#before then he was more chill and calculated about his actions

[lolhex12]

real talk for a sec: in what godforsaken reality/dimension/parallel universe would Andrew's drugs be considered medication?

this kid, who's normally known to be eerily quiet most of the time (with occasional violent tendencies when provoked), is legally forced to take these "meds" and he starts talking randomly in book/movie lines, they make him look and act high when on them, give him extreme withdrawal symptoms, make him fall asleep in places and around people he would never fall asleep otherwise, make him think that pulling his knives to someone's neck as a (more believable) threat is somehow the correct way to handle a situation.

like?? if anything that medication made him even more violent.

what sane person would see him react that way think "yeah, those are the right meds for him"?

[deathmetalunicorn1]

A quiet but smart child sequel where reader is now 11 y/o and still eerily smart, to the point in which sometimes it gets hard for the family members (except for tesla) to keep up with them

One day the school calls the family to pick the reader up because they are in trouble, but at home they find out that the reader simply corrected their teacher because he made a mistake about whatever complex subject you can think of and reader told them that it's wrong and then explained the right answer, but the teacher took it as an offense and started an argument with the reader who was still chilling because they were simply correcting a mistake 😭😭 to make it funnier, it's an odd situation because reader is usually quiet and collected at all times, not prone to arguing, and the subject they were discussing was something that a 11 year old shouldn’t even know about by any means yet the reader knows an awful lot about it

-When your family got the call at home that you had been sent to the principal’s office, they were quick to laugh, thinking it was a prank.

-When the receptionist was able to prove that this was legit and that you had gotten into trouble, your family was quickly rushing to your school.

-You had always been way… way more mature than other children your own age, preferring to sit back and learn new things rather than running around or roughhousing. And you were always so level-headed, nothing ever got you upset!

-When they walked in, Adam, Hades, Nikola, and Odin, your ‘selected guardians’ for things like this, you didn’t look bothered at all, while the principal looked exasperated, and your teacher looked furious.

-Your principal took charge, not letting your teacher get in a word in edgewise, as he had been yelling at you for the last fifteen minutes that you were disrespectful, “Y/N corrected Mr. Chungus here, multiple times in class. He believes that this is disrespectful and demanded a parent teacher conference immediately.”

-Odin glowered down at your teacher, who shrunk in his chair, intimidated before Hades spoke, “Y/N is this true?”

-You looked up and nodded, “I did- he was teaching us advanced calculus, to show us what we would have to do in a few years, claiming that if we didn’t learn what we were learning now we would never be able to learn it. He made a mistake in his calculations, and he got upset.”

-All eyes went to Mr. Chungus who was red faced, embarrassed, “Y/N didn’t have to be so rude about it- but after correcting me numerous times I had to take action.”

-Your eyes were unwavering and focused, “But sir, you were the one who claimed that none of us were able to do something so simple and kept talking down to us if we asked questions, as we wanted to learn. If it was so simple, why did you make multiple mistakes?”

-Nikola looked proud, ruffling your hair lightly as your principal turned to Mr. Chungus, a sharp look in his eye, “Is this true?”

-Mr. Chungus was quickly stammering, panicking as he had been caught, not expecting that you were going to call him out like this.

-Your principal turned to your guardians, “Y/N is free to go. I will be having a word with Mr. Chungus about his lesson plan. Y/N- is there anything you want to say to Mr. Chungus before you go?”

-They were expecting you to apologize as you stood up, “If you are going to try to demean us by showing us anything advanced, make sure nobody knows how to do it first, so nobody calls you out on it.”

-Hades quickly had to turn, hiding his laugh in a cough as the two other adults were wide eyed, but you weren’t reprimanded, as you were in the right.

-The others were quickly roaring with laughter in the ice cream parlor that Nikola insisted on taking you to, telling them all what happened.

-You didn’t think you didn’t anything worthy of celebrating; you just didn’t want anyone else to be taught wrong. You weren’t going to turn down ice cream though.

[un-lawliet]

“Amenity”

— in which you have a nightmare, and Kaeya is there.

(or my mum’s drinking wine opposite me and it reminded me of kaeya)

You’re drowning.

Gasping for air as you failed to rise above dread and despair, an endless current of uncertainty clouding your vision as you flailed your arms, trying to breach the surface.

And you can’t breathe.

And-

“Hey.”

And something was poking your cheek.

You open your watery eyes to see Kaeya grinning at you, his hand resting on your cheek, his finger tracing the shell of your ear, soothing you.

Your chest was rising and falling at an almost concerning rate, eyes misted over with fear, taking a second to truly see him, to realise he had awakened you, despite knowing of your busy schedule in the every present morning.

You glare.

“What.”

The hand moves to pinch your cheek, Kaeya still smiling, “We should go to ‘Good Hunter’ in the morning.”

You blink, staring at him incredulously, your tired mind catching up to you at a pathetically slow pace.

“You woke me up..to talk about breakfast?” And Kaeya only nods in response, taking in the restless look carved into your face, and dulling colour under your eyes.

“Mhm, c’mere.”

And you were being pulled towards him, his arms holding you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest, his ever wandering hand finding itself dancing across your back, a performance that sent an involuntary chill down your spine, and you pressed your face further into the warmth of his chest, an action that made him pause, but only slightly, peering down at you with a soft, almost calculated gaze.

Your nightmare still plagued the back of your mind, flashes of terror ran rampant through your thoughts, an abstract amalgamation of horror before you, and you felt yourself begin to shake despite your silent protests in which you begged to just sleep-

“Or we could take a detour and perhaps find ourselves in the Cats Tail.” Kaeya suggests, humming about how the lack lustre food is well compensated by the taste of drinks alone.

And you’re confused again, peering up at him, with a slight frown.

“Wine in the morning?” You ask, your voice weaker than his, but still filled with accusation.

“I suppose it is a bit blasé.” Kaeya ponders, slipping his fingers under the soft material of your shirt, “Although what am I if not eccentric hm?”

“I don’t think eccentric is the right word.” You mumble, your eyes flitting across his face as you glance up at him, observing the soft gaze he shows only to you.

“Oh? Pray tell, what is the right word dear hm?”

He’s poking you again, although this time the area of interest was your side, his finger denting the skin playfully.

You roll your eyes, a tiny smile gracing your tired face, “Wreckless.”

And he giggles, swooping down to kiss your nose gently, softly, pushing you somehow closer to his embrace. “Was hoping for something more charming.” He muses and you scrunch your nose.

“Maybe I meant it in a charming manner.” You tease, playing with his hair, admiring how soft it feels against your trembling fingers.

It’s quite and cosy as your heart rate slows, the panic that awoke you melting into something more akin to affection.

Kaeyas hand never stops it’s meanders across the skin of your back, he’s tracing the shape of a tiny heart right on your spine, you breathe.

“Must have been a bad one to get you so rattled hm?” He ponders, looking down at you, finally acknowledging your terror, and you feel as though he is looking right through you, searching the very soul hidden behind the glow of your eyes.

You want to look away, but you can’t, so you don’t.

“Nothing worse than usual.” You mumble, “It’s ok now though, you’re here aren’t you?”

And Kaeya finds himself hesitating.

Always one to find comfort through others actions but never trusting himself to be the source of such solace.

But you’re alright because he’s here?

He almost wants to laugh, the absurdity of your words feeding his wounded ego.

Instead he just whispers in your ear, in a language lost to time, his mother tongue, breaking down every wall to show you how much you meant to him.

Your eyes crinkle, recalling the words from the countless times he had delicately said them right as you drifted off.

“That meant ‘I love you’ didn’t it?” You probe, grinning proudly as he gives you a tiny nod, his face holding an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the dark.

So instead of searching for understanding, you kiss his jaw and whisper it back to him, sleepiness consuming your being as you drift off.

Safe, with him.

And for a moment, Kaeya let’s himself believe that he could bring you as much comfort as you brought to him.

the end.

masterlist here <3

( A/N; i started playing genshin bc of kaeya, i love him, anyway i have to go to a water part in the half an hour and id rather die ! but hey we move slay )

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Four

“Do you realise what you have done?!”

In the darkness of the dimly lit room, shadows danced across Alicent's horrified face as she listened to Aemond's revelation. Her brown eyes, brimming with tears, betrayed the shock and anguish she felt upon hearing the news. Upon learning what her son had done, what he was capable of.

The King’s apartments exuded a somber atmosphere, the darkness of the room mirroring the weight of the news that had been delivered. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Lord Otto, Aemond’s grandfather and the Hand of the King, also looked momentarily horrified by the revelation. His usually stoic expression faltered, betraying the shock he felt at the news. However, as the political ramifications of the situation began to sink in, his face hardened once more, his mind already whirring with calculations and strategies to navigate the turbulent waters ahead.

“War was declared the minute Rhaenyra refused to bend the knee,” Otto sighed, before returning to his seat at the dining table.

Lucerys was dead, killed by his own uncle over the shores of Storms End in a brutal clash between their dragons. It was a confrontation fueled by vengeance and simmering animosity, one that would inevitably ignite the flames of war between the Blacks and the Greens, tearing the realm apart.

Internally, Aemond grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he couldn’t deny the sense of satisfaction that came with finally avenging the loss of his eye at the hands of Lucerys. The young prince, just fourteen years old and riding a much smaller dragon, had been no match for Aemond’s prowess in combat. It was a brutal and one-sided fight, but in Aemond’s mind, it was a long-overdue reckoning for the injustice he had suffered.

Yet, amidst the satisfaction, there lingered a sense of guilt and remorse. Aemond couldn’t shake the knowledge that what he had done was not honorable or just. Lucerys may have wronged him in the past, but the boy was still just that—a boy, with his whole life ahead of him. Aemond struggled to reconcile the desire for vengeance with the knowledge that he had taken a life that would ultimately plunge the realm into chaos in the process.

But in the end, Aemond found solace in the belief that justice had been served, albeit in a cruel and merciless manner. With Vhagar as his instrument of retribution, the prince convinced himself that Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, and that his actions were necessary to protect his family and restore honor to his name.

Returning to King's Landing, the one-eyed Prince was drenched from the storm, the rain chilling him to the bone. Yet, amidst the physical discomfort, his mind was consumed by the weight of his actions. The contemplative journey home allowed him to come to terms with what he had done. Though another piece of himself was lost in the darkness of his deeds, he couldn't deny that it felt worth it—necessary.

Upon his arrival, Aemond instructed the servants to inform his brother, the new and rightful King, as well as his mother and grandfather, about what had transpired. He requested some time to settle from his journey and change into dry clothes before meeting with them. When he faced his mother, the dowager queen, Aemond felt a pang of anguish at the disappointment and shock he saw reflected in her eyes. It was a look he had never before witnessed from her—a stark departure from the usual pride and adoration. Her silent judgment cut deep, serving as a haunting reminder of the gravity of his actions.

In contrast, his grandfather's reaction was more predictable—stoic and calculating, his mind already strategizing the political implications of the situation. Yet it was Aegon's response that truly bewildered Aemond. The new King had thrown a feast in Aemond's honor, his demeanor brimming with genuine pleasure at the news of what had happened at Storms End.

“Come now, Mother, do not fret so. This is a cause for celebration,” Aegon declared from his seat at the table, a chicken leg in hand. Alicent’s gaze remained fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge her son’s callous words, but Aegon persisted, his voice dripping with disdain. “Mayhaps my old whore sister will now relent and swear her fealty to me,” he quipped, his words laced with mockery and arrogance.

Beside him, Lord Otto nodded in agreement, casually sipping from his wine as he echoed Aegon’s sentiments. Alicent let out a defeated sigh, her weariness evident as she grappled with the weight of her sons’ actions. But Aegon was not content to let the matter rest, his tone growing even more sinister as he proposed further acts of brutality. “Or else we could simply slaughter her other bastard sons. What’s a few more?” he chuckled.

The sound of Alicent's quick footsteps, as well as the slap striking Aegon's face, echoed through the room, a sharp crack that shattered the eerie silence that followed. Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he witnessed the regal and poised woman lose her composure. It was heart-wrenching to see his mother, who exuded grace and strength, succumb to such raw emotion.

He knew deep down that the blow was a result of his own actions, yet Alicent would never deliver such punishment to him. Aemond was her favored son, the embodiment of everything Aegon was not—the family's protector, his mother's confidant, and the pillar of strength that House Targaryen desperately needed in these tumultuous times.

Despite the one-eyed Prince’s frustrations with his brother's lackadaisical attitude and apparent disregard for his responsibilities, he understood the weight of Aegon's birthright. As a Prince of the Realm, it was Aemond’s duty to defend his brother's claim to the throne, even if he harbored doubts about Aegon's ability to rule effectively without the support of those around him.

“Do you know what that makes us? What that makes you?” Alicent demanded, her voice trembling with emotion as she turned to face Aemond, who stood at the opposite end of the room, his expression one of uncertainty and conflict. His mother then uttered the next word with bitterness and disgust. “Kinslayer.”

Without missing a beat, Aemond asserted his defiance, his voice filled with resolve as he spoke through gritted teeth. “No bastard of House Strong is my kin,” he declared firmly, his gaze unwavering as he met his mother’s eyes.

Aegon raised his glass in a mocking salute to his brother, a smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in the tension that hung in the air. But Alicent’s scoff betrayed her disbelief, her incredulity evident as she struggled to comprehend the callousness of her sons’ actions.

“She is still your sister. And those boys were born from her womb… regardless of their blood. That is how the Realm will see it,” she stressed, her words a stark reminder of the consequences of their actions and the stain it would leave on their family’s legacy.

“What’s done is done, daughter.” Lord Otto's firm declaration prompted Alicent to lower her gaze uncomfortably, her expression reflecting a mixture of resignation and unease as she took her seat at the table beside Aegon and her father. With a sense of authority, the older Lord turned his attention to his grandsons, his tone commanding their attention.

"What matters is what we do next. Did you secure a pact with the Baratheons?" the Hand of the King inquired, his gaze fixed on Aemond, who nodded in response, his single violet eye reflecting his demeanor. Marriage for political reasons was an inevitability for him as a second son, and he accepted that without hesitation. He resolved to treat his future Lady wife with respect and perhaps even kindness if she proved worthy, but his sentiments would not extend beyond the necessities of their union.

"Excellent. I will begin liaisons with those who could ally with our cause," Lord Otto announced decisively, his demeanor resolute as he momentarily left the room.

Upon his return, the Hand of the King unfurled a map on the dining table, its sprawling expanse depicting the realms of Westeros and Essos, as well as vast stretches of open sea. The intricate details on the map hinted at the complexity of the political landscape and the myriad opportunities for strategic maneuvering.

"Dorne, the Iron Islands. Even Essos if needs be," Lord Otto declared, his voice echoing with determination as he outlined their potential allies.

Aegon, having finished his food, cast a casual glance at the map, his expression thoughtful as he considered their options. "The Vale are with Rhaenyra, as are the North. Stark's never break an oath, even if it means to the death," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of admiration for House Stark's steadfast loyalty.

After a moment, Aemond joined his family at the table, his demeanor cautious yet focused. He settled beside his grief-stricken mother, Alicent, who nervously chewed at the skin on her fingers, a visible sign of her distress. With a sad glance in her direction, Aemond then turned his attention to the map, his one-eyed gaze fixed upon it as he prepared to weigh in on the political discussions that lay ahead.

"And the Riverlands?" The Prince inquired, his voice steady despite the weight of uncertainty that hung in the air.

"Divided," Lord Otto replied gruffly, his expression betraying his frustration as he addressed the complexities of the political landscape. "The Tully's swore to you, my King, but his sons and grandsons are wavering.” The Hand of the King then pointed his finger to the border of the Crownlands. “Lord Larys is with us, yet his relatives are cowardly, and will swear to Rhaenyra because of her offspring," he explained, his tone tinged with disdain for those who wavered in their allegiance.

At the mention of House Strong, Alicent snapped out of her daze, her brown eyes focused intently on the map before her. "Harrenhal is a war fortress, and dangerously close to us," she stated, her voice laced with concern as she glanced briefly at her family gathered around the table. "If the entirety of the Riverlands, along with the Vale and North, march on us, that castle is the only thing standing in their way."

Aemond and Lord Otto hummed in agreement, acknowledging the dowager Queen's astute observation. A moment of contemplative silence followed, broken only by Aegon's sudden movement as he shifted in his seat, his finger jabbing decisively at Harrenhal on the map before fixing his gaze on his younger brother.

"Go there and find out where House Strong's allegiances lie," Aegon instructed, his tone tinged with a hint of mockery as he spoke of their potential rivals. "To the first-born son of Viserys, their rightful King. Or to a pretender, the whore of Dragonstone," he added, a smirk playing on his lips.

All parties, including Aemond, nodded in agreement with the plan. It was clear that securing Harrenhal's allegiance was vital for the Greens' cause, especially considering its strategic importance in the Riverlands. With the matter settled, Alicent rose from her chair, excusing herself for the evening, her untouched plate a testament to her preoccupation.

Concern etched on his features, Aemond couldn't help but voice his apprehension as he addressed the dowager Queen. "Mother..."

"I think it is for the best, Aemond," Alicent interjected firmly, her disappointment evident in her gaze as she turned to face her son. "Maybe some time away from the Capital will do you some good."

Aemond nodded in acquiescence, his composure steady but his heart heavy with the weight of his mother's disappointment. With a final glance at the empty chair where his mother had sat moments before, Aemond returned his attention to the table, where the men continued their discussions in her absence.

The next morning, Aemond couldn't bear to remain in the suffocating presence of the Keep any longer. The weight of his mother’s disappointment and judgment felt like chains around his neck. The entirety of the Seven Kingdoms saw him as a monster due to the scar that marred his face. But never his mother. Yet Aemond feared now, after slaying Lucerys, that the dowager Queen was too of the same opinion as the Realm.

Seeking liberation from the stifling atmosphere of King's Landing, Aemond made his way to the Godswood to find his loyal mount, Vhagar. The majestic dragon lay nestled within the verdant sanctuary, her colossal form stretched out as she slumbered. With each exhale, her breath stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees, creating a symphony of rustling whispers. Vhagar's scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, a magnificent display of green and bronze hues. Despite her age, she exuded an aura of indomitable power, her presence commanding reverence and awe.

As Vhagar sensed her rider’s approach, the great dragon stirred from her slumber, her orange eyes snapping open with a keen intelligence. A low, rumbling trill emanated from her throat as she regarded Aemond with a mixture of recognition and familiarity. The Prince approached the beast, his gloved hand reaching out to stroke the side of face, the texture beneath his touch reminiscent of the night they first formed their bond.

“Skoro ao gaomagon ziry?” Why did you do it?, he asked her in a hushed tone. The Prince searched Vhagar’s gaze with his single violet eye, acknowledging the weight of responsibility that rested upon both of them. It was Vhagar’s actions that had led to the death of Lucerys, but their bond remained unbroken.

In that poignant moment, Aemond realized that a dragon was not merely a tool of war, a beast to be commanded, but a reflection of his own desires and convictions. Had he been unencumbered by princely duties or family honour, he would have taken Lucerys’s life himself. Vhagar had simply acted upon the instincts that he himself harbored, making the choice for him. It was a sobering realization, one that spoke volumes about the bond they shared and the depths of their connection.

The Realm may have branded him a monster, and even his own mother may have shared in that belief, but Aemond knew the truth. He was not a monster; he was a dragon. And he would embrace that identity with all the ferocity and power it entailed. With a resolute expression, Aemond acknowledged his strengths. He was skilled with the sword, well-versed in history and philosophy, and he commanded the mightiest dragon in existence; Vhagar, the legendary dragon that had once served his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, now stood by his side, a testament to his lineage and power.

To be a dragon meant to embody fire and blood, to wield power and instill fear in both kin and foes alike. Aemond no longer harbored guilt or hesitation. Instead, he felt a fierce determination coursing through his veins, urging him to prove himself even further and leave an indelible mark on the annals of history as one of the most formidable dragons to have ever existed.

As Aemond confronted Lord Simon Strong at Harrenhal, he felt the familiar surge of rage and anger coursing through him. The old lord's refusal to acknowledge his brother as King ignited a fire within Aemond, compelling him to take action and cleanse the Realm of such traitorous defiance.

With a cold determination in his eyes, Aemond challenged Lord Simon to a duel, knowing full well that this would not be an honorable fight, chuckling to himself as the foolish old man actually accepted the challenge. Yet he was reminded of the words of the Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole; when steel is drawn, a fair match is not something anyone should expect. In moments, Aemond's sword slashed through the air with deadly precision, cutting down the old man like gutting a fish, leaving no chance for mercy or redemption. It was a brutal and swift end, but in times of war, fairness and honor often fell by the wayside in favor of victory.

Looking over the lifeless body of Lord Simon lay at his feet, Aemond ordered his soldiers to dispose of the remains by feeding them to Vhagar. It was a grim display, but to Aemond, it served a practical purpose. Why waste valuable sustenance when it could nourish his mighty dragon? The fear and dread emanating from the onlookers only fueled Aemond's sense of power and dominance, reaffirming his status as a force to be reckoned with in the eyes of all who dared to oppose him.

But the slaughter did not stop there. In a cold and calculated manner, Aemond issued the ruthless decree that every man, woman and child with Strong blood, true-born or bastard, be put to the sword, as punishment for Lord Simon’s treason. The screams and pleas of those sentenced to death fell on deaf ears, as Aemond remained resolute in his belief that such extreme measures were necessary for the stability and security of the Realm.

Despite the flicker of remorse that briefly crossed his mind at the thought of innocent babes meeting the same fate, Aemond forcefully suppressed any hint of weakness or sentimentality. He knew that typical morality had no place in the harsh realities of war and power struggles. The future threat posed by the offspring of House Strong outweighed any fleeting feelings of compassion.

As the day at Harrenhal descended into darkness and chaos, the floors became slick with blood, serving as a grim reminder of the brutal cost of Aemond's actions. Yet amidst the carnage, Aemond couldn't help but find a twisted sense of beauty in the scene, likening the splatters of blood to the blossoming of spring flowers, a morbid juxtaposition of life and death.

In a grim display of brutality, Aemond's soldiers meticulously searched the castle, rounding up the bastards among the servants and executing them with ruthless efficiency. Even as the heads rolled and blood stained the floors, Aemond remained impassive, his resolve unshaken by the horror unfolding around him.

Amidst the chaos, Aemond's attention was drawn to a woman being dragged outside by two soldiers. Despite her struggles and screams, she was overpowered and brought before the executioner's block. Aemond's violet eye narrowed as he observed her, noting her dark hair and captivating green eyes. There was a fleeting resemblance to someone from his past, a ghost of memory he chose not to dwell on.

As the woman fought fiercely against her impending fate, Aemond couldn't suppress a snicker of amusement. To him, she was like prey caught in a trap, defiant to the end. With a cruel smirk, Aemond raised his arm, signaling to his men that he would personally deliver the final blow. It was a moment of twisted satisfaction for him, relishing in the inevitable demise of his prey, just as he would during a hunt. To see the light of life leaving her eyes would be a joyous end to a productive day.

Forced to kneel before the block, the woman locked eyes with Aemond, her expression unreadable. “I see a maelstrom surrounding you, my Prince,” she spoke, her voice steady despite the imminent danger. Aemond cocked his head, amused by her attempt to stall her fate.

“It is drowning you, tearing you apart from the inside out,” she continued, her words laced with cryptic meaning. Aemond rolled his eye, growing impatient with her theatrics.

“Hold her down,” he commanded the soldiers, his tone cold and authoritative, as they pressed her head against the unforgiving block.

Yet, even in the face of imminent death, the woman remained unnervingly composed, chuckling softly to herself. “You want her so badly, it is consuming you,” she remarked, her words hitting a nerve with Aemond.

“Silence,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin as he cleaned the blood from his sword.

Raising his sword to deliver the fatal blow, Aemond was taken aback as the woman’s smile widened, her green eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “A girl with a stripe of Old Valyria in her hair,” she uttered cryptically, her words sending a chill down Aemond’s spine. “The Lady Maera.”

Aemond froze in place, his grip tightening on his sword as the revelation washed over him, leaving him stunned and uncertain of his next move. Despite the passage of three long years, Maera's name was like a jolt to his system, stirring memories he had buried deep within. He wondered if Maera would even recognize him now, given the darkness that consumed him.

He recalled the sparse updates he received from his sister Helaena about Maera's life. She had acquired more siblings through her father's latest marriage and was now undergoing strict tutelage from a septa to mold her into a proper Lady of the court. Aemond couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at the notion; the idea of Maera conforming to the expectations of highborn society seemed incongruous with the spirited little girl he once knew.

However, his amusement quickly turned to a frown as recalled another update from Maera’s life. Rumors had reached him of her supposed indiscretions, tarnishing her once pristine reputation. Learning of Maera’s alleged liaison with a knight in her father's service stirred a complex mix of emotions within Aemond—disgust at the scandal, curiosity about the truth behind the rumors, and a disturbing twinge of jealousy at the thought of Maera being with another man.

"What do you know about a minor noblewoman from the Stormlands?" Aemond's voice dripped with mockery as he kept his sword poised above the woman's head.

The woman met his gaze squarely, her expression unwavering. "More than you think," she replied, her tone devoid of fear or hesitation.

Aemond lowered his sword, a mixture of curiosity and disdain evident in his demeanor. "So you know of her? What use is that to me?" He queried, tilting his head in disbelief. "Are you so desperate that you resort to pleading through my childhood connections?"

Kneeling down, Aemond leaned in close to the woman's face, his sneer evident. "You know nothing, you stupid whore," he spat out contemptuously.

But the woman remained composed, her eyebrows arching slightly as she held his gaze. "I know you want her. And I can help you obtain her," she stated calmly.

Aemond's past with Maera flashed before his eyes at the woman’s words, causing him to feel a pang of longing mixed with discomfort. The moments of laughter, camaraderie, and shared adventures seemed like distant echoes from another lifetime, impossible to grasp in the harsh reality of the present. It was unsettling to glimpse his old self in those memories, a stark contrast to the ruthless and hardened man he had become.

The woman’s assumption that he desired Maera was met with incredulity from Aemond. How could she be so delusional, especially now that Maera's reputation had been tarnished? Yet, despite his efforts to push aside any lingering feelings, he couldn't deny the tug he still felt at the mention of Maera's name. It was as if a tether bound them together, pulling taut in her absence and refusing to release its grip on his thoughts.

In his mind, Aemond resolved to entertain the witch for a moment longer before exacting his vengeance. Perhaps torture would be a fitting punishment for a woman who dared to presume such audacity. With a cold determination, Aemond straightened up and turned to the guards. "Bind her and bring her inside," he commanded, his decision made as intrigue mingled with skepticism in his gaze.

The room where Aemond and the woman sat was small and unadorned, a far cry from the opulence of his quarters in the Red Keep. Dimly lit by the flickering flames of the hearth and the muted daylight filtering through a lone window, the atmosphere was somber and oppressive.

Seated opposite the woman, Aemond exuded an air of quiet menace as he twirled his dagger skillfully in his hand, the glint of the metal casting eerie shadows across the room. His one-eyed gaze bore into her, cold and calculating, as he prepared to extract whatever information she possessed.The woman, bound by metal handcuffs, sat hunched and disheveled, her simple green dress torn and stained with mud and blood from her rough handling by the guards.

Despite her predicament, there was a defiant glint in her eyes as she met Aemond's smirk with a steely resolve as she revealed who, and what, she was.

"A witch?" Aemond chuckled incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gods, you are not a seer if you think pretty spells or appeals to my caring nature will sway me. I assure you, I possess no such thing."

Alys met his gaze with a cold stare, unflinching in the face of his skepticism. "A caring nature, perhaps not," she remarked icily, her tone cutting. "Especially considering the slaughter you've wrought here today.” She then paused, tilting her head. “And young Prince Lucerys."

The cocky smirk on the Prince’s face vanished, contorting into a frown of frustration and suspicion. How could she have learned of it so quickly? The possibility of a fast raven seemed improbable, given the remote location of Harrenhall and the lack of urgency in disseminating such information.

"But you have a heart, and it belongs to her," Alys continued, a sly smile playing on her lips as she knew the Prince was aware to whom she was referring. "And you hate yourself for it."

The mocking tone in her voice irked Aemond, prompting him to lean forward, his grip tightening on her shackles as he pressed the tip of his dagger against her throat. How dare a lowly whore, a bastard no less, mock him? The ridiculous insinuation that he was driven by feelings for his childhood friend Maera, feelings he adamantly denied possessing, caused Aemond’s rage to boil over.

"Thus far, you have said nothing of use," he sneered, applying pressure until a bead of blood trickled down. “And your tongue will be the next thing I take, before your head.”

Alys winced at the pain but remained defiant, her cat-like eyes locked with Aemond's as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea."

Aemond’s single eye widened slightly, and he lowered the blade from her throat. The words struck a chord deep within him, stirring memories he had long tried to bury.

“The words of your sister, the Queen, are they not?” The witch asked him in a confident tone. The Prince vividly remembered the moment Helaena had spoken those exact words to him, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty as he escorted her down the aisle on her wedding day. It was a private moment, shared between siblings amidst the grandeur of the ceremony.

How could Alys have known those words? They were spoken in the hushed intimacy of the Great Sept, far from prying ears. The distance between them and the echoing music should have rendered them unheard by anyone else. Yet here was Alys, repeating them as if she had been there that day, standing right beside them. A sense of unease settled over Aemond as he contemplated this unsettling revelation, his mind racing with questions and suspicions.

The Prince’s anger and frustration simmered beneath the surface as he grappled with the mystery of how Alys had such intimate knowledge of his past. With a firm shove, he released her from his grip, pushing her back into her chair, but keeping his dagger pointed at her as a silent warning.

As Alys exhaled a breath shakily, Aemond observed the dance of light from the hearth across her face, casting her features in an ominous glow. Despite her apparent calm demeanor, he sensed a tension lingering in the air, a palpable unease that matched his own. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions and veiled threats. Aemond's mind raced, searching for any logical explanation, any clue that could unravel the enigma before him.

Alys cleared her throat before speaking, her tone confident yet oddly soothing. “I understand that mere words of prophecy may not be enough to earn your trust, Prince Aemond,” she began, her eyes locking with his. “So, allow me to offer you a gift—a demonstration of my power, if you will.”

The Prince couldn’t help but scoff at her words, his fingers idly toying with the hilt of his dagger. “And what could you possibly offer a Prince of the Realm?”

A knowing smirk danced across Alys’s lips as she leaned forward slightly. “On the eleventh day of the sixth moon, the Jewel of Rainwood will await you in the Keep gardens,” she declared, her voice carrying an air of certainty. “I simply ask you to go and see for yourself.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted downward as he pondered her proposition. Could it be possible that Maera would be waiting for him there? The thought both excited and unsettled him, stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. Yet, he remained wary, hesitant to believe the witch’s claims without proof. Sensing his inner conflict, Alys continued to press her case, her words calculated to appeal to his doubts. “I will await your return in the dungeons. If I am deceiving you, you may take my head. But if I speak the truth, you will allow me to serve you.”

Aemond glanced up, meeting her gaze once more, his expression guarded yet contemplative. The prospect of uncovering the truth about Maera’s presence in the Keep gardens was too tempting to ignore, but he knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. The Prince regarded her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “And why would you wish to serve a man who moments ago was prepared to take your head?”

Alys's response was simple yet cryptic. “Because it is part of the Gods' divine plan, my Prince,” she replied, her tone laden with conviction.

Aemond's decision to humor the supposed witch and entertain her claims was born out of a need for answers and a flicker of curiosity that refused to be extinguished. He knew that once order was restored in Harrenhall, he would have to return to King's Landing anyway. What harm would it cause to check if Maera was actually there?

With a curt nod, he signaled his tentative agreement, though his mistrust lingered beneath the surface. As the soldiers entered, Aemond ordered the witch to be imprisoned under strict observation whilst he worked on bringing order back to the castle and nearby town.

In the weeks that followed, the one-eyed Prince busied himself in rebuilding and fortifying Harrenhal, anticipating the looming conflict between the Blacks and the Greens. Stone masons were commissioned to repair the ancient walls, and additional guards and experienced commanders were stationed within the fortress to ensure its defense. He hoped that he would prove himself to be not only a ruthless Prince, but an adept one.

Weeks later, before his departure for Kings Landing, Aemond descended into the cold, stone dungeons to visit Alys. The dim torchlight cast eerie shadows across the damp walls as he approached her cell. Despite being the one to confine her, Alys greeted him with a drawn expression, yet she still managed a smile as she curtsied to the Prince. Aemond observed her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, wondering what secrets she might hold, and how they might serve his own ambitions.

“The executioner’s block should be dried out by the time I return,” the Prince declared teasingly from the outside of the cell. “I hope for your sake that your blood need not be spilled when I come back.”

The witch did not seem intimidated, nor shaken by his words. Instead, she simply smiled. “I look forward to your return, my Prince.”

Notes: so, here is Aemond’s first meeting with the witch of Harrenhall. Stay tuned 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 11

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N:....I'm just sorry OUYDBUDHD but also my tag list got lost, if you could please say if you'd like to be tagged in the comments! (I know I can look at previous chapters but I lost some new names and it would be easier to build from scratch so I have it HDOCDHJ)

Warnings: Foul language, descriptions of gore, violence and mentions of injuries

Enjoy!

The effect was immediate. 

The sound of many boots against concrete was deafening and your vision blurred as Hyrule tugged you along, his grip still tight as you stumbled after the men in the direction of the castle. 

The Hero's instinct is what you deduced, it’s what powered these boys. To jump so readily into action, unafraid of what was to come- these men had a mission to protect the people of Hyrule and you admired everything they did for them. Not even Wind flinched at the scream, didn't hesitate like the others as they raced away from the Sacred Ground, you tumbling along almost unable to keep up with Hyrule's speed (Jesus christ these fuckers were fast-) 

You finally broke through the treeline to see the scene before you- horrid and bone-chilling as it played out. 

A lone adventurer had seemed to be downed, blood running down a deep gash on their arm in rivers as they tried desperately to claw away from the behemoth of a creature, hissing and spitting towards them as it stalked closer, the giant skull on its back just as intimidating as its many eyes and snapping fangs. 

Skulltula were always intimidating enemies in theory. Spiders were already scary, making them the size of a horse with a withering skull on their back, legs similar to knives and pincers dripping with what you could only guess to be venom only made them even more terrifying- you didn’t want to shame the Zelda graphics, but there was no way, from the deepest and darkest depths of hell they could even begin to bring justice to the creature that stood before you all.

"Not a fucking Skulltula…" You whispered in a blood-freezing horror, ducking behind Hyrule when it turned towards your group, seemingly hearing your words. "Christ on the cross, set it alight." 

With another hiss, it dashed in your direction, your whole body locking up only for it to cry out in pain as an arrow landed right in one of its many eyes, the group dashing forward with Hyrule removing something from his pocket and pressing it into your hands: a dagger. 

"Stay here." He held your cheek softly. "I'll be right back." 

He turned towards Wild, situated in front. 

"I've got them." The blonde reassured, sending him a knowing look. "Don't worry." 

With a firm nod, Hyrule ran to the group sword at the ready with a pat on Wild’s shoulder, your eyes wide in awe as you watched him hurl a phantom red projection of his sword right at the gigantic monster, its shrill calls making you cringe.

As its wails pierced the air, you could vaguely see Sky raise the Master Sword with a calculating look on his face, an almost holy light climbing up the length of the sharpened blade until a familiar sound reached your ears and the hero slashed across the air, the sight of a skyward strike cutting through the lengths of grass and slicing one of its many legs clean off its body, the appendage flailing before disintegrating into dust as the monstrous bug got even louder.

Sickening to see this close.

"Stay behind me." It was a soft order but you weren't about to defy him, slightly ducking behind him as he continued to aim at the Skulltula, the men fighting valiantly. "I promise to keep you safe."

You dug your fingers gently into his tunic. "I know you will, no need for promises."

His ears fluttered subtly at the words.

Watching the guys fight up close was much better than watching from afar, you could have only imagined just how amazing the fight from the riverside bokoblin must have been- breathtaking would have been too small a word to use, there wasn't any word the dictionary that could begin to perfectly describe how the boys fought. Calling it a movie scene would have been underrated, no, it was an art piece even with something as pathetic as a Skulltula, these men looked as if they had just been plucked from the Renaissance itself and you almost went breathless as you continued to bear spectacle to the scene.

Their footwork, their swings, the looks on their faces- they were heroes alright, not a doubt in your mind would refute that. Wild's steeled gaze and the way he handled the bow were just so amazing to you, he was a professional of course but there was an energy about him, not the goofy wild man but the hero that bore the Triforce of Courage.

You were in the presence of some of the strongest men in the current world…

Twilight and Warriors had rushed over to the fallen victim while the others had continued with the battle, arm over each shoulder as they had hauled them further away with reassurances of safety, appearing close to your side as they fished into their bags for a potion to deal with their wounds. The gash on their arm was horrible but the apparent one on their side was worse, bleeding profusely and long, your stomach churning at the mere thought while Warriors called for their attention, deeming this “no place to die.”

…You weren’t about to see someone die, were you?

The idea sickened you to the core.

A cry echoed out as Hyrule used a nearby boulder to leap onto the back of the great beast, the shrill shrieks of the horse-sized spider bloodcurdling as the Hero raised his bejewelled sword and thrust it into its head, tainted blood gushing onto the grass below leaving a bloody mess.

Your heartbeat pounded in your own ears as the monster screamed.

A horrid sound, disgusting and gut-wrenching, you felt even more nauseous as you were able to hear the faint sound of a popping squelch as your hero dug the sword deeper and deeper, blood spurting onto his forest green tunic and catching some of the other boys also. 

From your vantage point on that cliff, the destruction of these creatures wasn't something that had gotten to you but seeing this was way worse than your own imagination, no matter how majestic the men looked as they fought, this was still disturbing when the valiant filter was pushed aside. This wasn’t the pg-rated game any more, the one you would play for hours when you were younger, not a care in the world as you gathered the convenient drops- this was real life, these were real living things-

And this was real gore.

You gagged, hiding your face into Wild’s shoulder to force away the morbid curiosity as the other heroes continued to beat down the monster, its shrills engraining into your mind as one of the boys dealt the finishing blow.

(It had been Legend, watching Hyrule flail about as the Skulltula tried to rid him of its back, the man sliding down beneath the monster while digging his weapon into its stomach as he skidded against the grass, opening a mortal wound that had entrails spilling from its underbelly)

The familiar sound of a monster’s corpse poofing away was what brought you back, shyly peaking over Wild’s shoulder as you watched Legend stand, the stains of his tunic a gruesome eyesore that dusted away in the wind along with the smoke of dark magic that was once the Skulltula, Hyrule’s own caked clothes cleaning in a similar fashion until both were free of the thick, murky substance that was monster blood and huffing from the fight. The two looked at one another, conflicting feelings dancing on their faces until they nodded at one another, a sign of acknowledgement in their tense times.

You felt embarrassed at the shaky sigh you released, Wild looking back at you worriedly as you took a step back to compose yourself.

Why were you even scared? It’s not like you contributed to the fight in any way.

“Are you well?”

“Y-Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

His brows furrowed, his hand coming to hold yours. “You can talk to me.”

Your thumb gently danced over his knuckles. “It’s just…scary seeing them up so close.”

Cringing at his soft expression, your free hand moved to rub at the back of your neck. 

“Monsters are a disturbing sight to many, you don’t need to be embarrassed for your reaction.” 

“I know I just don’t like being some sort of damsel- I can’t fight but I’ve got enough sense to know how to protect myself and it just feels ridiculous and sad hiding behind you like some scared kid.”

It wasn’t a fault of yours, of course, especially in the presence of such skilled fighters it made sense but you couldn’t help it- you felt inferior, you felt weak, you hated having to hide behind your friend and you wished that you could at least stand beside him, a partner more of a cowering fool.

Wild hesitated, his mouth pursing in thought when both your attention drew to coughing close by, the presumed random traveller spluttering as the ranch hand and Captain pulled them into a seated position, the group circling her.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked, a supporting hand on the person’s back. “Are you able to speak?”

“Yes.” The young woman coughed, covering her mouth with her arm, “Yes, thank you, I thought those moments would be my last.”

A shiver run down your back at the thought of something as hideous as a Skulltula being the last thing you saw before your body grew cold and stiff- would it eat you in that state? Could Skulltulas even eat?

“Do you know of what became of the people here?” Straight to the chase, Time leaned down to the level of the woman, face gentle similar to your shared first interaction, a show of support from such a traumatizing moment. “It was filled with many but now it lays barren.”

Her face curled in confusion. “You mean…you’re not here to help us?”

Your stomach dropped.

Help with what?

She continued. “The head of the people sent a bird not two days ago- we were attacked, by these things-”

“The Skulltula?” 

“Yes- they came in every direction, there were so many, we couldn’t run so we held up in the castle-” Warriors rested his hand gently against their shoulder, a soft mutter of ‘breathe’ leaving his mouth as the person panted, her shaky breaths slowing in an effort to calm her racing heart. “There was an opening and I took it when no one had responded then I got caught by that monster- I- I thought you were responding to our call-”

Time’s face had hardened with each word, his scowl like his sharpened sword. His anger was evident, the lingering tension in his shoulders shown even under that heavy chest plate; you knew why, everyone did, it was very much obvious this was the work of the Shadow, predictable and vile, coming for the public like the coward he was to draw out the many heroes for his own gain and entertainment.

This was a trap.

And a very obvious trap.

And he dragged innocent civilians into this mess.

“Can you stand?”

The woman stumbled over herself before nodding, pushing to her full height with the help of the other elders.

“Good- leave to the nearest Inn, we will clear the castle.” 

Your mouth dropped at the words, looking towards the towering Hyrule Castle in horror.

The whole thing!?

“T-The entire castle?! But that’s not possible!”

Not possible for most, but then again these were the Links you were talking about, heroes of the times- if they had fought against Ganon, Demon King and bringer of Darkness, of course, they could fight off a few Skulltula.

A few dozen sounded a bit of a stretch though.

“We’ll be fine.” There was a cocksure attitude to Warrior’s words, his smile confident and eyes sparkling with his fighting pride. “A few giant insects won’t be getting the best of us.”

Oh yes, he did sound very cocky indeed- you wondered if the woman was judging him silently from his tone, god knows you would have had you not known he was a great hero.

She tried to argue more, stumbling over her words and trying to reason however it reached deaf ears her stance slowly falling as the group began to discuss their next plans- Wild was the focal point of this, after all this was his home and he knew it like the back of his hand, planning a rescue mission was going to fall to him. 

You studied her for a moment now that you could- pale skin, black hair and dark eyes, just a regular-looking adventurer who seemed to be caught on the wrong side of things.

Something felt…off though. Maybe it was just your skewered sense, or your simple wary nature after being thrown through a magic portal by a magic shadow.

It felt like one of those scenes in movies: discovering the wounded adventurer, aiding them in their time of need and watching as the hero lets them accompany them on their quest, after all, it’s not a hindrance right? Betrayal would usually follow, disguised by that weak damsel now shown to be their deceitful enemy this whole time, tearing apart the group by the seams and leaving them all to rot with nothing but a prideful cackle.

Yet, that was the work of fiction, this was real life (such a strange thought now that you pondered it) and so nothing like that would happen, right?

“Please, let me at least join you!”

…right?

Your eyes narrowed, watching the expression on her face then shifted to study the rest of the men, sharing uncertain glances with each other.

Did they feel a similar unease or did they simply want to keep this woman safe?

“I don’t think that’s for the best-”

“My family is in there! My friends too! I’m not just gonna sit by while they’re suffering!”

Any persuasion was met with refusal, the woman becoming only angrier with every second until Time let out a sigh, steeling his gaze as he looked down at the woman.

“Your name?”

She stood taller, “Maggie.”

“Do you even know how to handle a weapon that hangs off your hip?” This was a test, you could tell, the complete shift in his personality was a warning of sorts for what was to come- you would reasonably back down from such a hard look and you were positive that was what Time was trying to do. “Fought any monsters? Been in any battles?”

It didn’t work, as shown when Maggie glared right back. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Seems you can’t.” Legend quipped and Time sent him a scolding look, the pink-streaked blonde throwing his hands with a look of surrender. “I’m just saying we saved you.”

She flushed a deep red “I was by myself but if I’m with you guys I should have a chance- strength in numbers.”

Your eyes stayed trained on Time as he listened intently, the others sharing different glances with one another as they waited for their chosen leader to finalise his decision, your shoulders dropping when he sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“....Maggie, I will be responsible for you if you venture back into this castle with us- so, you must stay close and not stray far, no matter what you see, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, we move now.”

“Old-” Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, eyes averting from the flaming ones of the eldest. “...”

With a sigh, the man backed off, whistling for Epona who perked up happily, trotting back over to the forest. "I'm not taking her in there."

And you couldn't blame him, not with the threat of something like Skulltulas lurking around the castle halls, Epona could be jumped without a second thought- but leaving her alone wasn't an option, someone had to watch her just in case, right? So taking Gilda gently from your hair, you gestured her over.

"It'll be safer for you with her."

She crossed her arms. "(Name), I've been in more fights than you."

"...Gilda please-"

"I'm just teasing! I'll keep an eye on her, you've already got your fairy by your side~"

Had Hyrule been in hearing range you knew he would have swiped at her, so you spared her a chuckle and watched her whizz off after the ranch hand with a shake of the head.

"Should have guessed these fairies were just as cheeky as the fae."

Time glanced back over to Maggie, gesturing her forward once Twilight had returned, adorned with weapon and shield. “I want you to lead us, if you were able to escape then there may be a good chance that it was a blindspot to the monsters.”

You didn’t trust this, not a single bit. Your radar was going haywire, your body pumping the adrenaline into every little crevice within your body, hands shaking as you watched Maggie take the lead, the others slowly but surely following behind her until you were trailing right at the back with your fingers tightly secured around the dagger Hyrule had only given you moments ago.

The traveller had rejoined your side in haste, eyes ahead as his hand came to grab your own protectively, Wild marching on your opposite with a similar protective sense hanging over him.

“He’s got a plan…”

Hyrule muttered more to himself than anyone but Wild wasn’t far behind with his scepticism.

“A dangerous one- thought that was supposed to be my job?” The comedic tilt in his voice did not aid you at all, Wild’s face pinching in worry at your expression. “We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

You knew they would, they were your heroes and you knew they would do anything to keep you safe.

Yet something told you that it wasn’t going to be that simple.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wouldn’t say you suffered from arachnophobia. Sure, you weren’t a fan of the things, but not in a way to say you had a fear of them. They were certainly freaky looking, eight eyes, eight legs, could produce cobwebs and drunk the blood of flies and other such small insects- but a true fear of them was not what you had, nowhere near. You had seen someone with the phobia, their dropping jaws and the way they raced to the opposite side of the room-

To avoid the tiny money spider that hadn’t even gotten close to them.

That was true fear- that fear would have had them dying right on the spot at the sight before you at this very moment.

The webbing was huge, like sheer curtains decorating the old stone walls of the castle, the few egg sacs a disgusting sight as the men cleared them out, the many Walltula shrieking and spitting fiercely only to die by the steel of the heroes’ blades, monster smoke almost thick enough to choke on.

It was terrifying how quickly the monsters had seemingly taken over, not a place in sight was free of the streams of natural mesh, over the carpets, over the paintings, over the windows and in the doorways- suffocating was the best way to describe it all, especially from the number of times you had walked into the cobwebs, spitting and waving your arms in a horrid frantic boogie to be rid of the texture.

Wind could only laugh so many times.

“Shut the fuck up, Wind.” You had whispered harshly, patting down your tunic once again. “You’re only laughing because you’re too fucking short to get hit by them.”

He waved off your insult with another hushed laugh. “You just look so fucking stupid when you do that.”

You flipped him off, pushing your finger into his face harshly and jerking back when he tried to nip at the skin, calling him another colourful nickname in which he elbowed you painfully in the side.

Fucking hell he was strong for a fourteen-year-old.

"Just around this corner here." Maggie's voice brought you back in, focusing on her head between the many others. 

The feeling still hadn’t gone away, not with you and certainly not with the others- you all knew you were walking right into a trap. The signs were evident to them all, a reason as to why Wind had been sent to the back with you three.

“The old man says as soon as anything sketchy happens he wants us to split!”

“Isn’t that dangerous? What if you guys get hurt?”

“Have some faith, (Name), we’re stronger than you make us out to be!”

You knew that- of course you did! Yet the threat still lay bare to the world. Skulltula were probably surrounding you at that very moment and it was clear that you could all be ambushed at any time, the further you walked into the castle, the deeper and darker it got only certainty grew in your brain that the upcoming fight would be inevitable if you were caught in a small corner.

That had to have crossed the old man’s mind, right? Under the blonde head of hair was a smart man, a calculating one so Time must have had a counteractive plan just up his armoured sleeve. He’d get everyone out of here, maybe with a few bumps and bruises, but you’d all come out of this ordeal alive and well with only a little major life-changing trauma- nothing you hadn’t gone through already.

The thought didn’t help though, not really without some partnering action, the weight on your shoulders only growing with each step you took, each room you passed, each corridor you turned into-

…You recognised this corridor.

Rebuilt and better than ever, with the help of the construction team and two years of passing, the winding path that lead to the Dining Hall was almost unrecognisable, the one you had trekked so many times when scouring the castle as you played. You wanted secrets, you wanted weapons and you wanted Korok seeds, if it meant having to lap the entire behemoth 100 times to get what you wanted you were ready to do it, you had practically memorised the route in game but it seemed the rebuilding of Hyrule Castle alongside the millions of cobwebs and the fact you were currently walking through its corridors had gotten in the way of your near photogenic memory of the place.

The archway to the armoury lay only a few feet ahead, along with the following path towards the library-

“The library’s this way, there should be some patrolling but we can easily get through them if we work together.”

The library….

There was a resounding click in your mind, footsteps stopping before they could meet the stone of the walkway, the dawn finally breaking in your mind.

It didn’t make sense- it didn’t make sense.

These hallways were always full, they were the main paths, why would she go through here when they were clearly the most dangerous routes?

Why did she take this way when she could have gone through-

“The secret passage.”

Pause.

You were staring, waiting, watching for that reaction.

And here it had finally come.

Time had been looking for an opportunity, and that had to be it, a broken piece within the glass that was her facade, once pristine and perfect, now so obviously cracked as Maggie finally paused just a few feet ahead of you all, the Chain having stopped when noticing your further figure.

You had given them all they needed.

“Pardon?”

It was cryptic in a way, horror and thriller running down your spine as your body shook with the adrenaline now running its course through your body as you readied yourself for what was bound to come.

“The secret passage, behind the bookcase.” There wasn’t a way they didn’t know about it, Wild had left it open for fuck’s sake, they had been rebuilding, it had to be common knowledge that Hyrule Castle had a secret passage. “In the library, why didn’t you just go through there?”

“I didn’t know there was one.”

Wild looked at you.

You looked at him.

He shook his head.

Liar- as expected.

“I really fucking doubt that.” The Chain had backed up to you quickly, quietly, aware that one false move would have broken the hypnotic spell your words had cast over them all. You licked your dry lips in an effort to stop the dryness from taking over your mouth. “How could you, as part of the restoration, not know about the secret passage in the library?”

“I’m not part of the team.”

Your voice was shaking. “S-So you just stayed ignorant about the place you were inhabiting for the past year or two? Not a single soul bothered to tell you about the cool secret passage in the library?”

“No.”

You grasped Wild’s hand frantically, terrified tears in your eyes.

“You’re a really bad fucking liar, Maggie.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I know.”

Weapons were pulled from sheaths, battle faces pulled sharp as you were quickly yanked once again behind them all, their stances deadly as they waited for something, anything that Maggie- whoever this was was about to bring down on you all.

“Are you with the Shadow?” Time called, a sneer on his face. “Or did you just crawl out from one of its portals like the rest of them?”

She laughed, still refusing to turn around as she did, her voice bouncing off the stones and echoing throughout the area- almost masking the rumbling footsteps that were quickly making their way to your direction, a quick glance back the way you had came showing a Skulltula quickly making its way towards you all- no, many were heading over and a quick glance in the opposite direction showed the same. 

Fuck you were being cornered.

"Link." 

One look and the circle drew tighter.

You were in real danger this time, weren’t you?

“I was just passing through,” Maggie’s voice was quick to change, sinister and cold, curling into this scratchy forced sound as if talking itself was a struggle. "Though I will say that Shadow of yours had an offer too tempting, so I thought why not?"

"And what offer did he give you?"

There was a snap, crack and following pop as Maggie finally turned, your stomach dropping at the body horror of her face expanding to form a snout, skin tearing away to reveal the blue fur beneath and murky gold tint taking over her face.

"The death of the Hero of Courage, of course."

Poof!

The cloud of magic saved you from the horrific scene of the monster’s full transfiguration, dark purple blocking your vision before the sound of flapping wings caught your attention, eyes widening in surprise as you watched the view return to you and replaced what was once Maggie, was a blue bat-like creature also similar to a keese.

"Ache?" You muttered in confusion, backing into Hyrule warily and feeling the man tense beneath you.

Not a common monster, not at all, the eyes of Ganon that hailed all the way from the traveller's timeline- they weren't impossibly hard to beat, well, depending on the Ache of course, a single hit usually was enough to have them out. But that's not what they were for, they weren't exactly fighting monsters, Ache's were pretty much spies for the other foul, grotesque beings, the ones watching for your hero closely so they could snatch him up and use him as a sacrifice for their master: Ganon.

The Ache was here for Hyrule, you knew that and so did Hyrule, so without another thought, you sidestepped to keep him out of its view.

It's the least you could have done.

Even if it was useless in this moment of time.

"I'm not really one for fighting." The creature cackled, hovering a little further away. "So I'll just let them deal with you- no need to worry though, I'll be back soon."

It swooped away into the armoury, just as another group of Skulltula came rounding the arch, their hisses and squeals like nails against a chalkboard.

Shields were up at the ready, swords poised and you, little old you, were in the middle with your dagger at the ready as if you knew the first thing about fighting.

"There's more than anticipated."

"Can we take this many black-blooded?"

"Who's to say they are black-blooded?"

"You think the Shadow wouldn't do that?"

"Enough- stand at the ready, do not break this circle."

The feeling had come back, but then again it hadn't gone away either, crawling up your back, poison seeping into your skin as you glanced around frantically for the feeling.

Something was watching you.

Not the heroes.

You.

Just, you.

And you knew that, because it was the exact same pair of eyes that had stared at you from atop that cliff the other day, menacing, cold and cruel, every dark intention you could think of rolling through your mind space. It wasn't the Chuchu back then, their googly eyes were never that evil, they could elicit a body-numbing reaction, but they could have never brought this kind of primal fear that laid deep into your stomach- not like that night after work had.

Dink was looking straight at you.

But from where? You couldn't see him through the bodies of monsters that the boys were fending off, nor in the Dining Hall, in the shadows of the dark corridor, hell, even the damn ceiling didn't have those red piercing eyes of his.

So where-

Fingers grasped your ankle firmly, nails practically piercing through the fabric and digging into the skin as a deep, breathy chuckle caught your ear through all the noise.

"Got you~"

You didn't have time to scream as you were dragged straight through the portal beneath your feet, catching a glimpse of the others turning in surprise, the feeling of a hand trying to grab yours, a possible scream- before your whole body had disappeared into the absolute black.

It took mere seconds to re-emerge from the inky abyss, spluttering and coughing for stolen breath where your body met the floor violently, cheek meeting the scratchy carpet beneath that tore at your poor, victim skin as you were dragged across the floor, a weird sound echoing through the room before you could take a small glance to see the portal vanish into nothing, leaving a stone wall in its place.

You looked at the area solemnly, wishing it would just open back up to you so you could jump back towards the boys, gut-churning with a violently sick feeling at the thought of looking back.

To make the situation real.

"Awh, are you scared, little guide?"

Yes.

Yes, you were.

[flipping-the-coin]

For Optimus Prime. What's your favorite things about Ratchet?

[[TRANSMISSION RECEIVED: SUBJECT = QUERY…. SCANNING…. 99% THREAT LEVEL NULL = NO THREAT LEVEL CATAGORIZATION: REROUTING…. SECONDARY SCANS COMPLETE: TRANSMISSION = WITHIN PARAMETERES]]

[[TRANMISSION FORWARDED…. RECEIVED = SEEN]]

[[//RESPONSE IN PROGRESS… RESPONSE COMPLETE: TRANSMISSION SENT//]]

═════════════════

Admittedly this is an unexpected query. I would have thought such a question would be directed toward my host, but I am not opposed to answering. There are many things I find appealing about Ratchet. I could never hope to put a name to all the little pleasantries and habits of his that draw me to him. However if I were to pick out the things that I love most about him, there are only a few traits that I feel fit to be called my 'favorite'.

Firstly there are the purely physical traits of his that catch my optics. I will never find any other as lovely as Ratchet's frame. I do not wish to be... graphic. As such I will simply state that I have always found his sturdy but well sculpted legs to be of great appeal. There is power there that I one day hope to see put to good use outside of his medical duties, perhaps when I am no longer as unsettled by any and all physical interaction. His servos are also a part of him I greatly adore. He has so much strength behind his every action, and yet his movements are calculated and restrained. His touches are light when he is with me and precise when he repairs wounds. When he holds my servo in his, I feel safe and I know that no matter what happens, he will be able to make things right in word or deed. He always has. Of course as much as I adore every other part of him, his optics will always come to my mind alongside that which I have already listed. I am unsure if optics are seen fondly in other courtships, but I love to see Ratchet's whenever I can. Such a deep and very mortal blue hue... I can never get enough of the emotion and the unspoken words behind his every glance. If I could, I would watch for as long as time allows, hoping that the loving blue of his optics could wash away the chill of the white that haunts mine.

As for the other things about him that I could call my favorite? I would have to say his disposition. He is far older than I am, and yet he has the spark of a mech fresh out of training, at least when he wants to showcase his passion. He can love so deeply and put so much of his mind, body, and spark into that which he cares for. It is inspiring to watch him devote his everything to that which he holds dear, including me. I struggle to accept the affection when it is offered, but he is always there to aid me and care for me, helping me when I need it most. He deals with my fear with the patience of Primus himself and always seems to know just what I need even when I do not. Despite all that, he is also capable of projecting his age old wisdom when required. I look up to him when his emotions do not cloud his judgement. He is a mech with so many experiences weighing down his spark, and I cannot help but love him all the more when he takes the lead and shows his skill. He may be a doctor, but when I see him in those moments, the mech that stands before me is a leader Cybertron could have used long before my creation. He has his shortcomings in his wrath and bitterness, but his loyalty and love will always drown those poor qualities out in my mind. I cannot put into words how much I adore him and his devotion. All I can say is that I would give anything to be around him forever, even if only as a phantom just so I could see his spark blaze free and true.

The final aspect of my beloved I can safely say falls into the category of 'favorite' would have to be how he is with our sparkling. One would think that Ratchet matches the textbook descriptor of a Sire right down to the letter. But I beg to differ. I have seen him during the war raising our little warrior, and while outwardly he may appear to act as a Sire, I know Ratchet and what his actions mean. The tender way in which he always held Bumblebee near to his spark chamber, singing a unique song that even I do not know. The manner in which he always methodically tucked Bee into his cradle when he was small, ensuring the mobile above spun at just the correct speed. The methods of which he employed to make sure that Bee's energon was always properly balanced in nutrients. There is so much I could see during those times, so many small things that might have seemed like mere protectiveness or the inclinations of a doctor that really showed his true colors. Ratchet is a Nurturer deep down, and I always adored seeing his gruff yet loving way of showing it. My personal favorite memory of him allowing himself to indulge in his Nurturer coding was shortly after Bumblebee came into our lives. I was doing all I could to care for him with the aid of my host, but we were insufficient when war required my attention. I recall desperately trying to find someone trustworthy to take care of our dear sparkling when Bee began to cry. I could not hear amidst the noise in my workspace, but when I finally came out from the meeting I was engaged in, I found Ratchet there.

He was at the edge of Bumblebee's cradle, singing so gently and with such love that I nearly found myself doubling over in renewed longing. His smile was soft and wistful, belonging to a far younger mech, one untouched by war and blessed with the adoration only a Caretaker could have. Ratchet held out a single digit, allowing Bumblebee to hold it as he dozed off into recharge yet again. It touched my spark, and to this cycle I hold it close to myself. I adore how much Ratchet loves, how much he puts into me, Bumblebee, and the others. The songs he sang to our dozing sparkling, the way he always remained patient with me, and the determination in which he endured my long absence will forever draw me to him, reaffirming my affections.

I want nothing more for Ratchet to be happy. He is such a core part of my life and my past that I do not belief I could ever find it in my spark to be truly angry with him. He was there when no others were, he was dutiful when the rest of the world passed him by, and while I fear for him and the fragility of his mind, I love him more than the world itself. I can never give him everything I want to, my station does not permit it...

But if I were mortal... if I were not confined by the will of the world and the demands of my nature, I would take him away from all of this. I would show him the wonders of the universe and bask him in the passions of my spark. This I would give and so much more.

If I were only mortal.

═════════════════

[[TRANSMISSION SENDER = OPTIMUS PRIME = PRIME OF CYBERTRON: LEADER OF THE AUTOBOTS: PRIMUS’S ANGEL: SAVIOR OF CYBERTRON: LOREKEEPER: SIRE]]

[[TRANSMISSION END]]

[fromevertonow]

Oppenheimer and the Chain Reaction of Violence

My take on the Oppenheimer issue regarding the omission of the Japan bombings (even though no one asked):

For those who don’t know, the movie does not include an actual visual of the bombings in Japan, to the surprise and even disappointment of some.

On the one hand, I get the critique. It’s a huge tragedy in history and a key element of the story. Maybe some people were expecting more action from Nolan. But on the other hand, the story is not about the bombings specifically. It is about Oppenheimer and his legacy.

Albert, when I came to you with those calculations, we thought we might start a chain reaction that would destroy the world.

I remember it well. What of it?

I believe we did.

The final scene of Oppenheimer, a conversation between Einstein and Oppenheimer

At the end of the movie, we finally find out what was said during the conversation between Oppenheimer and Einstein. It was a huge question mark throughout the movie because of Strauss’ schemes, but it turned out the two scientists were discussing their biggest fear—their scientific research leading to evil. Multiple characters mention the “chain reaction” and often it was in the context of chemicals and what their reaction to each other would be. But in the end, the chain reaction was something bigger—the continuation of scientific research and it leading to nuclear war.

The movie is not about the bombings in Japan. Yes, it is a huge “plot point” and the movie does build up to it, but it is just one link in that chain. Oppenheimer feels incredibly guilty for having created the atomic bomb and wasn’t at all convinced for the government to use his creation against innocent civilians. His guilt is what is most important here because it is the result of that chain reaction.

This isn’t a historical movie in the sense that we are simply given a life story of Oppenheimer. This is a historical movie that reminds us history is still influencing the present. Scientists and governments are currently working side by side to create even bigger weapons of mass destruction and it is a heavy realization that the world might one day be actually set on fire because of them. We don’t know where this current ‘Los Alamos’ is, we don’t know how big the new weapons are, but we do know they don’t lead to anything good. This is the chain reaction.

Oppenheimer was a theorist. That alone should tell you that actually creating the bomb was insane to him. He wanted to rely on theory to prove that it was possible to build one, but people around him pressed him into actually creating it and, most importantly, testing it. The Trinity test scene is prove of how horrified Oppenheimer was by his own creation. The visuals are chilling. In that scene, Oppenheimer grasped the true scale of the destruction the atomic bomb can cause. It sealed the link to that chain, and the reaction was the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Aside from story’s message and the relevance of showing the bombings, there is also a technical argument against including the bombings. The story is mostly told from Oppenheimer’s perspective, he is almost in every scene. But he wasn’t there when the bombings happened, so it wouldn’t have made much sense to show them. Oppenheimer asked Groves to inform him about when the bombings would happen exactly, but he heard about it like the rest of the world—through Truman’s radio announcement. Oppenheimer was incredibly anxious about the bombings, as can be seen in the scene where he is waiting by the phone the day before it happened. His guilt was eating him up from the inside while everyone celebrated either a military victory or a scientific break. Oppenheimer only saw the destruction of the world and the deaths of innocents. With his research he sealed the fates of millions of people. Because that is the chain reaction—the accumulation of historical events.

[dndfantasygirl]

Fighting for Freedom (Chapter 18: The Fight for Freedom)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.6k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of sexual harassment/attempted sexual coercion (regarding Haarlep), mentions of past sexual assault

Summary: Delphie, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach rescue Hope and confront Raphael.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Carefully, Astarion seeks to slip the artifacts out from under the Archivist's nose, his fingers deftly working to avoid detection. Each movement is calculated, every breath measured as he reaches for the treasures that lay within the room.

The discovery made by Karlach in the boudoir had set a chain of events in motion. Despite the trap laid within the painting, its true significance was hidden within the depths of a secret safe concealed within the wall. With skillful precision, traps were disarmed, and locks were picked, revealing the hidden compartment's contents.

Within the safe, amidst the musty scent of ancient secrets, lay the key to unlocking the Hammer: a phrase that would deactivate the shield surrounding it.

But before they departed, Astarion couldn't resist one last inquiry. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, he communed with the spirit of Haarlep's departed body, seeking the truth about Raphael's prowess in the bedroom.

The revelation was unexpected and utterly amusing, so Astarion filed it away for future reference, a tidbit of gossip to be savored at a more opportune moment.

As Astarion deftly snatches the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Periapt of Health, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of the heist. Delphie's enchanting melody, drifting through the air like a siren's call, threatens to distract even his well-honed senses. For a moment, he feels himself swaying to the rhythm, the music weaving a spell that almost ensnares his mind.

But Astarion is not one to succumb easily to such allurements. With a shake of his head, he banishes the enchanting melody that threatens to cloud his judgment. With renewed determination, he focuses on his mission, the weight of the gauntlets in his grasp a tangible reminder of his newfound strength.

Slipping the gauntlets onto his hands, he feels a surge of power coursing through his veins, as if he has become a force of nature incarnate. With each flex of his fingers, he revels in the sensation of newfound might, his muscles thrumming with potential.

As he approaches the Hammer, the Periapt of Health still clutched tightly in his hand, Astarion's irritation mounts at the stupidity of the phrase required to deactivate the shield around it. "Give me my heart's desire," he mutters under his breath, the words dripping with sarcasm and irritation.

To his astonishment, the shield dissolves with almost mocking promptness, vanishing into the ether as if it had never been. With a smirk of triumph, Astarion reaches out for the Hammer, his fingers curling around its hilt with a sense of anticipation.

Yet, as soon as his hand makes contact with the artifact, a sudden, ominous silence descends upon the room, shattering the tranquility that had pervaded moments before. A silent alarm, triggered by his touch, reverberates through the air, its warning echoing with palpable tension.

The abrupt cessation of Delphie's enchanting melody further heightens the sense of foreboding, the once vibrant atmosphere now tinged with an icy chill. In an instant, the disguises bestowed upon them by Hope's magic unravels, leaving them exposed in their regular armor, their true identities laying bare for all to see.

"You just rang Raphael's dinner bell," the Archivist warns, "and you're the entire meal."

As the tiefling's ominous warning hangs in the air, tension crackling like electricity, Delphie's quick reflexes springs into action. With a fluid motion, she unleashes a spell, a gesture of defiance that sends the Archivist hurtling backward with surprising force. The sound of his impact against the bookshelf reverberates through the chamber, a satisfying echo of the chaos unfolding.

Astarion rushes to join his companions, urgency etched into his features as he extends the periapt towards Delphie. "Hurry, darling. Put this on," he urges, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of determination and protectiveness.

Without hesitation, Delphie complies, slipping the periapt around her neck with a swift motion. As its magic infuses her being, she feels a surge of energy coursing through her veins, invigorating her with newfound vitality. Her heart quickens its pace, the rush of adrenaline heightening her senses as she prepares to face the impending threat.

For a fleeting moment, amidst the chaos and danger that surrounds them, Delphie finds herself momentarily distracted by Astarion's presence. His features seem to take on a tantalizing allure, his lips appearing almost irresistibly tempting. With a shake of her head, she forcibly pushes aside the distracting thoughts, refocusing her attention on the imminent danger that looms before them.

Delphie emerges from the archive room, her senses still tingling with the residual magic that lingers within. Yet, as she steps into the hallway, a sudden sensation of searing heat washes over her, causing her skin to prickle with discomfort. Whirling around, her eyes widen in alarm as she beholds a looming ball of hellfire hurtling towards her with malevolent intent.

Instinctively, Delphie raises her hands, her scales shimmering with an otherworldly glow as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage. "Fogatorkah di gul," she intones, her breath forming a frosty mist as she unleashes a torrent of icy wind from her outstretched palms. The frigid blast collides with the infernal flames, a clash of elements that sparked and sizzled with raw energy.

In a breathtaking display of magic, the hellfire is quenched, frozen in its tracks by the sheer force of Delphie's will.

"Hurry!" Delphie's voice rings out, urgent and commanding, as she waits for her companions to emerge from the archive room. With each passing moment, the ice that once restrained the ball of hellfire begins to melt away, its fiery tendrils inching ever closer.

As they draw nearer to Hope's prison, the intensity of the onslaught from Raphael's servants escalates. Yet, it's not just their physical assaults that pose a threat. With a sinister twist of fate, the servants detonate upon reaching the party, their bodies morphing into grotesque fiendish creatures that hunger for blood.

Caught in the midst of this chaotic onslaught, the party fights fiercely, their weapons clashing against the twisted forms of their assailants. Spells flare and blades sing as they battle against the relentless tide of enemies, each moment a desperate struggle for survival.

Despite the odds stacked against them, they press on with unwavering determination, driven by their shared resolve to free Hope from her captivity. Inch by inch, they advance through the labyrinthine passages, their progress marked by the cacophony of battle that echoes through the corridors.

Finally, they reach the ladder leading down to Hope's prison. With a final burst of effort, they rally together, steeling themselves for the trials that await below.

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

The air crackles with arcane energy as the party descends into the depths of Hope's prison, their hearts heavy with anticipation and resolve. Yet, as they breach the threshold, they are met with a scene of utter chaos. Two imposing spectators, their many eyes gleaming with malice, loom over Hope's prison, flanked by a horde of cackling imps that swarm like vultures around their prey.

With a grim determination, the party springs into action, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they engage their adversaries in a fierce battle. Spells erupt in dazzling displays of magic, while swords clash against the hideous forms of the imps, their shrieks filling the air with discordant cacophony.

The spectators, formidable foes that they are, unleash blasts of magical energy with lethal precision, forcing the party to duck and weave, their every move a dance of survival against overwhelming odds. Yet, despite the ferocity of their enemies, the party fights on with unyielding resolve, their determination fueled by the knowledge that Hope's freedom hangs in the balance.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of struggle, the tide of battle begins to turn in their favor. With a final, decisive blow, the last of their adversaries falls, vanquished by the combined might of the party. As the echoes of battle fade into silence, they stand victorious amidst the wreckage, their chests heaving with exhaustion yet filled with the triumphant glow of success.

With Hope now free from her prison, she wastes no time in calling upon divine intervention, her words a prayer that rings out with clarity and conviction. In an instant, a soothing aura washes over the weary party, their wounds healing and their spirits renewed by the divine grace that surrounds them.

Hope and the party sprint down the narrow corridors, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they push forward with all their might. With each step, they fend off waves of Raphael's relentless servants, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they cleave through the horde.

Delphie's heart pounds in her chest as they race towards their goal, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Yet, despite the ever-present threat of danger, a sense of relief washes over her as they draw closer to the portal that will lead them to safety.

A smile of triumph tugs at Delphie's lips as she catches sight of the shimmering portal ahead, its ethereal glow a beacon of hope amidst the chaos that surrounds them. With renewed determination, she quickens her pace, her gaze fixed on the shimmering threshold that promises escape from their ordeal.

As Delphie's foot makes contact with the threshold of the portal, a surge of elation courses through her. Yet, in the blink of an eye, her moment of triumph is shattered as the portal vanishes into thin air, leaving them vulnerable and exposed.

Before they can react, a sinister presence materializes before them, the imposing figures of Raphael and Yurgir emerging from the shadows with malevolent intent.

"You," Raphael's voice drips with disdain as he directs his words at Delphie, his contempt palpable in every syllable.

Delphie meets his gaze with equal measure, her eyes ablaze with a fiery intensity that mirrors his own animosity. With a defiant tilt of her chin, she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger.

"There are many things in your world that I loathe," Raphael continues, his tone dripping with venom as he speaks. "Litters of kittens, chattering children - the noise and the chaos of it all." Delphie's death glare intensifies with each word, her lips curling into a silent snarl as she listens to the devil's disdainful diatribe. "In my world - in my HOUSE - there is order and there is decorum. You came here uninvited and you stole from me."

A satisfied smirk dances across Delphie's lips, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and defiance as she meets Raphael's gaze head-on. "We did, didn't we?" she retorts, her voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Though I must say, Raphael, you give me too much credit. It was mostly Astarion who did the stealing."

Astarion, ever the rogue, lets out a high-pitched laugh at Delphie's remark, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he revels in the chaos he has wrought. "Guilty as charged," he chimes in, his tone light and carefree despite the gravity of their situation.

"You brought the chaos of your world into mine. I will not abide by it," the devil declares, his tone as cold and unforgiving as steel.

Delphie's lips curl into a dark chuckle, her amusement tinged with a hint of defiance. "Please, Raphael," she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your little minions couldn't even stop us. If that isn't the definition of chaos, I don't know what your idea of order is. Face it. It's over. You can't stop us."

Hope's voice rings out, a note of uncertainty laced with determination. "I AM NOT ENTIRELY SURE HE WON'T," she interjects, her words a sobering reminder of the peril they face.

Raphael's gaze turns to Hope, his expression one of disdain as he dismisses her with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Oh, Hope," he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. "You're such a piteous thing. All it takes is a crumb from the table, and you forget the centuries of starvation. This insolence has earned you centuries more."

Delphie's knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Don't you dare lay a hand on her!" she warns, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.

But Raphael pays her threat no heed, his attention already turned elsewhere as he continues his tirade. "You would've been heroes if you'd only dealt fairly with me," he taunts, his words a bitter echo of regret. "Instead, you're not so different to doomed Karsus, overreaching your limits, and burning your world to ash."

As Hope, Delphie, and Raphael engage in their tense exchange, Astarion, ever the provocateur, seizes the opportunity to interject with a mischievous grin playing upon his lips. With a sly smile, he recounts the unexpected tidbit he had gleaned from Haarlep's corpse, his ears perking up in anticipation of the reaction it would elicit.

Amidst the banter and tension, Delphie, in her own unique way, manages to work her peculiar brand of charm on Yurgir, persuading the reluctant servant to join their cause. Astarion can't help but admire her unconventional approach, a testament to her resourcefulness and unwavering determination.

As Raphael's taunts reach a crescendo, he delivers a final, contemptuous barb, his words laden with malice and disdain. "If you have any last words, make it quick. It will only take a moment to finish you."

Unfazed by the devil's threats, Astarion counters with a snort of derision. "Well, that's twice the time Haarlep claims it takes to finish you," he retorts, unable to resist the opportunity to needle his adversary with a well-timed jest.

The reaction is immediate. Raphael's features contort with rage, his teeth bared in a snarl of fury as he struggles to contain his anger. "You contemptuous creature!" he seethes, his voice a low growl as he glares at Astarion with undisguised hatred.

As the confrontation erupts into chaos, Raphael, true to his theatrical nature, begins to weave a sinister melody, his voice echoing through the chamber in a haunting villain song. The air thrums with dark energy as the cambions close in around the party, their malevolent presence adding to the sense of impending doom.

Amidst the turmoil, Delphie's keen observation skills come to the forefront, her eyes scanning the chamber with a sharp focus. Dodging a swing from a cambion's sword with practiced agility, she quickly identifies the source of Raphael's newfound power.

"He's drawing power from the pillars!" she shouts, her voice cutting through the din of battle like a clarion call. The revelation sparks a glimmer of mischief in Karlach's eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she embraces the opportunity for action.

With a primal roar, Karlach channels her rage into a burst of speed, hurtling towards the nearest pillar with reckless abandon. Meanwhile, Astarion springs into action, deftly igniting smokepowder bombs and hurling them with precision towards the pillar nearest to him. Ignoring the cascading debris, he focuses solely on disrupting Raphael's source of power.

Shadowheart, her focus unwavering amidst the chaos, channels her magic with practiced skill. With a whispered incantation, she conjures a spectral door that materializes before her, opening a path to the pillar farthest from her. Without hesitation, she dashes through the portal, her movements swift and graceful as she readies her guiding bolts to unleash upon the source of Raphael's strength.

Yet, amidst their coordinated efforts, the cambions press their advantage, their relentless assault testing the party's resolve with each passing moment. Shadowheart flinches as a cambion catches her off guard, their sword slashing dangerously close as she focuses her aim on the distant pillar.

With agility and grace, Delphie slides beneath Raphael's towering form, her movements fluid and precise as she navigates the chaos of the battlefield. As she emerges on the other side, her gaze locks onto the last remaining pillar, her resolve hardening with determination.

With a fierce intensity burning in her eyes, Delphie points a finger towards the pillar, her voice ringing out with arcane power. "Sharleg ekess bilaes," she incants, her words infused with ancient magic as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage.

As she channels her energy, Delphie's scales begin to glow with an ethereal light, casting a radiant aura around her. With a focused concentration, she unleashes a thin green ray from the tip of her finger, the magic crackling with raw power as it streaks towards its target.

The ray strikes the pillar with unerring accuracy, its force hitting with the impact of a thunderbolt. In an instant, the pillar begins to tremble and groan, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface as it succumbs to the onslaught of Delphie's magic.

With a deafening roar, the pillar collapses into a cloud of dust, its once imposing form reduced to nothingness in the blink of an eye.

As the chaos of battle swirls around him, Astarion's focus remains unwavering on Delphie. She is his anchor in the tumultuous storm, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf them all. With every fiber of his being, he is determined not to lose her, to ensure her safety at all costs.

Yet, amidst the frenetic dance of combat, Astarion momentarily loses sight of Delphie, his heart seizing with a sudden pang of fear. With reflexes honed by years of survival instincts, he whispers an incantation taught to him by the wood elf, the words flowing from his lips with practiced ease. In an instant, he dissolves into mist, his form evaporating into the ether as he traverses the battlefield with ghostly swiftness.

Reappearing next to one of the crumbled pillars, Astarion crouches low, seeking cover from the onslaught of enemies that surround them. His keen eyes scan the chaos, searching desperately for any sign of Delphie amidst the fray.

Finally, his gaze alights upon her, a surge of relief flooding through him as he sees her moving with a predatory grace towards Raphael, her movements fluid and purposeful. With a sense of pride and admiration, Astarion watches as she unleashes her magic, stunning their adversary with a display of raw power.

But his elation is short-lived as he notices the danger looming behind her, a cambion bearing down upon her with lethal intent.

In the heat of battle, Astarion's instincts take over as he draws his bow with practiced ease, his movements fluid and precise. With a steady hand and unwavering focus, he releases the arrow, the projectile hurtling through the air with deadly accuracy.

The arrow finds its mark with chilling precision, piercing through the cambion's skull with a sickening crunch. With a final, agonized cry, the fiend crumples to the ground in a grotesque heap, her lifeblood pooling beneath her motionless form.

The sound of her body hitting the ground echoes through the chamber, drawing Delphie's attention in an instant. With a swift turn, she meets Astarion's concerned gaze, her eyes locking with his in a silent exchange of understanding and reassurance. With a subtle nod of acknowledgment, she dashes forward, her resolve unyielding as she sets her sights on Raphael once more.

Closing the distance with predatory grace, Delphie moves with a deadly purpose, twin daggers gleaming in her hands as she closes in on her prey. With a primal roar, she lunges forward, driving the blades deep into Raphael's neck with ruthless precision.

Astonished by the swift and brutal efficiency of her attack, Astarion can only watch in silent awe as Raphael staggers backward, his lifeblood gushing from the mortal wounds inflicted by Delphie's hand. With a strangled gasp, the devil falls to the ground, his once-powerful form now reduced to a mere shell of its former self.

As the macabre scene unfolds before him, Astarion feels a chill run down his spine, a nagging sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. It's as if a shadow of darkness lingers around Delphie, a lingering reminder of the dark forces that once sought to consume her.

In that moment, Astarion can't help but wonder if perhaps there is still a part of Bhaal lingering within her, its influence casting a sinister shadow over her actions.

As the dust settles and the echoes of battle fade into the background, Astarion finds himself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The lingering concern about Delphie's unsettling display of violence is tempered by the reassuring knowledge that she has never directed such predatory instincts towards him or their companions since her resurrection.

With a sigh of relief, Astarion acknowledges that perhaps it is merely an instinctual remnant from her years of survival in the wilderness, a vestige of her primal nature that she has learned to tame in the company of her newfound family. Whatever the case may be, one thing remains certain: in her presence, he feels safe, and he knows that she is safe too.

With the devil defeated, the Hammer reclaimed, and Hope freed from her captivity, a sense of triumph washes over the party, their shared victory a testament to their strength and resilience in the face of adversity. With their mission accomplished, they can finally return to Baldur's Gate.

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

Perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the tranquil expanse of Dragon Cove, Delphie finds solace in the quiet beauty of the night. With her knee drawn up to her chest, she sits in contemplative silence, her gaze fixed upon the moon as it casts its gentle glow upon the land below. The rhythmic chirping of crickets fills the air, a soothing melody that lulls her into a state of peace and tranquility.

Yet, despite the serenity of her surroundings, Delphie finds her thoughts drifting back to the disturbing images of Haarlep that linger in her mind like unwelcome specters. With a shudder, she pushes them aside, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of her breathing as she seeks to quiet the turmoil within her soul.

Lost in her thoughts, Delphie's ears twitch at the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"You know, I've grown rather fond of these gauntlets. We could just never return to the Devil's Fee."

Astarion's voice breaks the peaceful silence of the night, his words carrying a playful tone as he approaches Delphie from behind. With a smirk dancing upon his lips, he pauses beside her, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the gleaming gauntlets adorning his hands.

Delphie turns to face him, a small smile gracing her features as she meets his playful gaze. She watches with amusement as he admires the gauntlets, his antics eliciting a soft giggle from her lips.

"What do you think, my sweet? Do they make me appear more formidable?" Astarion strikes a dramatic pose, flexing his arm with exaggerated flair. Delphie can't help but roll her eyes playfully at his theatrics, her smile widening at his antics.

"Sure, if it'll make you sleep better at night," she teases affectionately.

Taking a seat beside her, Astarion feigns offense, his hand coming to rest dramatically over his unbeating heart. "Oh, how you wound me at times, darling."

Delphie's laughter fades into a soft sigh as she leans into Astarion's comforting embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his presence. His arm wraps protectively around her, a silent gesture of support and understanding as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his touch a soothing caress against her skin.

As his fingers trace tender circles along her arm, Astarion's voice breaks the silence, his concern evident in the softness of his tone. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, Delphie hesitates, the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She takes a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to find the words to convey her inner turmoil. "I-I think so," she replies, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It all just reminded me of Galure and what he...did to me."

Tears well up in her eyes, their shimmering trails tracing silent paths down her cheeks as she speaks. The memories of her past trauma linger like a shadow, their presence a constant reminder of the pain and suffering she has endured.

Feeling the weight of Delphie's sorrow pressing against him, Astarion holds her even tighter, his arms a sturdy anchor in the storm of her emotions. With each trembling breath she takes, he can feel her pain radiating through her, a tangible reminder of the scars that still linger from her past.

As he gazes down at her tear-stained face, Astarion's expression softens, a mixture of concern and frustration clouding his features. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Delphie's silence speaks volumes, her eyes darting away from his gaze as she struggles to find the words to explain herself. A sense of guilt gnaws at her conscience, the weight of her actions heavy upon her shoulders.

"I told you it wasn't safe," Astarion continues, his tone gentle yet firm as he presses her to confront the choices she made.

In response, Delphie's voice is barely above a whisper, her words laden with remorse. "I only undressed for him, Astarion. He didn't even lay a hand on me."

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion's features at the mention of Haarlep's actions, his jaw tensing with barely contained fury.

"You shouldn't have felt compelled to resort to such measures," Astarion insists, his voice softening with empathy. "I told you we would find another way. Why didn't you trust me?"

Delphie's shoulders tremble with suppressed emotion, a small whimper escaping her lips as she struggles to contain her tears. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Astarion. I was just afraid...we had to get the Hammer," she confesses, meeting his gaze with teary eyes. "It's the only way we'll defeat the Absolute."

"I know, darling, but as you once told me, we will always find a way. Together." Astarion's voice carries a quiet reassurance, his words a balm to Delphie's troubled soul as he gently takes her hand in his own. With a tender gesture, he brings her fingers to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against them before intertwining their hands together, his touch a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"Promise me," he implores, his gaze searching hers with earnest sincerity, "that the next time we find ourselves in such dire straits, you'll at least consider indulging me?"

Delphie meets his gaze with a silent determination, her heart swelling with gratitude for the unwavering support he offers her. With a nod of her head, she cups his face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm as she brushes her lips against his in the softest of kisses.

Their moment of tenderness is interrupted by a series of chirps, drawing their attention to Esme landing beside Delphie. The small pseudodragon curls up against her, seeking comfort in her presence as Delphie tenderly pets her scales.

With a contented hum, the wood elf leans her head against Astarion's shoulder once more, finding solace in the coolness of his embrace. Tomorrow, they will face their toughest adversary yet, the daunting prospect of battle looming on the horizon. But for now, in the quiet embrace of the night, they find peace in each other's arms, their love a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds them.

[mistic-turtle]

Dimensional Shell-Shock

Heya, today I wanted to write a little story about the universes I read yesterday here on Tumblr. That gave me the idea... Enjoy!

Mikey was chilling alone in the lab of the sewers that used to be Donnie's. Seeing the ghost of his brother Working like I always used to. A cup of chamomile tea was drunk. For god's sake, he hates chamomile tea!

However, it was what helped him to be calm in a strange way. Well, when you're the last of your siblings alive there's not much to do. Except, of course, to pursue revenge. But Mikey wasn't so impatient as to run around and do everything like crazy. No, he took his time because he knew that an action of liberation leads to misfortune.

For first time, there wasn't anything more than peace all around him. Silence. Just silence all around. Even a small rumble startled him. "April... Are you around?" he got up from his seat to check what had happened. What he saw stunned him.

He looked like his brother. He spoke like his brother. He had the same calm aura as his brother. But he wasn't his brother. "Who are you...?" says Mikey to the strange turtle with purple bandana.

"Huh?" answers, rubbing the back of his head. "S-Sorry... I am... Donatello. I'm not from here. As you can see maybe I had a, uh, time travel or something... I can't calculate the exactly time-space that I'm on, but if you help me I can go as fast as I could. I have to design a machine that..." and like Donnie, he kept talking. And talking. And talking. Mikey chuckled but didn't interrupt him. He missed hearing his brother talking his brain out to him.

His voice was calming. And for first time, Mikey didn't feel distrust towards this Donnie. He was very comfortable.

And another crash was heard there. Now a red bandana turtle was there. This turtle He slammed into the wall and was coughing from the dust it emitted. His little brother's sword, Leo, would have brought him to a strange place. A place he didn't recognize a single iota of. He didn't even recognize if it was his lair or not. And another turtle, now a blue bandana one came. His expressions were puzzled.

Mikey stared at Donnie for a moment. Donnie didn't know what was happening.

"Uhm, where are we?" asked Raph fidgeting with his fingers. Mikey raised his eyebrows in a low external surprise. But inside was thinking, who kind of Raph he was. His Raph never acted shy, or insecure. Even feary.

"H-Hello... I'm Leonardo. And... I don't know where are we but... I think you two guys surely know. Right?" says smiling kindly at them. Mikey was taken back at this. His brothers, except Donnie, acted this soft before. What the hell was happening?

"I'm Michaelangelo, and like you, I don't know what's happening but I can say, none of you are from here and we need to find a way to take you back."

The three guys look at Mikey in surprise. He doesn't look stunning, cheerful... He... He isn't the ray of sunshine he used to be.

"Uhm... Can I ask what happened... T-To you? I mean, you're Mikey... It's supossed to make jokes and laugh around... What happened?" Asks Donnie regreting it inside. He knows that to get Mikey so serious something very serious must have happened.

"I... I lost my family. The foot clan killed all of them. Oroku Saki had a grandson, Oroku Hiroto. As always, with lies he promised to take all the clan down... And he did."

Everyone's expressions darkened. Imagine that your sweetest little brother is left alone and has to face such a vile villain alone... It broke their hearts. They quickly began to imagine that situation for their Mikeys. They quickly run to hug Mikey. In other circumstances, he would have been able to hide his emotions very well... But I couldn't. She had been struggling with depression for so long, that added up to the fact that a cuter, more understanding version of her siblings to be there with him. It made him burst into tears.

Me, you, us reading this:

Stop making my Cosa vieja cry, bitches! (I wrote this, lol)

[mya-valentine]

Breaking the Barrier: Striking Through the Silence

Synopsis: In a grueling training session, Juri pushes Itadori to his limits, her strikes relentless and unforgiving. Itadori, battered but determined, lands another hit, surprising Juri and sparking a fleeting moment of vulnerability between them. As Juri's usual cold demeanor reasserts itself, Gojo's casual entrance and teasing only add to the tension. Despite Juri's harsh criticisms, Itadori's renewed focus and tactical improvements shine through. During the next session, he manages to pin Juri down, creating an awkward moment of eye contact that leaves them both unsettled. Juri’s reaction suggests an unexpected depth to her feelings, while Itadori grapples with the strange undercurrent of their interaction.

The next training session was intense, even by Juri’s standards. She was pushing Itadori harder than usual, her strikes faster, more relentless. Each blow came at him like a lightning bolt, her speed impossible to predict. Itadori, to his credit, had improved—his reflexes sharper, his counters more calculated—but it still wasn’t enough. Juri was always a step ahead, her footwork a blur as she danced around him, hitting him with precise, brutal efficiency.

"Come on, kid!" Juri barked, her voice cold and unyielding. "Is that all you’ve got?"

Itadori grunted, his knuckles stinging from deflecting her kicks, sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to keep up. He tried to land a punch, but Juri sidestepped it effortlessly, retaliating with a sweeping kick that knocked him off balance.

He barely managed to stay on his feet, but the moment he stumbled, Juri was on him again. This time, she wasn’t holding back. Her left eye glowed purple with cursed energy, amplifying her speed and strength. Itadori barely saw her coming as she shot forward, pinning him to the ground in a flash, her knee pressed hard against his chest, one hand gripping his collar.

"Pathetic," she growled, leaning down, her face inches from his. "You’re still hesitating. You want to fight Sukuna like this? You’ll die in seconds."

Itadori winced, her words hitting harder than any of her strikes. He had been trying, pushing himself to his limit, but Juri made it seem like everything he did was useless. His body screamed in pain, but it was her relentless criticism that stung the most.

"Y-You’re not giving me a chance!" he gasped, trying to push her off, but she didn’t budge.

Juri narrowed her eyes, her expression darkening. "A chance? Do you think curses will give you a chance? Do you think Sukuna will give you a chance?" She pressed her knee harder into his chest, her cursed energy crackling in the air. "Stop holding back. Stop waiting for an opening. If you don’t start fighting like your life depends on it, I will kill you myself."

Her words sent a chill down Itadori’s spine, but in that moment, something in him snapped. He gritted his teeth, eyes flashing with renewed determination. With a burst of strength, he shoved her off, rolling to the side and scrambling to his feet.

Juri smiled—an almost sadistic grin—as she watched him get up. "There you go," she taunted. "About time."

Itadori lunged at her again, fists flying, but this time, there was a fierceness behind his attacks that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t waiting for her to insult him, to goad him into action. He was fighting because he had to, because he needed to prove something—not just to her, but to himself.

Juri blocked his punches, dodging some, countering others, but she could feel the difference in him. He was finally giving it everything he had. He wasn’t as fast or as strong as her, but he was relentless, refusing to back down.

"Good," she muttered under her breath, her smirk fading into something more serious.

They continued like this for what felt like hours, each time Itadori got knocked down, he got back up faster, his hits becoming more calculated. Juri could see the fire in his eyes now. He wasn’t just reacting—he was fighting with intent.

Finally, as they exchanged another rapid flurry of blows, Itadori managed to catch Juri off guard. He ducked under one of her high kicks and, with a swift move, swept her legs out from under her, knocking her onto her back. Before she could recover, he pinned her down, his breathing ragged but triumphant.

For a split second, Juri looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. But then, a slow grin spread across her face. "Not bad, kid," she said, her voice softer than usual, almost… impressed.

Itadori blinked, still panting, unsure if he’d actually done it. "Did I—"

"You landed a hit," she interrupted, cutting him off before he could finish. Her grin faded as she shoved him off of her, sitting up. "Don’t get cocky, though. You’ve still got a long way to go."

He let out a tired laugh, lying on his back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I wasn’t expecting you to say anything nice."

Juri stood, brushing herself off, her expression already back to its usual cold demeanor. "Don’t make me regret it."

Itadori nodded, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was sore, his muscles screaming in protest, but for the first time in a while, he felt like he’d actually made some progress.

Just as he was about to say something, the door to the training room slid open, and Gojo walked in, his usual carefree grin plastered on his face. "Oh? Did I miss the fun?"

Juri glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing. "You're late."

Gojo waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, you know me. Always fashionably late." He sauntered over to where they were standing, his grin widening as he looked between the two of them. "Looks like you’ve been busy, though. Nice work, Itadori. You actually managed to get a hit on Juri?"

Itadori scratched the back of his head, feeling a bit awkward under Gojo’s teasing gaze. "Uh, yeah…"

Gojo chuckled, clearly amused. "Impressive. Not many people can say that."

Juri rolled her eyes. "Don’t make a big deal out of it. He got lucky."

Gojo shot her a playful look. "Aww, come on, Juri. Don’t be so hard on the kid. He’s improving, right?"

Juri crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "Maybe. He still has a long way to go, though."

Gojo smiled, his tone lighter. "That’s why he’s got you, right?"

Juri didn’t respond, turning away as if she didn’t want to acknowledge what Gojo had said. Instead, she grabbed her water bottle and took a long drink, pretending not to notice the way Gojo was watching her with that knowing smile.

Itadori, still catching his breath, glanced between the two of them, feeling a strange sense of tension in the air. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a feeling there was something more going on between them—something he didn’t quite understand yet.

"Well," Gojo said, clapping his hands together, "I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t kill him, Juri. He’s still got some potential left."

Juri shot him a glare but didn’t say anything as Gojo waved and left the room.

As the door closed behind him, Juri turned back to Itadori, her expression hardening once again. "Get ready," she said, her voice cold. "We’re not done yet."

Itadori groaned, already feeling the soreness in his muscles, but he knew better than to argue. He got to his feet, bracing himself for whatever Juri had in store for him next.

— — —

The next training session was even more intense than the last. Juri seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, her strikes faster, sharper, and more vicious than usual. Itadori had no choice but to be completely focused, barely keeping up as he deflected and dodged her attacks.

But this time, something was different. He wasn’t just reacting; he was anticipating. He’d been studying Juri’s movements for months, watching the patterns in her fighting style, and slowly, piece by piece, he was beginning to understand her.

As she came at him with another high kick, Itadori ducked low, sweeping his leg out to catch her off guard. Juri’s eyes widened, surprised by the move, but before she could react, he grabbed her arm and twisted her around, using her own momentum against her. With a swift motion, he pinned her to the ground, his knee pressing lightly against her stomach as he held her wrists above her head.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing, the room eerily silent. Itadori hovered over her, his grip firm but not painful, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Juri’s eyes were sharp, her usual smirk absent as she glared up at him.

But instead of immediately letting her go, Itadori hesitated. He stared down at her, his mind suddenly going blank as the realization of what he’d just done hit him. Juri’s face was inches from his, her skin flushed from the exertion of the fight, her purple eye glowing faintly with leftover cursed energy.

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. 

Her expression flickered, something unrecognizable passing across her face for just a second before she scowled. "What the hell are you staring at?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Get off me!"

Itadori blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he’d been in. "Oh! Uh, right!" He quickly scrambled to his feet, releasing her wrists and backing up, his face flushed in embarrassment.

Juri sat up, brushing herself off as she shot him an annoyed glare. "What the hell was that about?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

"I—uh, I don’t know!" Itadori stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just… I guess I was surprised I actually managed to pin you."

Juri stood, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her stance. "Well, don’t get used to it. You got lucky."

Itadori nodded, still feeling awkward but trying to shake it off. "Right, sorry. I’ll, uh, try not to stare next time."

Juri huffed, crossing her arms. "See that you don’t," she muttered, though there was something different in her voice. A slight edge, maybe even a hint of discomfort, though Itadori couldn’t be sure. 

"Let’s get back to it," she said abruptly, her usual sharpness returning. "We’re not done here."

Itadori sighed, nodding as he got back into position. Despite the strange tension, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. He’d managed to pin her. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was progress.

As they resumed training, though, he couldn’t quite shake the memory of that brief moment when their eyes had locked.

.

.

.

The Burden of Strength Masterlist

[thehappiestgolucky]

Pawn Behaviors - Beyond the Rift | Fe’gahl

because agira has been around too long and too old to filter how he acts around every arisen he will just leave if he feels like it

here by @arisenreborn

❖ BEHAVIORS & HABITS: 

❖ COMMON: 

Always on the lookout for things. He'll mark point of interests in his mind and try to wait for the best time to inform Arisen about it.

Tends to keep to himself unless spoken to if he hasn’t decided the Arisen he’s helping is chill or not. Not quite forced smile feels - more stands in the group blending in until someone points him out.

People watches the other Pawns and Arisen to start gauging the group feel.

➵ UNCOMMON:

Acts more reactively to interactions of the group the longer he’s with them. While he’s always ready to aid, he’ll start interacting more with general topics if he likes the group dynamic he’s in.

If he finds the Arisen to be decent he’ll be more spoken up about help and passing situations - even throwing his own two cents every now and again.

Occasionally does more dangerous risqué actions that he’s always warning others away from doing - though he’s mulled over the action multiple times before doing it. Most of the time.

➵ RARE:

Usually tolerates Arisen’s if they’re shitty to him because he knows he’ll just leave and go back to his sister. If the Arisen is particularly shitty to the other Pawns though - he’ll do petty small things to piss the Arisen off at him like healing them at the latest possible moment or not healing their poison for ages.

Engage with the regular folk of other worlds. He’s a far more active participant in his world but when he’s hired out he tries to hold his tongue to not cause issues. Can be positive or negative interactions depending on what’s happening.

➵ DRAGONSPLAGUE: 

The goop.

He’s very concerned with strategy and thinking on his feet to get everyone out a situation alive, but plagued it gets thrown out the window and he attacks far more aggressively and heals less frequently.

Even if he isn’t thinking about killing someone his stares goes to a default look of “about to gut you in three seconds”

❖ THOUGHTS & OPINIONS: 

➵ THE ARISEN:

He’s more sympathetic towards the responsibility of being the Arisen, especially as his own journey progresses. When he was a fresh Pawn that could tangibly retain memories of his journey he was more rose tinted about Arisen - but now he tries to keep a more neutral perspective on Arisen outside of Odessa.

He doesn’t go out of his way to be provocative or overtly eager when interacting with other Arisen. He tends to focus more on his job unless it’s an Arisen that he’s encountered before - especially if he likes them. Then he tends to try and break the strictly Pawn interaction and be more alike a friend than helper.

Of course the opposite is true if he ends up being rehired by an Arisen he dislikes. He doubles down on just doing his job and withdraws more.

➵ OTHER PAWNS:

He’s always looking out for them even if they don’t get along with him.

Will willingly put himself at risk for them if he finds them struggling, being targeted etc. It is a calculated risk, and any injuries he obtains through it was a part of those calculations.

In Battahl especially he sticks a bit closer to his fellow Pawns - both because the stares make him insecure and also because he wants to stay on top in case anything goes wrong.

➵ WORLD:

Loves pointing out points of interests! He comments if he’s been to a place before but in a more fond way than exasperated he’s going there again.

A people watcher, he might point out habits he sees or try and understand cultural behaviours. Particularly likes to watch people just doing activities because everyone does it differently and it interest him.

Is particularly fond of the sunset. If there’s a spare chance he’ll sit on the edge to just watch the larger landscape of the world.

➵ BATTLE: 

Always calculated in a fight, focuses on what the best strategy he can implement at the particular time is.

However if a particularly hairy attack is heading towards any of the group he’ll prioritise their immediate safety even if it compromises him for the fight. Yes, he did pick up this habit from Odessa.

Doesn’t like fighting fellow people, and focuses on healing if they get in a fight. If they pick a fight - well their funeral.

Hates hates HATES Gorechimera. Absolutely despises them. Gets aggressive to them even without the plague and hones in on “that thing fucking dies NOW”. He does get really bad at fighting when the group fights one unless they reel him in a bit.

➵ NPC's: 

He’s fond of kids, always hoping they live a full happy life.

Respects Ulrika a lot for putting up with so much shit and still wanting to aid others. Also likes Forayan for similar reasons of putting the village first always even with the old chief rattling on in his ear.

Feels a slight student/mentor like relationship with Beren and Lennart - a lot comes from the fact Odessa dubbed them uncle and he also always appreciates their words and kind actions.

➵ QUESTS: 

Saint of the Slums quest particularly fucked him up for a bit. A healer who was willing to put her patients through pain and suffering, making them worse and holding no regrets of her actions just… messed him up for a while. Being a healer too the very thought of it sickens him to his core - and when Odessa reported back what Elena said (fe’gahl was curious and asked) it really fucked with his thoughts for a while! Maybe a part of him was scared he could turn out like that. A lot of him was disgusted at her abuse of power and carelessness for others.

As a result Lubomir’s death also fucked him up for a bit. He couldn’t help himself from asking Odessa why she just… didn’t let him help the beastren. Odessa had to bring him back to reality that the symptoms would’ve been too foreign and deep for Fe’gahl to understand how to cure them in a short time. He still wishes there was anything he could’ve done for Lubomir - even to ease the pain. It aided in him being more willing to put himself on the line if it meant someone got home to their loved ones.

➵ BONUS: 

He has to remind himself that his Arisen and situation is a unique one. Odessa actively encourages his interaction and he comes to know the world’s people far more personally than Pawns do. The people who talk to him know him and sometimes forget he’s a Pawn.

A lot of the calm dialogue fits Fe’gahl, but usually in a far more playful way. Unless he’s irritated that day and gets snappy at others for being reckless, he’s normally just bantering he knows he’s gonna heal them anyway.

If he’s made a friend with another pawn he acts more like how he is around Odessa which does mean playful bullying and saying random shit that comes into his head.

[cherienymphe]

Rafe being so calculated is this new series is actually terrifying. Because it’s not like it’s his temper or whatever else getting the better of him. He’s fully in control of his actions, his head is clear, but he chooses to inflict violence on reader.

And the part about him abusing her in her own home only intensifies that gut wrenching feeling as you read it and realize that he took her there so he wasn’t under Ward’s watchful eye back at Tannyhill, to whom Rafe promised he’d really try to get better - and I think Reader subconsciously knew that’s why he brought her there, too.

It’s just… chills. Literal chills. You are such an amazing storyteller, Cherie.

Yeah she knew exactly why he brought her home instead of to his place like they'd originally planned. If I had to, I'd say this Rafe is more of S3 Rafe? Not as impulsive and actually thinks shit through before he does something which is going to really suck 😭

[wolfofcelestia]

I saw an artist talk about how their swords differ in personality and how they work in their teams, so I wanted to write a little bit about my main teams

My headcanon is that every sword is different because they're heavily influenced by their current master, so here are my swords if I were their saniwa (♡°◡°)

Do note that these guys are different from Hazuki's swords. I will do a write up for hers in the future

Team 1: Outdoor daytime team (standard lineup)

"A leader is only as good as his team. I'm relying on all of you out there."

Shokudaikiri is the saniwa’s main attendant and the captain of the main team. Known throughout the citadel as the saniwa’s undisputed right hand, he aims to live up to that reputation with every swing of his blade. It helps that going batshit on the battlefield is his idea of a good time.

With his unmatched strength and the sheer joy he takes in battle, his team naturally gets caught up in his momentum and they get the job done quickly and efficiently. As much as he is a natural leader, he still looks out for and relies on his team. He is not above asking them for help, especially with his weakness: scouting.

"Nushisama says my true form is beautiful… So I won't hold back anymore."

The only one on the main team’s standard lineup who can keep up with Shoku. Mainly, it's because he equally relishes in going absolutely batshit feral. He hid that side of him only for a short while before realizing that his saniwa likes that side of him. Now, he freely indulges in his more demonic side, but would need his team members to bring him back down before he causes any unnecessary damage.

"Calm your spirits..."

The one who usually snaps Kogi out of his demon fox trance. He doesn't want to be on the citadel's main team but carries out his duties because he knows everyone relies on him for his strength. Kousetsu is Shoku's counter momentum, pulling the team's energy back before it tips too far out of control. He takes it upon himself to keep everyone safe.

"Again? Well, as long as Hotarumaru is going too. He's not? Then why are you asking me?"

He also doesn't want to be here and doesn't know why the saniwa keeps picking him to be on the main team.

Surprisingly enough though, he does get swept up in the momentum, whether he puts any effort into it or not. His sword instincts take over and push him into the middle of the action. He even learns that he likes the thrill of battle, though he'd never admit it. He doesn't want to be sent out on even more sorties after all.

Hotaru and Tarou have no personal relationship with the saniwa but are put on the main team to provide extra strength. Hotaru doubles as a bribe to get Akashi to participate though

Team 1: Non-standard lineup (Ootachis out, Mitsutadas in)

"Let's get this job done properly."

Currently training to be the leader of his own team and will be once he returns from his training journey.

His leadership style is the complete opposite of Shoku's, something Kousetsu is grateful for. Jikkyuu is a quiet, calculating, and no-nonsense type of leader. He is well-aware of his surroundings, as well as the movements of his own teammates. There won't be anyone going batshit under his watch... is what he says when he leaves the citadel. But once he's pulled into the heat of battle, a part of him that had been hidden and long forgotten comes out.

Kogi follows suit, letting his feral fox side out to play. Shoku would have joined in as well, if it weren't for the fact that Jikkyuu is his brother, and also favoured by the saniwa. Taking on the responsibility of the saniwa's right hand, Shoku is usually the one who snaps Jikkyuu out of his demonic killing machine mentality before he falls too deeply into it and loses himself completely.

"You guys really need to calm down."

Fuku's just chilling here tbh. He gets along with Akashi the best and hangs back with him to pick off the enemies that the other swords who are going batshit missed. He doesn't mind fighting, but doesn't jump at the opportunity to fight either. Dude just wants to go out to look for new flowers.

Team 2: General Use Night team This team is put together when they are not split up into more specific teams. They are much more rambunctious than the main team and this causes a bit of an issue since they tend to make their presence known before they can sneak up on the enemy. This is remedied by giving Nikkari leadership of the team

"Aruji! Look here! Are you watching!?"

Sadachan's been Team 2's captain for the longest time and he'll challenge anyone who tries to steal his position! But he's been spoiled by the saniwa ever since he joined the citadel, causing him to be overconfident. He was completely blindsided when, of all swords, it would be Nikkari who was named co-captain.

They take turns leading the team, with Sadachan going all out, using as many flashy moves as he can think of, to prove he should be the team's sole captain. Nikkari doesn't care that much about being captain so when Sadachan gets too riled up, all Nikkari really has to do to get him back to being his carefree self is to tell him his moves were all very cool.

“Take your time. Go slow. That’s it… The end result is not the only thing that matters. You understand that, right?”

A snake hiding in the grass, waiting for just the right moment to strike. He's a patient one and his patience paid off.

Suddenly gaining the saniwa’s favour for reasons unknown to the rest of the citadel, he was named co-captain and was given special treatment from that day onwards. While he was always a favourite among the wakizashi, his standing in the citadel now rivals even that of the saniwa’s right hand sword.

He plays it off when other swords ask about this sudden change, denying that his special treatment is anything out of the ordinary for one of the saniwa’s first swords. And after seeing the saniwa push him away enough times, they start to believe him. Although, the smile on his face tells a different story.

On the battlefield, he excels at scouting. He has use of two sets of eyes, after all. He guides the team through the darkness with his ghost flames and is quick to come up with successful strategies. To the surprise of many swords, he is extremely serious when it comes to battle and is a reliable teammate and captain.

“Get moving, everyone! This job’s not gonna get itself done!”

He doesn’t mind not being captain but he’ll make his opinions heard regardless of where he’s positioned. He sees himself as the saniwa’s most reliable uchigatana and has the strength to back up that claim. Whenever the teams are being decided, he would be the first one to volunteer. He is a good teammate all around and supports his team to make sure everyone comes home safe.

“Goshujinsama trusts someone like me to protect everyone… Then... I'll act as everyone's shield. No one else needs to get hurt.”

Being on the same team as his little brother, his personality becomes disturbingly serious. He doesn’t take fighting lightly in the first place, but with his brother in the mix, he takes extra precaution not mess up. If anything were to happen to him or any other of her swords, the saniwa would be sad. And he would move heaven and hell to prevent that from ever happening.

Now if only his master would listen to his request…

“Enough talking, the enemy is right over there!”

Namazuo gets along well with everyone and he is usually the one who keeps Sadachan upbeat when Nikkari is chosen to lead the team. He’s mainly a follower in this team with the first three swords vying for control but he doesn’t mind watching their backs.

Flex slots. These two also support Sadachan in keeping his energy up and they follow along with the more assertive swords' strategies just like Namazuo.

“Aruji gave us our orders. We follow them. End of story.”

Last flex slot. Hasebe joins the team when Nikkari is chosen as captain and the entire team needs to take things more seriously. He does his best to prove that he's useful enough to have a permanent slot on the team, but even if he never gets one, he's just thankful he’s rarely on a team with Akashi.

I think those are all my commonly used swords. This wasn't actually supposed to go anywhere but I guess my brainworms just activate when it comes to Nikkari asdfanlfkgj

[catastrxblues]

hii nadinee <3

the years coming to an end sooooo i need to sneak in atleast another ask that allows you to rant sdajhsdkjah

okay soo, i saw your posst about your rants about tbosas (Im assuming you've watched it? if not ignore this x)

soo i was thinkinggggg, if you wanttt, you can rant about it under this ask bc i love reading your rants and ily

bye noww mwah <33

HI LUCY !!!! thank you so muchh for this askjdklf 😭<33

i just finished watching it and i have some THOUGHTS. but it’s midnight here soo it’s definitely not well put AT ALL T-T

first of all, i just LOVE the fact that they added the “part x : ….” like that was such a nice touch i was so surprised for some reason

CLEM. i don’t know if it’s my memory that sucks, but i think she was a bit too confident and ambitious in this? especially that part with dr. gaul. book clemmie still fabricated the truth of course, but it was more to save herself from dr gaul’s notorious wrath. but movie clemmie did it to make a better impression on her, even went as far as claiming that she wrote it all which is just?? i don’t really understand why they had to “antagonize” her that way.

THE SINGING AT THE REAPING. like the beginning part. it actually gave me chills i love it so much

SEJANUS MY BELOVED. i love him so much. and that part of snow saying to him that he “will always protect him” throwing up because sejanus my love i’m so sorry

TIGRIS too oh my god. she’s just so everything. kind, compassionate, witty. and the part where they added the “you look like your father coriolanus” again, throwing up. i just i love her so much 😭

LUCY GRAYY. okay, don’t get me wrong, i LOVEE rachel and i think she was amazingg (and that scene when coryo was trying to convince her that she would be okay in the end thing after he killed mayfair and her voice cracked i can’t). AND LIKE THE FACT THAT SHE SANG ALL OF THEM LIVE STOP.

but i feel like they made lucy gray soo much more mature in here? as if everything she did was calculated and almost everything she said (before the games) had this ‘sneer’ in them. when, from what i remember, lucy gray wasn’t like that?

and that part at the end, when she told coryo she was going to get some katniss. they also made it seem like she suspected what was going on and was contemplating on doing something about it (which i get because of cinematic reason but). i don’t know, i think it erased the pure insanity of the moment a bit. how paranoid snow is for his safety that he could shed off trust that easily.

oh yeah SNOW 😭 tom blyth was greatt of course. watching this did make me realize how inner monologues can change and affect a story to the audience. because, no matter how good the actor is at face expression, you can never replace the running unfiltered thoughts that goes through a character’s mind.

like. honestly, if i had only watched the movie, maybe i would’ve violently shipped snowbaird too. cool if you do!! and i do get the whole appeal about doomed by the narratives, but i personally just never really liked or shipped them because of how disgustingly possessive snow is of her. how he had once thought that it’d be better to have her locked up in the capitol, his his his for like so many pages, etc.

i feel like the lack of snow’s inner monologue is definitely the reason why we now have so many people babygirling and justifying his actions. don’t know just something to think about i guess.

OH AND THE FACT THAT WE DONT HAVE THE “it’s not over until the mockingjay sings”??? jail that’s literally one of the best quotes from the book and it could’ve been SUCH a cinematic moment i don’t know why they cut that

that’s itt i think i don’t really want for this to go too long 😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO DO THIS LUCY I LOVE YOU hope you’re having a wonderful holiday 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy had sat next to Bert and spent the battle taking notes whenever Bert was too focused on it to notice. For awhile it seemed as if Commander Peepers had it in the bag. He had learned forward and squinted in an attempt to identify that white powder Commander Peepers threw was. Did he add another decoy suggestion for if anyone asked what Teddy spilled during his “interrogation?” Or was this a legitimate strategy? Once he saw that it affected Bishop Percival and Commander Peepers equally he started to reach for his phone to send a text asking about it. But on second thought, he couldn’t miss such a historic event. Instead he leaned and squinted forward so far that he was literally on the edge of his seat. Just as he had solidly counted this as Commander Peepers’s victory/Bishop Percival’s delightfully public execution the tables abruptly turned. His rare bright smile quickly fell as the world seemed to chill around him. Was that a paralysis spell!? Did it only activate by touch? More importantly: If Commander Peepers couldn’t beat him then what chance did two mediocre ex-soldiers have!? When Commander Peepers’ protests made the spell’s true effect clear Teddy’s pen clattered against the floor and went on its way to the bottom row, never to be seen again. Contorted..? Was it some sort of hypnosis? …No, it couldn’t be. His mind was very present and under his complete control. Applied kinesis? Then why wait to get jumped before activating it? But what else would it be..? Now that it was clear that Teddy would glean nothing useful from watching Bishop Percival psychologically torture Commander Peepers (this was the worst time to realize that he genuinely cared his former parasocial nemesis’ wellbeing) he turned his attention to someone who cared far more than him. It had hit as hard as expected, leaving him at a loss of what to do. He hesitantly reached out to Bert several times as he calculated whether comforting physical touch would be beneficial or detrimental. But he never decided. When Bert took off Teddy lagged behind in the aisle, muttering “excuse me” to those in his way and nudging (more like jabbing for stubborn assholes) watchdogs out of his way. Teddy wanted to follow Bert down there. At least to protect him if necessary. Yet he was afraid of attracting attention from the Glornists after he’d subtly refused to (publicly) take a side. That and being seen following Bert wouldn’t help his current dubious status. All he could do was anxiously fiddle with his blaster as he prepared to draw it at a moment’s notice. His free hand clutched his heart as he struggled to focus on the blurry blobs on the field. Could he distinguish them if taking action was required? The other, of course, turned off safety and set power to full. Caution was replaced by urgency when the Glornists grabbed Bert. His feet had just reached the ground when Bert, thankfully, managed to flee. Teddy dashed– while staying in the shadow of the wall– as he ran to meet up with his distressed friend. Once they were close enough for the crowd to not completely drown him out he took a deep breath and put his all into shouting, “BERT! Did they hurt you!?”

Bert perked up at Teddy’s shout and looked around to spot him. Once he did, he made his way over to him and shook his head no. He pocketed the Commander’s blaster. 

He removed his glass to rub his eye and took a deep breath before finally speaking.

“...I think I need to take the day off. I’m going back to my room.”

Unless he was ever too injured to work or specifically instructed to, Bert never took days off. But there was just no way he’d be able to focus on anything today even if he tried.

[visd3stele]

just saw "The ballad of songbirds and snakes" today and I have thoughts!

!!!spoilers below!!!

i PROMISED myself i won't feel bad for young!Snow, i SWORE to myself i won't sympathize with him one bit, but DAMN! the act was acting indeed... man was so convincing

i mean, a young man who's been traumatized by his past and made to feel infetior to others grows the need to snatch whatever power he can, no matter what

he's smart, he's good looking, he's observant, he understands people and what drives them, he's good with words and conversations... he's such a delightful villain!

man got emotions, but they are subjected to his deeper desires: landing on top, so he learns/teaches himseld to supress them until all he's left with is the cold determination and calculated moves we know from the original trilogy

THE ROSES backstory

THE NOSTALGIA (with katniss and mockingjays and those birds that repeat sound i have no idea how to spell, even the mutants in Gaul's lab)

like, maybe nostalgia isn't the right word here, but those tiny bridges to the original trilogy that snaped into place... argh!!!!

LUCY GRAY'S ARENA SNAKE SONG!!!! it's one of the best, most powerful acting moments i have seen. it was so beautiful, so filled with intent and feeling!! chilling

the moment Lucy Gray realize she can't trust Snow, Rachel's acting, that realization setling in her eyes, the small, almost invisible change in her eyes and features: PURE CINEMATIC GOLD!!!

the posters in District 12 gave me the image of old comunist poster wich in turn made me see the Peace Keepers like a form of Secret Police/Security more than ever

getting to see the Games from before slowly turning into what i knew them as from the original trilogy and seeing similarities (like how the Peace Keepers would shot them if they leave their places instead of having them blown when they touch the arena)

the differences in this Flickerman (uninterested in the tributes, distant, only commenting) vs the original trilogy Flickerman (who was looking to make a good show, viewing tributes as stars and means to his performance and trying to make them look good on camera)

THE HANGING TREE SONG!!! (it's backstory, the part it played in the plot and it's meaning - so much stronger/clearer/meaningful now)

the Covey seemed rroma coded/inspired

sejeanus' story: i have mixed feelings about him. he's a character who's from the districts and gets to the Capitol, an outsider who got rich overnight and cannot find joy in it knowing it hurts his people (for his people are still the districts). he feels guilty and all the injustice he's experiencing in his new life turns it into anger. righteous anger that drives him to oppose the Capitol and its ideas and makes him wanna help people in the district. not just by talking in their defence, but also by making moves in that direction (sneaking into the arena, helping the district 12 rebels). but he's still innocent and naive (he really thought no one would get hurt by even a small rebellion in a society like Panem). and when he was to face the consequences of his actions, he still cried for help, from Snow, his ma and his rich father who could help him by buying the right people. which is normal in such a situation, of course, but it still shows he's more capitol than he likes to admit (not expecting real consequences, wanting to get away with his father's money)

kinda made me think of privilleged activists if you know what i mean

TIGRIS, sweet, sweet tigris who had so much faith in her cousin, who did everything for him and her wretched grandma and was still treated horribly :((

circe et panem at its finest

the socio-politic commentary of how the mediatization can impact a society's view on something horrific; the enviorment of a society built on war, hate, revenge and money+power centered can only be navigated and ruled by such people

the end Lucy Gray deserved: a mistery, but free (of Snow, of Panem, of everything that ever hurt her), free to be herself and do what she wants, what she likes, just like lucy gray in her song :))

reaper's respect to the dead bodies (getting them together and covered with the flag, yelling in the camera) kinda mirroring katniss' funeral for rue (silent rage/rebellion with the sign and the flower bed)

snow's dominance in the last scene matched his character we know from the original trilogy so well, it felt like his arc ended and president snow snaped in place

"i was just sending water" <3<3<3

the way snow's face fell when tigriss told him he looked like his father