#blind 'arry

[feliciamontagues]

Father Brown Wardrobe Appreciation

↳"The Lepidopterist's Companion" (Series 5, Episode 9)

[jxmieswxnter]

oh oh, I made a Father Brown series 10 bingo card!! some of these things we know we're getting, some were pretty sure we aren't but are being hopeful anyway, some we have no idea, but that's the fun!!

[incorrectkembleford]

Lady F: He doesn’t deserve you! If he doesn’t treat you right by now then you’re gone!

Mrs. M: I’m gone!

Lady F: Good! Now let’s go chop his dick off!

[hyacinths-bridgerton]

@gameofthronesdaily​ event 01: favorite character

underfoot horseface arry nan salty cat of the canals blind beth mercy no one ARYA STARK

[clytemnaestraes]

Catelyn, Arya, and Alyssa Arryn: unshed tears + weeping statues symbolism

The half-mythic, half-ancestral figure of Alyssa Arryn furthers themes connecting Catelyn and her daughters (Arya in particular) and grief.

Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died. 

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Alyssa was cursed by the gods because she did not grieve/weep for her family. Catelyn wants the war to be over so that she can weep for her family and grieve her losses.

I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."

Catelyn XI, AGOT

She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all... a day... an hour...

Catelyn II, ACOK

However, she can't, because she's emotionally exhausted and burdened by her duties, and because she thinks she has to be strong for the sake of Robb.

Does he see Bran and Rickon as well? She might have wept, but there were no tears left in her.

Catelyn III, ASOS

Six Brave men had died to bring her this far, and yet she could not even find it in her to weep for them.

Catelyn VI, AGOT

The parallel between Catelyn and Alyssa is furthered when Bronn breaks the statue of Alyssa during the duel and subsequently uses it to pin his opponent to the ground and kill him, thus shattering Catelyn’s hopes of justice.

The Eyrie's plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Jon Arryn's beautifully engraved silver sword glanced off the marble of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the states back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser vardis Egen went down beneath her.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Catelyn dies in ASOS and is resurrected as a vengeful, inhuman fire wight, Lady Stoneheart. Lady Stoneheart demands vengeance, but that's not the true route to rest for Catelyn’s soul. In order for it to rest in peace, Catelyn needs to grieve her dead family members properly. She needs to let her tears fall. Mother Merciless needs Mercy. It has been theorised that her path will intersect with Arya's for this reason.

Art by Nejna on devianart

There are several passages in the books connecting Arya in Braavos to weeping statues of stone, unshed tears, and Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart.

Arya and Cat/Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart:

Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do.

Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought.

Mercy, TWOW

Arya thinks cats are grey, and cats do not weep, paralleling the symbolism surrounding Lady Stoneheart.

Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart.

Brienne VIII, AFFC

Arya and unshed tears:

Some nights she might have cried herself to sleep if she had still been Arry or Weasel or Cat, or even Arya of House Stark… but no one had no tears.

The Blind Girl, ADWD

Arya and Weeping statues:

I am carved of stone, she reminded herself. I am a statue.

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

The nearest was a marble woman twelve feet tall. Real tears were trickling from her eyes, to fill the bowl she cradled in her arms. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw.

Arya I, AFFC

The statue outside the shrine of the Weeping Lady of Lys was crying silver tears as the ugly girl walked by.  

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

It can be fairly reasoned that Arya and Lady Stoneheart's paths will intersect at some point. She is the Mercy to her Mother Merciless.

[helplessautomaton]

Love and care in stalking.

-wc: 613 -tw: yandere, stalking, obsessive thoughts, henry struggling to write a yandere Tecchou

i somewhat understand why people have a hard time writing a yandere oneshot for this man oh my god

-

Love and care in stalking Tecchou

When you met tecchou you knew already that he cared for you, be it more so on a standard “Must protect civilians and watch out for them” type way, and you never minded it. Even if he stared a little too long, just to watch out a little longer, that's all, right?

Even when he asked you a few odd questions that had nothing to do with the situation that you first met him at. You chose not to mind, after all it didn't hurt to ask a few off questions. Accidental meetings with the man became an uncommon occurrence, you decided to turn a blind eye. Last time you saw the man in person was him getting scolded by his coworker for getting distracted and dragging him to a place that was unimportant. You had also gotten scolded from the man as well, but Tecchou was never listening to a drip of a word said anyways, the soldier’s focus was directly on you. That was the moment it only felt off from there, an uneasy feeling nesting deep inside your chest. It only chewed more on you everytime you thought back on Tecchou himself. But that encounter was a few weeks ago, you haven't seen or met him once after. Even though you two aren't meeting physically, he has his eye on you most days.

Tecchou is careful not to reveal himself in case he scares you off, he knows if he conveniently bumps into you too often you were going to get suspicious. So he stalks until his next opportunity arries, night, day, evening, doesn't matter. You’re doing just fine without him right? Happily going along with your daily life with no issues or concerns. However, Tecchou’s mind is imagining every possible worst thing that could happen to you. His every thought circling back to “what if”, he simply can't risk it. He fell deep into this hole he unknowingly dug himself when he met you and he refuses to get out of it. The lack of in person talking makes him feel stuck and that just leaves him frustrated. Yet the opportunity trails far away from him, never giving him a chance to make this meeting somewhat normal. His frustrations make his work sloppy, Tecchou’s current co-worker gives him a chance to go collect himself since it was bothering the whole team. So he leaves, letting his feet drag him to the only thing consuming his mind every minute, every tick of a second, you. He almost goes to knock on your door, until his mind clicks that if he does this, everything will fall apart, he doesn't have an excuse for this. Tecchou quickly redirects himself a little further away from your home, close enough to stalk and far away to not be caught. Your windows show a peek of your cozy customized home, yet Tecchou managed to make the most of just a peek.

Tecchou wishes how much he could cuddle up next to you and be the best one for only you. Yet it's somewhat blurry to him that he's not actually a part of your life and that he's just another speck of a stranger you’ve met. No, he is your soldier, you do think of him, waiting for another chance to see him just like he is for you. Tecchou pushes away the thoughts that you don't think of him, no you do, right? The thoughts keep swirling, trying to make it clear in his brain. 

Then it settles, you do think of him, he cares for you, you’re gonna think of him just like he does for you.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Arya and cats

Catching cats was hard. Her hands were covered with half-healed scratches, and both knees were scabbed over where she had scraped them raw in tumbles

AGOT, ARYA III

~~~~~

She pretended she was chasing cats … except she was the cat now, and if they caught her, they would kill her.

AGOT, ARYA IV

~~~~~

No one saw her, and she saw no one, only a grey and white cat creeping along atop the godswood wall. It stopped and spit at her, waking memories of the Red Keep and her father and Syrio Forel. 

ACOK, ARYA X

~~~~~

 Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do. It's just a stupid dream.

AFFC, CAT OF THE CANALS

~~~~~

She had liked being Cat, more than she had ever liked being Salty or Squab or Weasel or Arry. 

ADWD, THE BLIND GIRL

~~~~~

And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap

ADWD, THE BLIND GIRL

(Art: Her favorite pets - Sophie Gengembre Anderson)

[madam-whim]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you for the tag, dearest @illumiera! <3 I had to miss last week unfortunately, but this time, I'll share the prologue to a fic that will one day (hopefully) be a sequel to Arri's story, once I finish that. Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this little experiment, though I don't know when I will actually be able to write the entire fic - for now, it's just a file in my WIP folder, somewhat tragically titled "Sanguine's 11".

The Dancer in the Fields

A cautionary tale from the early first era, translated from Nordic and annotated by Hypatia Salonia, researcher at the University of Gwylim, in 2E 337.

Long ago, in a lakeside village the name of which has long since been forgotten, there lived a young man.1

He had been ever so bright and happy even as a child, and had grown into a handsome and kind man, always ready to lend a helping hand or listen to the villagers’ troubles. During the summer months, he would entertain children and elders alike with clever jokes and sleights of hand, and nobody had an unkind word to say about him.

It was the wintertime, though, that he truly loved, for that was when the lake would freeze over, and it came the time to step out onto the ice. For the young man had been blessed with a graceful manner of moving and a great love of dancing. So when winter came, he would pull on his skating boots2 and dance across the ice, graceful and quick as a bird in flight.

He was mesmerizing to watch, and word of his gift spread far and wide, and many came from far away cities to see his elegance and skill for themselves. The young man was happy living his life just like that, but it was not meant to be, for one day, the raiders came.3

The villagers were peaceful, and so had no means to defend themselves. Those who were not slaughtered or taken captive were left to die in the flames as the raiders burned set the houses on fire. But the young man, who had been preparing to step out onto the frozen lake and was already wearing his boots, somehow stumbled down to the shore, despite the fire searing his flesh and a sword biting into his side.

Out on the ice, there was no one who could catch him, and so the young man got away from the flames devouring his home. But injured and bleeding as he was, he could not keep moving for long, and collapsed onto the ice, shivering and in pain, and he knew his time was short, even though he was not ready to die.

And so he prayed for help to any gods that would listen, but no answer came from the gods that day.

But then, a stranger approached him, clad in a dark cloak and with a dog by his side.

“I can save you, if you so desire,” he offered, holding out a hand to the young man. “I have but one condition. If I save your life, will you dance for me in return?”

The young man readily accepted, but he was blinded by his pain, for he did not recognize the stranger for who he was: Clavicus Vile, the Prince of Trickery.

Vile, for his part, had long watched the young man, and, desiring to have a mortal performer of his own to rival the talent of Sanguine’s entertainers and the beauty of Meridia’s collection, had thought on how to entrap him. With an opportunity now presenting itself, Vile took it without a second thought.4

And thus, the Daedric Prince swept the young man away to the Fields of Regret. He healed his wounds and gave him a mask to cover his burned face, for Clavicus Vile demanded perfection of his newest servant, and it would not do to leave the ugliness of a burn scar on display for the other Princes to see.

From then on, the young man could no longer leave the Fields of Regret, for the Prince of Bargains had never specified an end to the deal, and so he was forced to remain and dance whenever Vile demanded it. He was trapped in the Daedric realm, never aging, never dying, and to this day, there he remains, forever dancing against his will.5

You who hear this story, let this serve as a warning to you – do not make deals with the Daedra, not even to save your life, for you might soon find yourself longing for the good cheer and merriment of Sovngarde.6

1The protagonist of our story was likely a snow elf. There are several passages within the text (likely unintentionally) hinting at it, which will be pointed out accordingly, but he is never referred to as an elf. This is likely glossed over due to the intended target audience, presumably Nords given the original text is in Nordic.

2Here, we find our first lead pointing to the Dancer being a snow elf. The oldest surviving writings containing this tale date back to the beginnings of the first era, making it likely that the events inspiring the story took place quite some time before that. There are no archaeological records proving that ice skating was known to the Atmorans at the time, who relied on sleds and snow shoes instead. However, there are recent findings from the Antiquarian Circle that indicate the snow elves regularly used ice skates.

3The raiders, in this case, are more than likely Atmorans. As the story originally seems to have been intended as a cautionary tale primarily for Nord children, whoever wrote it down likely had no desire to name the Atmoran invaders the antagonists of this story. Therefore, the genocide against the snow elves remains a side note. Other scholars, most notably Skadi Storm-Seeker of the Winterhold College and my esteemed colleague Okan-Hei, have put forth the theory that the raiders may also have been of Dwemer origin, suggesting the lake mentioned in the tale to be lake Yorgrim, with the dwarven city of Irkngthand in close proximity. Recent digs in the area have not produced any signs of snow elven villages, however, given the size of lake Yorgrim, the existence of such settlements cannot be ruled out as we cannot search the entire shore.

4We can only assume that Vile was indeed on the lookout for an opportunity to get at the Dancer, and likely capitalized on the fact that a mer near death would not ask for the fine print on any deal offered to him.

5Interestingly enough, I did encounter a skaafin once while on a visit to Fargrave, who told me of a masked, rather pale elf in his master’s employ. It would be most interesting to visit the Fields of Regret one day to try and find this individual – if it should truly be the young man from the story, he should be able to confirm or deny many of our current theories about how this cautionary tale came to be.

6This last sentence seems out of place and not consistent with the style of the rest of the text. It might be a later addition to the text, maybe to solidify its function as a warning to its audience.

I would like to tag @bostoniangirl21, @thequeenofthewinter, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and @pinessydr in case any of you wish to share something! <3

[summerlovingbaby]

Wings

Y/N sat on her bed, her knees tucked under her butt, thumbing through a magaizene, only pretending to read the articles, only looking at the pictures. Her wings extended out by her side, she heard the door click open, and lifted her eyes from the pages, moved her head to peer out the bedroom door and have a direct view to the kitchen, where she saw Eijro returning from work.

“ What do they feel like?” he inquired, leaning on the doorway. the question has been bouncing around his head since she got the wings, it took a while for her to be comfortable with them and even longer for her until she allowed Eijro to touch them and allow her wings to be on full display. 

“ They’re a bit heavy,” she said, flipping the page.

“ I mean what does it feel like when someone touches them?” he clarified, “ Are they sensitive?”

“ They don’t hurt anymore,” she shuttered remembering the blinding pain in the beginning. “I don’t know how to explain what it feels like, but it does feel nice,” she explained, “ Like when you’re sad and someone strokes you’re hair, or afraid and someone hugs you, like when you’ve had a bad day,” she explains.

“ And if I touch them?” he asked, leaning down to stroke the wing.

She looks at him and unintentionally shudders, “ It feels nice,” she says.

He knew that people with wing quirks, their wings were particularly sensitive, especially sexually, and though he never been with anyone with wings he was curious to the exact depth of their sensitivity.

Eijro maneuvered himself behind her, took the magazine from her hand and tossed it aside, before she could question, he grabbed the bottom of her chin and kissed her passionately. They hadn’t had sex in nearly 3 months, and though she would never admit it out loud, she had been hoping for him to ravish her, he had treated her with a genuine kindness and gentleness, every touch like she was glass, and while she appreciated it, she couldn’t help but miss the passion.

But now she was healed, and her wings didn’t hurt anymore, she no longer hated them and tried to hide them away, and while she wasn’t exactly comfortable with them, she no longer hid behind them. Eijiro had a suspicion that she was growing more comfortable, she stopped hiding her wings behind hoodies and blankets.

He kissed her and she melted into his touch, you would think with all the time she’d spent thinking about and remembering their kisses she would be able to recognize what they felt like, but they were filled with a certain passion, one that she missed. His hands drifted down to her neck then the side face. His hand drifted to her back and massaged her shoulders where her wings sat.

He felt her body visibly shift as he touched her, she leaned into his chest, and audible struggle to breath, he let go of her face and kissed his way down her neck to her shoulder blades.

“ And what if I touch them now?” he asked, nipping at her neck. He drug his hands down the base of her wings, and her full body shuddered. “How does it feel?” he asked again, Y/N’s wings shot out from her sides, revealing an arry of purple and black feathers.

Eijoro quirked a brow. He had never seen her wings, not fully extended to there large size. He didn’t realize the exact width of them, and they were large, larger than he expected. " Does it feel good?" he asked again, running another finger down her spine. She flinched foreward and bit her lip to stop herself from moaning, and gave her head a weak nod.

“I asked you a question?” he said, withdrawing his fingers, Y/N turned around and blinked at him.

“ It feels good,” she says quietly, almost embarrassed, “ really good.”

Eijiro grabbed her chin once more, and pulled her face close to his, offering her a kiss on the nose.

“ Yeah?” he asks, his voice light and teasing, “ you want me to stop?”

Y/N shook her head violently and bit her bottom lip before moving to kiss him again, and Eijiro trailed his lips across her face and down her neck, and to her shoulders. She stifled another moan, and Eijiro pulled away.

“ Don’t get all shy on me now?” he whispers moving to kiss her again.

He runs her hands along her feathers and Y/N softly moans, as he drifts his hands to her stomach, and applying gentle pressure. He moves his mouth to her wings, licking in long strokes along her large wings, that have began to shake due to the stimulation. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she placed them on top of his gently, her nails digging into the back of her hands. Kirishima smiled at her desperation, it was almost impossible to get reactions from Y/N, she was always shy and quiet, and finded ways to hide. 

She never asked for anything, even if she wanted to beg him to be touched. It was usually up to him, to figure out what her quiet moans and whimpers meant. It was up to him to decode the Y/N, and today she was making it easy. His fingers ran her fingers along the waistband of her underwear, rubbing in small circles. His tongue warm against her back, licking her wings.

“ Please?” she whimpers, as his fingers run along her public bone.

He planned on teasing her until she was pratically begging for him, but her voice weakened his resolve almost immediately. She was too damn cute to be kept waiting, so he gently put his fingers down her underwear and using two fingers rubbed two small fingers over her clit.

Her hips unintentionally bucked at the friction of his movements, she muttered a quick apology before her voice broke into a sudden moan. Her hands gripped his wrist and his middle and ring finger in slow circles, which felt good enough with Eijors mouth asulating her wings.

You would think with all the time she thought about kissing Eijiro, she would be more prepared for what they felt like, but she had no idea how good they felt on other places. His lips, hot and moist, kissing along the membranes of her wings, teeth gently tugging at her feathers and tongue circling his wings and feathers.

“ Shit,” she said, “ don’t stop,” Eijro pumped his fingers faster and she gasped, “ M’ close,” she whispered and moaned as Eijoro used his other hand to circle her clit again, bringing her to the edge. “Fuck,” she whispered as she finished around his fingers.

He pulled out slowly and licked his fingers clean. Searching for his touch Y/N further back into Eijoro who gently kissed her cheek as she relaxed against him, her wings tucked tightly against her back. Eijoro in an attempt to comfort her stroked a wing, but she shuttered.

“ Still sensitive,” she said quietly, “ that felt really good, Ei.” she added as he withdrew his hands.

“ Yeah?” he asked for clarification, “ You finished fast.”

“ Sorry,” she said quietly, “ it just felt really good, and it’s been a while.”

“ Yeah? You liked it? It felt good?” he asked, they had never experimented like that before, and it was arguably the most intimate thing that they’ve ever done.

“ It felt really good,” she siad, trying to best gather her thoughts. Eijiro was very attentive and liked have intimate dicussions about likes and dislikes. “ It was really nice to be close to you again, it was really… I trust you and it felt good to be with you like that.” her word choice undoubtably poor, but Eijoro understood. The whole ordeal was very intimate.

“ Can I get you some water, your heart is racing,” he said, shifting away slightly.

“ Can we stay here for a bit?” she asked, “ I miss you.”

“ Of course.”

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[jellyfishcandyy]

What does it mean that Sansa is the only stark kid without a wolf?

We know that all the stark kids have a deeper connection to their wolves- not just as in they can wrag into their direwolves and have wolf dreams, but also to their character writing and development.

Jon's wolf was found away from the litter (Ned suggested it was "driven away"), it even looked different to its brothers; while the others had grey fur, ghost was albino with white fur. This can symbolise Jon's feelings of exclusion from the starks, and his decision to go 'away' to The Wall. Ghost also had a similar temperament to Jon. Jon does not voice a lot, he keeps his cards close and he feels a need to constantly suppress his feelings and desires. Ghost is also unusually quite compared to the other direwolves.

Arya is forced to leave her wolf which is then lost and left wandering to fend for itself, and this is similar to what Arya later on goes through herself. She is forced to wander around (from making her way to the wall with Yoren, to Harrenhall, to The Riverlands etc.) and fend for herself. Also, "Arya Stark" is lost. Instead there is Arry, Nan, Squab, Blind Beth, etc. (My theory is that once she can finally reach a point where she can be Arya Stark confidently again, she will also find Nymeria.)

Bran cannot move or do things he used to do, but he constantly wrags into his wolf 'to be free again' and go places. Even when he doesn't wrag into his wolf, his feelings still reflect on Summer. For example, when he gets angry and frustrated, summer starts growling, his hackles rise and he threatens to pounce.

A similar thing happens with Rickon and Robb. When Rickon gets upset or throws tantrums, his wolf starts to act up as well. When Rickon was distraught about Robb leaving, Shaggydog grew so unruly, they had to lock him up.

Both Robb and Rickon don't get their own POV chapters so seeing their emotions plainly on their wolves can be helpful, especially with Robb because he feels that as a Lord, and later on King, he needs to hold his cards close which makes it difficult to discern what he is thinking or feeling aside from the clues his wolf give the reader. When Robb gets restless or anxious, his wolf paces around and bolts away, when Robb gets angry or scared his wolf gets ready to attack.

All the Stark kids and their connection to their wolves have something to say or show. So, what does it mean that Sansa's Lady is dead and she is the only Stark without a wolf?

[autumnoakes]

the tone shift from deep emotional moment to normal hyrule field music is crazy SKDJWKFJSKCJDKCJDK

NOT THE TENDER CARESS.....

[feliciamontagues]

Blind ’Arry in Every Episode

↳“The Lepidopterist's Companion” (Series 5, Episode 9)

[xxshift4teamcapxx]

From how this looks so far, should this be a short fic or series???

A/n - I guess this counts as a sneak peak of the snowjanus idea I had. Idk how this shit works tbh I just write stuff. Divider by @benkeibear

A new face stands next to the dean, fading the chatter of the classroom. Casca Highbottom. Also known as the drunk idiot that allowed the annual hunger games to be created. His regular bottle of morphling left his lips freshly glossed. He hushed the room of seniors and waited for them to quiet down. Placing a reassuring hand to their elbow, beckoning an unfamiliar girl forward to introduce her to her new peers. 

“Class, let me introduce you to the newest member of the capital's most prestigious academy. Y/n L/n,” The small man slurs slightly and nods at the mutters that fill his classroom. “I see some of you recognize the surname. Her mother was the one to create most of the hospitals and medical research facilities in all of panem. Helped heal a lot of people, cured an abundance of diseases. A true hero she was.”

The girl smiled shyly. Greatful for the praise her mother received even after death had taken her from the world that needed her so dearly. As she made her way up to her seat, next to Palmyra Monty, she caught a pair of chocolate orbs filled with wonder staring at her. Intrigued by the ethereal girl walking by them to go sit down, so their first class of the day can begin. 

Sejanus Plinth smiles teasingly at his new peer over his shoulder and turns back to the front of the class. “Cute…” He mumbles to himself, though his blonde ‘friend’ sitting next to him doesn’t miss it. Shaking his head at the district boys nonsense. 

Coriolanus Snow couldn’t be bothered to deal with romantic affairs like everyone else, but he wasn’t blind. He could see how much eye candy you were compared to most. Even the ladies were getting a little distracted as you minded your business through out the day. 

A few days later it had gotten around the school that underneath the school’s modest, crimson fabric you were hiding quite the set of curves. Some of which made Arachne Crane, the senior class resident big mouth, green with obvious jealousy as she gossiped to the lunch table the boys’ so called friend group sat at. “I don’t get what you all see in her. Can someone please enlighten me on the clues I’m missing?” 

She exasperated, with a frustrated huff. She was seriously letting her vanity get the best of her. And all from some new girl nobody knew anything about. Poor thing wouldn’t last two seconds in university with that kind of insecurity. Clemensia rolls her eyes at her bestie, “She’s an actually good person and is hot. I don’t get what your not getting.” Setting her head in her palm as she watched the brunette sneer at your smiling form. Unaware. Unbothered.

“Oh, please. I bet she bought that face with that will she got from her mother. Pretty sure she’d have some connections from family friends. Hell, probably got the butt lift and boob job on discount. There’s no way someone can be naturally that sculpted. Only celebrities and new mothers can have hips like that." Arachne folds her arms like a grumpy toddler that isn’t getting their way. 

“So you’ve seen?” Comes Festus’ excited voice. He’d been flirting with the new girl since he could get the chance. Well he flirted with all of the girls, he was a known creep that got away with most things because of who his father was.

“All the girls have and she’s right. That girl is thicker than a bowl of oatmeal on an early Monday morning. I swear, she’s making a lot of people in the locker rooms question their sexualities. I don’t think I can handle seeing those gym shorts on her anymore.” Juno groans into her palms, earning a pat from Felix chuckling next to her.

“Well, I hear she goes to the gym not to far from here. Could just have a really good routine and… don’t kill me for thinking out loud here. Maybe she’s just that hot and you can’t handle it, Arrie. Everybody likes her except for you.” Persephone Price tuts nonchalantly. Too busy enjoying the fruit she’d gotten with her lunch to worry about her bratty friend.

Coryo turns to look behind him with an annoyed Sejanus. Leaning on the tanned boy as they watched you whisper with your friends. A huge, bright smile written across your face that mimicked the sun. Most of your chosen peers participated in some sort of artistic after school program. You had a type for creative minds they noticed. “Jeez, can you guys say one thing that’s not objectifying that poor girl? If I were her, I wouldn’t give any of you freaks the time of day.” Sej whines to the people around him. Not liking the things being said about you behind your back.

His mother would have him by his ear if he ever said such things about a young lady. Though he couldn’t help but agree to himself with some words. You were gorgeous and he’s sure you were as fit as his peers made you out to be behind that baggy uniform. That didn’t mean he’d loose all respect for you as a person the second he just so happened to notice your body looks a little more mature than most girls your age. He’d look without an ounce of shame though. He was human after all.

“She could be a model.” Coriolanus shrugs. A sarcastic twang sliding off his tongue to make his friends eye twitch and roll. In his defense, he wasn’t lying.

Suddenly, Festus perks up from his drooling over you. Yanking Felix towards the rest of boys at the table as he begins to whisper. “Almost slipped my memory, but I’m paying for another night of drinks with the boys. There’s this club downtown we’re gonna sneak into. Y’two should come. Take a break from your studies."

Coryo immediately shakes his head at the offer. Like hell he was gonna get caught shitfaced with all of these idiots. He had a reputation to uphold. Sejanus on the other hand disagrees for more innocent reasons. Him? At a club with alcohol, drugs, and half naked women everywhere. Nope. He was raised better then that. Again, Ma would take his goddamn life for even thinking about associating with that kind of environment.

Festus shakes his head at the pair of goody two shoes. Having expected them to say no to their night out. “You guys are no fun. I mean c’mon, you got laid last time we went out together, Coryo. And I don’t think anybodys gonna forget that time Sej ran down the street in his underwear with that one girl. Why not just take some time to do something fun with the bros." Felix tries to convince them. Only to make them internally cringe from their inebriated shenanigans. Both of which were drunk dares they’d regretted the second they woke up the next morning. Head pounding and eyes sore from a heavy hangover.

They’d promised themselves to never get that drunk again in their entire lives. Sejanus ran his palms over his face. The memory of running around panem in his boxers with some random girl on his back making him huff in embarrassment. “You guys aren’t ever gonna let that go are you?” He groans, rubbing his temples that were already starting to ache.

Clemensia shakes her head ‘no’ with a shrug. Like it was obvious. They were capital after all. They thrived off of gossip. Coriolanus chuckled at his shameful expression, earning a shove from the boy that thought he was his friend. “Don’t laugh! You aren’t any better either! Do you even remember that girls name?!”

The blonde tsks at the question. Hiding the fact that he was equally, if not more ashamed of his behavior. He’d gotten a reputation as a player because of that instance. Adding yet another scuff to the Snow family name. “Nope.” He says, popping the ‘p’ to emphasize his faux lack of interest.

He turns his gaze back to the rest of the boys, an irritated sigh leaving his pink lips. “You guys aren’t gonna leave us the hell alone until we agree. Are you?” Festus confirms his suspicion with the shake of his head. Forcing yet another frustrated sigh from Sejanus.

***

“I can’t believe you assholes got me to do this b.s.!” Sej anxiously hides his face as he follows his male classmates through the crowd of elite men and woman. All drinking and enjoying themselves as the showgirls danced around on platforms around them. He catches a few confused gazes towards them, probably wondering why a bunch of high school seniors were in a place like this. If his Ma found out about this, he doesn’t think his father can pay him out of the ass beating he was gonna get from it.

Coriolanus pats the tanned boy’s shoulder as they make their way up the stairs to the VIP section. While his friend was only here to get out of one of his father’s boring meetings, he was a different story. One that Sejanus knew all too well. He just wanted the food the establishment served. Having not eaten a proper dinner in a hot minute. His stomach craved something other than beans and the slop the school served during lunch.

They all get seated at their table. Ordering meals and drinks once a waitress got them settled in. Dressed up in a scantily tuxedo uniform specifically designed for the caterers of the club. Nothing near as revealing as the dancers, but enough to get that tip they charmed the patrons into giving. 

Everything is taken care of by Festus as promised. They enjoy the performance’s and play cards with each other. All’s great.

“Now, may I please ask for your undivided attention as we bring you our next performer,” Goes the clubs host over the speakers of the cabaret. “I present to you our youngest dancer to ever strut this marvelous stage. She’s just the cutest, she’s barely legal, but don’t let that innocent face fool you. I give you our precious, Babydoll!”

The music starts and the curtains draw back to reveal a girl in a nun costume. The boys pay her no mind as they continue their game of rummy. Until Festus has to do a double take back to her swaying form making her way through the tables. Then realization hits him in a way that makes him look at his glass of gin like it’d been spiked with something.

Urban Canville notices him and asks what his deal is. The starstruck boy just turns Urban’s head by the chin toward the dancer. His jaw dropping to the floor at the familiar face gyrating for the tables on the bottom floor. “There’s no fucking way…” He trails off. Gaining the attention of the rest of their table. They all lean in at once. A wave of shock taking over their bodies as the girls face registers in their intoxicated brains.

“Is that–“ Sej whispers to Coryo sitting next to him. He cut him off with a nod, none of them taking their eyes off of you making your way up the main stairs for performers only. “Y/n? No doubt about it."

You’d gotten rid of the robe covering the rest of your costume by now. Clad in a corset that almost lifts your breasts to your chin, ruffled panties, and a veil covering the under scarf that hides your (Hair texture) hair away. Your makeup done in a way that made you look so innocent and doll-like. Hence the stage name. It isn’t until you were right in front of your male peer’s table that you notice them. A confused expression crossing your painted face as you continue your routine. E/c eyes flicking between easily memorable faces eyeing you like candy. Before going back into character as quickly as you’d came out of it. Moving on to a new table.

“I’m not gonna be able to focus in class anymore after this.” Goes Hilarius Hevansbee, unable to take his gaze away from your ass as you bend for an older man sitting not far from the boys. Dennis Fling nods at his statement, equally as distracted by the swing of your hypnotic hips. “What is she doing here?” Florus Friend runs his fingers through the waves of his hair, pulling at the strands lightly in frustration. Clearly confused by your presence in such a scandalous place.

Coriolanus can’t ignore the pang of jealousy that slaps him in the face so suddenly. The urge to strangle everyone that looks at you so sinfully making it hard for him to keep himself together. He glances over to Sejanus. His hands clasped firmly over his mouth as his cheeks burn a bright red. His slightly drunken mind making his embarrassment more visible to anyone paying attention. He thinks his new classmate will think he’s a pervert. ‘There goes chances of even becoming friends with her.’ He can hear his voice drip with disappointment in his head.

As you prance back to the stage, ending your set, Festus gets an idea. The best idea in his humble opinion. Telling everyone he’ll be right back before scurrying off somewhere underneath the multicolored lights of the club. He comes back shortly after with a cheshire-like grin. Throwing back the rest of his drink before he speaks to the rest of the group.

“We’ve got a private room with a special someone in about an hour and a half. It’s for the rest of the night. So, prepare for the night of your preppy lives.”

***

The boys find themselves lounging in a comfy private room. Decorated with red silks and velvet like the rest of the luxurious club. They talk and drink amongst themselves as they wait for their entertainment to come and join them. 

And boy is she a sight for sore eyes. You step in wearing a cream colored silk robe. It hung low on your cleavage and stopped just before your bum. You had tiny pearls glued to the corners of your eyes with your new babydoll looking makeup. Matching pearl embellished heels that add a good foot to your height. It’s exactly what you looked like. A sexy doll. Too delicate and innocent to touch but tempting enough to do so anyway. A walking dangerous game.

“Who asked for me?” Is all you can muster. Sejanus catches the anger hidden under the professionalism in your e/c orbs. He just knows you would rather not be here as much as he does. Should’ve just went to that stupid meeting with his father.

The Creed son perks up. Raising a hand to grab your attention. “I did of course. Sorry, I just couldn’t let a fine woman such as yourself go without having a closer look at such artistic beauty you display.” There’s a slight frown. A blink and you’ll miss it moment. You’re not amused by the guy that’s been perving on you since you started your classes at the academy. Not one bit. He takes your hand and places a grimy kiss atop your knuckles. A sickly sweet smile trying to hide the disgust you have for him. “So,” You begin your charm. Sliding into his lap and making sure to keep him in your siren-like stare. “You’re the one that’s going to give me a nice hefty tip for compensation, right?”

He quirks a brow at the odd words. His drunken brain amused by your nonsensical question. “And what will I be compensating for?” He chuckles. Giddy smile growing when your hand makes contact with his chest. “Taking away my agency to choose. Of course.” You state simply. He, as well as the rest of your male classmates, frown at your answer. But before anything is said, you clarify, “You and I both know somebody in this room is going to tell someone at the academy about my employment here. And you also know academy students thrive off of the rumor mill. So, you’ll pay me good and I’ll make this worth your while. Or you don’t…” You pause. Lifting your leg to cross over your knee and letting your robe slide up your thighs slightly. “And I’ll be on my merry way.”

An ultimatum. Oh she’s good. Coriolanus shakes his head at the authoritative confidence you display over the situation. You weren’t going to have your dignity snatched away from you so easily and he liked that. It didn’t take much intimidating either. As the ginger places a stack of cash in your palm. You smile kindly. Counting out the bills in your hands, then looking back at him with an expectant smirk.

“200k? C’mon, you can do better then that. Two hundred more and I’ll take this off. I bet it’s killing you to know what I got on under here.” Holding out your freehand, you wait for your payment. Earning an amused eye roll from the boy your sitting on. He takes out the bills and gives them up. “You’re a pricey one aren’t cha?” He heaves when you stand up immediately upon snatching the money from the rich pervert. 

Tossing the cash into the pouch you brought with you to hold your earnings. “Such a pleasure to do business with you, Mister Creed. But I have to be. We do tip outs here, so I have to split not only with Boss Man, but with the security, house mom, bartender, waitstaff, the band, etc etc. The more I manage to make the better it is for the whole club. Hope there’s no hard feelings, darlin’. I’m just working at the end of the day.”

You ramble on, stepping over to the record player and placing the needle down to begin your routine. “Now enough about me. I’m gonna go over some rules then we can hop straight into the fun part.” You start to explain. 

Climbing onto the platform in the middle of the room. In front of a pole as you turn away from the boys curious eyes. “Number one. I’m a dancer not a hooker. There’s a brothel not too far from here if your looking for those kinds of services, but we don’t offer them here.” You pull your hair onto one shoulder. Looking over the other one at them as you untie the belt to your robe slowly. “Two, patience and manners. Your all big enough to know better about that I assume.” Peeling the fabric past your shoulders, you roll it down your back. Taunting them with how leisurely you show off the skimpy lingerie made completely of pearls. So you had a theme. “And finally, número tres. You can touch me all over, but my face and here…” Bending down to slide your robe over the meat of your ass and drop it to the floor. You place a your hand between your legs. Over top your most intimate area covered in a silky cream thong. “Is a no no.”

Standing back up to your full height, you turn your body in their direction finally. Showcasing the pearly pasties covering your areolas from their lustful eyes. “Break the first two and you’ll be put out of the club and banned for a month. Break the last one and my guard outside that door will give you a lead bullet to chew on. We take the safety of our dancers very seriously here at Roja Dior and I would really hate the inconvenience if you did. So, have I made myself clear boys?”

They all nod. A few groans and hungry ‘yes ma’am’s’ echoing through out the dimly lit room.(to be continued…)

[misc-obeyme]

please share your thoughts about someone having a demon's grimoire and control over them, i am very curious

because my first thought was like, belphie makes his pact with mc as a way to never hurt them again after lesson 16. imagine someone gets their hand on his grimoire

and do the brothers share a single one?? I've always wondered that, like it'd make sense as they are the Avatars and fallen angels, except for satan. Like theirs had to be created when they fell right? Maybe their grimoire is actually a case that holds all seven together.

but if they had individual one's, why would that be kinda romantic to get someone's grimoire. like the trust that has to come from that is so immense. Better than a marriage proposal, that's like soul bond level or something. Imagine mc getting buried with it too if they die (i say if because i have lots of ideas about what will happen to mc and about their lifespan that i could ramble about)

- ✨ anon

Ah, my tags give me away yet again lol!

I just feel like there's a lot of stuff about grimoires that we don't know, specifically about how they work.

Sure, having a grimoire gives you control over a demon, even overriding any pacts that demon has. But does that mean you have to be physically holding it at the time? Or can it just be considered to be in your possession? Does having a single page from the grimoire work? What's even in the grimoire? It's a big ole book is it just full of blank pages?

I have questions!!

Presumably, the demons themselves can use pages of their grimoire to cast spells or otherwise protect the holder of that page. We saw that happen when Barbatos gave MC a piece of paper from his grimoire just before MC found Belphie in the attic. Belphie then cast his sleepy lethargy spell on MC, but the paper flashed with a blinding light and then MC & Belphie were sucked into the Little D.

So was that Barbatos protecting MC and lifting Belphie's lethargy spell? Was that Barbatos somehow initiating MC and Belphie going into Belphie's mind? How did he do that with only a scrap of paper from his grimoire? Why did it work if MC is not the holder of the grimoire??

The questions continue lol.

Anyway, I do think the brothers only have one grimoire. Isn't it the same one that was in the Underground Tomb in OG? And then in NB, it's the one that Solomon goes to the Fountain of Knowledge to find, only to have MC hand it over to Lucifer.

So it did sound like they only have one grimoire for all of them.

Which is kinda crazy because man if anybody got their hands on it...

And just imagine someone evil getting a hold of it... for instance, if we're talking about Belphie, they could really mess with him by making him hurt MC.

But if they did have individual ones, it would be pretty romantic to give that to MC. I like the idea of MC being buried with the grimoire, even if it was the one that belonged to all seven of them. Like, they know it'll be safe with MC's skeleton! Awww.

I also have thoughts about MC's lifespan and the possibilities of it. Just seems unlikely that someone like MC would stay mortal unless they straight up chose to and even then... they got too much magic and such at this point, you know? Feel free to ramble all about it if you like!

Anyway, the grimoire thing really plays a part in Arrie's story, so I've had to answer all the questions about it myself. Since they don't tell us all that stuff, I just made up whatever worked best for my story lol. I have done that with a lot of things for this story honestly...

[jozor-johai]

some thoughts on identity as a motif in asoiaf. feel free to add on!

mostly just thinking about this because of how anything in asoiaf gains meaning from continued repetition, so it's interesting to keep track of these things, and see how different approaches to the same idea give more depth to the meaning.

Sometimes, these ideas are so similar that people create theories to argue that they are literally the same character. I think most "secret identity" theories are often misinterpretations of thematic parallels; yes, these characters have a lot in common thematically, but it does not need to be the case that they are literally the same character.

However, I recognize that playing with identity is its own motif in ASOIAF, so some thoughts:

Jon Snow's false identity; Young Griff's false identity, along with his whole party: Griff, the mysterious Septa Lemore, Duck, etc. Quentyn Martell (also a prince!) and his assumed identity, also in Essos, along with his entire party posing as sellswords. Barristan Selmy posing as Arstan Whitebeard. Alleras / Sarella. Asha pretending to be Esgred. Mance being glamoured as Rattleshirt, and later Mance as Abel. Varys as Rugen, and his other disguises. Ramsay Snow posing as Reek, and later Theon being forced to become Reek by Ramsay. And Theon-as-Reek "pretending" to be Theon again.

Which brings me to the chapter titles: identity is such a strong motif that it is also communicated in a structural way through the chapter titles, which begin to describe the characters rather than name them, or else take on the assumed name of the POV character.

Theon becomes Reek and the chapters reflect that. As he escapes the notion of Reek, the chapter titles reflect his changing identity. Sansa loses her identity, becoming Alayne, which is reflected in the chapter titles. Victarion goes in the opposite direction; he is the Iron Captain, the Reaver, and the Iron Suitor before his last chapter title becomes Victarion. Arya's identity changes as early as the second book, becoming Arry aka Lumpyhead, then Weasel, then Nan, then Squab, then Salty. Then she joins the Faceless Men, who heavily question the notion of identity, and cause Arya to question her notions of identity as a major plot device. Arya's chapter titles become Cat of the Canals, the Blind Girl, the Ugly Little Girl. We also get insight into other character's sense of identity, as well, even if they never get a chapter of their own name.

Plenty more to be said about the chapter titles, I'm sure, but Arya brings us to the Faceless Men, and Jaqen -> the Alchemist -> Pate, as far as we know.

On the topic of "anonymous organizations", there's the mystery of the identity of the Harpy, and the issue with the anonymity of the Sons of the Harpy, as well as, arguably, the equal issue with the anonymity of the Brazen Beasts (as the Shavepate is able to infiltrate his personal men into their ranks secretly).

Some identities that fundamentally change with death: Catelyn becoming Lady Stoneheart, and "Robert Strong", assuming he was the Mountain originally.

Beric feels like he's losing his sense of self with each time he dies, which is interesting because as that happens more and more of the Brotherhood Without Banners pretend to be Beric—he loses himself at the same rate his person becomes a symbol instead of a man. Also fitting for the Brotherhood Without Banners—no banners means without an identity in the way that most of Westeros conceives of it.

Because one's banners are their identity. Lannisters are "Lions" and Starks become "wolves" and there is a need to distinguish between wolves on two legs and wolves on four. The Tyrells are "roses" complete with thorns. "Dragons" refers to Targaryens just as often as it refers to actual dragons if not more. Obviously this continues ad infinitum.

And insofar as House names are identity, there is the voluntary renunciation of identity when becoming a Maester and losing one's last name, or taking the Black and forsaking one's familial ties, or to a lesser extent joining the Kingsguard and renouncing one's claim to lands. All of these are a loss of identity; one might argue that exile is a forced loss of identity in the same vein.

Which makes the Golden Company especially interesting, because they claim Westerosi names but without any real need to back them up with lineage.

And there are other voluntarily assumed identities that are not necessarily meant to be disguise, just self-chosen names. Bards often are specified as taking on stage names of a sort, like Rymund the Rhymer, Symon Silvertongue, and Tom Sevenstrings aka Tom of Sevenstreams aka Tom o'Sevens. Lem Lemoncloak. Cersei is especially bothered by the idea that the "Blue Bard" is really just a smallfolk man named Wat.

The "High Sparrow" might be more like a stage name, more important as the symbol of an identity than as a person. "The Hound" is also like a stage name, and the mystery of the Hound raiding Saltpans shows how the identity of the Hound can be separated from Sandor Clegane himself. Interesting that Lem, who already has a sort of second identity, will don the Hound over that in WINDS.

There is the mystery of identity even when assumed names are not into play, as with the Kettleblacks; they mystery of who they are and where they come from is important even without fake names (as far as we know).

Then there is the identity as reflected in prophecy. Melisandre sees a girl who she thinks is Jon's sister but then Alys Karstark appears. Melisandre sees Renly attacking Stannis' host at the Blackwater who turns out to be Loras in Renly's armor. Arguably, this applies to the symbol-identities we get: we understand that someone "is" the Mummer's Dragon, we understand that someone is the "giant" that Sansa will slay.

The "Three Eyed Crow" might be part of this category, and the idea of an assumed "dream identity". Maybe the weirwoods and warging are more identity-issues; Varamyr talks about how wargs take on the animal characteristics—so warging itself is about identity, too.

Which is then doubly potent with Hodor, who is a whole person that Bran is stealing the identity of.

There are tons and tons more but this is just a collection of thoughts on the idea.

[lizzisimss]

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