#and that would mean death for most people

[phoenixrisingastro]

Saturn in the Houses: "Discipline, Depravity & the Chains You’ll Never Escape"

Saturn is not soft.

Saturn does not seduce.

Saturn binds. Saturn controls. Saturn twists the knife and makes you beg for mercy.

And in your natal chart, Saturn is where you will suffer the most.

Not just suffer—but be humiliated, punished, and made to crawl through broken glass until you learn the lesson.

Saturn is the Master. You are the Servant.

But if you learn to bow to it?

One day, you might just become the Master yourself.

And if you don’t?

You will remain Saturn’s plaything forever.

Saturn in the 1st House: The Cold Beauty, The Untouchable Force

You were born with a weight on your shoulders. A heaviness that others sense before they even meet you.

There is something forbidding about you. Something that makes people nervous.

You command respect—or you command fear.

You had to grow up too soon. You were not allowed to be weak.

You are hard on yourself—nothing is ever enough, least of all you.

You are unapproachable, untouchable, and impossible to read.

And deep down? You love it.

You love the way they hunger for your approval.

You love the way they can’t get close to you.

Because Saturn in the 1st House means no one owns you.

You are your own Master.

And you will die before you let anyone else take control.

Saturn in the 2nd House: The Slave to Desire, The One Who Will Never Have Enough

No matter how much you earn, you never feel secure.

No matter how much you take, you never feel full.

Saturn in the 2nd House means you were born hungry.

Hungry for wealth, for stability, for something that feels real.

You have known deprivation. You have known loss.

You do not trust that anything will last—because it never has before.

You fight for security with a desperation only the starving can understand.

And here’s the cruel joke:

Even when you have it, you won’t feel safe.

Because Saturn in the 2nd House means the fear never leaves.

You will chase, conquer, and hoard—

But you will never stop feeling like the beggar in the street.

Saturn in the 3rd House: The Silent Observer, The Mastermind

Words are power.

And Saturn has made you master them—or fear them.

Maybe you were the quiet child. The one who watched, listened, and learned.

Maybe you were the one who was never heard, never understood, never believed.

But one day, something changed.

You realized words can build—and words can destroy.

And now?

You do not speak lightly. Every word you say is calculated, deliberate, lethal.

Your silence is a weapon, and when you finally choose to speak? It is a death sentence.

People underestimate you. They think they can outsmart you. They always regret it.

Saturn in the 3rd House makes you dangerous.

Because while they were talking?

You were learning how to manipulate them all.

Saturn in the 4th House: The Haunted, The Child That Was Never Loved

Your childhood was not soft.

Your home was not safe.

Saturn in the 4th House means you grew up knowing that love is conditional, that warmth can be taken away, that security is a lie.

And so now?

You build walls so high no one will ever climb them.

You have learned to never need, never ask, never rely.

You crave love but you do not trust it.

Because Saturn in the 4th House taught you that love is a trap.

So now you let them in just enough to taste you—

And then you leave them starving.

Because you will never need anyone again.

Saturn in the 5th House: The Star That Burned Too Soon, The Pleasure That Comes With Pain

You were meant to shine. But Saturn dimmed your light.

Maybe you were a child prodigy—who was never allowed to just be a child.

Maybe you were creative—but never given the space to explore it.

Maybe you wanted love—but learned that love comes with rules, expectations, punishments.

Now?

You crave adoration, attention, the spotlight—but you do not trust it.

You withhold pleasure from yourself. You make yourself earn every scrap of happiness.

You are afraid of love, because love has always felt like a test you would never pass.

Saturn in the 5th House means you were born to seduce, to create, to captivate.

But first, you have to stop punishing yourself for wanting to be seen.

Saturn in the 6th House: The Body as a Battlefield, The One Who Works Until They Break

You do not stop.

You do not rest.

You do not allow weakness.

Saturn in the 6th House means you are your own oppressor.

You work until exhaustion, demand perfection, push yourself until something snaps.

Your body remembers every slight, every wound, every trauma.

Your mind is a machine that never shuts down.

You believe that if you stop, you will fall apart.

And maybe you will.

Because Saturn in the 6th House means you never learned how to just exist.

You only know how to prove, achieve, and punish yourself for never being enough.

Saturn in the 7th House: The Lover That Was Never Meant to Be Touched

Love was never easy for you.

Because Saturn in the 7th House means love has always been a war.

You attract partners who test you, challenge you, restrict you.

You feel like love is something you have to earn.

You push people away—or they push you away first.

And yet?

You crave devotion.

You want something deep, lasting, unshakable.

But Saturn in the 7th House means love comes at a cost.

And sometimes, the price is your own heart.

Saturn in the 8th House: The One Who Has Known Death & Still Kept Walking

You have lost things most people could never survive.

Saturn in the 8th House means you have stared into the abyss.

And it has stared back.

You have suffered. But you have learned how to use your pain as power.

You have been destroyed. But you have risen again.

You have died a thousand times. But you will never die for good.

Because Saturn in the 8th House means you are a survivor.

A monster, a god, a legend.

And no one—

Not even Saturn itself—

Can take that away from you.

And that is what they will never understand.

Saturn tried to break you.

And you let it.

But it forgot one thing:

You were always meant to be unbreakable.

Saturn in the 9th House: The Seeker That Will Never Arrive

You were born asking too many questions.

You were told to sit down, be quiet, follow the rules.

But you never obeyed.

Because Saturn in the 9th House means you were born to wander—

But you were shackled to a world that was too small for you.

Maybe you had teachers who doubted you, restricted you, mocked your mind.

Maybe your family tried to break your spirit, your dreams, your need for more.

Maybe the world itself has felt like a prison—one you cannot seem to escape.

But here’s the truth Saturn doesn’t want you to know:

You are not meant to stay in one place.

Not physically, not mentally, not spiritually.

Saturn does not want you to leave the tower.

But if you can break its chains, you will see the entire kingdom.

Saturn in the 10th House: The King Without a Crown, The One Who Must Rule or Be Ruled

You were born to be something.

Something powerful, something lasting, something that will be remembered.

But Saturn in the 10th House means you will suffer for it first.

You were not handed success. You had to crawl, fight, and bleed for every inch of it.

You feel like you are never enough, never respected, never seen.

You are your own worst critic—because Saturn has made you believe that if you are not perfect, you are nothing.

And so you push.

And you climb.

And you break yourself against the weight of your own expectations.

Because Saturn in the 10th House does not give power freely.

You must take it.

And one day?

You will.

But only if you can learn to stop punishing yourself for wanting more..

Saturn in the 11th House: The Outsider, The Puppet Master, The One Who Watches From the Shadows

You have always been different.

And the world has always reminded you of it.

Saturn in the 11th House means you do not belong.

Not in groups, not in friendships, not even in the places you once called home.

You are always on the outside looking in.

You do not trust easily—because you have been burned before.

You crave connection, but you refuse to be vulnerable.

And yet?

You understand people better than they understand themselves.

Because Saturn has forced you to watch, learn, and study them from afar.

And now?

You are the one who holds the strings.

You do not belong to the world—

The world belongs to you.

Saturn in the 12th House: The Cursed, The One Who Will Never Be Free

You carry the weight of a thousand past lives.

A thousand regrets.

A thousand ghosts whispering in your ear.

Saturn in the 12th House means your suffering is ancient.

It does not come from this life alone.

It comes from every life before this one.

You feel haunted, isolated, lost in a world that does not understand you.

You have known betrayal, sacrifice, and the kind of pain that cannot be spoken.

You are drowning in a past you cannot remember—but it remembers you.

But here is your choice:

Will you break the cycle?

Or will you become the ghost that haunts another lifetime?

Because Saturn in the 12th House means your suffering is not a punishment—

It is a test.

And if you can pass it?

You will finally be free..

Saturn is the Master.

But you?

You are the one who gets to decide if you will be its prisoner—

Or its god.

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

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

The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan. 

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows. 

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold. 

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was. 

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet. 

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes. 

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still… 

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them. 

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

--

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow. 

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same. 

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin. 

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions. 

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary. 

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told,  but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped. 

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do! 

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table. 

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight. 

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room. 

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves. 

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight. 

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight. 

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days. 

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next. 

“Of course it does,” I say slowly. 

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room. 

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room. 

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for! 

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them. 

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control. 

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough. 

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so. 

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in. 

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular. 

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list. 

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon. 

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through. 

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty. 

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet. 

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this! 

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning. 

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates. 

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe , @raisam

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@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader , @blimpintime

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@getosimping

As always let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I'm still trying to get a chapter out once a week! <3

[noctiva]

Yandere Toby hc-🪽

angel anon I see all ur asks in my inbox… what are we hehe *twirls hair*

//

Yandere!Toby Headcannons

-

CW!! Stalking, obsessive behaviour, mentions of death + murder, 18+ content, sexual content

slight NSFW under the cut! minors do not interact!

—

Yandere!Toby thinks he’s doing it all for your sake

Because he knows what’s best for you, and what’s best for you is him.

He knows how to treat you better than anyone else. Knows all of your favourite shows, foods, hobbies, and places to go (maybe only because he sneaks around your house when you think you’re alone, peeking through the windows to gaze at your beauty)

Yandere!Toby leaves you gifts and love notes. Pretty rocks he thinks you’d like, animal bones he cleaned just for you, pretty jewelry and hair clips he stole from his victims. All slipped into your mailbox, or left on your porch wrapped in a ribbon.

Yandere!Toby won’t hesitate to kill, but he’ll do it discreetly - leaving you wondering why all of your love interests just keep disappearing.

Yandere!Toby has snuck into your house once or twice (or three, four, five times) to steal little items from you that he’s sure you won’t miss.

Besides your favourite sweater - he took that too. Stuffing it with a pillow so he can fall asleep cuddled up against your scent, dreaming that one day he’ll have his arms wrapped around your body instead.

(And you don’t want it back, because more often than not he ends up hopelessly rutting against it - the smell of your perfume getting him harder than he’s ever been)

Yandere!Toby is patient at first. Hopeful that you’ll realize the truth eventually (the truth being, that you’ll be happiest with him).

But that patience doesn’t last long, because why don’t you get it? Why are you wasting time with all of these idiots when he’s right here? Showering you with love and appreciation you could never find elsewhere?

Though, he’d never really blame you. You were perfect. The fault was laid on every one else. For distracting you, leading you astray. Keeping you from him, and tainting your mind.

Yandere!Toby keeps trophies from all of the people he’s killed to gain your affection. His favourite being the jar of teeth that rests on his nightstand.

Yandere!Toby has your name carved into the handle of his hatchet. Because he’s doing this all for you. Not caring how bloody he has to get if it means the end goal is your lips on his.

Yandere!Toby likes to watch you sleep.

Likes to see you so peaceful. That’s when you’re the most beautiful, in his opinion. All blissful and unaware.

He could do anything to you. Anything.

But he’d wait. Because if he wanted a limp doll he’d just go back to humping your sweater. He wanted to hear you cry out his name, feel your nails drag down his back.

So the worst he’d do while you were sleeping was snip off a lock of your hair. From the back, so you wouldn’t notice it as quick.

He keeps it in a locket around his neck.

(But he often takes it out to sniff it.)

Yandere!Toby stole a Polaroid camera just to document you.

And when he prints the pictures out, he sticks them right on the wall next to his bed.

Pictures of you sleeping, at work, laughing with friends.

The pictures of you undressing, he keeps in his nightstand. Along with a pair of panties he snagged from your drawer.

He would return them, so that you could wash them and reinvigorate the scent of your laundry soap - but he’s sure that the new stains would catch your attention.

Yandere!Toby knows it’ll only take time. Because one day, you’ll have no choice but to love him - because there’ll be no one else left.

—————————————————————————☆

this is my first time doin a list of headcannons so I hope it’s alright 🙏🙏

thank you for the request!

[jules-ln]

This is a big Pet peeve of mine but I'll confess right here and now that I am a nerd

And I hate when people compare Viktor and Jayce to Achilles and Patroclus

I've been obsessed with the Iliad since 2019, and I've read a lot, and I mean A LOT of essays and books about the Iliad and about Achilles and Patroclus more specifically

So I guess you could say I kind of understand Achilles and Patroclus a bit

And my question is, what does Achilles and Patroclus have in common with Viktor and Jayce other than they're men and gay? Like no seriously, what?

Because, the core of Achilles and Patroclus' story; the most important part it's that they're soldiers, I can't even tell you guys how fundamentally important is that these guys are soldiers

And a big part of Jayce and Viktor's story is that they AREN'T soldiers, they're scientists! And literally a big part of Arcane would've been very different if both of them had stayed scientists instead of becoming a politician and Jesus

"they're both tragic!" Bish

Achilles and Patroclus' story is tragic, because Achilles chose his pride over Patroclus

Like Patroclus' death? 100% avoidable, wouldn't have happened if Achilles had stopped being a baby for once in his life and actually listened to Patroclus and went back to fight

Viktor and Jayce's story? Literally about Jayce choosing Viktor over everything else, About Jayce choosing Viktor over Mel, his mom, Cait, Piltover, magic, etc etc

At the end of the Iliad Achilles' hubris is punished by the story taking away the love of his life

At the end of arcane, Viktor is forgiven, Jayce and him get to be together, doesn't matter if it's in an alternate dimension or super gay heaven, but it's a hopeful ending

So the complete opposite of the Iliad

Listen, I love both Patrochilles and JayVik, but these two have almost nothing in common

And I would get into why their personalities aren't similar either but like, it's 2 am and I have to go to work tomorrow so, lmao

[feyburner]

hello, i hope you're doing well, the world keeps getting crazier which means that i'm spending more time on fanfictions and i've been thinking about your jaytim fics. particularly, jason and how human he is when you write him. his awkwardness bc he was dead for a while and then doing. not very good. and how he probably has to catch up on simple stuff like who even taught him how to shave??? sure he learnt how to wire bombs but that didn't leave much time for stuff like sexuality and romance? just some experiences that he was robbed off. also very much interested in your take on jason's morality re: killing and what it means to him. anyways i'll dive back into my jason comic marathon <3

God yeah I think about this all the time, it's one of the things that interests me most about his character. Like how fucked up to die at 15 and wake up at like 18 and immediately launch yourself into your big crazy revenge plot that you think it's going to make you feel less howling animal inside but all it does is destroy your chances at ever having like, a normal interaction. By the time you calm down a little you've basically skipped from 15 to like 20. And everyone around you is also a freak who will never live a normal life and some have even also died but you're the only one missing a huge chunk out of your formative years. (Don't care about conflicting canon timelines or retcons.) (I also like this on a meta level bc it mirrors the fact that Jason was For Real Dead from 1988-2005.)

Re: morality, killing: A lot of his character is about catharsis to me. He is hotheaded and impulsive and direct and unsubtle (see: heads in a duffel bag) in a way the other Bats aren't. Who among us hasn't seen a news story and thought "I don't believe in state-sanctioned violence but damn, someone should kill that guy"? He is the guy who kills that guy. And sometimes it's for "noble" reasons and sometimes it isn't, and sometimes he might like to think it is but it isn't, and sometimes it immediately backfires and makes things worse for the people he is trying to help, and it can and has made him a hypocrite. It is also, I believe, an understandable stance for someone who was murdered as a child by a guy famous for essentially walking around wearing a T-shirt that says "I Love Hurting and Killing People (and I'm Definitely Going to Do It Again)." Bruce doesn't kill people because senseless violence made him an orphan. Jason kills people because senseless violence made him dead. Of course a child who lived and a child who died would look at death from opposite sides. It destroyed both of them at a formative age in opposite ways. Bruce crystallized around the after, and Jason around the before. I think it makes perfect sense that for the rest of their lives they would keep seeing only the after, and only the before, and in doing so keep looking past each other.

I feel like a lot of Jason meta is either "The Bats are so naive, Jason is the only realist" OR "Here's why Batman is right and Jason is an irredeemable monster" or whatever. Neither of those readings are compelling to me. I don't care which character is "right" or "good." If I wanted to read about good people making morally airtight choices I would go read Goofus and Gallant but only the Gallant parts and then kill myself. None of the Bats act in a way that aligns with my real-life morals. I think the "killing question" is most interesting viewed in the context of an individual character's relationship with violence and justice and atonement and forgiveness and consequences and least interesting in the context of pitting characters against each other to determine Who's Right and Who's Wrong.

I wrote the following exchange a while back as an exercise to explore this very topic.

Warning for CSA mention below the cut.

-

“I mean, hell, what if he got hit by a bus? Anyone can die, any time. Think of me as a big angry red bus.” Tim’s eyes on him feel like burning, but not so immediate as fire. More like the warning heat of sunburn: for now a faint prickling, for weeks after an ache. “End of the day? I don’t think he should be alive. I don’t think the state should get to decide who lives and who dies, but I’m not the state. And I know people can be rehabilitated. I know there’s a chance he could change, and never do it again, and spend the rest of his days saving kittens and helping little old ladies cross the street. But from what I’ve seen, this kinda guy, we’re talking a puny fucking chance. There’s people the system fails and people who could be helped by a better system and then there’s people who aren’t gonna fucking change. They’re just gonna keep doing awful shit, because it gets them off. Hurting kids. Hurting anyone they think is less powerful, or less of a person. Fuck that. The thing is, I know they’re people. And I’m a person too. And I don’t have the fucking right. To be the arbiter of fucked-up justice or whatever. But you know what? I can’t find it in me to give a shit. If those scumbags wanna kill me back, they can have at it, that’s their prerogative. Until then, some fuck rapes a five-year-old? No, fuck that. What if he does it again? He’s already done it. Hurt that kid forever. Snuffed out that thing inside them, whatever it is that makes kids think the world isn’t a shitshow. Can’t unring that fucking bell. Why should he—once was too many! Don’t you get it? That kinda guy—once was already too many! Why should he get to do it twice? And so fucking many of ‘em do it twice. Can’t keep your hands off a little kid? Fuck you. Headshot. Problem solved. You can’t change my mind about this, Red. I didn’t make the choice to kill people on a fucking whim. I thought about Hell and decided I’m up for it. Alright? Fuck off.” 

“You don’t have to convince me.” 

“And another thing—” His mouth clicks shut. “I—what?” 

“I said you don’t have to convince me.” Tim examines his glass, tilting the last swallow of watery gin back and forth. “If I were going to argue with you, I suppose I’d quote a statistic about how something like 93% of childhood sexual abuse is perpetuated from within the immediate family, and killing the abuser could drastically destabilize the child’s living situation and potentially place them at risk for other types of harm—”

“There’s nothing stable about—!”

“—but I’m not going to argue with you, because I don’t want to, because frankly I don’t care. I should—some days I’m better, and I do—but I don’t at the moment. Not tonight.” 

Jason stares at him for long enough that Tim grows visibly uncomfortable, shoulders stiffening. 

“What,” he says, eyes darting up to Jason’s, then away. His long fingers never stop playing with the glass, rolling it slowly, tracing the same wet circle on the tabletop. Jason wishes he would just finish his drink. And hold still. 

“You don’t care,” Jason repeats. “Great. Namaste. So what’s with the interrogation?”

“Interr—?” Tim looks startled. “Jason, I was asking.”

-

So yeah.

[americas-ass-writing]

Not the game they play

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 4.1k

Summary: An arranged marriage flips your life upside down. What you thought you knew about your family doesn't seem to be true at all. How will Steve and you navigate your life together?

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, a swear word here and there, insulting of Sarah Rogers, yes that needed to be a warning, difficult family relationship, if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: This is the first part of a series. I had this idea for over two years with some scenes already written out or well thought through. Thank you all for encouraging me to finally do something with it. But don't come for me, you wanted this!

I promised to tag the lovely @ronearoundblindly 🩷

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter One - Cannot stop the rain

The constant bustle of people and their conversations were a white noise like no other. One you can't concentrate on too long, especially when you have to hold conversation with whoever thought it was his turn to smooze a king.

Steve hates galas. He hates the pretentiousness that came with them and the people who attended but most of all he hates that he had no choice but to go. A king missing one of these was only excused when a serious matter arose. And those don't come by easily when you need them. He yearned for the times when he didn't need to attend these things, back when his mom still was the reigning queen and shielded him from this world. But with his mom gone he had to step up.

Gone where the days he travelled the world, studied art and made new friends. So easily replaced with duty and grief... and a stupid crown on his head. He was lucky enough he could hire his friends as staff, lucky enough his oldest friend was his right hand man and never left him alone for too long. James Bucky Barnes, his childhood defender, his best friend, his right hand and occasionally, much to Steve's dismay, his wingman. If only that would have worked out already. He seems to be casually watching people dance but in reality he watches the couples spend quality time together at a stuck up event. If he had a partner maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe people wouldn't constantly come up to talk to him because he'd be dancing himself, someone in his arms, looking at him lovingly...

"Senator Lee is coming up next" a smooth voice mumbles over his shoulder, Sam Wilson. A friend he found in college, a politics major and his chief of staff. Steves eyes find the older gentleman approaching him. He's talked with him before, quite often actually, and he was always so kind and encouraging.

The small talk with senator Lee went by faster than Steve anticipated. Before the next person could swoop in to talk to him he excused himself to the restroom. Bucky, his honorary security detail for the evening since he refused to take his actual one, made to follow him. "It's just the bathroom Buck. I'll be fine and I'll come straight back here." he says lowly, his eyes rolling at the antics. He didn't need this much security before he became a king. Bucky hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Sam who looks a bit unsure himself. "I mean... It's just the bathroom... No danger there. Nat wouldn't go inside with him either right?" Steve lets out a sigh at Sam's statement. Natasha, the head of security, ruled with an iron fist. She had all of them so scared they wouldn't dare to disobey her orders... except maybe her husband Clint but he got free passes for life.

"Right... Just come right back here?" Bucky looks at him and with a sigh and a nod Steve agrees. Before they can say anything else and before whatever lady just seems to approach them can start to talk, Steve hurries to the restroom. He locks himself in a cabin just for a few moments alone. But even those aren't truly alone.

The door to the restroom opens up not too long after him and of course that person takes ages to do their business. With a silent grumble Steve finishes up and leaves the cabin to wash his hands. Just then the door to another cabin opens and an older gentleman with thinning grey hair, in a three piece suit steps out. His eyes meet Steve's in the mirror as he walks up to the sink area himself. They look cold, although he has a smile plastered on his face. Fake niceties like Steve has grown used to.

"King Rogers." He acknowledges and Steve simply gives a nod. He isn't even safe in the fucking bathroom!

"Black isn't really your colour." Steve's brows furrow. What was that supposed to mean? "You know many families waited for the old crone to finally step down and let you be the king. Women shouldn't hold that much power, especially when there's no king at her side to keep her in check. Who would have thought it would take her to die for you to finally step up." The man seems calm and collected as if he didn't just insult Steve's mother.

"What the fuck did you say about my mom? Old crone?!" His blood was boiling and he was this close to hitting the old man if it weren't for his manners. His mom raised him better but she wasn't here to keep him in check was she?

"Oh calm down Steven. No need to get all flustered and angry. Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret. We'll be one happy family soon after all." The man smirked and calmly dried his hands. He teaches over and turns off Steve's tab, the blonde frozen from anger. What did he just say? He must be demented. "What?" Is all that Steve can bring out. Confused and angry and still so so close to punch that guy.

"Oh you don't know. Can't say I'm surprised, your mother shielded you a lot. Now I have to do all the explaining. That's why women should never be in charge.” he rolls his eyes. “Are you familiar with the Hastings family?" The man hands Steve one of the towels and casually leans against the sink. Hastings? Steve has heard that name before... Wasn't that the royal family that fell from grace three generations ago? His eyes flit to the man.

"Sounds familiar." Is all he can grid out. What is this man on about? Is he just here to gossip?

"Clever boy." The smirk on the old man's face is uncanny. As if he can read Steve all too well. "You know exactly who they are but instead of going off to gossip like all the other royals out there you keep your answer neutral. What a good king you make." Steve's confusion grows.

"What does the Hastings family have to do with us becoming one?" Steve bites out. "Ah straight to business. Just how I like it. You see the Hastings family and the Rogers family go way back. Many, many generations in fact. King Joseph Rogers the first and King George Hastings even made a little pact, that yes, still stands today." His eyes search Steve's face and his grin looks so satisfied. "That the families will unite as soon as there is a male and female heir born into the families. Now ever since then both families only bore strong sons with an occasional daughter that was out of the age range for marriage. That is until roughly 30 years ago. When you and my granddaughter were born just two years apart." Steve's brow lifts. The old man was a Hastings. Wanting to fulfill a deal that was made over a hundred years ago... Bullshit.

"Whatever deal you're referring to will not stand with today's laws. So you can stop badmouthing my mom and trying to get me to marry your desperate granddaughter now." Steve spits. The man just grins. "Oh, it will Steven. Here let your lawyers check this and then get back to me about when my granddaughter can move in with you. " He laughs and hands Steve an envelope before he walks out of the restroom and back into the gala.

Steve's eyes fall on the envelope, it's burning in his hands but he needs to get this checked. He can't marry someone because of an old deal. He can't marry someone with a grandfather daring to insult his mom that's not even been dead for a month. Steve's eyes start to burn with tears. His mom shielded him from so much while she also did her best to prepare him for this life... He wishes she was here... That he wouldn't need to mourn her so publicly while also keeping his tears in to not seem weak. He wishes he could wear the dark blue suits she got for him because according to her that's the colour he looks the most handsome in. He wishes she could brush his hair out of his face one more time. Just once more with that sweet smile that was reserved for him only.

He takes a shakey breath and swallows the lump in his throat. A brief look in the mirror, a deep breath, straightening his tie. He can't show weakness. Not here, not ever. 'Safe the tears for your bedroom, Rogers.' the voice in his head commands. He wipes away the stray tear that got caught in his lashes, pockets the envelope and with another deep breath makes his way back to his friends.

They're chatting, most likely teasing each other. As soon as Bucky sees him both heads turn to Steve with a concerned gaze swiping up and down. They seem to come to the conclusion that he's okay and relax. "We need to leave." he says as soon as he reaches them. His tone more urgent than he wanted to. "Why you got diarrhea? Took you pretty long in there... I told ya to lay it easy on the hors d'oeuvres." Bucky teases with a grin that immediately falls as soon as he sees Steves eyes. Sam can't even get his joke in before Bucky declares that they're leaving. He leads Steve to the host of the gala for a quick goodbye and then out to the car they came in.

Within 10 minutes they're on the road. For the first time with only the three of them in the car, Steve pulls up the divider for privacy. Shielded from Sam and Bucky, he allows himself to spill a few tears for his mother before he can make it to the safety of his bedroom. He knows that will be away for another few hours, especially with the envelope that's burning a hole into his pocket.

Ever since you were young your family hasn't cared much for you. The only thing that was important to them was that you did exactly what they wanted... in every aspect of your life. You got the education they wanted, you went to college for what they wanted and you hid your interests to make them like you. At the beginning of your twenties you finally broke out of that circle. You moved far away with your friend and only occasionally visited for important matters, much to their dismay. Just like you were now.

The train ride never isn't boring, even with a good book and music. The most thrilling plot or the most beautiful lyrics couldn't distract you from the stranger sitting next to you. Somehow you always had the luck of them eating something disgusting, talking loudly on the phone, constantly bumping into you or being a stranger to the concept of headphones.

Your eyes wander over to your friend and her husband for the millionth time. They were sitting together, cuddling, yet somehow each minding their own business. Her husband looking out of the window, headphones in, music on and daydreaming. Your friend reading the newest book from her favourite author. How you wish you had someone to share a seat with... to share a life with. You wouldn't have a stranger next to you. You'd have a partner. You could cuddle and mind your own business at the same time... or play a game? Would you get upset at them winning Uno? Or would you love them too much to get frustrated?

You let out a sigh. You've been single for so long... a partner was still written in the stars and wouldn't come by anytime soon. So you'd have to deal with strangers next to you on the train, the couch for yourself and your family constantly badgering you when you'd move back and find a partner. It's not like you planned being almost thirty and still single. As a child you dreamed about being married with children at this age. Maybe having a little house and a dog. You wanted to be surrounded by friends, leave your family out of it as much as you could. Just enjoy life with your partner. But here you were, still alone. Maybe wallowing in self pity at a life that could have been would be a good way to pass time till you were back at your family's place.

You pull your suitcase after you. The walk from the train station wasn't too long and you know better than to ask anyone to pick you up. You don't want to inconvenience them or owe them. Last time you asked your mother and she made you wash all the dishes from the family party by hand after you played waitress during the entirety of it. You'd rather choose walking 30 minutes to the house than do that again.

As you come closer you spot your grandpa's car in the driveway. He must be here to oversee the preparations for his birthday party tomorrow. You briefly look down at yourself, jeans and t-shirt. It looks good enough but you already know you'd be criticised left and right. Never enough for them.

With a deep breath you ring the doorbell and wait. It's not too long before the door opens to reveal your mother. She takes in your appearance and sneers before she greets you. She steps to the side to let you in. "You visit your family that you never see and you show up dressed like some slob. You could wear something nice every now and then." She grumbles before she goes to the living room to announce that you're here. Well if you knew your grandpa would be here a day early you would have tried to wear something nicer. You leave your suitcase next to the door and follow her into the living room. You greet everyone and listen to your siblings' judgments until your grandpa stops them.

"Enough. Let's not ruin this joyful day for our family." He announces before he gets up and stands next to you. Joyful day? What happened? Did he finally win the lottery? You look at him confused.

"You all need to learn to not criticise her so much anymore. After all it would be a bad image to her fiancé and the press." Everyone nods along as if what he said did make any sense. Even your father who usually only shows interest for the drink in front of him, nods along. Has he got dementia since the last time you visited? "What?" Is all you can bring out at which your mother scoffs.

"Well dear... It took you a long time to find a partner, which in hindsight I'm very grateful about. You know our family has a long history and its history and glory shall be restored soon enough.” Your grandpa declares like it's some victory. “Many hundred years ago our ancestors made a deal with the royal family of Brooken. The first heirs of opposite sex shall marry and unite our families. It just never worked out age wise until you came along. Born just two years after the now reigning King Steven Rogers." He explains and you're absolutely sure they all lost their damn minds. No royal family would make a deal with commoners, especially back then.

"Well I recently met the young man and reminded him of this deal. He's more than eager to fulfill it and marry you. He'll collect you and bring you to Brooken tomorrow." He squeezes your arm, a smile plastered on his face. You can't do anything but stare at him and then burst out in laughter. They were messing with you. Or playing along with your grandpa's dementia... But no one else was laughing. They all looked rather serious... And the house looked so clean... Was this not a joke?

"This... This has to be a joke...?" You say, looking at him with desperation. "Why would it be? You'll restore the Hasting family's glory and finally be of use to us.” your heart breaks a little more. Were you truly this worthless? Did nothing you did for them before count? You look up at them, desperate to find any sign that this wasn't true. That they were playing a prank. The stone faces of your parents and siblings look back at you. This... This wasn't a joke. They'd marry you off to some stranger. To a king? To gain what? What about your life? What about your place? Your job? You can't just leave that behind for some king who's probably a huge asshole... Your long fought for freedom taken by your family and that guy. Back under control, every move watched and criticised.

The rest of the day has been cruel. Your family was between joy at your engagement to a king and anger at you trying to refuse. In-between all the explaining, that really didn't give you any new information or any that would make sense of the situation, you texted your friend which promised to call you later.

“It's not all that bad… at least he's handsome!” Your friend tries to reason. “Plus you'd be a queen! No more shitty job that doesn't pay you enough. You'd live in a castle and wear pretty dresses.” She offers and is met with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah that's great but at what cost? My freedom. I really love my one bedroom apartment. You know why? Because it's mine. I can do what I want. And in his castle? I probably won't even be allowed to hang a picture on the wall. There'll be people watching my every move and reporting back to him. I'll be just as miserable as I used to be at my parents place.” The white of the ceiling starts to become blurry with the tears that are about to spill. “What if I can never see you again? What if he won't let me have any friends?” Your voice breaks at the thought.

“He doesn't look like he'd be such an asshole. He looks nice and the articles write nice things about him too.” She reasons. “Yeah and who has big influence on the press? Him. Of course they wouldn't write anything bad about him.” You complain. “They have written not so nice things about him. Especially with him grieving his mother…” that you do feel sorry for. They seemed to have a good relationship, losing a loving parent isn't easy. “Give him a chance. You never know maybe he's a prince charming.” Her voice sounds encouraging.

“What does a king even want with a commoner? Why would a king make a deal like that hundreds of years ago? I don't get it…” you question. “Who knows maybe your family had blackmail material on the royals.” At that you snort a bit. “Maybe… he seems eager to get married. My family is eager for this. Why am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Your hands pick on the scratchy blanket your mother put on the guest bed for you. “Because you're the one who loses a lot for this. Your family gains royalty… at least they'll be royal adjacent? I mean they do have the stick up their asses like royals already. And he gains a wife? Dating must be hard when you're a king.” She muses. “His last relationship was six years ago. His ex left him for another prince and got married like a year after.” You hum at the information she found. His whole life could be found on the internet which makes you wonder what he even knows about you? Your family didn't even know you so he couldn't even get something accurate from them.

“Listen, I gotta go… but give it a chance? And if he's an asshole and you need out, you text me and we'll come to break you out ok?” you sigh at your friends offer but ultimately agree. You'll try, it's not like you can leave the house and flee without your family noticing and coming for you anyways. You place your phone on the nightstand and cuddle up in bed. Your eyes fall on the monstrosity of dress your mother picked out for you. Maybe if you truly wore that pink pile of whatever the seamstress had left over, he'd run for the hills and you'd still be free.

"Sorry Steve... I can check a few more things but this is airtight... They can force you to marry that girl..." his lawyer says. Steve sighs and looks up from his desk to look at the brunette who meets him with a warm empathetic smile. Maria Hill, top of her class, badass in their softball team and brilliant lawyer. Steve recommended her to his mom when the old lawyer retired. Maria showed her wits and was hired within two hours of her interview.

"There's no way a deal from over a hundred years ago still holds up! You're telling me there was not a single occasion where this desk could have already been fulfilled? Aren't the Hastings fucking hornballs with so many family members? They're not even royal anymore! How does this hold up?" Bucky rants, clearly trying to protect his friend. Maria meets his eyes and lifts an eyebrow.

"Well if you want to go through the entire family trees and history to try and prove that be my guest. Matter of fact is that King Joseph and King George thought of everything in their agreement. Even the downfall of royalty... Or in this case the downfall of one royal family. This seems to be their way back. Making Steve marry the granddaughter so at least she is tuly royal." Maria says dryly. "I will check it over once more. I think we all should get as much rest as this night still offers but... don't get your hopes up Steve." She adds as she gets up and takes the contract that was in the envelope before. "What if we kill her. Can't marry someone that's dead" Bucky suggests and immediately gets a slap on the back of his head from Sam.

"As your lawyer I would advice against the murder of the future spouse of your best friend. You'd be one of the first suspects and I'm sorry to say this Barnes but your pokerface isn't as great as you'd like to think." Maria states before she looks at Steve. He's exhausted, his face in his hands, his hair ruffled. "Go to bed Steve." She says softly, worried about her friend.

Steve let's out a sigh and gets up. "Dismissed. Good night." Is all he can say before he drags himself out of his office and up the stairs. His mind is a flurry of thoughts that just won't shut up no matter how much he tries. He lets out a sigh as soon as he reaches the third floor. To the left is his room, to the right the room of his mother. His legs move on their own, carrying him to the portrait of her that's covered in a black veil. In the last month he often stood in front of it. He wished it good night before he'd get in bed. Just like he planned to do today.

"Night mom..." He whispers, the tears in his eyes returning once more. "This is all so hard without you… you would know what to do with this stupid deal… I wish you were here." his voice breaks at that. He gulps and tries to hold back his tears. He isn't in the safety of his own bedroom yet. But he isn't sure he's gonna make it till there. His eyes wander to his door, so far away, and back to the portrait. He gulps and moves towards her door. Her room is safe too. Even if it brings sad memories.

He softly closes the door behind him, his eyes falling onto her bed. He'd often sleep with her as a child. When he had nightmares, when he was upset about his father dying, when he was sick. Just one more time he tells himself and takes off his shoes. He can sleep in the sweatpants and shirt he put on earlier, he doesn't need a fancy pyjama set. Hesitantly he slips under the yellow covers. His nose immediately fills with her scent. Her favourite laundry detergent mixed with her perfume and he can't hold back the tears any longer. The dam breaks and he sobs into her pillow. After many minutes of crying he falls asleep enveloped by her one more time.

[crispycreambacon]

PUPPET HISTORY FANDOM (SPECIFICALLY PEOPLE WHO ARE WATCHING S7 THROUGH YOUTUBE) LISTEN UP I JUST FOUND SOMETHING

HOLY FUCK AS I'M TYPING THIS I'M THIS CLOSE TO EXPLODING OUT OF SHEER !??!?!??! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OH MY GOD

OKAY SO. Dr. Hoagy Sprat.

Strange name, don't you think? "Hoagy" meaning a type of sandwich with a long roll and "Sprat" meaning a species of herring. BUT let's be real, Shane Madej didn't just pick that name out of nowhere though honestly it's also possible he just did for the funnies.

Well guess what, I plugged that name into an anagram solver, and

IT'S PYTHAGORAS ALL ALONG.

— What could this mean? Theories under the cut! —

The most obvious answer is that Dr. Sprat is a reincarnation of Pythagoras especially considering the episode has a significant focus on reincarnation. This also pushes the idea that he is the ultimate mastermind behind everything even more. For instance, where could Elmer Walter Williams be getting the Phorgedytol supply? Who are the "fine folks" he always mentions? It would make sense if one of the smartest people in darn history is able to create a medicine that degrades your memory. Do you think he could be using the Phorgedytol to slowly take over the world and reassemble his cult?

For some less obvious threads:

Pythagoras sending one of his triangles to Purgatory isn't as nonsensical as you may think. For starters, cult leaders have a long history of killing their followers with the promise of a glorious afterlife which is exactly what Dr. Sprat did. Moreover, this could be a ploy to get the Triangle to indoctrinate the puppets in Purgatory and recruit more members in his cult.

Where did Estranged Producer Shane Madej go after he left the headquarters? His musing of death being at his doorway and warning of ominous forces plaguing the place may indicate he died on his way to the carriage. In that same episode, Pythagoras was alleged to be a murderer of one of his followers. Could Dr. Sprat be behind the murder?

The Professor mentioned that Pythagoras would probably be a coder had he been alive today. Could this imply the Substitute and Dr. Sprat working together, allowing the Substitute to go back and enact his revenge?

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

OKAY SO I HAVE THOUGHTS

There is definitely someone who's probably said this better than me but here's my two cents anyway

I've played this game like twice and never really though to pay attention to where people get shot/how they die... but then I saw a piece of art and something clicked in my brain. If this was a quick in the moment shot, the placement wouldn't really matter, but this is a) a work of art and fiction b) extremely deliberate on Milton's part

Milton lets Hosea walk off - there is a long moment where Milton could have shot Hosea anywhere (the leg, head, nape). What I mean is he had a clear shot. Yet, he waited until Hosea turned around. He aimed deliberately for his chest. He had enough time to think it through and he knew for 100% that Hosea had no weapon (since he was captured). Turning around wasn't a threat. Yet, Milton still chose to act. And the creators of the game had to fully animate and decide all of this - this moment would have had to go through so many hands, from writers to animators to supervisors (so let us assume any symbolism wasn't lost on them). So, I am treating this as deliberate.

Realistically, shooting someone in the chest is the best place to kill someone. Especially over the heart. While headshots are effective, its a smaller target and far easier to miss. But, hit the heart? All that blood is suddenly not going to the brain (or anywhere for that matter) and the victim is very likely to die. Painful too because you have nerves in your both but no pain receptors in your brain - meaning Hosea could damn well probably feel that bullet (if he was real). We even see how painful this is in game (his death is pretty brutal because he has a brief few moments where he is very much alive an d dying alone in the street). Milton, being a man of the "law", definitely already knew how painful this death was - he probably even killed people this way before - so combined with the deliberate intent, Hosea died suffering, choking out his last wilting breath in a gurgled cough. Brutality chosen over execution (heart-shot instead of head-shot).

Don't even get me started on the dying breath - given that Hosea had been coughing since the start of the game, his last breath wasn't even a moment of peace. It was probably utter suffering as he choked on the very air he had desperately been trying to breathe for months.

Symbolically is an entirely different story. Up until now Dutch has pulled some crazy schemes but there is a definite shift when they come back from Guarama - which happens AFTER Hosea dies. The heart is a symbol of compassion, of virtue, of love - of having respect for your fellow man and ultimately, morals. All of which Dutch seems to have lost post-Guarama; he is a changed man who burns the world around him with every step. We see this fire symbology a few times, but most especially when Dutch leaves Arthur in the burning warehouse. Almost as if the snow we start in at the beginning melts into water without Hosea to keep it cool (ie the ocean of chapter 5) until it evaporates in the wake of Dutch's spiral into firey insanity. This is implying Hosea to be the cold/ice to Dutch's heat/fire. The death of the companion leaves behind only the passion of compassion, as Dutch is left with only conviction and no withstanding moral compass. Micah and Dutch together are only fire with fire, while Arthur manifests into ice too late, with only enough time to save the rest of the gang from Dutch's fallout.

Hosea is also not the only one who dies during this mission, he is the only one to die of a shot to the heart. Lenny also dies, but he's shot in what I can best estimate to be the guts - his guts to join up with an outlaw gang and rob a back literally led to his death. Lenny's death doesn't seem to affect Dutch as much as Hosea though - like Dutch is like "Oh no! Anyway lets keep going". But with Hosea's death - Dutch gets SUPER PISSED - that whisper of "Hosea" to himself speaks volumes more than his reaction to Lenny. Dutch was close with Hosea; whether you want to call them friends or lovers, they were narrative parallels and each other's foils. THus, it makes sense that Hosea's death had a profound impact on Dutch, far more than Lenny, and since this is a work of fiction, Hosea's death being a shot to the heart should not be taken lightly.

Hosea being shot in the heart was the symbolic death of Dutch's heart. The world took the last piece of good Dutch thought he had left - the last reason to hold back and Dutch wanted to burn the world down around him. And its even more insane that this was a deliberate act on Milton's part - while he didn't know that Hosea specifically would hurt Dutch in this way, he is a smart man. Milton had been following and researching the Van Der Linde gang for a hot minute, he knew the members, he knew the history, he knew that Dutch and Hosea went way back than most other gang members. Milton knew what he was doing - this was a deliberate attempt to dismantle the gang by "cutting the head off the snake" (making Dutch desperate and isolated with the death of his oldest partner). Especially since Dutch calls Hosea his friend right before Milton does this. What better way to drive that message home than shooting his friend in the heart - making his last moments suffering alone in the street?

While Milton had no idea how well his plan would work, shooting Hosea in the chest was a deliberate choice intended to aid in the dismantlement of the Van Der Linde gang by getting to Dutch psychologically. As a work of fiction, killing Hosea in this fashion was a choice by the creators riddled with symbolism.

[ikbitchssss]

I Just Want Your Heart (Daryl x Half-Walker!Reader)

Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Cussing, Blood, Violence, and Normal TWD stuff. If anymore, please tell me and I'll add it!

Season: In the 30 days between season 3 and 4.

Words: 3K

Plot: Daryl finds a walker, but she can talk. She’s always chewing on gum, and her body is a bit rotten. It’s like she was half dead. He goes ok to help her and take care of her, not knowing why. Until one day, he does something he might regret.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoy;3

(OG BLOG: @idkbishsss)

Daryl Dixon was a man who did not fall in love with anyone. He was a rough around the edges, redneck, quiet, distant, guy. He did not fall in love. He loved only one person, his brother. Lost together somewhere in an apocalypse world and treated him like shit most of the time sure, but he did love him. As much as he wouldn’t admit it because Merle would just scoff and roll his eyes.

Daryl Dixon was not a man of groups. He was a part of one, only because he had to. Merle said it was because they needed him, but Daryl had a feeling that it was because Merle needed them. Daryl didn’t do groups, but he understands the importance of them. As long as they left him only he was okay.

Daryl Dixon was not a family man. He never wanted a family. His only brother was now dead. He didn’t need a family. Sure, he had a small care for the kids in the group, and didn’t want them to die. He would protect them, but it wasn’t his family.

Daryl Dixon was a lair. He was a family man, these people at the prison were his family. It was his group. He lied about it himself and others about those things for sure, but he never lied about not falling in love. Sure he’d love, in like, a family way. He’d never fall in love though, he’d never allow himself to.

.

Rick had ordered Daryl to go out and get more fuel for the cars. They were low and needed more for runs. 

Daryl got in a trunk and rode up to a few big ass rich people houses he’d seen a few weeks ago. They had a lot of cars and trucks in the neighborhood, meaning a lotta fuel if no one raided it already. In fact, a few houses were having parties, so there were more than usual for bug neighborhoods.

He pulled up to the first house and went to go get the fuel out of the cars and trucks. Using the classic suck on a hose until you feel like passing out method, he got nothing. Hence the sucking too long. He decided he’d check the houses later if he had time and moved on to the next set of cars and trucks. These ones look promising, and were very promising. Fuel came pouring out like the rain, he filled two gallons worth of gas from four cars and one truck. 

He put those gallons back in the back seat, and went to the truck bed to grab more fuel cans. However, something stopped him, a loud screaming noise. He grabbed his crossbow and looked around for the source. He heard giggling and saw the house it was coming from.

He slowly approached the home with extreme caution. He turned around the halls that lead him to a bedroom. He could hear the smacking of gum coming from the room. A girl was sitting there on the bed. A girl was graying skin, dead walker eyes, and a few broken limbs. You.

You casually popped the bones back into place. You looked over to him and smiled, he drew his crossbow up and pointed it to you.

“Woah! I’m not gonna bite you, I am not like the other ones.” You made a joke out of it while putting your hands up. He was confused, what the hell is happening? Why is a Walker, a dead woman, talking? And why isn’t he shooting it’s head off?

You got up and walked over to him, still with your hands up. Your smile faded and you looked a little nervous. “Look I was freaked out and confused when I woke up and was… somewhat alive. But I don’t hurt people, and it still hurts when you hurt me… so please just let me go…” You begged for your life as if you were human. Daryl didn’t understand, you aren’t human, you barely look human. Well, you didn’t look like a walker, you still had flesh, but still, you looked dead. It freaked him out.

You knew he was freaked out, it was all over his face after you said those words. But honestly? Daryl was more than just freaked out, a small part of him was intrigued. Which wasn’t like him. He wasn’t an intrigued guy, but he wanted to know you, know what happened to you.

“Why’d ya scream?” He asked gruffly. You didn’t expect his voice to be that deep, he must smoke something. 

You wave it off and shrug. “Walker grabbed my leg, forgot they don’t bite me anymore.” He was even more intrigued by this, you were immune? Or just half turned. He knew the group would shoot you as soon as you got close because of what you looked like. He’s had personal experience in that at the fram, but he wanted to know you. 

“Look… I’ll show you the best water and food and well anything you need! In this area and neighborhood… just let me live… please.” As you begged him again he put his crossbow down. He told himself not to, to put it back up, kill you, threaten you. But he didn’t. He just nodded and let you lead the way to show him things.

.

You were a talker, and walkers didn’t even look at you when you were being so loud. Daryl found it strangely interesting. He’d never been interested in anyone really, let alone a woman. Yet, there was something about you that made him wonder and think more than he ever let himself before. 

You were showing him a map of the area and places that hadn’t been raided already. “Now there’s a horde here, but when you go just tell me about a week before and I can steer them clear from your path!”

He looked up at you, an expression on his face that could only be described as a little confused. “Now why would ya’ help us..?” He asked, quietly, you guessed he wasn’t much of a talker. 

“Meh! If we are neighbors I have to help you right?” You said it like it was obvious. Like people just help one another in these conditions. “It’s what good neighbors do!” You exclaimed, Daryl just nodded. It wasn’t the old world normal people knew any more, but you act like it. Then again, Daryl didn’t know much of normal, so who was he to judge? Besides, the help would be nice.

You altered your smile, your big grin going away into a slight smile. For a dead girl, you seemed happier than most people. Maybe that was the secret, being dead. But Daryl had people, he wasn’t going to leave them. They needed him just as much as he needed them.

After it was all said and done Daryl went back to getting fuel. You stayed around just kind of watching him. It made him nervous, and he felt a strange new feeling he hadn’t felt before. He wished he could place it, but after years of controlling his emotions, they were all over the place. He didn’t know how to pen point the feeling he felt.

After he was all done with one car, he’d move onto the next one. You’d follow him, just standing around, watching. It almost creeped him out at some points, almost. He wasn’t used to people watching him so closely. Maybe this is how people felt about him. But earlier you were so talkative, and now you just watched, quietly.

He put the last two gallons of fuel in the truck and turned around after closing the door. He jumped a little when he saw you behind him. It wasn’t noticeable to you, just him. You just smiled and put a new piece of gum in your mouth.

“I have to… leave.” He mumbled walking over to the truck door. He glanced back at you, seeing that you were no longer smiling. You stood back, looking back at your house.

“I’ll be back…” He said. He thought he was stupid for saying it, but when he looked up and saw your smile, those thoughts faded into nothing. He pulled out of there immediately, why does he feel this way? Questions plagued his mind as he drove back to the prison.

.

He pulled back into the prison and didn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Rick, who’d asked him many questions about the area. He just helped unload his truck and stayed quiet with the small nod a few times. As the sun started to go down over the hills and people started to go inside, Daryl soon followed them. He then walked back into his cell and pulled the thin sheet as a door over the opening.

Daryl put his crossbow down with his stuff. He took his shoes off and threw them next to his boots. Beth found him “nice” sneakers to wear. He only wore them because it made her happy. He took off his vets and threw it on the top bunk

He laid down on the bottom bunk. He was on his back trying to sleep, but he just kept thinking about you. He knew it was a bad idea to think about you this much, but he couldn’t control himself anymore like he used to. You were talkative and almost happy, even though you were dead. 

He has so many questions. Why’d you look freshly dead? Why’d you chew gum? If you bite him, will he turn? Can he even get these answered? Probably not, he’d probably not even go back. A broken promise he gave you based on impulse.

He wasn’t like this. He didn’t let himself be like this, he wasn’t weak. Yet, he was thinking about you. He just wanted to see you, but he won’t let himself. He’s not going to let himself. But then again, what if you didn’t like him?

He switched onto his side and buried the side of his head into his pillow. He groaned, he wasn’t going to sleep with his thoughts racing like this. Why was he so obsessed with you? You weren’t anything other than another traveler he met, a very interesting undead traveler he met. He needed to let it go. 

If he just doesn’t go near the houses, he’d be fine!

.

Unfortunately, Rick wanted to go to the houses to raid them. They needed more food and supplies. He was planning everything out for a few days. He told Daryl to lead the car and truck on his motorcycle. 

He led them there but was far ahead. You were out killing walkers and humming. You turned and saw Daryl, you dropped your knife and ran up to his bike. “Hey! You’re back!” You said joyfully. Daryl looked worried.

“My group, they’re gonna be here soon. Ya gotta hide…” he said. You looked confused, as if you didn’t understand that his group could hurt you. He turned over to the car and truck coming in and shoved you in the pile. He killed a walker and put it on top of you. 

You started to breathe heavily. You started to get scared. It reminded you of your death, but Daryl put you here. And you trusted him. He’s the only thing or person that hasn’t tried to kill you.

Daryl said he’d raid your home, as he did half of it already. The rest of the group went into other houses. He waited till they were out of sight and he picked you up from the ground and walked into the house.

“I said hide, girl.” He shoved you on the couch. And sighed. He picked up a few things and shoved them into his bag. One of two lighters, a water bottle, a few canned foods, and a knife. He then sat down next to you. “Won’t take it all from here...” he mumbles looking anywhere but at you.

You just grabbed some gum and chewed on it. Not paying much mind to him. 

“So. Your group. How come I can’t meet them?” You asked like it was urgent, like somehow you needed to meet them right now. 

He mumbled a little to himself before answering, “I don’t know how they’ll react to ya,” he paused and looked at your eyes, yellow and bloodshot, “hell I still don’t really know what to think…” He said with a grunt. You giggled, giggled at him.

He looked confused by it. “I’m a walker, who would know what to think?” You explained. He smiled a little and nodded his head. He guessed he understood that, who would react well? 

You got up and walked up stairs, you came back down with a bag. “Here. My old bag of supplies before I turned, enjoy your raid of my neighborhood stranger.” She smiled and he noticed that you weren’t chewing gum anymore, why?

He looked down and opened the bag, it was full of food and maps. It had a few knives too. He looked up thank you but you were gone, just like that. He missed his chance to talk to you. He just sat there, what was he meant to do? Go look for you? He had a job, raid this place.

He got up and looked through the house a little more, he found some things others could use. He guessed you didn’t use soap or cleaning things, you were dead. He had your bag and another full one of needs and others of wants. Beth and Carl requested things since they are still too young for runs.

He walked back outside and put the stuff in the truck. Rick and Michonne got done with theirs and walked over, same with Maggie and Glenn. A few new guys as well, but Daryl didn’t care to know their names. He should really learn your name.

Also, you weren’t as talkative as last time… why?

.

The next time Daryl went on a hunt he stopped by that neighborhood, you were nowhere to be found. You just disappeared into thin air. At a blink of an eye you were gone when he saw you last and you never showed up again. What happened? Did you not like him? Lots of why’s with you.

He looked up and down the neighborhood, but it was no use. He didn’t want to give up. You were so; no. He needed to stop, he couldn’t let himself get this close to you. It almost felt like… love.

What if you were dead? 

That thought hit him when he sat on his bike. Dead. No? You? But it was completely reasonable. You were half walker, you almost blended right in. You could’ve easily been killed by someone. What if it was someone in his group? What if his family killed you? 

No. They aren’t his family and you are nothing to him. You talk together only a few times, yet it felt like he knew you longer. 

He got on his bike and headed back on the open road. He was going to the prison again, he got a few rabbits that would be fine for now. 

The breeze was cold, a nice contrast to the hot sun that beat his pale skin to a tan. He always loved taking these bike rides. They were peaceful, especially when he was stressing about stupid things. No more of that, but there was something he the road

He pressed the brakes, hard. You stood in the middle of the road, scared. He got off his bike and ran to you. The whole, not stressing about things always lasts him two seconds.!“Are you okay?” He said, you hugged him.

“Hey stranger..” You just sobbed into his neck. His beautiful, fleshy, biteable neck. You pushed him away. He was confused, why? Did you really not like him? Is what he feared right?

“I’m going to bite you… I want to bite you… I keep wanting to bite people… I’m freaking out! Gum doesn’t help anymore!”

Daryl grabbed your hand. “Then let’s find some asshole to cure that hunger.” You looked at him like he was crazy. Hell, he knew the plan was crazy, but losing you was crazier. He couldn’t lose you, he loved you. Goddamn it, he fell fast and hard, but he loved you. He really did.

You pulled your hand away from his. He wanted to run and hug you, make you stop running from this, he can handle a bite. “It doesn't work like that! I just got hungrier..” You mumble, you tried it already. It didn’t work. He grabbed your hand.

“I’ll find a way. I need you…” he mumbled that last part but it made your heart break. It happened in three swift moves. He kissed you, you bite his lip, you pull back. It was all so fast that you nor Daryl had time to realize what happened. What you both did. A kiss and a bite.

“Stranger-“ 

“Daryl.”

“Daryl… I, you’ll turn…” You mumble, you’d be crying if your tear ducts worked. Goddamn it, he had a family, you were going to kill him. He nodded and laid his head on yours. “And I’ll be yours…” he mumbles. He knows he’ll miss his family, it’s why he sheds a tear, but he wants to be with you. Maybe you’ll both be half dead. Maybe you’ll find a way to live. Maybe his family will accept you guys.

Daryl Dixon was a man of love. Fast, messy, sweet, heartbreaking love. He’d give the world, he’d give himself, for the one he loved. Over and over and over again. He was a lover, because he allowed himself to fall in love. He was all the things he thought he wasn’t, because he was a liar. But he would no longer be a liar, because he knew he was these things. He was just Daryl Dixon. A very half-dead and in love Daryl Dixon.

[alystrin03]

Varric got up and started to light a pipe.

"You know, I have a talent for finding broken women across my path. Hawke had lost half of her family the first time I met her, and the Inquisitor was trapped in a prison, accused of killing the Divine, no less."

"So, are we now in one of your stories?"

Varric started walking towards the gunwale. Leaving their stuff aside, Rook followed him. he leaned on the railing, looking out to the ocean.

"They usually begin as ours did. A chance meeting in the filthiest bar in town, a strong young woman with a lifetime of problems, and an incredibly handsome writer in search of allies. My favorite tropes. The beginning may not be the most glamorous, but sometimes, along the way, you can find small wonders."

Rook looked where he was pointing his pipe and glimpsed wings and the bluish glow of a dragon emerging from the water in the distance. It was the first one she had seen in her whole life. The giant beast was dark blue and yellow, magnificent flying over the water edge. Varric watched as her eyes lit up and she smiled broadly, marveling at what she was seeing, and smiled at her in return. The wind was ruffling her hair, and he could feel the light was finally coming back to her. He knew that, once again, he had not made a mistake in choosing his traveling companion.

Rook leaned her elbows on the railing and leaned her head back, enjoying the afternoon sun. They had a whole journey ahead of them, full of dangers for sure, but just this once, she would enjoy the ride. The Shadow had faded for good, and this time was as good as any to learn how to walk in the light again.

----

I've just got my comm from @mooreaux and I'm literally in tears. This art shows the final scene of my origin Rook story and they have perfectly captured the mood of it

If you are curious, here is the full link

Murder (49947 words) by Alystra Chapters: 10/10

Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game), Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Viago de Riva/Rook Series: Part 1 of Birdcage - A tale of the Antivan Crows

Summary:

She wanted to believe that there was a point to it all, but she struggled to find out what it was. She had been taken off the street, which was no small thing, and the Crows had given her a home, but that didn't mean things would be easy from now on. He alone had believed in her. Only Viago had been her friend and her support during the long years of training. And there wouldn't be a single thing in this world that she wasn't willing to sacrifice to fulfill his dreams. This is the story of Alecto de Riva, from the moment she was found by pure chance until she became one of the Antivan Crows, and of what happened until, one night, she decided that she would not allow the Antaam to enslave her people anymore.

[Pre-Veilguard Origin Rook story]

[wheelie-sick]

Happy rare disease day!

-> let's talk about lupus 💜🦋

lupus is sometimes referred to as "the most common rare disease" because it sits right on the line of the definition of rare. regardless, it's definitely true that people with lupus are hard to come by. we're lucky to have thriving online communities on some platforms (not Tumblr, RIP) but offline communities and support groups are few and far between.

lupus is an autoimmune connective tissue disorder named after... wolves, for some reason? there's a lot of debate over why someone several centuries ago decided wolves would represent us well.

there are several types of lupus but the most common is systemic lupus erythematous (SLE), when people are referring to lupus they are almost always referring to this type of lupus. this is the type of lupus I have and the type I know most about so this is the type I'll be discussing in this post.

The basics

lupus is an autoimmune disease that attacks all tissues in your body. yes, all. it can go after any form of soft tissue and even includes your brain and parts of your bones within its reach. this makes lupus a very hard to pin down disease because it can look like anything. I've heard it referred to as "the great imitator" which I think is an excellent title.

with that said, some targets are more common than others.

The symptoms

like the previous section implied there are thousands of presentations of lupus. just about everything has been recorded in association with lupus. my best friend once joked "I bet lupus doesn't cause gangrene" but a case study disagrees.

The lupus foundation of America has excellent resources on some of the most common effects on different body systems. they are by no means comprehensive but they give a good gist of symptoms

some of the key symptoms:

fatigue

joint pain & swelling, arthritis

severe, persistent headaches that don't respond narcotic analgesics

fevers

sensitivity to UV light (UV triggers symptoms)

the butterfly rash (a red, painless rash across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose- sometimes your chin as well)

hair loss

mouth ulcers (typically with a white ring around them)

Raynaud's phenomenon

-> having these symptoms does not automatically mean you have lupus. please do more research before self diagnosing 🙏 if you think you have lupus I would strongly recommend seeing a doctor ASAP! lupus can go from fine to dead in a matter of minutes. <-

Death by lupus

lupus survival odds have increased substantially in the last 20 years but the disease remains incredibly dangerous- particularly to those of us with severe or refractory (non/under responsive to treatment) versions of it. the younger someone develops lupus, the more likely they are to have a severe presentation of the disease.

in particular, children with the disease (under 10) have very low survival odds.

lupus can kill in an almost infinite number of ways. lupus is capable of killing quickly with blood clots, strokes, pulmonary embolisms, heart attacks, and much more. lupus is also capable of killing slowly through lupus nephritis.

lupus nephritis is present in about 40% of people with lupus. lupus nephritis is a kidney disease causing kidney inflammation. it is highly destructive and often leads people to kidney dialysis, kidney transplant, and death by kidney failure. developing lupus nephritis drops your survival rates significantly.

Treatment

lupus is treatable for most people! the most common treatments include immunosuppressants, steroids, and anti-malarials.

many, if not most, people with lupus are immunocompromised. (which is why it's always good to wear a mask)

while refractory lupus does exist, most people with it are able to get their disease under control.

[akkpipitphattana]

actually can’t stop thinking about nat and her two thirds majority rule and how it’s actually ultimately her lack of faith in the other girls that dooms ben and how it will ultimately be the thing that leads to her losing her role as leader.

like i don’t mean this to be a critique of nat necessarily because reasonably she has every right to be afraid of them and not trust their judgement. but if she had a little more faith in them, if she was able to see the humanity in them that still existed, she would have settled on a regular majority. she knew they wouldn’t be able to convince all of them, but she thought if they at least convinced a few of them the guilty verdict wouldn’t be able to hold. she didn’t think it was possible that most of them would be willing to spare him.

but they did. because despite everything they’ve done, they’re still kids that don’t actually want to hurt anyone. but nat didn’t believe that and so she dooms ben to death because of it. and at the end of the day, a leader that is afraid of their people and feels like they constantly have to do things like that to keep them in check isn’t a leader at all.

[acupofinkedblood]

Broker x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Ah yes, the infamous Broker lurking in the dark with that oh-so-enthusiastic smile of his with eyes piercing through the most well-hidden sign of your soul just for the fun of it. Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely quite the wild card of an option that one can choose. The real question is: Why? You have so much other options. Of course, we listen and we don’t judge. It’s not everyday for you to see someone pointing at a suspicious smiley dude covered in stitches and say ‘Yeah, that’s the one’ out of the blue. Certainly it’s not that of a common point of view after all. Nonetheless, one gotta gives Broker the credit to have such a way to seize your attention. But then how on the SFOTH’s names do you even manage to get this man to reciprocate his attention to you in such questionable intensity? Nobody will ever be able to answer that at this point

• Anyone with a normal functioning sense of danger can immediately pick up something off about Broker. The real question isn’t why, but rather, how. How on Inpherno did someone like him exist in the first place? Him, the infamous Broker, who has been wanted countless times, faked countless deaths only to come back and cause another havoc. The one who was under the charged of murder, manslaughter, gear laundering and various undocumented crimes — The Broker himself — how did he even do that? Asking that how can Broker be suspicious should be a crime, because what is not even suspicious about him? He always has this shadiness going on even when he is just being friendly. Something about him is just screaming for you to flee for your life, yet you can never see it coming to your direction before it’s too late. Who knows what is being hidden under that smile? One should know better than to be involved with someone like him

• But guess that life is full of surprises. Because you out of all people decide to look at him with a look of longing, which is a contrast to the defensive gaze he usually received from folks around. If anyone who is close to you heard of this, you bet that they would react more than just grabbing your shoulder and shaking you like crazy. That’s not just. criminal, that’s the most wanted criminal that has given the Warden himself a huge headache. To have a crush on someone like him is definitely a worrying sign to witness. And hell, where did you even find him? Broker is everywhere — whether he meant it in a metaphorical or actual sense, you get the point — but to locate him requires a lots of effort. Yet you don’t have to worry about it for too long. In this case, he actually showed himself to you after a short while. You did capture his interest somewhat after all, and knowing Broker, he can’t just miss out this lovely opportunity. Call it a mild entertainment before he actually has something else to do

• Still, it’s better safe than sorry. The Broker, despite coming off as this jovial and lighthearted individual, was wanted for a reason. There was no way he will just interact with someone outside of the cult for the fun of it. Information is what he values most, which is why he stalked most of everyone in Inphernal at this point, maybe including you. It’s all for business. Of course, not for the majority of the time, though you get what one means. It’s really just about the matter of time before he reveals his ulterior motive when putting on that friendly facade. And in this case, surprisingly enough, it’s you. For some reason, you manage to capture his heart — Does he even have one? — in such an old fashioned way as he made it out to be. You might fall first, but the Broker fall for you even deeper than you’d expect. SFOTH above, what have you gotten yourself into?

• Just when he realizes his feelings for you, good luck keeping up with him because he will make it worth every single second he spent around you. To tell if he’s serious or just waltzing around you for sole entertainment is pretty hard at first glance. Each gesture of his will send you into a spiral state of questions on whether or not does he meant it. He’s really a monster and a self-proclaimed romantic guy in combination: A little bit of sweet nothing, lingering gaze, endearing action for your well-being and subtle flirtatious compliments…Enough to make you feel like it might be casual, enough to make you unable to sleep thinking about him. He does know how checkmate you right into the corner of your own mind, remember that. He won’t just tell you right away about how he feels about you right away, oh no no, where’s the fun in that? He will dance around you until he finally feels funny enough to spare you by confessing his actual feelings, but nonetheless, the tease won’t stop just like that even when you’re his

• Of course, how can we ever forget about the Cult of True Eye when talking about him? The Family means a lots to him after all. Just a head up, if you actually want to be his official significant other and get treated like one, you’re going to have to join the cult. It’s the same thing with Scythe all over again: Unless you’re a part of them, you’re not going to stand a chance to be with them in a serious manner. If he actually adores you that much, you bet that he will go all the way to try and convince you to join the cult. With that honey tongue of his, you will get the church’s uniform before you even realize it. But that’s not anything too bad! It’s the start of you and Broker together, it’s definitely a day to celebrate!

• If there is anything you have to pay attention to this questionable existence of an Inphernal, then you have to keep in mind that he’s a businessman at heart. He knows how to put his mind into good use, whether it’s a business’ matter or just something personal that he likes to meddling with. The Broker will offer you all of his, but he also expects the other way around. You can’t just expect him to just invest all of his love for nothing, no? This might sound rather confusing, but just imagine it as this: Unlike how normal relationships occur, a relationship with the Broker feels more like a ‘romantic partnership’ where both parties can be benefited in different aspects. Not just in romantic terms, but also the others. In this case, you have officially become his partner in crimes. A good thing about that if he ever considered that, then it’s the sole evidence of Broker’s trust in you, as he saw you as a serious lover! Being his partner in crimes isn’t that hard too, you will manage somehow

• That isn’t to say your taste in Inphernal folks is bad though, because if one dares say, Broker is surprisingly better than you give him credit for. You’re definitely out of your mind still, but one won’t judge you, of course. You did see the appeal of this man that others failed to acknowledge. As the matter of fact, aside from that eerie vibe he brings to the function, he’s actually pretty pleasant to look at. People are wary of Broker because of how dangerous he can be. But you? You let that fly through your mind the very moment you developed a crush on him. Others might see a manipulative criminal, but all you see is the love of your life in all endearment. Maybe he can be a bit of an oddball, but that’s just one of the quirks you love about him, right? How can you not be swooned by that lovely demeanor of his when he is with you? It definitely makes you feel special genuinely

• Broker can be a gentleman when he feels like it. He has his own charm, and maybe that’s why he manages to do these kind of business smoothly. The Broker has a good way with words, especially when it comes to pursuance. Not just his business connections, but he knows how to use it on you too. Mostly in lighthearted fashion, of course. He knows just what will be the right praise to soothe you even in the toughest of times. He will and is going to be a man of his words about keeping you on your toes with his sweet nothing. It does help whenever you’re in a bad mood, especially when he can throw in some advices of his after calming you down with his affectionate gestures, like holding you or massaging your shoulders. Be assured that he will still keep that playful demeanor around you, it’s never a boring moment with someone like him near you after all!

• You already know that Broker smokes. Compared to the various worse habits he had, this one is by far the tamest of them all. If you want to join him, go ahead! He can always used some company of a loved one while he’s having a moment of peace to his mind. Then again, he can’t help but teasing you slightly when he’s at it. Blowing smoke into your face is one of the good examples. But there’s something about the way he does it: Flirtatious yet so effortlessly with that grin he always wear, it can easily drive you out of your right mind. And just saying, but he will give you a smoke kiss if he picks up the hints that you’re fine with it. You don’t even have to ask for it — though it’ll be funny if you do — he knows how to pick up the hints from your body language. What a guy

• Since he did state that he can’t really feel pain, you can’t help yourself but to wonder if he can feel anything at all. Can he still feel your touch? Feel the way you caress your hand against his skin like how he does to you? Broker will make you guess, of course. Though at the end of the day, he will give you the answer, in a subtle way. He always gives you the hints that he can, but that doesn’t help with that poker face of his whenever he holds you. How curious, isn’t it? You can never know which part of his word to be taken seriously and what not. But judging on how he always seem to unconsciously reach out for you, either to have you sit so close beside him while he keeps a hand on your waist or randomly sneak up from behind to pull you into a tough embrace, you know that you can trust him somewhat when he says he wants to feel you. Even when he brushes it off as a causal thing he always does, he does that only to you in a genuine manner, not out of pleasantries

• But of course, the thing you find odd about Broker is not just that. At least based on physical aspects, aside from his glass eye, the stitches across his body certainly has caught your attention as well, no? This might be a bit eerie to grasp, but have you ever thought about that time Broker joked that most of his body parts — which doesn’t include his head — aren’t even his? Has it occurred to you that it’s not a joke at all? You should have realized that by now due to the difference in each part of his limbs, as if he really sew those up together as a replacement to his old ones. And yes, he can remove it too. Pick your jaw up, darling, that’s not the worst stunt he can pull in front of you in the middle of the day. His limbs are removable. The Broker doesn’t even feel anything when he does that, just pure numbness

• That does remind you of that time when he just pick his limb up after being bashed away to the other side of the room then waving it at you, asking if you know how to sew or stitch stuff for a favor. Safe to say he really owes you a lots of potential medical bills just because of the absurd amount of time he almost gives you a heart attack. There was a time when he jokingly took his head off his neck then brought it to you. Though judging on how you looked like you were that close to pass out, he didn’t do it too often. But of course, the stitching him up part. Broker thinks that it’s cute for you to do it for him. Most of the time he only relies on Medkit — or when Medkit isn’t around, then Scythe — to do that for him. And now he has you, his beloved, how can he skip this precious opportunity? It doesn’t even hurt him after all, more like a spa day in some sense when you’re carefully putting him back together. Honestly, it gives him a sense of fondness when seeing a part of your work engraved on his body

• Listen, he will spoil you rotten, but not in the way you are currently thinking about. Don’t you ever forget that he’s a criminal. If you wish for a fancy dinner with him, then worry not, he will set it up for you in an instant. Not in a restaurant, of course. Probably at home or on top of some rooftop for romantic atmosphere, don’t mind the odd blood stain on the tablecloth though. If you wish for pretty things, then rest assured, he will surprise you with tons more. If you ignore the fact that most of them are stolen items, and don’t think of wearing it out on the public too much, people will definitely notice that you’re wearing a stolen item from a valuable collection. He spoils you by committing even more crimes, both for the thrill of it and to please you. Maybe once in a while he can buy you things properly due to the leftover cash he had after a great investment which he sent back to the cult. The Broker loves you, he will probably take his heart out for you if you asked — fair warning, do not do that — so those things one just mentioned are just some very small things he will do for you

• A reminder that the Broker does have a good sense that of style. Hell, you will be surprised with how well he can put each item together to make a good outfit as if he’s a designer. Let’s not mention the stolen fashionable stuffs for now, because you know too well that he will find more than a way to rock the heck out of those. If you ask him to pick your outfit even just for a casual day, Broker will be delighted to assist you with all he got in mind. He’d love to doll you up if you allowed him to, you’re his upmost darling after all. And he will join you in this runaway model stage of a fever dream too if he feels like a dose of fun chaos. Do you realize that he can dance too? Specially waltzing, so you know you’re in good hand when he starts taking your hand and twirling you around. He has good taste, you can’t really deny it when the result is too obvious in front of your eyes

• If you ever wondered why the hell does your phone bills have increased so much recently, just give Broker a glance and you will figure out why. He’s a busy guy, so that’s his favorite communication style to hear the voice of his beloved. Given how much he has to run back and forth in work, it’s only natural for him to call you from time to time with a jaw dropping frequency. His calling schedule is a bit hard to grasp, but those are enough for your call history to extend like a damn scroll. That’s not even the most questionable thing about Broker and his calls. For some reason, he always find out where you are and ring you a call in the exact spot, even when you haven’t told him where were you heading at. Be it in another region or somewhere remote, if there is a phone, then Broker will have his way to give you a call no matter what

• Broker loves to observe you. There is something about taking note of your expression, your appearance and you sweet little quirks that makes him unable to avert his gaze away from you. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mean it in a creepy way as others made it out to be. It’s the ultimate evidence on how much he wants to mesmerize you in details. What do you usually do when you’re happy? How will your demeanor shift when you’re nervous? Do you lighten up when seeing something you like? So many questions he has for you, and the Broker loves to figure it out all by himself by paying attention to you whenever he can possibly. He loves looking at your direction, even from afar or when you’re beside him. Though he does make it pretty obvious. It’s like he doesn’t even blink when you’re talking to him, but just listen in silence with his eye staring at you, having you as the sole focus at the moment. If he notices that you’re getting flustered just because he’s staring, then that’s just another win for him. He probably loves watching you sleep too but we won’t dwell into that too much

• You are his precious apple of the eye, so don’t be so dumbfounded when he keeps his word about keeping an eye on you for the sake of your safety. If he usually stalks the other Inphernals for the benefit of getting valuable information out of them when they least expect it, then now he has to keep a close eye on you so that he can protect you even when you’re not aware of it. And by that one means, yes, he knows everything about you at this point. From your usual routine of the day to the places you usually spend the majority of your time at, he knows every single details of it. Of course, he means no harm, just wanting to make sure that nothing is out of the ordinary when it comes to you! Besides, you don’t ever have to worry about him not understanding you - he has quite the analytical skills, because based on the information he has collected about you? Yeah, he definitely knows you well like the palm of his hand

• Sometimes there might be a good amount of time for the two of you to be separated from each other. Most of the time the reason will probably be that he’s busy with his duty of serving the church or just his investment in general, but at least he still gives you a call every now and then to check up on his beloved. But if there is a period of time where he hasn’t shown up nor calling out for you like usual, then you should know that he has gotten himself in trouble. In this case, the trouble is involved with the Banland itself. Well, it’s not anything too surprising at this point. Even when Broker dislikes going back, the Warden has dragged him back into his cell enough for him to get used to the whole place by now. He will escape again, you know too well of that. But that still doesn’t stop Scythe to bring you with her on this rescue mission regarding the love of your life though. Despite all the hassle, it’s actually pretty entertaining with how Broker feigns a dramatic gasp when you fish him out of his cell like a damsel in distress. Scythe will pick the two of you up and run for your lives, while Broker will seize this opportunity to be all lovey dobey with you. Nonetheless, the amusement is pretty worthy

• Speaking of that, beware of Banhammer or his teammates when you’re minding your business somewhere outside the closed home sweet home. If you ever join Scythe with said rescue mission, then you have to be prepared for the potential danger of those officers can cause because of how they have seen your faces and features by now. A little bit of caution won’t kill anyone. If things are too tiring, you know that the church will always provide you a place to live. Though with how ran down the facility is at the moment, even Broker won’t recommend it. After all, he lives somewhere else rather than staying at the church like Scythe now. Or at the very least, you can live with him! Just keep your head down if you can. In the very least if you ever get captured, then now you will be the damsel in distress while Broker actively makes attempts to bring you out of it. He can withstand the warden’s wrath, but you can’t. The faster he gets someone to save you, the better. Scythe definitely has to take a wine break after saving your ass too many times, so be careful and don’t get caught

• In any circumstances, do not underestimate this guy because of his joyous demeanor. One beg of you to never make that mistake. Those charges he is guilty of are not for show. He can and will break someone’s bones without hesitation if the situation changes in an unwanted way. Sure, he’d love to negotiate, but not when he’s obviously in the disadvantaged position in the argument. If there is no peaceful way to back out, then alas, violence is his second nature. It’s like a walk in a park for him, considering what had he done numerous times before meeting you. One bids those poor dismembered souls a farewell. He won’t ever do that to you though, that’s a certain fact. Yet he will do it for the sake of your safety. After all, he can’t just let his darling suffer without punishing the one who is responsible for it. Don’t be too surprised if you found out your bully has gone missing the very next day. If you confront the Broker about it, the only answer you will ever get is a smile

• Ironically, you will actually be more than just safe with him around. The Broker has quite the keen eye of predicting the worst scenario, hence he has the backup plan to at least ensure his lover’s safety. He might be unable to seek you out every single time of the day, the church needs him after all. But he does have some “little birdies” accompanying you even when you have no clue about it. He spies with his eye that you have put yourself in such a tight spot, and the next thing you know is that he already has the plan to take you to live somewhere else within his reach so he can protect you better. The Broker doesn’t play around with your safety. He can appear to be pretty careless about it in front of your face, saying you can help yourself out just fine, but in reality? Hell, he worried himself out because of you. And if he’s there snatching you away from unwanted troublemakers? Ignorance is bliss, my dear. You will not like what he is about to do to those people once you turn your back away. Whoever messes with you will be messing with him personally

• By all means, he can be a bit — actually, you already know that’s an understatement, he is more than just a ‘bit’ — unsettling around you. But he means well! After all, everything he does is because of how he genuinely loves you. It’s all for your sake, as how he does make it pretty entertaining for the both of you in this relationship. The Broker adores you will all of his, and the fact that you love him despite all of his quirky little behavior — that will definitely send someone crying like a kid — is already so endearing. So rest assured, he loves you in his very own way - as a partner in crime, as a close companion, and the most importantly, as a lover. Even when he doesn’t show it too much, sometimes even waltz around you like it’s a little stage of his, don’t you ever forget that you mean a lots to him

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

[aloeverawrites]

I can just as easily say meat is not a necessity, clothing is.

Meat is a specific kind of good like plastic is a specific kind of fabric. Yes we need food but studies show that most people can be healthy without animal products as being omnivores means that we can choose a plant based diet.

Do you have proof that plastic leather is worse for the environment and animals then leather?

And to be clear, I’m advocating for plant based products for clothing, not plastic leather. We have leather made out of plants and the technology for that is getting better. Leather, fur and plastic leather are both bad for the environment and should be avoided. The fact that leather can last forever is not good for the environment as that implies it doesn’t degrade super well.

“Fur is not biodegradable, thanks to the chemical treatment applied to preserve the fur. The wastewaters are often poorly managed or simply discharged into waterways, contaminating water supplies and poisoning the ecosystem.”

“leather treatment involves the use of harsh chemicals like chromium for tanning purposes. Another fact that is constantly left out of conversations about leather manufacturing, is that leather produces a hefty amount of methane, which is at least 20 times as strong as a greenhouse gas like carbon dioxide”

Leather is often considered a co product or even the main product as it’s valuable for farmers to sell. “Take ostrich, for example - in South Africa, ostrich farms are a developing industry. But there, the conventional picture is reversed: the skins account for some 80% of the slaughtered bird's value, and it is the meat that is sold as a byproduct. Again, if the bird's death doesn't bother you there's no moral problem, but don't kid yourself that the leather would have gone to waste if someone didn't buy it.”

“Sometimes it will be from the same veal calves whose lives of misery are well documented. Many committed carnivores draw the line at veal: why then wear calfskin?”

Leather and plastic leather are worse for the environment then vegetable leather. And they’re objectively bad for the environment, even if they were slightly better than some other products that are also bad for the environment.

And meat too isn’t great for the environment which is why a diet without meat and dairy is the “single biggest thing” an individual can do to help the environment.

I’ve provided that humans generally don’t need meat to survive, therefore we don’t need this industry on the scale it’s on, nor do we need leather products.

And if we stopped letting leather be a co product, it could maybe be thrown away and not processed which would allow it to biodegradable in a way that’s better for the environment.

Also I just learned that sometimes animal leather is coated with plastic, which is not great. “Modern patent leather is typically made with a plastic or synthetic coating. This has also allowed for more colors and patterns available. Patent leather is sometimes confused with artificial leathers”

Weird how buying leather is ok because the animals will get slaughtered anyway but buying a faux leather jacket isn't ok even though by the time you've bought it, it was already made and the fashion industry famously just sends unsold stock straight to the landfills.

Some of you are attempting baby's first environmentalism and it's going badly.

[offtorivendell]

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant." The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain. It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline. In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

TW: death, infertility, pregnancy and childbirth related trauma. Also a brief mention of sexual assault.

Hi anon,

Respectfully, please stop being deliberately obtuse. Let's break this down, line by line.

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant."

I'm aware! I assume that you sent me this ask because I reblogged an old post of mine yesterday, so what you seem to be missing is that I've already discussed this.

Here, where I implicitly acknowledged both infertility and trauma related to pregnancy and childbirth as potential triggers in the post:

And here, where I explicitly stated that we know you guys don't mean that Elain is unable to conceive at all - which is impossible to know, as per the text she hasn't tried. If you read what I wrote, you'd see I said that - assuming Nesta had not changed her anatomy and would not be able to in the future, or that Elriel would even conceive winged children if they wanted kids at all - Elain and Azriel together would be functionally infertile*, as any child with wings (which is not a guarantee, by the way, though as you guys treat it as a foregone conclusion I worked off that premise) would die before or during birth, killing Elain at the same time.

* Is it more correct to say they'd suffer from "impaired fecundity"? Yes! But please read a little further.

The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain.

It's really not hard to understand that we are discussing a fictional woman's ability to successfully have a specific man's children, and that their impaired fecundity does not (or should not) impact her worthiness to be loved by that man; that it has been equated to the struggles that many real, living people have experienced with regards to conceiving, carrying their babies to term and giving birth; and that - while an oversimplification - all these issues are being lumped under the umbrella of "infertility struggles" to be concise and accessible.

That being said, let me correct you quickly. While you very carefully said that we were "not told the same of Elain," with regards to Nesta changing her anatomy, you neglected to mention that SJM actually had her choose wording that didn't explicitly exclude Elain from the change, either.

The brisk spring wind whipped her golden-brown hair across her face. “I gave it back to the Cauldron in exchange for the knowledge of how to save them.” She swallowed. “But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.” The Mother. The only being who would see the sacrifice Nesta had made and give a little back. Perhaps it was she who had peered out at them through the Mask. “What did you change?” Nesta rested a hand on her abdomen. “I changed myself a little, too. So none of us will have to go through this again.” - ACOSF, chapter 78

Also of note, Nesta specified she had the "knowledge" to perform the change, which suggests that even if Elain wasn't changed then, it could be done in the future.

It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az...

Literally all that ever needs to be said on the topic.

... but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline.

You should have stopped after the first half of the sentence. Elain's lack of pliable bones - ie. the second half of the "Illyrian womb" discussion that posits Gwyn as the only logical love interest - is not even a medically accurate theory, so it shouldn't be entertained full stop. While SJM may have posed Illyrian womb/wing issues as an issue for Feyre and Rhys, she never suggested it would impact any couple's decision to get or stay together. In fact, Nesta and Cassian were mates while Nesta was still unable to birth winged babies, too.

In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

Once again I'm asking you to put your thinking cap on.

Obviously we do not have to consider the delivery of winged babies in the real world, but if you cannot see how the frequent suggestion (that Elain's hypothetical inability to successfully have Azriel's children is a valid reason as to why an author would separate, or even hint at separating, a potential couple) could be hurtful and upsetting to the many people who have/are currently struggling with infertility - or who have lost their much wanted and loved babies during the course of pregnancy or childbirth - then I have to assume that you're either suffering from a catastrophic lack of empathy or, respectfully, you have a sheep or two loose in the top paddock.

As I mentioned in the post I linked above, if the fandom is (rightfully!) expected to handle the topic of Gwyn finding love after experiencing SA with grace - out of respect for real life assault survivors - then it is not wrong to expect the same degree of care in return when discussing the anatomy change in ACOSF, out of respect for those who have trauma associated with infertility, pregnancy and childbirth in real life. It's an incredibly simple act to listen in good faith, rather than jumping straight to accusing us of wanting to "yell about" something just because you are prioritising shipping discourse over being kind.

It's 2025, the "Elain doesn't have an Illyrian womb or pliable bones" theory is both medically inaccurate and hurtful, and it really needs to end here.

Please.

[blairxbear]

How they handle jealousy and would react to someone flirting with you...

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

How would these villains handle jealousy and deal with someone flirting with you?

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi/Toya Todoroki, Shuichi Iguchi/Spinner, Kai Chisake/Overhaul, Jin Bubaigawara/Twice, Atsuhiro Sako/Mr. Compress, Young All For One

Tomura Shigaraki

Jealousy Level: 10/10 – Unstable and territorial.

The moment he notices someone flirting with you, his eye twitches, and his fingers start twitching—restless, itching to decay something.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stares intensely, expression dark.

The flirter has no idea they’re seconds away from death.

If they keep pushing, his voice comes out low, menacing:

“Are you stupid, or do you just have a death wish?”

He doesn’t need to threaten them outright—his presence alone is terrifying.

Later, he pulls you into his lap, gripping your waist tightly:

“You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

Toya Todoroki (Dabi)

Jealousy Level: 9/10 – Sarcastic but simmering with rage.

He acts casual, but the second someone flirts with you, his flames burn a little hotter.

He doesn’t interrupt right away—he just watches, a slow smirk forming.

Then, he suddenly slides an arm around your waist, tugging you close:

“Damn, that’s cute. You really thought you had a chance?”

If the flirter doesn’t take the hint, his smirk drops, and his voice turns dangerous:

“You should walk away before I make you.”

Later, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him:

“Tell me, doll… you like getting me riled up, don’t you?”

Spinner

Jealousy Level: 6/10 – Protective but not aggressive.

Spinner isn’t the violent, possessive type, but he definitely doesn’t like someone eyeing what’s his.

He gets fidgety, glancing between you and the flirter, his tail tapping anxiously.

He steps closer, shoulders squared, making it clear who you belong to.

If the flirter keeps going, he finally speaks:

“You should probably walk away.” (His voice is low and steady, almost a growl.)

Later, he mumbles against your skin, embarrassed:

“Sorry… I just don’t like when people look at you like that.”

Kai Chisaki (Overhaul)

Jealousy Level: 10/10 – Possessive, obsessive, and absolutely terrifying.

The moment someone flirts with you, his entire body tenses.

He immediately pulls you behind him, staring the flirter down like they’re a germ that needs to be eradicated.

His voice is cold, measured, and laced with quiet rage:

“I suggest you take a step back before I remove you from existence.”

If they dare to touch you, he removes his gloves—because that’s the last thing they’ll ever do.

Later, he cups your chin, inspecting you like his most prized possession:

“You belong to me. I won’t tolerate anyone trying to take you.”

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)

Jealousy Level: 8/10 – Chaotic but emotional.

His brain immediately splits into two arguments the second he sees someone flirting with you.

“They don’t mean anything by it!”

“THEY’RE TRYING TO STEAL THEM FROM YOU, MORON!”

He grabs your arm, dragging you away while muttering:

“Mine. Mine. Mine. I don’t share.”

If the flirter persists, he suddenly snaps, shouting:

“BACK OFF BEFORE I DO SOMETHING STUPID!”

Later, he buries his face in your shoulder, mumbling:

“Sorry, just… don’t ever leave me, okay?”

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)

Jealousy Level: 7/10 – Smooth but subtly intimidating.

He doesn’t make a scene—instead, he steps up beside you, placing a gloved hand on your lower back, smiling pleasantly.

He lets the flirter embarrass themselves, watching with calm amusement.

But the moment they cross the line, his voice turns dangerously smooth:

“Apologies, but I believe you’re mistaken—Y/N is quite taken.”

If they ignore him, he simply says:

“Perhaps I should make you disappear.” (They back off immediately.)

Later, he tilts your chin up, his fingers brushing your lips:

“Do I need to put on a better show to keep your attention, my love?”

Young All For One

Jealousy Level: 10/10 – Absolute dominance.

The moment someone flirts with you, he smirks, utterly amused by their foolishness.

He watches you for a moment—waiting to see if you’ll handle it.

If you politely decline, he lets it go.

If the flirter pushes, he simply steps in, his presence overpowering:

“Ah, how bold… to flirt with something that belongs to me.”

He doesn’t need to raise his voice—just his aura alone makes the flirter shrink away.

Later, he pulls you onto his lap, his fingers tracing your pulse:

“Shall I remind you who you belong to?”