be no hardship. We will gladly pay your price.”

“It wants my gulder, doesn’t it?”

 Emmrich shakes his head. “Your gulder is safe. It has a simple request. One kiss, and the door will be unlocked.”

Rook can only thrill as Emmrich pulls her into his arms. “As if we need an excuse to kiss,” she says with a laugh, raising her chin.

He lowers his head, and her lips press against his mouth. Rook shivers slightly as Emmrich shares his essence through the kiss. Just enough to leave her wanting more.

The door opens.

Rook makes a decision. “We don’t have anywhere to be this afternoon, right?”

“I have some letters to write, but I can do that while you’re sleeping.”

“Close the door, spirit! We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

Several hours pass before the door opens once again.

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

(if you've read this far, I would love more prompts! Here's the list)

[i-heart-hxh]

In all honesty why do you think Killua made the number two comment to Gon? I feel like he doesn’t realize how messed up that is to say to someone who has gone through extensive trauma trying to prove himself to a father who also put him in “second place” to something he deemed more important. It was hurtful and I don’t see how that can be repaired now. Even if they do reunite Gon is going to just step on eggshells and fear that even one slip up will cause Killua to just leave him again. Idk I just feel like separation wasn’t the solution here. They needed to talk and then stay together. But “taking a break” rarely works out for any relationship. It also sucks that Gon constantly told Killua how important he was to him but Killua NEVER returned this sentiment verbally so Gon’s just stuck thinking he’s a piece of shit who destroyed his most important relationship. Killua really did just say “screw Gon I have Alluka now”.

Hello!

I don't agree with this interpretation at all; to me, there are a number of complex reasons why Killua made that comment, and I don't think it will destroy their relationship by any means.

This post--In-Depth analysis on the Hidden Reasons behind Gon & Killua's separation scene (ep 147) Why Gon is 'Number 2'--is the best starting point for anyone trying to understand the separation, in my opinion. It's cohesive, uses supporting evidence from the series and demonstrates the careful wording used in the separation, and it makes more sense than any other interpretation I've read of why Killua would make such a comment to Gon. I keep referring back to this post because I truly think it holds keys to understanding the separation that other posts I've seen don't.

In addition to the insight provided in that post--where Killua is trying to put some distance between him and Gon for Gon's safety and well-being, essentially--I also think it's:

a) Partly how Killua is trying to steel himself to leave Gon, by telling himself, Gon, and Alluka that Alluka is his priority for now

b) Part of Killua's campaign of teasing Gon lightheartedly on the topic, to bring it up while at the same time downplaying the emotional effects of what happened between them--because when they're separating is not the right time for them to seriously address it or work through it

I do think the second place comment hurt Gon a little, but...Gon is already aware that he hurt Killua, and after his life was literally saved by Alluka (Nanika), being put in "second place" is not the worst outcome ever, honestly. Plus, it confirms he's still one of the most important people to Killua even after everything that happened between them! Killua is not saying Gon is trash to him now, even though it is a bit of a jab.

I've also said before that I think Togashi had Killua make this comment with awareness that we, as the audience, would be like, "Uh-huh Killua, sure, interesting of you to say this so shortly after you centered your entire life on him for basically the whole series and even seriously considered doing a lovers suicide with this guy..." We're most likely supposed to see it as Killua not being fully honest, even though Alluka does obviously mean a lot to Killua and by necessity she has to be his priority now. Plus, even Alluka herself says she'll give Killua back to Gon after a while. She must have some idea of how much Gon means to Killua, to be so willing to "give him back." I've said this before, but I see this line from Alluka about giving Killua back to Gon as a promise from Togashi to the audience that this isn't forever.

Gon isn't clueless; he knows Killua cares about him even though Killua struggles to express it verbally. The degree of trust and unspoken understanding between them in the dodgeball match is a good (albeit complicated) example of this. The two didn't communicate to the degree they needed to during Chimera Ant Arc, which makes sense because they're young and have their own issues and it was terribly traumatic for both for them, but they also have a good understanding of each other overall, and it's not giving Gon enough credit to assume he has no idea just because Killua hasn't said it. He doesn't know the full extent of Killua's feelings for him, certainly (I hope he will someday!), but he is aware Killua cares about him. Even when it comes to the separation, Killua expressing his pain shows that he still cares about Gon! He's saying that what happened still hurts, because he still cares! He's making light of it, but it's honestly a step in the right direction for him to be discussing it at all. If they can't be honest with each other about how what happened impacted them, they can't heal.

Of course it would be better for their relationship if they talked it out fully and came to some sort of resolution, but neither of them were in a place where they could do that quite yet. Killua is too closed up emotionally and hurting from seeing Gon essentially die in front of him, and Gon needs to recover from essentially throwing his life away and saying those things to Killua that we know he regrets. They do need some time apart to reflect and grow.

Are the two boys in a complicated emotional situation currently? Yes. Do I think this dooms them to never reconnect or heal their relationship? Absolutely not. I see their separation as more of a "We gotta go our separate ways for now because we both have things we have to deal with," (both externally and internally) than anything final. They agree to stay in touch, they express sadness at having to part, they make it clear several times that this is a temporary parting. Why make them clearly unsatisfied with having to part if they're not going to have an opportunity to make things right later?

[maxdibert]

Hello :))

I was reading some of your posts and I found them very interesting and educational, so I decided to ask.

What do you think Severus' relationship with the other DEs was like and how do you think it changed from the first war to the second? Cause I think thats another place where the power dynamics in Severus' life were very strong. Also why would Voldemort give the "poorest and least relevant", in terms of status, of the Death Eaters a favor as great as forgiving Lily? Did Voldemort have a different relationship or perception of Severus than the ones he had with/of thr others?

I think the similarities between Tom Riddle and Severus are enough to generate an involuntary respect from Voldemort towards another halfblood who was trying to get out of the mud he had been pushed into. I say involuntary because Voldemort would probably never want to admit that he sees his "old self" reflected in someone who is considered pathetic by the rest of the society he frequented (blood purists).

Reading some of the Sirius' posts I was thinking that Bellatrix's vision (in the second war especially) of Severus could be a lot like the one Sirius/James had, torn between that sense of superiority that was taught to them and the insecurity of knowing that somehow the halfblood was gradually taking away the place of other purebloods way more important (Lucius and all of the pureblood who were not in the inner circle) next to their lord. Why does Voldemort allow this displacement? What does Severus provide (aside from the information, he is a spy but I belive he could had leave Severus out of it and keep him just as an informant I he really wanted to) that no one else can give him?

This is longer than I expected, but just wanted to know what you think and Im not sure if you already talked about this. Hope you are having a good day I love your posts🫶

This is quite an interesting topic. Personally, I think of Severus as the Slytherin equivalent of Remus or Peter: someone who associated with the strongest out of necessity. Probably people like Lucius (who was older and likely already involved in shady things) must have noticed his potential. On top of that, it was obvious that he wasn’t someone with many social skills, and it was also apparent that he didn’t have many resources, making him perfectly manipulable. Severus was someone who wanted to fit in and find a safe space, and in exchange for that, he was probably willing to "sell" his talent. No wonder spells like Levicorpus became widely known throughout the school. Some people theorize that maybe someone else read the Potions book, but I think it’s more likely that Severus shared his magical successes with his housemates as a way to gain validation and respect as a wizard. His housemates probably used his spells here and there, and that’s how they spread. That seems the most logical to me.

I think the dynamic must have started and continued as something very paternalistic, like, “Let’s take in this one here who has no name or bloodline but has a lot of talent and is willing to do anything for us.” This is very common in gangs, cults, or religious groups: welcoming highly vulnerable individuals and exploiting their gaps and needs. And in this, I think Lucius probably played a significant role, judging by how, throughout the saga, various characters reference how well-regarded he is by Severus. In my personal headcanon, I think Lucius saw potential in Severus and wanted to make him his project: turning the poor boy who didn’t even have a penny to his name and was of mixed blood into someone who could demonstrate that, through effort and the "right" ideas, he could become “useful.” Kind of like the token figures that far-right parties use to excuse their racism and misogyny, saying they have racialized people or women to justify their positions. A way of proving that the problem isn’t the people themselves but rather their unwillingness to "adapt."

This idea holds a lot of weight in my imagination because I think that, in those early years, if someone could set the premise that someone like Severus should be respected in his house, it had to be someone who commanded respect within it. Lucius was older, had been a prefect, had a name and power, and the relationship between the two characters suggests that he could have been a sort of “mentor” to Severus. This would also explain his close relationship with Narcissa and how she knew how to get to his house without any trouble.

The issue with Voldemort is more complicated. Maybe Voldemort saw his talent and found it useful. Severus was an expert Occlumens to the point where even Voldemort couldn’t read his mind, a potions genius, and an excellent Legilimens. Perhaps he primarily valued the talent of his followers, seeing them as tools to achieve his goals. Maybe he thought it was a trivial matter to grant Lily the chance to live if it meant keeping one of his most talented followers happy. What’s clear to me is that, due to his inability to understand others’ emotions and feelings, Voldemort underestimated Severus’s request. Maybe he thought it was just a crush and that Severus wanted to shag her (I think this because of his comment about Severus supposedly having plenty of purebloods to choose from) and that once he got what he wanted, he’d move on. Typical horny young people stuff. I don’t think he stopped to consider the deeper implications of that request because he wasn’t someone who could see beyond his own navel, and he tended to underestimate his followers. I don’t blame him; most of his followers were fanatics who were easily manipulated. It wouldn’t be strange to assume he lumped Severus in with the rest, thinking that given his background and the fact that he joined the Death Eaters under Lucius Malfoy’s wing, he was just an impressionable kid desperate for a father figure (like Barty, lol).

I think unconscious similarities might have played a role, although I don’t think Voldemort saw Severus as a reflection of himself because Voldemort is far too narcissistic for that. In fact, that narcissism is his greatest weakness since it blinds him to others’ emotions and leads him to make mistakes (Lily sacrificing herself for Harry, Severus betraying him for Lily, or Narcissa betraying him for Draco). In that sense, I think if Voldemort could have liked something about Severus, it would have been the fact that it was thanks to his talent and wit that he managed to position himself above people who had everything from birth. That and his disdain for his Muggle side due to daddy issues could also be part of it. Still, it’s hard to know because I don’t see Voldemort as very rational in this aspect—he’s more of a narcissistic psychopath. Perhaps he also thought that since Severus came from nothing, he might have more hunger for power than anyone else precisely because he had nothing, and maybe that appealed to him. Whatever the case, it’s clear that Tommy didn’t know how to interpret or deeply analyze people, at least not beyond what suited him. His massive ego caused him to underestimate more than one person, which later cost him the war.

Of course, Bellatrix couldn’t stand him. Bellatrix and Sirius are very similar and behave in similar ways, only Sirius has fewer mental issues and is on the "good" side. But both are impulsive, loyal to a fault, somewhat sadistic, and prone to letting their anger take over. In HBP, we can see how Bellatrix distrusts Severus and the way she can’t stand him. Obviously, it’s not the same kind of hatred Sirius has for him, but it’s clear they have a very strained relationship to the point where Severus enjoys being rather sassy with her and throwing some verbal jabs. It’s evident she doesn’t respect him because he’s a half-blood and is somewhat envious of his position with Voldemort. Meanwhile, he doesn’t respect her because he knows she’s a crazy fanatic. At least Bellatrix is more honest than her cousin and wouldn’t hesitate to admit that Severus’s origins pissed her off. Sirius, in that sense, was always far more hypocritical. I’m not exactly sure what Severus offered Voldemort to earn his complete trust, and I think it’s a shame Rowling took many things for granted in her story and didn’t bother to expand or explain certain parts because there’s a lot of material there. Referring to what I mentioned earlier, I think it likely had to do with a mix of the talent Severus had demonstrated in disciplines similar to those Voldemort mastered and the fact that Voldemort tended to underestimate those around him. Perhaps he thought Severus, given his background and history, was more susceptible to blindly following him.

(This turned out a bit long, almost Biblical—my apologies, lol.)

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Hi, please free to ignore( huge fan of your metas btw)

What are your thoughts on Peter pettigrew? In swm we saw him fanboying over james to being responsible for his death. Just because he was afraid or he never really loved his friends. Many people say James and Sirius treated him shitty thats why he betrayed. Some even say he was just a tag along. Please share your thoughts.

First of all, thank you!

(also, unless they are rude, I don't ignore any questions, it might just take me two years to answer)

Peter Pettigrew

My very controversial opinion on Peter is that I love him (as a character).

To me, Peter is one of those characters who represent how Rowling's clear lack of self-awareness as a person translates in her work into her being unable to recognize her strengths as a writer. The majority of the most interesting things she comes up with are not the ones she focuses on.

And that's the case for Peter Pettigrew, who might be the Marauder with the most interesting story.

It's way too easy to reduce him to a coward as the author seems to want you to believe. And even claiming he didn't love his friends is a flattening of his character.

You can have a tendency to be influenced by peer pressure all you want but you don't become an unregistered animagus to help someone if you don't love the friend you are doing that for and you don't have a bit of courage (especially considering how long the whole thing was and that he wasn't particularly talented). He risked extremely severe consequences on his body due to the possibility of the process going wrong and he risked Azkaban for being unregistered.

That's fundamentally the opposite behavior of the one he later has with the Potters.

I also think it's important to point out how Remus is not a close relative (father, son, brother) and how the help Peter provides is not essential to Remus' survival, it's emotional comfort. The lack of necessity of the animagus matter and the easily cancellable bond with Remus increase the braveness and love of Peter's act (in contrast for example with something like what Narcissa does with her son by lying to Voldemort).

I think Peter's story is the one of someone who lost his courage, not the one of a person who never had it.

Doesn't this also make it so much more delicious how his downfall is caused by the return of a glimpse of honor?

I do agree with the fact that in SWM, James and Sirius don't treat him particularly well, especially Sirius, but I don't think they are that aware of it, especially James. They are a bit crude, and they are arrogant. They are two bright posh 16yo guys in a boarding school in the 70s. I don't expect from them a particularly high level of sensitivity in how they talk to people, especially to someone they take for granted knows to be their friend. Sirius is probably more aware of it, but I believe James to be quite unaware of himself at this point in the timeline. This is before his maturation really kicks in, his whole interaction with Lily shows a lack of self-awareness in how he talks to people (we know Lily turns him into a bit of an idiot, the problem is that he doesn't seem to be aware of it). Sirius on the other hand seems a lot more self-aware than James. A lot of people are not going to like what I'm about to say but: James is canonically a better person than Sirius.

And yet, it is abundantly clear that both James and Sirius love Peter.

James gives into Peter's hands his own life and the ones of his wife and son. Sirius gives in Peter's hands the lives of the family he chose.

In the Shrieking Shack, under all the pain Sirius has for the death of James and Lily, it is evident that there's also the pain that comes from the betrayal of a friend.

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!" - Chapter 19, Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban

Lily herself is very attached to Peter, in her letter to Sirius, she calls him Wormy (how cute is that?). And, let's remember that she too puts her life and the ones of her husband and son in Peter's hands.

It's too easy to say Peter was just a tagalong, that they didn't love him. It incredibly diminishes the pain of his act.

I also would like to point out that Peter isn't stupid. He was a double agent, he managed to frame Sirius by using in his favor people’s low opinion of his skills (and Remus and Sirius' rocky relationship). James, Sirius, and Remus might have thought of themselves as smarter than Peter but I don't think they actually believed him to be stupid. Considering who the Marauders are, their knowing how good of a liar, and how cunning Peter could be, would be a perfect explanation of why they became friends in the first place.

Does this mean they all loved Peter but Peter only loved Remus out of his friends?

We can't really be sure of his feelings for Sirius, but the admiration he shows for James and the sense of guilt we know he has for his double agent activities don't really align with that image.

I think Peter's fear for his own life ended up winning over the love for his friends.

But why at this point? Why not at Hogwarts?

Something quite interesting is how Peter's father is the only parent of the Marauders who is never mentioned, not in the books, not in any additional material. Doesn't that align just so well with Peter always putting himself at the service of the most important male figure around? First James, and then after school, with the war going on, Voldemort.

Isn't it such a fitting image, Peter growing up without a father, with a too-cuddling mother whom he ends up resenting, faulting her for the absence of the father? It's so natural to paint him as a young man crushed by a sense of inadequacy towards an image of masculinity he idealizes but can't fulfill, supported by a society filled with a very toxic sense of masculinity and an absent father he can sew on any fantasy he wants.

When Peter was at Hogwarts, being friends with James, and being part of the Marauders, gave Peter a sense of security that allowed him to be brave enough to prioritize his love for his friends over himself.

Out in the real world, though, Voldemort is the dominant man and being positioned against the Dark Lord takes away the sense of security he had as a student. Both times Peter goes to Voldemort, he does it because he doesn't feel safe.

It's also abundantly clear how Peter's siding with Voldemort doesn't come from ideology. He becomes an animagus for Remus, he's a dear friend of Lily.

Peter dies because Voldemort doesn't trust him, and he is right in not trusting him. Somewhere in Peter, there's still the boy who risked his life for a friend.

Try to tell me this is not an interesting character.

He's still a coward overall, but a complex one.

Also, Peter Pettigrew is a clear victim of pretty privilege when it comes to the fandom. I'm ready to bet whatever you want that if he had been described as handsome the most popular ship with Sirius would be Sirus/Peter.

Actually, he didn't even have to be described as handsome, he just needed to not be described as ugly. Draco is described as having a pointy face and people have been lying to themselves claiming he's incredibly handsome for the last twenty-five years.

[falsemilkbun]

Haven't You Heard the Word of Your Body? (ch. 1 rough draft)

I enjoy sharing process stuff and I'm still on my forty eight hour handgun purchase wait for my archive of our own account, so here's a rough draft of the first chapter of my run at applying a variation on omegaverse to elves. There's no inny-outy in this part, no one has boobs, I can put it on here...

This kept happening. They would encounter a monster, a fight would ensue, and the captain would deplete his mana stores because, as Kabru was learning through experience, he was no good at judging his own limits. He would march past the point of exhaustion. He would forget - or, worse, refuse - food and water. He was an absolute pain to put down to sleep. All these things had become Kabru’s responsibility, at least for the week it took Captain Mithrun’s team to reach them down in the depths of the dungeon.

It was getting worse, too. He grew weaker every time, and the periods during which he could be considered recovered got shorter and shorter. On that day, it had already happened twice when Kabru found himself ducking under Mithrun’s swooning body to catch him. Elves were lightweight, which was a blessing of a kind, but he was dead weight this time. His arms had lost the strength, or maybe the coordination, or even both, to grip anything. He couldn’t be slung over Kabru’s back, he had to be carried folded up against his chest like a little child. The most the Canaries’ captain could manage was to curl his body inward, pressing his pained face against Kabru’s chestplate.

This was more serious than mana exhaustion. He was sick, and Kabru had even less experience in nursing than he had in cooking.

The sweat crystalizing to his hair and the way his breath turned bright, solid white were visible signals but Kabru could feel the fever burning through the body in his arms. How long had he been sick? Was it the cold, or had he been unwell for days and never realized or said anything?

No matter. In the present moment, Kabru needed solutions to problems and not answers to questions, and the solution to their main problem would be finding a place to rest.

It didn’t take long to find one. He must have really wanted it.

Even if Mithrun had warned him not to want for too much, how could he be expected to stop? He had needs, and unlike Mithrun his mind and his heart registered them.

The shelter that the dungeon provided for them was too perfect. The rough wooden door was ajar, even, and he didn’t even have to set Mithrun down to toe it open and step inside. It as a lot like a sparse, one-room home, though the exterior consisted of little more than a shingled outcropping from the dungeon wall that shielded a pile of firewood from the ever-falling snow.

It wasn’t frigid in the shelter, but it certainly wasn’t toasty warm, either.

There was a bed, a narrow one dressed sparingly in a sheet over straw bedding, and he rolled Mithrun on to this. The elf immediately curled in on himself as if in pain, and Kabru asked his forgiveness to get water and light a lamp so that he could start treating him. 

Water was easy. The dungeon had provided it in the form of a basin on the floor that filled endlessly from the stone mouth of a spigot in the wall in the shape of a lion’s head. It was clear and cool and Kabru used it to soak the spare articles of clothes he could spare from his pack. He wasn’t thinking about fever so much as heatstroke when he did this, but he was forced by necessity to assume that the conditions were similar enough that he might as well try. He left the soaked rags draping over the edge of the basin and used a stout sprig of straw from the bed and the fire starter in his pack to light the  lamps on the walls.

Mithrun was watching him now, he discovered. His face was in full red flush and his eye was wide.

“It’s all right,” Kabru said, out of habit. He couldn’t be sure Mithrun knew or cared he was in danger. He stooped by the bed and pushed on Mithrun’s shoulder to turn him over onto his back. There was no resistance. “I have to remove some of your clothes to treat you. Is that all right?”

No response. Mithrun’s eye had closed again, and he seemed most focused on drawing and expelling breath and enduring whatever pain was subtly contorting his face. He did experience discomfort, Kabru had observed, just not any immediate motivation to resolve it.

“Captain?” He had to try again.

Nothing. No acknowledgement but a gasp that shuddered through him and dramatically raised his slight chest. Sometimes, having been raised with elves, KAbru could forget how small they were, how frail they looked. What he’d mistaken for uncharacteristic toughness on Mithrun’s part had been a lack of care for his own wellbeing, after all. Elves weren’t hardy, the danger to him was very real.

Well. If it turned out that losing his clothes was the one thing he could still care about, then he could be angry about it later.

“Whatever.” Kabru sighed. Mithrun wasn’t even opening his eye at that point. If he was going to be speaking to himself alone, there wasn’t any need for considerate speech. 

He exposed Mithrun’s throat first, then wrestled him lightly around to pull his tunic over his head. Mithrun cringed when he touched him, but there was no way to be sure if he did this as any kind of protest to the treatment. Kabru convinced himself, for the sake of having the wherewithal to continue, that he was simply dazed and uncomfortable. All he knew was someone was manhandling him and shifting him around when his body needed rest, that was all.

And even if it wasn’t…

But it was. It couldn’t be anything else. 

The expanse of Mithrun’s body left bare by the Canary armor under his tunic was scattered with pale scars. He was like Milsril, chewed up by his dedication to the Canaries’ cause. The slim lines where his skin had knitted itself back together caught the light from the lamps and turned it silvery.

That was routine enough. He was a soldier, his career was impossibly long to Kabru’s mind. It shouldn’t be distracting.

Kabru stripped the upper portion of Mithrun’s armor next, and the silver-threaded flesh of his chest swelled and rose to his palm when he slid a hand under the stiffened spider silk to lift it away. It was firm and smooth and furnace hot.

Behind the wall of his ribcage, his heartbeat was frantic.

There really was something wrong with his body, not just his attitude, like Kabru had suspected. There had to be. This was too sudden and severe for any other explanation to apply. Wracking his brain for any monstrous or magical effects that could bring on such a condition turned up nothing.

Was he simply frail after all he’d been through, pushing past his compromised stamina to achieve the only goal he had left? He looked it, flushed and breathless and half-stripped on a bed built for one person almost twice his size.

The cool air in the shelter would help, surely.

Kabru went to the basin and took two cloths back to the bed, a smaller one to drape across Mithrun’s throat and a broader one to put under his arms and across his chest. The chill must have shocked him, because his eyebrows knotted up and he made a sound like someone trying to cry out in their sleep.

“Easy, I’m helping you.” He felt like his foster mother in that moment, speaking to him before he trusted her. Patient and kind. Even if he’d never go ‘home’ to her if he could help it, he couldn’t convince himself that her love for him wasn’t genuine. Or that he was echoing her words out of sheer habit. “You’ll start to feel better soon. Just lie still and don’t stress your body any further.”

He took water from the basin in one of the tin cups in his mess kit and coaxed Mithrun into sitting up enough to drink from it without choking. Or, really, he scooped and hoisted him into such a position and let the hot frame of his body rest against him while he drank. His eye, open but just barely, was a watchful sliver reflecting the light like his scars had. He seemed just a little more lucid, and Kabru felt proud.

“Captain?”

No words, but the tarnished circle of Mithrun’s iris did glide in the direction of Kabru’s face. He could at least recognize that Kabru was speaking to him. That was a good sign.

He brought him more water and wet down the cloth for his throat again. When he returned to Mithrun’s side, he found himself pressed on by a body insistent that he hold it up with his own.

Was he one of those people who got needy when they were sick? That would be bothersome.

“Are you cold?” Kabru asked. 

Waves the color of fog rasped on steel when Mithrun shook his head. He was looking up at Kabru again, his expression open in a way Kabru might have called expectant if he believed Mithrun could expect anything from anyone.

“Lie down, then.” Kabru helped him. “I’m going to finish… dressing you for sleep, if that’s all right. Is it?”

“Yes.” The word was almost a breath, but it came without hesitation or consideration. He’d been understood, whatever faculties Mithrun had for protecting his dignity were engaged.

The rest of the armor came off, then Mithrun’s boots, and the hose he laced these over. Mithrun twisted and drew hissing breaths all through this process, but he didn’t explicitly protest.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then stop squirming.” Kabru let the last of Mithrun’s proper clothes drop to the floor. The first thing he noticed once that was done was a dramatic splotch of wetness soaking through his underpants. On the one hand, this felt like an inevitable escalation. On the other, cleaning another grown man up like a toddler was almost too much to tolerate.

Still, Kabru couldn’t get angry if he tried. It was no one’s fault. Mithrun was unwell and couldn’t care for himself besides, and Kabru was still learning how to care for him. It was fine.

Really.

If he didn’t keep reminding himself of that, he was going to lose it before the week was out.

There was clean water, there were things that counted as wash cloths if he didn’t think too hard about it, and it would be unconscionable to not help him.  He hooked his thumbs in the sides of Mithrun’s underpants and pulled down hard, shocked but not unpleasantly when Mithrun lifted his hips to help him. If that was all, it would have been fine.

Mithrun’s head rolled back, exposing the underside of his chin, and he breathed a sigh that carried his voice. The cloth unstuck itself from him and came away with a shivering strand of viscous fluid clinging to it. 

Kabru, even under pain of torture in the West, would only ever have admitted to looking for a fraction of a second. That may not help his case, considering that elves were primarily hairless past their necklines and this left absolutely nothing up for interpretation. 

This would have marked him as a bastard for certain. No noble house would try to solicit matches for such a son, so they hardly appeared except in cases of infidelity. It was their bodies that did the soliciting, and they did it in a way that was not within their control. And they did it with men. Such a son wouldn’t be a pruned branch on the family tree, but the quality of any grafts couldn’t be assured. He would be an inconvenience, and a shame besides.

Kabru had heard - reading on the topic was scarce, for predictable reasons - several accounts of what was done with these sons. A mother in dire need might sell him. A family lacking in conscience might abandon him with another family and call it charity. If he were lovely and fair like his mother, they might put him to other purposes besides the maintenance of the lineage.

Press him into service of the Queen, good service doing good work. And if he died, well, he died as an expression of the house’s loyalty. His contribution could be controlled in this way.

“I’m sorry!” The anger that had risen up from Kabru’s chest and into his head bled through into the words and made them sound strange. He had to try again, even if Mithrun wouldn’t care. “Captain, forgive me, I didn’t realize. Forgive me, too, because I don’t know how to help you.”

Mithrun drew several deep breaths. “No, it was my mistake not telling you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I told you, I need to know things like this.”

“Sometimes, when I can’t decide what would be best to do, I imagine the person that I was before I became like this.” Mithrun patted around on the bed for the edge of the sheet and used his limited energy to pull it over the lower half of his body. This was probably more for Kabru’s benefit than his own. “I ask myself what I can imagine him doing, and I couldn’t imagine him telling you.”

“Can you imagine why not?”

“I was conceited and ashamed of this body.” Mithrun rolled over onto one side, pulling the sheet with him. “I always suspected that the love I left behind chose my brother over me because I wasn’t the kind of man who could give her children.”

As if the story needed to be any more complicated.

“Well, I know now.” Kabru moved to the head of the bed and reached down to press the backside of his hand to Mithrun’s forehead. Still hot, but not dangerously so. “How are you feeling?”

“You may not want to touch me,” Mithrun said, the words coming through a throat pinched tight.

“Why is that?”

A long pause. Was Mithrun checking in with his past self?

“I don’t want anything,” Mithrun finally said, his arms crossing tight over his chest as he curled in on himself as if evading Kabru’s hand. “But my body wants you very badly right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I-” Kabru’s mouth opened and closed like a fish flapping on a riverbank until covered it with his hand to spare himself the embarrassment of having been knocked speechless.

Talk about complicated.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Random DA Thoughts (1/?): Skyhold Layout

I have a tendency to hyperfixate. Here, my Dragon Age and medieval history hyperfixations merge together perfectly to answer the question: is Skyhold a functional castle?

The answer is obviously: no. Optimization and rendering have done away with quite a lot that is necessary to make Skyhold a truly livable fantasy Middle Ages-analog castle, up to and including all the cellars and cisterns that would be necessary to keep the population fed during the winter or in the event of a siege.

But it's close - close enough that with a few tweaks Skyhold could serve as a believable, livable mountain fortress.

Starting with the bird's eye view, my biggest changes are in the area immediately to the south of the keep - rather than keep the stables there, I've turned it into a kitchen yard with bakehouse, brewery, and coops - in addition to access to a kitchen garden.

The stables and a small stockyard have been moved to the lower bailey, but most livestock would by necessity be kept further down the mountain - and so would most dairying and butchering. Only the most high-ranked, like the Inquisitor's inner circle, would keep their horses in the keep. There might also be just enough cows or goats to provide daily milk needs, with cheese and butter coming from offsite.

Each of the nine towers would rise five stories - a ground level with four levels above, plus at least one sub-level with cellars, cisterns, and/or wells in the event the curtain walls are breached. For convenience sake, I have named these (clockwise, staring from the top): the North Tower, Wolf Tower, Kitchen Tower, South Tower, Eastern Gatehouse, Western Gatehouse, Star Tower, West Tower, and Courtyard Tower.

Ramparts can be accessed via the 3rd level of each tower. Some, like the gatehouses, have additional officer housing on the topmost level, as was common in medieval castles. Others, like the Courtyard Tower, have the infirmary in its lower levels, with medics and healers housed on the upper floors. The North Tower - which can be customized for mages or templars in game - is envisioned as mage tower here, with space for enchanting and requisitions on the ground level.

The keep's ground level and courtyard remain largely the same, merely be expanded upon. The courtyard gains a hothouse and a separate building for the chapel as well as hot springs access for bathing. The keep grows outwards, becoming more than just a great hall. Josephine's office also becomes the castellan's suite, gaining a waiting area and restricted access to their private chambers. The War Room is the ground level of the Wolf Tower, accessible only through the castellan's suite.

The 1st and 2nd levels are largely similar - with a lot of wasted space open the the great hall. I envision it as similar in size to Westminster Hall and imagine it must be a nightmare to heat even with magic. Main attractions include Vivienne's balcony and the chamberlain's office - which, as the chamberlain is historically in charge of managing the royal household, may well be Vivienne's rooms. Leliana, as the Inquisition’s seneschal, has the office and chambers on the second level.

The 3rd level is the one which required the most imagination, as other than the towers and outbuildings there's not a lot of obvious space where visiting nobles and other dignitaries might sleep - and those would likely be given over to military officers and servants respectively. So, drawing inspiration from the Winter Palace, we have a handful of household apartments here too.

The 4th level houses more than just the Inquisitor's bedchambers. Here, I've given them an actual office and a bedroom with a door that closes, as well as a second suite on the same level - perhaps if Vivienne isn't claiming the chamberlain's rooms, she has the two-room south-facing suite.

The rotunda extends up for two more levels, though for sanitation levels the ravenry has been moved to a different building. A balcony extends around the 6th level, offering a brilliant view of the Frostbacks - but politely cuts off before turning north, allowing those in the 4th level bedrooms privacy from prurient eyes.

There are also two sub-levels - the first provides more cellars as well as access to the secret library (behind a not-so-fake wine rack in the smallest of the cellars). The bottom-most has the undercroft as well as the hot springs - here imagined as largely untouched, with minimal masonry additions added for safety and privacy. (I'm really loving the images I've found of Deep Blue Hot Springs in Warrnambool, Australia, so something along those lines.)

Does this cover all bases? Probably not. There are a lot of latrines I've not bothered drawing and prefer to imagine as some lovely ancient elven version of internal plumbing, being emptied far from the castle's drinking water. The outbuildings I've added should provide more services beyond the blacksmith we see as well as servant housing. (Laundries. Coopers. Fletchers. Chandlers. The works.)

Anyway, I had a fun time making these. Feel free to offer up any comments or suggestions on what should be added or changed.

[noodles-doodles01]

HOTD EP 1 Rewrite

Ep 5 is giving heavy season 8 of GoT vibes so I'm saving myself the pain and just rewriting all the mistakes they made so far so I dont go insane in the coming weeks. I will reblog this post with each episode rewrite as they come, but heres ep 1:

*Disclaimer* I am making sure most of the plot points are still included in the rewrite whether I like them or not.

As much as I love the north opening, we save that for a bit later. Instead, we get a rainy shot of King's Landing. Its dark out and there i thunder and rain etc. We see a pair of boots walking through the halls, rushed and hasty and the music matches as well. The person's breath is also huffy and puffed, and we get shots of the water on their coat, and then a shot of Aemond's eyes as he rushes to a room.

The door barges open and Aemond comes into a room where Aegon is being lectured by Alicent and Otto. They become quiet and Alicent gets up to see what's wrong. Aemond admits what he did and Alicent slaps him, crying out "Mother help us all". We get a quick shot of Aegon witnessing the slap (yk, for character parallel reasons), and Otto begins yelling at him "my grandson is a fool" style. The camera focuses on Aegon a while and we see him almost sympathizing with his brother, so he puts on this fake act and laughs, saying that they should hold a feast, celebrating their first victory.

Back at Dragonstone, we watch as Rhaenyra rides Syrax out to find Luke in the sea, and follow Daemon and Rhaenys as they leave the dragonpit to discuss with the team. Daemon has his dialogue with Rhaenys about Laena and they make their way to the council. Team Black is all there minus Jace, and they discuss how to set up the best defence in the time they need to raise an army and attack again, since Aemond's move is OFFENSIVE. They mention how Dragonstone is unsafe, they mention how another threat is Daeron in Oldtown with his dragon, and they mention what good the North can realistically provide and how they can strategize with their travels south. Daemon then suggests using Harrenhall as a fort, since it is the crux of the Riverlands and would give them the best land defence. When contested that Harrenhall is in ruin, Daemon will explain that they have the advantage with dragon numbers and the sea with the blockade, they have some leverage that can be spent on the necessities that Harrenhall requires.

We are taken back to Rhaenyra where the sun is beginning to set, and the fishermen find a wing. Rhaenyra flies in on Syrax, finds Arrax's wing and we get the fantastic performance by Emma D'arcy that brought us all to tears. The sounds of Rhaenyra's sobs are manipulated by the audio to transition into the laughter and fun that the Greens are having at KL during the feast. Alicent is PISSED and leaves early, meanwhile Helaena and Aemond sit next to one another in discomfort. Maybe some dialogue here but idk what, but these two need more interactions.

Aegon ofc is the only one having fun, he's drunk off his mind and laughing with his idiot kingsguard friends. During this, Aegon drunkenly makes a toast and jokes about Aemond being a kinslayer, Aemond does not like the title and it comes off as Aegon's weird form of bullying (since we have to transition this kinda buildup and not bring it out of nowhere between the 2 years of s1 and s2) At Dragonstone again, Rhaenyra is coming back and Daemon is facing the fireplace holding a scroll. When he looks at her, he slams the scroll into the table and tells her that he will bring Aemond to his knees. Rhae is confused but its comforting bc she's in shambles. Daemon storms out and Rhaenyra reads the note, which gives word about the feast.

(Insert something here about Daemon and Mysaria setting up B&C)

(Insert Aemond brothel scene #1 here, and he reveals he regrets killing Luke etc etc)

When Daemon meets B&C, he tells them a son for a son, find Aemond Targaryen. if not, slay Aegon's heir. The men share a weird glance but they agree. We get the montage ofthe pair going into the castle as ratcatchers, with Aegon drunk and Helaena and Alicent putting the kids to bed. BnC burst into the room, blood binds Alicent whilst Cheese grabs the twins (who are still awake). Since the kids are so young, they cannot tell which is the son, so they force Helaena to pick. Helaena, dazed, begins to cry and says to kill her instead. Cheese tells her they only want the boy, so she lies and points at Jahaera. Cheese laughs and says the line, "Do you hear that little girl? Your mommy wants you dead", revealing that they know she's lying. At that, they shove Jahaera at Helaena and go to kill Jahaerys. Helaena starts screaming and freaking out. Bc of how gruesome the scene is I wouldn’t have the the acc death shown, but rather how her screams echo in the halls. Aegons reaction to the sound, the guards rushing towards her room.

Aegon bursts through the doors and sees Helaena on the ground crying and screaming saying “they killed my boy”

A final shot of Aegon having it dawn on him that the war is in full swing and absorbing the first “consequence”.

*end*

lmk if you have any questions about any decisions I made!

Edit; I removed Alicole entirely, bc as much as I’ve tried to rationalize it I hate it. FnB has Alicent calling Cole out for being a creep when Rhaenyra is young, so if the show has Alicent experiencing years of this kind of experience, why would she choose to be with someone like him once she gets fo leave the relation with Viserys? Plus, Alicent experiencing this moves her character forward in fully dealing with the fact that her push for the throne doesn’t go without major pushback.

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Looking at several previous one, I can already imagine that this one is not going to turn out well, but since it is my favorite I'm going to ask anyway.

How about Skarmory?

Skarmories are fascinating pokémon, but they might not make the greatest house pet unless you are an expert in the species. As I’m sure you understand, this makes it pretty difficult for me to give them a blanket endorsement, hence the C ranking. It’s a complicated one, so let’s get right into it.

For one thing, skarmories are pretty large. At over five feet tall, their space needs are gonna be higher than a lot of owners can handle. This is doubly true considering their aerial lifestyle: skarmories are skilled flyers and would likely become restless if prevented from flying freely. I’d go out on a limb and guess that very, very view readers of this blog have access to an enclosed space large enough to suit a skarmory’s need to take to the air. These pokémon can fly at dumbfounding speeds, topping off somewhere around 190 miles per hour (Ruby). Nothing short of a sports stadium, if that, would suffice. Of course, a trained skarmory could be allowed to explore freely and return home on command, but that would require a level of training that’s gonna really decrease their ease of care. You would also need to keep in mind that flying freely outdoors may present a risk to your skarmory or wild pokémon, depending on where you live. In the Galar Region, for example, skarmories are known to “fight viciously over territory” with corviknights (Sword). On a brighter note, these pokémon aren’t too heavy considering their size thanks to their light, hollow bones, a necessity to their flying capabilities (Gold).

Now, for the friendliness factor: there’s decent indication that skarmories may get along well with humans. Both in the past and today, humans use shed skarmory feathers as blades due to their natural strength and exceptional sharpness (Crystal, Emerald, Sun, Ultra Sun). Around the world, this pokémon is a popular heraldic symbol due to their role as a passive source for human weapons (Shield). While the pokédex makes no note of skarmories offering their feathers willingly to humans at any point, it also doesn’t indicate that collecting these feathers is particularly dangerous for humans, indicating to me at the very least a passive, nonviolent relationship between the species. As an added benefit, if you own a skarmory, you’ll have access to valuable blades year-round, which could be sold to support yourself and your pet.

Skarmories, unfortunately, have additionally habitat needs that increase the difficulty of their care. Wild skarmories, like most bird-like pokémon, make their homes in nests. Skarmory nests are built using bramble bushes, whose sharp thorns help skarmory chicks develop their defensive armor (Silver). Such a nest would be difficult to upkeep, to say the least. Not only would you need to provide your skarmory with sufficiently prickly branches to satisfy their nesting needs, you would need to make sure they have a perfectly dry place to build it (i.e. not anywhere where they may get rained on), since their metal feathers are known to rust very easily (Moon). All this to say: a standard pet bed would not cut it for a skarmory. If you’re planning on adopting one, you’d better look into some good bramble bushes.

I’m sure anyone who reads this could see it a mile away but my goodness are skarmories dangerous! Their razor-sharp feathers are sharper than most artificial blades (Sword), and they make skilled use of them in combat. Moves like Steel Wing, Slash, and even Wing Attack and Fury Attack could easily prove lethal to a human. Considering their speed and agility, a skarmory attack is not something you want to risk. Now, the pokédex doesn’t make any mention of the species being particularly aggressive, but we must always recognize that the risk of an accident are always present. A skarmory is essentially a giant bird of prey made of knives. Like, c’mon.

Unfortunately, this pokémon is not one I can comfortably recommend as a house pet. Skilled flying-type keepers may be able to care for them, but the average pet owner would simply be putting themselves and other people and pokémon in their neighborhood at risk by adopting one.